Everyone dropped to their knees, hands pressed against the ground, straining to keep themselves from collapsing completely. The crushing weight of Gravity's Wrath bore down on them, their muscles trembling under the force. Pained grunts and gasps filled the air as even the strongest among them struggled to stay upright.
Irene watched, a small smile forming on her lips. They don't know Šërēĺįťh... I was worried for nothing. If I can scare them off, Majesty will be safe. She won't have any reason to go to Persia anymore.
Her victory felt certain—until she heard footsteps. Steady. Unaffected.
Her smile vanished as she turned, her breath catching.
Javier stood tall, completely untouched by the spell. His stance was relaxed, almost casual, as if he were merely taking a stroll through the woods.
"So, you know Šërēĺįťh," he mused, his gaze locked onto her with unsettling calm. "I had a feeling something was off about you—living all alone in the middle of nowhere. Guess I was right."
He took another step closer, his expression shifting into something almost amused.
"You look surprised," he said. "Wouldn't it be strange if you thought you were the only one who could use Šërēĺįťh?"
Javier drew two daggers from his belt, their sharp edges catching the light. Spinning them effortlessly around his fingers, he sprinted toward Irene, eyes locked on her.
Before he could reach her, she whispered an incantation.
"Zhürën vëlth, vráën thirë,
Lïsëthir vîn, šaër thé ë—
Möräth Šëlvën: Lïsëthir-Ľîth!"
(Meaning:
"When danger calls and foes draw near,
Let my blade in hand appear—
Primal Genesis: Bloodveil!")
A soft glow wrapped around her right hand, flickering like embers in the wind. The air trembled as the energy condensed, hardening into a sleek silver rapier. Faint runes pulsed along its surface, as though breathing.
Javier skidded to a stop, his expression shifting.
"Bloodveil?" he muttered, nodding toward the weapon in Irene's hand. And that wasn't all-weapon summoning was a high-level Šërēĺįťh technique only a few could use.
Irene tilted her head, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "So, you recognize this blade."
Javier's fingers flexed around his daggers. His voice remained calm, but there was a new tension in his stance. "If that really is Bloodveil, then that means you must be Irene."
A groan came from one of the soldiers still struggling under the gravity spell. "No way… She's the one who wields Bloodveil? The rumored ruthless killer?"
Another soldier, despite his position, grinned. "There's no way that beauty is a killer. This force pressing down on me, is just her way of testing my love for her."
"Would you shut up?" another gritted his teeth. "Do you even understand who she is? Rumor has it, no enemy was safe from her Bloodveil. She was ruthless to a fault. Some people even called her the Blood Psychopath."
Irene wasn't listening. Her eyes flickered to Javier's daggers, and recognition hit her.
"Those daggers…" she murmured. "Are you Orin's son?"
Javier's smirk faltered slightly. He twirled one of his daggers before stopping. "Yes. I am, older sister."
Irene blinked. "Older sister?" It was the first time in years anyone had called her that.
Javier's tone was even. "My father told me he only ever trained one person outside the family. A girl he treated like his own daughter. But she disappeared after the queen sealed her abilities. He told me that if I ever met her, I should treat her like an older sister."
Memories surfaced in Irene's mind.
"I'm almost twice your age, so show some respect when you call my name. Plus, I'm your superior in this unit," Orin grumbled.
"Sure, Orin, I'll add 'Lord' to your name. Lord Olirin," Irene had teased.
"Don't go messing up my name, you little—" Orin growled, yanking on her hair.
She was always by his side, wherever he went. She was so happy when Orin finally had a son. Orin was unstoppable on the battlefield with his twin daggers, while Irene fought alongside him with her Bloodveil. The day Orin became a father, he went on and on about how happy he was to finally have a child of his own.
A small, wistful smile crossed Irene's lips. "You were just a kid the last time I saw you. I can't believe how much you've grown."
Javier exhaled sharply. "You don't look that old yourself."
Irene chuckled, but her voice softened. "How is Orin?"
"So, you do care for him, you never bothered to look for him so I thought you truly were as heartless and ruthless as the rumours said. But if you must know, he's doing fine," Javier said.
