As planned, Baldwin and Athan began their journey early the next morning.
There was no grand escort, no fanfare—just a modest horse-drawn carriage, two sturdy horses, and a single guide to lead them toward the northern city of Crossroad. The air was crisp with the promise of coming winter, and the road ahead stretched long and uncertain.
Before they departed, Lee met them one final time at the gates of the academy. He handed Baldwin a small pouch of coins and two sealed letters, each stamped with the emblem of the central academy.
"These are for the Headmaster of Crossroad Academy," he said firmly. "Guard them well."
Then, after a pause, Lee looked Baldwin in the eye. "So, we part ways... but I believe we'll meet again. Not as strangers—or subordinates—but as comrades on the same battlefield."
Baldwin gave a subtle nod, his crimson eyes unreadable.
Athan, stepping into the carriage, offered a casual salute. "Brock! It was good while it lasted. Sir."
Lee chuckled lightly. "Same to you. Farewell." He gave a final, respectful bow.
The carriage door closed with a soft thud, and the wheels began to roll.
Their journey to the North had officially begun. Through cities steeped in secrets, lands plagued by ancient shadows, and a destination that could hold answers—or the beginning of a new storm.
The horses trotted steadily along the worn path, and behind them, the academy gates slowly disappeared into the mist of the early dawn.
Back in Baldwin and Athan's world...
In the heart of the Red Moon Castle, deep within its ominous throne room, the air was heavy with silence and unspoken tension. The chamber, bathed in a dull crimson glow, held seven figures—one seated upon the throne, the others surrounding in their designated places.
Abyzou, the First Demon Lord, reclined casually upon the throne, her expression unreadable.
"How shall we begin the search for Asmodeus?" asked a man standing to her left. He wore a sleek black shirt with a blood-red tie. His short black hair shimmered faintly with green hues, and his pupils glowed a sharp, unnatural green.
Without hesitation, Abyzou responded, her voice firm. "Lord Orpheus, Send diplomatic envoys to every neighboring nation. Request assistance from the Xing Fu Dynasty. Have them dispatch their spies into the enemy kingdoms."
"Lord Abyzou, they'll surely reject such a request," came a skeptical voice.
The speaker was another demon lord, draped in violet robes that shimmered like poison in moonlight. His purple pupils narrowed, and the tips of his fingernails—also a deep purple—clicked softly against the polished obsidian table.
"No harm in trying, Lord Xander," Abyzou replied, her tone calm but laced with warning.
The room fell into a momentary silence.
With that, Abyzou declared, "The meeting is adjourned."
In an instant, the six others vanished—flickers of darkness trailing in their wake.
Abyzou remained seated, eyes narrowing.
"Strange…" she murmured to herself. "The rest of them said nothing. Are they planning something behind my back?"
A long sigh escaped her lips.
"No matter. If they are, I'll prepare something of my own... for defense—or retaliation."
Far away from the Red Moon Empire, deep underground, a massive cave stretched wide—so vast it could fit an entire city.
A man knelt before a dark, twisted statue. Beside him lay a fresh corpse, its blood spilling across the altar and soaking the statue's base.
"Oh great Lord of Death… we all return to you in the end. Life is the illusion—death is truth."
He bowed low, his forehead touching the blood-slicked stone.
The statue darkened.
A deep, ancient voice echoed—not loud, not clear. To others, it would sound like wind. But the man understood.
"Yes, Lord. The Red Moon Empire tries to stop us, but we're close. Almost done."
Another reply came—unintelligible.
"I understand. I'll begin."
The statue faded back to silence.
The man rose, gave one last glance at the body, and walked out, leaving the cave behind.
Back in the New world, a lone knight fought with everything he had. His right arm was gone, his leg badly injured. His armor shattered like glass, cutting into his skin. His sword was broken in half. Around him lay the bodies of his fallen comrades.
He wanted to run—but when he looked at the knights beside him, he couldn't. Not with their blood on the ground. Not like this.
His body was soaked in blood. He was none other than Lucas Whitecat.
He stood, barely. His legs trembled—not with fear, but from exhaustion. His one remaining hand shook—not from fear, but pain. Deep, burning pain.
"So you survived… I'm impressed," Mara said, her voice soft, amused. "I've been searching for strong ones like you."
"Searching for people like me, huh? Bitch—I'll slay you!" Lucas spat.
"Why so angry?" Mara chuckled. "I didn't even kill you. Listen… You've proven yourself. Now… give me the gift of creation.
He spat again. His gaze fell on the corpses of his brothers-in-arms.
"You're a demon. A real one." Lucas growled. "I'll fight… for them."
"What's the point of that?" Mara sighed. "I'll be honest—I admire your strength. Fighting me all day like that… You're exactly what I need."
Lucas barely heard her. His mind drifted—to his wife's face. His son's smile. Then the flag of the Empire. The proud faces of knights who had died at his side. The ones who still lived… and then died here.
Could he really just fall now? Run?
He clenched his sword. Even broken, he held it tight.
"You want to understand human emotion?" Lucas asked, voice low.
"Yes. I do," Mara said. "But if you die now, what's the point of resisting? I'm not here to fight."
Lucas took a deep breath.
"To stop you. From destroying my home. My nation."
Mara blinked. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. I thought humans only cared about their own lives… Seems I was wrong."
A black mist began to leak from her skin, spreading into the air.
"If I die today… there will be thousands of Lucas Whitecats after me," he said. "My legacy isn't blood. It's honor. Dignity. Even if I fall—my Empire will live on… to see the light of tomorrow."
His body ignited in glowing green energy. Even Mara shielded her eyes.
His broken sword glowed like a blade of life itself.
He leapt.
Mara's arm shifted into a blade. When the weapons clashed, the result was instant.
Lucas's body split clean in two.
He fell to the ground, his eyes still locked onto hers. Blood spilled from his lips.
Mara swung once more, cutting him into three pieces.
"What's with that look?" she said, glancing down at him. "Even in death, with no hands or legs… you still fought me with your eyes."
She stepped over his corpse and walked on, leaving behind a fallen knight who gave everything.
She didn't understand why he did it. And she didn't care.