Icariel pushed open the heavy doors of the castle.
Outside… it was hell.
Elena and Elif stood beside him, stunned by the scene before them.
The massacre.
Everywhere they looked, there were monsters—crogs like the ones Icariel had just fought. Some dead, some still tearing through elven guards. Bodies of elves littered the ground. Buildings were reduced to rubble, homes collapsed into fire and smoke. Screams filled the air—screams of pain, fear, steel against steel.
Elif trembled beside him. Elena raised a hand to her mouth, her silver eyes wide in horror.
"What is this…" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Icariel took a breath, forcing calm into his body. The voice came.
"Calm. Stay calm."
"I'm," he replied mentally. "This… reminds me of what happened to my village because of Elektra. It doesn't affect me anymore. I should focus on survival—choose the safest path, avoid unnecessary risks. Even if I'm stronger now, that hasn't changed."
"Good," the voice responded simply.
He turned to the others. "Follow me."
They looked to him, nodding silently.
"We'll run for a bit. Can you keep up?"
They nodded again.
They began to move.
Icariel led them swiftly down the main road. "I chose the front gate," he thought. "Not the rear. The Tree of Life is there, right behind this castle after all—and that's the enemy's goal. I'd be a fool to get involved there. The main battle will break out near it, I'm sure. That's why I took the risk to come this way instead."
His eyes scanned left, then right. Staying sharp. Calculating.
A quick turn. "This way," he said.
They darted into the alley between two elven homes. Icariel killed two crogs on the way—clean and fast—before they pressed their backs to the wall for cover.
"What now?" Elif asked, panting.
Icariel didn't answer immediately.
He focused.
He shut everything out—every noise, every breath, every flicker of fear—and extended his White Sense. The radius of detection expanded. Since awakening as a superhuman, his baseline range had grown significantly, even without full concentration. But now, with his focus sharpened to a razor's edge, it stretched far beyond that—sweeping across a distance vastly greater than before. He could sense so much farther now, far beyond what had once seemed possible—covering an area large enough to map an entire battlefield.
In his mind, the mana field bloomed like a flower, delicate and vast, unfolding layer by layer.
He muttered to himself, almost in awe.
"So the awakening enhanced White Sense too… Incredible."
Then he felt it.
To the west, a dense mass of crogs. Princess Virethiel and other elves were fighting there. Too dangerous. "That path is a double-edged axe,"
But to the east—
Mana flared violently, two intense presences locked in fierce combat. "I feel it... that unmistakable mana signature. I recognize it—the royal captain and someone else are battling," he whispered, breath trembling with urgency.
"Can I pass without getting caught?" he asked the voice mentally.
"Yes. Even if you're spotted, the royal captain will hold the enemy back, so the risk is lower. But if you take the left path… you should be able to handle it on your own. The elves with you, however? They won't."
Silence followed.
Icariel froze.
The path to the west… alone, he could make it. He knew he could. He could slip past, vanish into the houses around, and survive—and even if crogs came to him, he was strong enough to defeat them with ease.A cold fog crept inside his mind, seeping into every thought, whispering with ruthless clarity.
Survival. Nothing else matters.
His heart thundered in his chest, blood pounding like a warning drum.
Leave them behind… and live.
Because if he did, if he cut the weight of their weakness from his back, his chance to live wasn't just good—it was absolute.
One hundred. Goddamn. Percent.
He could live.
The temptation pressed on him like a weight. He could already see it—his silent escape, perfect and clean.
His breath shook.
"NO."
He slammed his palm across his cheek—hard. Pain bloomed, but it grounded him.
Elif jumped at the sound. "Icariel…?"
Elena stared, wide-eyed. "What are you doing?"
Icariel didn't answer right away. He couldn't. His jaw was clenched, his thoughts snarling inside him like beasts in a cage. He stood there for a breath longer, shoulders trembling—not from weakness, but from the weight of the decision he'd nearly made.
Then he looked at them.
Their faces were tired, stained with dirt , but their eyes—their eyes still trusted him.
