Chapter 451: Ruins of Delwig II

Above them, the black column of energy thickened — piercing through the clouds like a wound in the sky.

From here, Damien could see it — the Verdant Verge forest burning with unnatural light. Runes flickered across the distant treetops like veins of lightning, each one pulsing in rhythm with Ivaan’s corrupted aura.

The Gate was awakening. Faster than before!

He didn’t need anyone to tell him what that meant. If Ivaan succeeded in breaking the seal, the essence pressure alone would most likely wipe Delwig from the map.

Damien clenched his fists. His body ached. His core screamed. But the fire in his eyes refused to die.

He whistled low.

A soft gust of golden feathers answered.

Aquila appeared once more from the portal that he’d just opened, its wings spread wide, shimmering faintly even through the ash. The griffin looked battered — its feathers torn, its body scarred — but its gaze was fierce as ever.

Damien smiled faintly. “I know. One last flight.”

He climbed onto its back, every movement stiff and deliberate. His armor was cracked, his weapons half-broken, but his resolve burned brighter than ever.

As Aquila took off, the city below him was silent. Not from peace, but from absence, hundreds of essence signatures dimmed or vanished, drained dry by the man they’d trusted most.

Damien didn’t look down. He couldn’t.

He could still hear Arielle’s voice echoing faintly in his mind.

“We’ll deal with it when it wakes.”

He closed his eyes, jaw tightening.

“For now, we fight.” he whispered.

Aquila beat its wings once, twice — and then soared toward the forest where the Gate pulsed like a beating heart.

Behind him, Delwig’s walls stood cracked and bleeding, the once-golden sigils now darkened. Ahead, the Verdant Verge blazed red against the dawn.

And somewhere between the two, fate waited — in the shape of a man who had once been a general, now turned into something far worse.

Damien’s voice was barely a whisper as he looked toward the rising storm.

“Ivaan,” he said.