Then, with a sigh, he rolled his shoulders, shaking off whatever feelings had surfaced. His smirk faded, his grip tightening on his daggers once more.
Javier exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders. "Now that it's come to this, I'd rather not fight you, older sister. So, please—be reasonable and just tell me where the princess is. I..."
"I'm sorry, but I can't do that, young Javy," Irene cut him off before he could finish, her tone calm yet firm.
A quiet snicker broke the tension.
"Hey, did you hear that?" One soldier, still struggling under the gravity spell, grinned. "She called the captain young Javy."
"No fair, I want her to say my name too," another groaned, barely holding back his laughter despite the crushing weight on his shoulders.
Javier turned his head slightly, his eyes darkening as he shot them a death glare.
Every soldier instantly swallowed their laughter, their amusement vanishing as quickly as it came.
Javier sighed and turned back to Irene, his expression unreadable. "I was afraid you'd say that. But before I make a decision, answer me this—why are you going this far to protect the princess? You know you don't stand a chance against Lady Nyxelene." His voice carried genuine curiosity, as if he couldn't understand why she was doing something so reckless.
Irene's grip on Bloodveil tightened. "Orin took me in when I had nowhere to go. He gave me a place to belong. It would be an insult to his goodwill if I abandoned someone in need."
Javier was quiet for a moment. Then, he let out a soft breath, almost thoughtful. "I see… My father talked about you a lot. How he worried about your whereabouts after you disappeared. It's a shame." His fingers curled around his daggers again. "But if you won't tell me, then I have no choice but to force you. Don't hold it against me—I'm just doing my work."
Irene lifted her blade, her stance unwavering. "I won't. Do what you must. And I'll do the same—for what I choose to protect."
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then, the tension snapped.
Javier lunged forward, his twin daggers flashing as he struck with three rapid jabs. Each movement was sharp, precise. But Irene was faster. Shifting her left foot back for stability, she met his attacks with swift deflections, her rapier ringing against his blades.
She spun, her movements fluid, and slashed downward in a sudden counterattack. Javier barely had time to react—he crossed his daggers and raised them above his head, blocking the strike. The force sent a sharp vibration through his arms.
The battlefield echoed with the relentless clash of steel against steel.
One of the soldiers watching the fight gritted his teeth. "Hey, I thought the queen sealed her abilities. Why is she so fast? She's forcing the captain on the defensive!"
Another soldier, still struggling under the weight of gravity, let out a strained breath. "She fought alongside Lord Orin. It'd be strange if she couldn't do at least this much. And don't forget—she's got way more experience than the captain." His eyes narrowed. "At this rate, the captain might actually lose."
Javier's expression remained unreadable, but a thought gnawed at him.
She's supposed to be in her weakened state. How the hell is she still this strong?
Realizing he was losing control of the fight, Javier pushed off the ground and leapt backward, putting some distance between them. His grip on his daggers tightened as he reassessed his opponent.
Irene stood tall, her stance unwavering, her breathing steady. She wasn't even tired.
Javier exhaled sharply, forcing a smirk onto his lips. "Not bad, older sister," he muttered, shaking out his wrists. "Looks like this won't be easy after all."
Before Irene could react, Javier murmured an incantation under his breath.
"Næl vrənä līsëth, nąl thirîn vóth,
Šëļväth morïn, näl dřäth roth—
Möräth Šëlvën: Vödräth Thîrën!"
(Meaning:
"Let weight be light and chains unbind,
Break the pull that grips and binds—
Primal Genesis: Burden's End!")
A surge of energy rippled through the air. The suffocating force pressing down on the soldiers vanished in an instant, leaving them gasping as the weight lifted from their bodies.
One of them staggered before regaining his balance, eyes wide with relief. "We're free!" he breathed before quickly snapping to attention. "Hurry! Get into formation! We need to assist the captain!"
Without hesitation, the soldiers moved, their training kicking in. In seconds, they had surrounded Irene, weapons drawn, their stances tense and ready.
Irene's gaze flicked between them and Javier. She tightened her grip on Bloodveil with a calm expression.
Javier exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the remnants of the spell. He met her gaze with a smirk, his daggers glinting in the dim light.
"Now," he said, tilting his head slightly, "let's see how long you can hold out, older sister."