Once more, Icariel and Princess Virethiel raced toward danger—
One driven by a sense of duty, the other by the promise of reward.
Different reasons.
Same goal: Slay the monsters.
On the far side of the capital square, Elena and Elif stood flanked by two royal guards. They hadn't moved since the battle began—watching, hearts pounding, as yetis fell one after another.
Elif clutched her mother's sleeve. "Mom… I think this nightmare is almost over."
There was a hopeful lilt in her voice.
Elena nodded, eyes shining. "Yes, dear. It's almost over… finally."
From the dozens that had appeared at the start, only five yetis remained.And two of them were already in the sights of Icariel and Virethiel.
The rhythm was the same—like death's choreography.
"Spell: Wind Slash."
A sweeping gust sliced through the nearest yeti's legs, cleaving flesh and bone with a clean, sickening sound.
The monster bellowed in agony, crashing to its knees—
Only for Virethiel to appear behind it in a shimmer of shadow.Her black dagger glinted once—and severed the beast's head from its shoulders.
The lifeless body slumped forward, thudding into the cracked stone.
The remaining yeti let out a furious roar and charged.
But before it could reach them—
THWACK!
An arrow pierced its chest, the shaft engulfed in fire. The creature thrashed and screamed as flames consumed its fur, its massive frame collapsing in a flaming heap.
Virethiel dropped to the ground, breathing hard. She wiped sweat from her brow, her obsidian-black hair shimmering with energy.
"They live in the frozen mountains of the North," she muttered. "Of course fire is their weakness. It works perfectly in our favor."
Her eyes flicked to the battlefield. "Three left. Let's end this."
Icariel was panting. His shirt clung to his sweat-soaked back, chest rising and falling with each breath.
"Even if my mana regenerates, even if it never truly runs out… this is the first time I've cast so many spells, so fast, for so long."
His body—enhanced and awakened—was strong. But this was more than physical. This was a war.
"Yeah," he breathed. "Let's finish this quickly."
Time blurred. Only one yeti remained.
It stood surrounded by wounded elven soldiers, many of whom had plunged their spears into its body. The monster roared in blind pain, swaying, blood soaking the ground.
Then—like a black shadow from the sky—Virethiel dropped behind it and slashed its neck clean through.
The beast's head hit the ground before its body did.
Silence.
And then—
"Huraaah!"
A cry of triumph erupted from the soldiers. Elven voices raised in joy and exhaustion.
Commander Floon approached first. He was breathing hard, armor dusted with blood and ash.
He bowed deeply before Virethiel.
"We are ashamed," he said. "That you had to step onto the battlefield yourself, Highness. And thank you."
She nodded. "You did enough, Vice-Leader. We cleared the square without major casualties. That is what matters."
"Thanks to you—and him," Floon said, turning his gaze to Icariel, who was now approaching.
Icariel stopped beside Virethiel.
"Our deal's done," he said. "I'm going to check on Elif and Elena. We'll meet again later."
Virethiel gave a small smile. "Yes… and thank you. I won't forget this."
"You better not." He smirked and turned to leave.
But then—Floon stepped forward, his voice respectful.
"If you'll excuse me, you're Warleader's disciple, aren't you?"
Icariel paused mid-step. He looked back sideways, eyes half-lidded.
"Yes. I am."
Floon's brown eyes softened. "As expected of one trained by him. I'm Vice Leader Floon, of the Elven Battalion. May I know your name?"
The square grew quiet. Even the remaining soldiers turned to listen.
Virethiel's eyes widened in surprise.
"He recognized him that easily?" she thought. "No, he has done way more than most of the soldiers in this battle. It's a given."
Even the soldiers behind Floon paused, eyes now fixed on Icariel. He was human—but after this… how could they not acknowledge him?
Icariel turned fully toward Floon. His hair was messy, his clothes torn and scorched from battle. But his eyes were calm. His voice steady.
"My name is Icariel."
Floon nodded, smiling. "Icariel who?"
There was a pause.
Icariel shrugged slightly, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
"Just Icariel."
"That was the name given to me. And I'm grateful for it."
Virethiel smiled softly—a rare, radiant expression that made her already flawless face seem ethereal.
Floon smiled too and bowed his head. "Then Icariel… it's an honor. I won't forget you. Ever."
Icariel turned and walked toward Elena and Elif, who stood waiting with the royal guards. But before he could reach them, a soldier behind Floon stepped forward.
His voice was low, but filled with unshakable conviction.
"No name can carry what his deeds have earned."
The silence shattered as more voices joined in:
"For honor!"
"For Icariel!"
"For Icariel!"
One by one, every soldier in the square repeated the chant, their voices growing louder, stronger, rising like a wave.
"For Icariel!"
Icariel stopped. His heart raced. For a moment, he thought it would burst.
He turned slightly, glancing back over his shoulder.
And for the first time—
He smiled.
A real smile.
The kind that came not from victory or reward…But from something far more fragile.
Acceptance.