"What the hell am I thinking?" he thought with self-disgust. "This isn't just anyone. This is Teacher's family. The one who gave me shelter when I had nothing. The one who trusted me with his blood, his family." A sharp breath escaped him. "He called me his student."
"I'm not that kind of person," he thought, jaw clenched. "I refuse to be."
"I'm fine. But Elena, Elif—listen to me carefully," he said. "We're going right. But we have to run as fast as possible to pass through. No second thoughts. No hesitation. If you stop, or even slow down, we end up in a bad situation. Understood?"
Elena nodded firmly. "Alright."
Elif, despite the chaos, found the strength to tease him. "Tch. Hard to believe someone younger than me is taking charge like this. Guess all that training with Father actually paid off…"
Icariel glanced at her, his expression hard—after all, it was a life-or-death situation. His most precious possession, his life, was on the line. Nothing else mattered. So he responded to her sharply and coldly: "You think now's the time for jokes?"
His words hit hard, and Elif froze. The teasing vanished—but she understood.
"Let's go," Icariel said.
They started running again.
Then—just loud enough for her to hear—Icariel smirked. "You may be older, but with a body that small, no one takes you seriously."
Elif gasped softly, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips as she muttered under her breath, "Jerk."
Elena chuckled behind them.
And in the middle of burning chaos—with the air thick with smoke and death, screams echoing off broken stone—a fragile smile bloomed. Not defiance. Not denial. Just the tiniest sliver of something human. A shared joke. A breath of normal.
For a heartbeat, they weren't prey or soldiers or survivors. Just people. Just three lives clinging to each other in the fire.
And so they ran—hearts racing, boots pounding, between fire and ash—toward the unknown.
As they continued to run down the straight path between the ruined elven houses, Icariel suddenly came to a halt. He didn't say a word—just sharply turned left, signaling for Elena and Elif to follow.
They obeyed without question.
Once they reached the cover of the side path, Icariel raised a hand.
"Don't make a sound," he whispered.
His White Sense had picked up something—mana, and a lot of it.
Then they heard it.
Footsteps. Dozens—no, hundreds.
Marching in rhythm, boots hammering the broken ground.
A flood of silver-armored elves charged into view, heading straight toward Princess Virethiel and the battered royal guards, who had still been fighting off a group of crogs. The warriors were exhausted—covered in wounds, barely standing. They'd begun to falter.
But now… help had come.
The arriving force was an army—the army led by Warleader Aelar. Their silver armor gleamed through the smoke, each one marked by the emblem of their tribe: a sword with no edge and no handle, etched into their chestplates. Sleek spears, curved swords, and wooden-handled blades were drawn and immediately put to use, cutting through the remaining crogs with brutal efficiency.
One figure stepped forward from among them.
Another elf—he had long, straight brown hair, deep brown eyes, and a prominent scar carved across his cheek. Like the others, he wore the silver armor adorned with the tribe's symbol.
He approached Princess Virethiel with respectful formality, bowing his head.
"Vice Leader Floon offers his deepest respects to Her Highness," he declared with unwavering solemnity.
Virethiel, her once-flawless face now stained with crog blood, gave a curt nod.
"Took you long enough, Floon," she said coldly.
"My deepest apologies, Your Highness," he said, bowing once more. "A portal opened near the training hall, unleashing the same monsters. We were forced to engage them before we could come to your aid. The responsibility is mine alone."
"No matter. You're here now," she said firmly. "See to the wounded and finish off the remaining monsters. Then assist the Royal Captain—he's still engaged in battle. And send a unit to check on the village. We sent Tessara there, but… you never know."
"As you command," Floon said.
He turned to his men. "Help our fellow elves. Kill every last one of these monsters. Secure the area and support anyone still fighting. And when it comes to the enemy…" his brown eyes narrowed, "…show no mercy."
The soldiers gave a sharp nod and immediately sprang into action, sweeping through the area with precision and discipline.
Floon then turned back to Virethiel. "Highness, where is the Warleader?"
"He's fighting one of the strong invaders. Somewhere in the forest behind the Tree of Life," she answered.
