Chapter 186: To the Brink of Death

Reinfort’s eyes narrowed as Gill’s familiar face emerged from the shadows. Despite the pain, despite the blood seeping from his wounds, a grim smile touched his lips.

“So you’re still alive, you fraud.” His voice was weak, but the contempt in it was unmistakable. “I should have known. Nothing kills a cockroach like you.”

Gill’s expression shifted—a flash of something cold behind those grey eyes. Without warning, he stepped forward and drove his boot into Reinfort’s chest.

The old knight gasped, fresh blood bubbling from his lips as the impact aggravated his wounds. Beside him, Valdris stirred weakly, unable to intervene.

“Cockroach?” Gill’s voice was soft, almost pleasant, but his eyes were hard as stone. “Thanks to you, I just went through hell.” He pressed down harder, watching Reinfort’s face contort with pain. “And this is the gratitude I get?”

Reinfort’s hand twitched toward his sword, but Gill’s foot pressed harder, pinning him in place.

“Now then.” Gill’s voice returned to its usual sardonic tone, as if he hadn’t just been torturing a dying man. “How about my offer? I save you and your precious prince. In return, you clear my name. All charges dropped. I walk free.”

Reinfort’s eyes blazed with defiance despite his position. “You expect me to trust a man who’s currently standing on my chest?”

Gill shrugged, the motion casual. “Trust is irrelevant. I’m offering you a deal. Your prince will die if he doesn’t receive treatment soon. You know it, I know it.” He glanced around the ruined room, at the chaos still raging beyond. “And you can’t expect help to arrive, can you? This place is a tomb. No one’s coming.”

Reinfort’s gaze flickered to Valdris—the young prince’s pale face, his shallow breathing, the way the Light Core on his chest flickered like a dying candle. Then his eyes drifted past Gill, to where Seraphina was still fighting the Lich alone.

His jaw tightened.

“What about the knight?” His voice was rough with pain. “She can’t fight that thing alone. She’ll die.”

Gill didn’t even look back. “Not my problem. Our business is concluded.” He returned his attention to Reinfort, his grey eyes flat and unreadable. “I’m offering you a deal. Take it or leave it.”

Reinfort stared at him for a long moment, weighing options, calculating odds. Then, slowly, a grim smile crossed his bloodied features.

“Some things never change, do they, fraud?” He coughed, more blood spattering his chin. “Your personality is as disgusting as ever. You must have learned that from your master.”

Gill’s expression went very, very still.

Then his boot came down again—harder this time. Reinfort’s back arched, a choked cry escaping his throat as the impact drove the air from his lungs. Blood sprayed from his mouth, painting the stone floor crimson.

“Don’t.” Gill’s voice was ice. “Don’t you dare insult my teacher, old man.” He leaned down, his face inches from Reinfort’s, his grey eyes burning with something that might have been rage. “I could kill you right now. Both of you. And no one would stop me.”

Reinfort met his gaze, unflinching despite the pain. The silence stretched, broken only by the distant sounds of Seraphina’s battle.

Then, slowly, Gill’s expression shifted. The rage faded, replaced by that familiar sardonic amusement.

“But I won’t.” He straightened, removing his boot from Reinfort’s chest. “Because I’m a reasonable man.”

Reinfort’s eyes narrowed at Gill’s words, but the weight of his situation pressed down on him like the stone walls themselves.

His jaw tightened.

“Fine.” The word came out rough, defeated. “I agree. Your crimes will be… overlooked. You’ll walk free.”

Gill’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. “A wise decision, old knight.” He reached into his pocket—not the one the guards would have searched, but a hidden compartment sewn into the lining of his coat. From it, he withdrew a folded parchment, yellowed with age but still crisp at the edges. He unfolded it, revealing dense text written in elegant script.

Reinfort’s eyes widened. “Where—”

“Details.” Gill’s grey eyes glinted behind his glasses. “The how is irrelevant. What matters is this.” He held out the parchment, along with a small stylus. “A binding contract. Standard magical agreement—you agree to clear my name and release me from all charges, I agree to save your lives and provide healing. Sign it.”

Reinfort stared at the document, his expression caught between disbelief and grim resignation. “You came prepared.”

“I always come prepared.” Gill’s smile didn’t waver. “Now sign. Your prince doesn’t have much time.”

Reinfort’s hand trembled as he took the stylus. The motion cost him—his wounds screamed, fresh blood seeping through his clothes. But he forced his fingers to move, scratching his name across the designated line.

The parchment flared with golden light, the words seeming to burn themselves into the page before settling back to mundane ink.

Gill’s smile widened. “Excellent. Now you can’t take back your word.” He tucked the contract back into its hidden pocket with exaggerated care. “Binding magic is such a useful invention, don’t you think?”

Reinfort’s eyes blazed with fury and exhaustion. “The potions. Now.”

Gill nodded, reaching into his coat once more—a different pocket this time. He withdrew two vials, their contents swirling with a faint, luminescent blue.

“High-grade healing potions. Not quite enough to fully restore you, but enough to stop the bleeding and get you back on your feet.” He tossed them to Reinfort, who caught them one-handed with surprising coordination for a dying man.

“Use them wisely, old man. I’ll be… elsewhere.” Gill glanced toward the chaos of the main room, where Seraphina’s Oath still blazed against the encroaching darkness. “That knight is on her own. My part in this is done.”

He turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the ruined corridor without a backward glance.