The weight of his first kill. The burden of this bloody battle. The loneliness he carried.
It all felt… just a little lighter.
Thanks to them.
The boy stood there, facing the soldiers, his body now fully turned toward them.
Then—he lowered his head.
Not out of shame.But because he genuinely didn't know how to respond.
Since the tragedy in Mjull, Icariel had been suffering in silence. If it weren't for the voice guiding him… he might've lost his mind entirely.
He had seen the villagers he was raised with—burned alive, torn apart, devoured. He had watched helplessly as Groon and Fronta, the ones who had saved him from the Zogonio River,
died before his eyes.
No one knew.
And he had never said it aloud.
He didn't show it. Maybe he couldn't. But he was still carrying it all.
Now, after taking a life—after so much bloodshed and exhaustion—these chants of honor from strangers felt like something else entirely.
Like a hand.
A hand reaching into the dark pit he'd been trapped in.
He raised his head and nodded, not just to the soldiers, but to everything they'd given him in that moment. Then, still smiling faintly, he turned and began to run toward the two who had waited for him—Elena and Elif.
They were standing near the royal guards, their eyes lighting up the moment they saw him.
"Voice,"Icariel whispered, breathless, as he ran.
He was smiling. Genuinely smiling.
"For the first time… even though I risked my life… I'm glad I fought. I protected them."
The voice answered, quiet and steady.
"I know… I can feel your heart racing. After all, I reside inside you."
A short pause.
Then, the faintest smirk, woven into sound:
"Stand proud. You earned it."
As Icariel ran across the field, PrincessVirethiel turned to Floon, her voice sharp and commanding.
"Send soldiers to check how the Pillars are holding up. They're facing the main forces of the Godless Abyss—we need to know how they're faring."
Floon nodded. "At once, Your Highness." He began issuing orders immediately.
"But where is Aelar?" she muttered to herself. "He should've finished and joined us by now."
Meanwhile, Icariel reached Elena and Elif.
Elena rushed forward and embraced him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as she laughed and wept softly into his hair.
"Thank you… thank you," she whispered, ruffling his messy locks. "You were amazing, Icariel. Aelar is going to be so proud of you."
He smiled gently. "Thank you, Elena. Really… thank you."
Elif stood behind her, arms crossed—but even she was smiling now.
"Look at this jerk. Hogging all the hugs from Mom like that," she muttered. "But I guess you earned them… you helped a little, I guess."
Icariel glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Huh? 'Helped a little'?"
He pulled away from Elena, turning to Elif with a teasing smirk.
"Well, If we're measuring 'little' by size, then your whole body counts."
Elena burst into laughter.
Elif's face turned crimson. "You violent little mountain troll!"
Icariel laughed, and for once—it didn't feel forced.
Then, a royal guard approached—not the one who had been standing beside them, but a different one. His arm was in heavy bandages.
"Excuse me," the elf said respectfully. "The Highness has ordered us to regroup at the castle. Until the overall situation is under control, we can't afford to take any risks."
Icariel blinked. It was the same guard who had caught him during the fall—the one whose arm had broken from the impact.
"Monsters did you dirty, huh?" Icariel said, glancing at the wrapped limb.
"That wasn't the monsters," Elif chimed in from behind. "That was you. I don't know what you did to your body, but when he caught you, you broke his arm."
"…What?" Icariel blinked. "That's why you dropped me like a sack of potatoes?"
The royal guard gave a small nod of embarrassed confirmation.
"Wait, why didn't anyone heal you?" Icariel asked.
Elif frowned. Elena stepped in gently. "Royal guards are trained for battle, not for healing. Even those who can heal need to conserve their mana. And…"
She looked down.
"…the first condition for healing magic is calmness. In that chaos, none of us could stay calm enough to cast it."
"I see…" Icariel nodded slowly. "Sorry. That was a dumb question."
Then, he stepped forward, facing the guard with the bandaged arm.
"Hey. Come closer."
The elf obeyed, curious.
Icariel raised a hand and whispered, "Healing Spell."
Green light surged from his palm, soft and radiant. It laced around the guard's arm as ambient and internal mana gently fused and flowed. A warm hum filled the air. The bone re-aligned, the tissue restored, the pain erased.
The royal guards gasped, eyes wide with disbelief.
"He's mastered healing magic…?"
When the glow faded, the elf flexed his fingers—then his wrist—and finally his full arm.
It was fully healed.
"How do you feel?" Icariel asked.
The elf looked at him, stunned.
Then slowly—he bowed his head.
"…Thank you, Icariel."
Icariel shook his head. "Don't mention it. It was my fault, after all."
He cracked a small grin.
"I wanted to hit you on the head for dropping me like that… but I guess it doesn't matter now."
He turned to the others.
"Let's go."
Elena chuckled. Elif rolled her eyes, still blushing. And Icariel, walking beside them under the gray-blue sky, smiled once more—lighter than before.
For the first time since the nightmare began… something inside him felt warm again.