"I see." Floon tapped the side of his silver gauntlet, unlocking a thin, elegant sword from its mount. He turned to go, ready to join the fray himself.
"Oh, Floon," Virethiel said, stopping him. "Have you contacted the Adviser?"
"No, Highness. We came straight here after neutralizing the threat at the training hall."
"I see…" she said quietly.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
"No. Don't worry about it. Just focus on what I told you."
Floon nodded once more and disappeared into the battlefield.
Meanwhile, back in the alley, Icariel exhaled. He had pieced it all together.
"Don't worry," he said calmly to Elena and Elif. "Those were your soldiers. I heard them coming—that's why I stopped."
"Now that they're here... I feel a bit of relief," Icariel thought, pausing to catch his breath as the clash of steel and battle cries echoed behind him. He turned to Elif and Elena.
"I think it's better we change paths," he said. "Let's go join the soldiers. It's probably safer with them now than taking this low-risk, but still unnecessary, route. And we can tell them about the Adviser too."
"Aelar left us with you, Icariel," Elena replied calmly. "Whatever you say."
Then came the voice.
"That sounds like the best option. Minimal risk. They'll finish off the remaining monsters in seconds."
With that confirmation, Icariel nodded. They turned back, now sprinting toward Princess Virethiel and the assembled army.
Meanwhile, Princess Virethiel herself stood amidst the battlefield, scanning the chaos with her enhanced elven vision. Only two crogs remained. Her soldiers were swiftly dispatching them.
But something caught her attention.
One of the remaining crogs—a wiry, smaller creature—had the same core mana signature as the others… but with something strange.
A glowing orb sat atop inside its head, pulsing faintly with power.
As a soldier raised his spear to strike the creature down—
"NOOO! STOP!" Virethiel screamed, her voice sharp and panicked.
But it was too late.
The spear pierced the crog's heart. Its twisted body collapsed… and instead of rotting like the others, it vanished into ash.
The soldier turned back in confusion.
"Your Highness?"
"BACK AWAY—NOW!" she shouted again.
And then—
FOOP.
A massive blue portal bloomed into existence, wider and more violent than the ones that had spawned the crogs. The air crackled as a shadow rose from within.
A gigantic white hand burst through the portal and crushed the elf soldier instantly. Bones shattered, armor cracked, blood splashed.
Virethiel's eyes went wide.
"But the Yetis tribes haven't left the northern rifts in centuries…"
The creature that emerged towered nearly seven feet tall. Its massive frame was cloaked in thick, matted white fur. Broad-shouldered and silent, it moved with unnerving grace—its deep-set eyes glowing faintly beneath a heavy brow. Snow clung to its coat as though it carried the mountain itself on its back.
But it wasn't alone.
Dozens of them stepped through.
"For the Tree of Life… what is happening?!" Virethiel whispered. "How do they have access to Yetis?!"
Across the battlefield, Floon saw the monstrous horde arrive.
"Damn it!" he shouted. "Soldiers! Formation Four! Protect the Princess! Focus and eliminate these new monsters as fast as possible!"
Hundreds of soldiers shifted instantly, forming new ranks. A cluster rushed to surround the princess, while the bulk of the army moved forward, weapons raised, to confront the monstrous new invaders.
"This situation is spiraling out of control," Floon thought grimly.
A few feet away, Princess Virethiel clenched her bloodied hands.
"The Godless Abyss… who is supporting them to possess such cards?"
Meanwhile, Icariel and the others were nearing the central area of the elven houses—where Princess Virethiel, the soldiers, and now the Yetis were battling.
Suddenly, Icariel halted mid-step.
His White Sense had picked up the new mana signatures.
"…No way?" he muttered.
He turned sharply to Elena and Elif. "Change of plan. New monsters—big ones—just showed up near the princess. We go back to the first path. Now."
They both nodded without hesitation.
And so they ran again, retracing their steps—this time heading toward where Eldrin, the Royal Captain, was still locked in a deadly battle.
As they ran, the voice returned once more.
"Wait," it said.