Reinfort stared after him for a long moment, then turned his attention to the vials in his hand. Without hesitation, he unstoppered one and pressed it to Valdris’s lips, tilting the prince’s head back gently.

“Drink, Your Highness. This will help.”

The prince’s eyes fluttered open as the healing potion worked its magic, the glow spreading from his throat through his chest and limbs. Color returned to his pale cheeks, and the deep gashes across his torso began to knit together with visible speed.

Valdris gasped, sitting upright with sudden clarity. “What—” He looked at Reinfort, at the empty vial in the old knight’s hand, at the lingering warmth in his chest. “You gave me your potion.”

Reinfort’s expression was calm. “You needed it more than I did, Your Highness.” He tucked the remaining vial carefully into his belt, preserving it for later. “Rest now. Help will arrive soon.”

Valdris’s jaw tightened. “Rest? While that thing is still—” He tried to rise, but Reinfort’s hand clamped down on his shoulder with surprising strength.

“You will do no good charging back in there half-healed.” Reinfort’s voice was steel wrapped in weariness. “Your artifact is depleted. Your body is still recovering. Wait. Conserve your strength.”

Valdris’s violet-blue eyes blazed with frustration, but he didn’t argue. He knew Reinfort was right.

Across the ruined room, Seraphina fought on.

Her Oath blazed around her like a dying star, silver-gold light flickering with each desperate strike. Her blade cut through abomination after abomination, the creatures falling before her in waves of bone and rotting flesh. But each kill cost her—her movements were slowing, her breathing ragged, her vision swimming with exhaustion.

The Lich watched her with cold amusement, Elise’s crimson eyes tracking every movement, every falter.

“You’re running out of strength, knight.” His voice echoed through the chaos, layered with ancient malice. “Your Oath is a flickering candle in a hurricane. Soon, it will gutter out entirely.” He raised a blackened hand, and more abominations surged forward. “And when it does, you will fall. Just like all the others.”

Seraphina didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Every ounce of her being was focused on survival, on cutting down the next enemy, on reaching Elise.

She cut. And cut. And cut.

Abomination after abomination fell before her blade. The Lich’s army, once endless, began to thin. Corpses that had already been slain couldn’t be raised again—she was burning through his resources, forcing him to expend his army faster than he could replenish.

The Lich’s amusement faded. His crimson eyes narrowed.

“Persistent insect.”

He raised both hands, and the remaining abominations—a dozen at most—converged on Seraphina from all sides. She met them with her blade, her Oath flaring one final time.

Slice. Dodge. Parry. Thrust.

Five fell. Then three more. Then the last.

Silence.

Seraphina stood alone among the carnage, her chest heaving, her blade dripping with black ichor. The last abomination crumbled at her feet, its crimson eyes fading to nothing.

For a moment—just a moment—victory seemed possible.

Then the Lich moved.

He crossed the distance between them in an instant, faster than anything Seraphina had ever faced. His blackened hand shot forward, catching her by the throat before she could even raise her blade. He lifted her effortlessly, her feet dangling above the ground.

“Impressive,” the Lich murmured, studying her with cold curiosity. “You fought well. Better than most.” His grip tightened, and Seraphina gasped, her Oath flickering wildly. “But in the end, you are just a knight.”

He hurled her across the room.

Seraphina crashed into a pile of debris—shattered stone, broken furniture, the remains of what had once been a beautiful tower room. She lay there for a terrible moment, unable to move, unable to breathe, her Oath guttering like a dying flame.

Through the haze of pain, she saw the Lich approaching. Elise’s form floated toward her, those crimson eyes gleaming with triumph, the black corruption now spreading up her arms to her shoulders.

“Any last words, little knight?”

Seraphina’s lips moved. No sound came out—her throat was crushed, her lungs struggling. But the shape was clear.

’Elise…’

The Lich’s smile widened. “Die, Seraphina.”

He raised his hand for the final blow.

And Seraphina’s Oath died.

The silver-gold light that had sustained her through the battle, through the exhaustion, through the impossible odds—it flickered once, twice, and then went out completely.

Darkness closed in around her.

But in that darkness, she remembered.

“An Oath is a leash. Aura is freedom.” Gill’s voice echoed in her memory. “You use your Oath, and it tires you because you’re channeling power through a contract. You’re borrowing strength, not creating it.”

Borrowing strength. Always borrowing. Never her own.

“True aura comes from here. From your core. It’s not borrowed—it’s yours. You cultivate it, grow it, make it part of yourself.”

Her core. The thing she’d always ignored, always neglected, always assumed was just… there. A source of Oath power, nothing more.

But what if it was more? What if Gill was right?

In the darkness, Seraphina reached inward. Past the pain, past the exhaustion, past the dying echoes of her Oath. Deeper. Further. To a place she’d never consciously touched.

And there—faint but real—she felt it.

A spark.

The Lich’s hand descended.

Seraphina’s eyes snapped open.

And the room exploded with light.

[Seraphina’s Aura has Awakened!]

The blast caught the Lich full in the chest, hurling him backward with a shriek of surprise and pain. Elise’s form tumbled through the air, crashing into the far wall with enough force to crack stone.

Seraphina rose from the debris, and she was transformed.

Her Oath-light was gone, replaced by something purer—a radiant aura that blazed around her like a second skin. Her wounds didn’t heal, but they no longer mattered. Her exhaustion didn’t vanish, but it no longer hindered her. She was beyond such limitations now.

Her eyes, when they opened, blazed with golden fire.

“Elise.” The name was a prayer, a promise, a declaration. “I’m coming.”

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