“I’m coming for you.”

~~~~~

The world was quiet after the blast. Too quiet.

The smell of ash hung thick in the air, mingling with the copper sting of blood and burnt stone. The once-proud city of Delwig was reduced to trembling ruins—walls cracked, towers leaning, streets littered with the broken remains of lives cut short.

Apnoch’s head throbbed as he forced his eyes open. His vision swam for a moment before the world steadied—gray sky, broken masonry, a faint trail of smoke curling from a nearby building. His entire body ached, but pain meant he was alive. That was enough.

He groaned softly and pushed himself upright. His right arm barely responded; his ribs screamed every time he breathed. Still, he looked around, blinking through dust and smoke. “…Arielle? Lyone?”

Silence answered him.

Then—faint, ragged breathing.

Apnoch staggered to his feet, every step leaving a bloody print behind him. He followed the sound, shoving away fragments of collapsed stone until he saw them.

Arielle lay half-buried under the remains of a shattered window frame, blood trickling down the side of her face. Her armor was cracked, its sheen dulled by soot. Beside her, Lyone was sprawled awkwardly against the wall, his leg bent at an unnatural angle. His sword arm twitched weakly, as if still trying to fight something that wasn’t there.

“Damn it…” Apnoch muttered, kneeling beside them. He checked for pulses. Weak, but steady. Both alive.

For a moment, relief washed through him, but it didn’t last. He looked around—the city was dead quiet, broken only by the low groan of distant fire. If he didn’t act fast, they’d all bleed out before anyone came to help. Assuming anyone was still left to come.

He took a deep breath and forced his battered body to move. “Hold on. I’ll get something.”

The streets were a nightmare. Bodies lay where they’d fallen, some burned, others torn apart by something he didn’t want to imagine.

The air shimmered with residual mana discharge, warping light, humming against his skin. Whatever had happened here—it was catastrophic.

Apnoch stumbled through what was left of the market quarter. The familiar food stalls and shops were either flattened or blackened beyond recognition. Then, through the haze, he spotted a half-collapsed apothecary.

Its sign hung crookedly from a single chain.

Perfect.

He kicked the door open and was met with a cloud of dust and shattered glass. The shelves inside were mostly destroyed, the floor scattered with broken potion vials, their contents long evaporated. He coughed, then crouched low, rifling through the debris until his hand brushed something cool and intact.

A bottle—small, stoppered tight. Faint blue light shimmered inside.

He grinned through bloody teeth. “Still good.”

He kept searching, gathering every unbroken vial he could find. Most were low-grade healing or rejuvenation potions—barely useful on their own—but together, layered, they might be enough.

By the time he left the shop, his coat pockets clinked with glass. He cracked open one of the bottles, grimacing at the sharp, metallic taste, and forced it down. Warmth spread faintly through his veins; his ribs ached less, his breathing steadied. The bleeding slowed, but his muscles still trembled with fatigue.

“Good enough.” He wiped his mouth and turned back toward the street. “Hang in there, you two.”

When he returned to the alley where he’d left them, the dust had settled a little. Arielle hadn’t moved. Lyone’s breathing was shallow, almost nonexistent.

Apnoch cursed softly, dropping to his knees. He uncorked two bottles and carefully tilted one against Arielle’s lips. “Come on… drink. That’s it.”

Her throat moved slightly, swallowing weakly.

He repeated the process with Lyone, coaxing the boy to drink despite his limp state. The liquid shimmered faintly, seeping into their wounds and bruises. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

After a few minutes, Arielle stirred. Her fingers twitched, then she coughed hard, eyes flying open as she gasped for air.

Apnoch caught her shoulders before she could rise. “Easy. You’re safe—well, safe enough.”

Her gaze darted around wildly, taking in the destruction, then landing on Lyone. “Lyone—”

“He’s alive,” Apnoch said quickly. “Barely, but he’ll make it. I found some potions.”

Arielle blinked at him, her vision unfocused, her voice hoarse. “Where’s Damien?”

Apnoch hesitated.

He looked toward the forest—toward the rising plume of dark smoke curling above the Verdant Verge. The explosion’s echo still hung in the air, a low, distant rumble that vibrated through the ground.

“I think he went after Ivaan.”

Arielle’s lips parted. “He—alone?”

“You know him.” Apnoch’s tone was grim. “Wouldn’t wait for anyone.”

Silence fell between them. Only the crackle of distant fires filled the void.

Lyone groaned softly, his leg twitching as faint blue light danced beneath the torn fabric of his trousers. Bones cracked—realigning slowly under the potion’s lingering effect. His eyes fluttered open, dazed and in pain.

Arielle caught his hand immediately. “Easy. Don’t move yet.”

“What… what happened?” Lyone’s voice was a broken whisper.

Apnoch leaned back, wiping sweat from his brow. “City’s gone to hell. Ivaan turned out to be our monster in uniform.”

Lyone’s gaze snapped to him, confusion and disbelief mixing on his bloodied face. “That thing in the sky was the general?”

“The same.”

Arielle’s expression hardened, fury flickering behind her exhaustion. “Then Damien’s fighting him right now.”

Apnoch didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

For a long while, the three of them sat in silence among the ruins.

Arielle’s mind spun with questions she didn’t dare voice. What had Ivaan done to the Gate? What had Damien seen? The sheer energy from that explosion—it couldn’t have been a simple spell.

Her instincts whispered what she didn’t want to believe. something ancient had stirred in that forest.

She clenched her fists until her knuckles whitened.

Apnoch watched her quietly, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, measured. “We can’t stay here.”

Lyone tried to push himself up. “We have to help him—”

Apnoch cut him off, firm but not unkind. “If you go now, you’ll die before you even see him. Look at you.” He gestured at Lyone’s half-healed leg. “You can’t even stand straight.”

Lyone opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again.

Apnoch continued, “If Damien’s facing Ivaan, the best thing we can do is not get in his way. We’ll wait it out—outside the city walls.”

Arielle hesitated. The thought of leaving gnawed at her. “And if he—”

“Then he’ll find us,” Apnoch said simply. “Or we’ll find what’s left.”

The bluntness of it hit her hard, but she nodded anyway.

Apnoch didn’t waste time. He slung Arielle’s arm over his shoulder and helped her to her feet. She winced but didn’t protest. Lyone followed close behind, leaning on a broken spear shaft as a makeshift crutch.

The streets of Delwig were unrecognizable now. The air shimmered faintly from heat and residual magic. Every few steps, the ground cracked and smoked beneath their boots.

They passed what had once been the central square—now a crater, littered with shattered stones and the charred outlines of people who hadn’t made it.

Arielle turned her face away, swallowing hard. Lyone stumbled once, gagging quietly at the sight of half-burnt corpses leaning against the ruined fountain.

“Don’t look,” Apnoch muttered. “Just move.”

They crossed through what was left of the merchant district, keeping close to the walls for cover. Every shadow felt alive. Every sound—a groan, a distant rumble—made them flinch.

When they reached the outer ring of the city, they found a path still half-intact—a stretch of cobblestone leading toward the east gate.

Apnoch paused, setting Arielle down briefly to catch his breath. His hand trembled as he wiped sweat and soot from his brow. “Almost there,” he rasped.

Lyone glanced back at the ruins, his face pale beneath the dirt. “What do we do when we’re outside? We can’t just… leave him.”

Apnoch met his gaze. “We won’t go far. Just far enough to not die if something else blows up.”

It wasn’t comforting, but it was true.

They started walking again. The closer they got to the walls, the quieter the world became. No birds, no wind—just the faint hum of lingering mana still radiating from somewhere deep in the forest.

When they reached the broken gate, the sunlight poured through in soft, dusty rays. The outside air felt cleaner, though heavy with smoke.

Apnoch adjusted his grip on Arielle, preparing to carry her again, when a thunderous boom ripped through the silence.

All three of them froze.

Arielle’s eyes widened as a ripple of dark light pulsed across the distant treeline—followed by a shockwave that shook the ground beneath their feet.

It was coming from the Verdant Verge.

The force of it made the city walls groan, loose debris raining down around them. Lyone stumbled and caught himself, staring in horror.

Apnoch turned toward the forest, jaw clenched. “That’s him.”

Arielle’s throat tightened. Her hands balled into fists, knuckles white. She didn’t know whether to pray or to scream.

Instead, her lips moved silently, a whisper barely louder than breath.

“Damien… please, don’t die.”

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