At that time when Lucavion had left, the heavy iron door groaned as it shut behind Lucavion, leaving Ilyana and the other disciples in stunned silence. The faint echoes of his footsteps faded slowly into the oppressive quiet of the underground chamber, replaced only by the shallow, uneven breaths of those around her.
For a moment, no one spoke. The air was thick with disbelief, confusion, and the lingering chill of hopelessness. Ilyana sank to the cold stone floor, her weakened limbs trembling as her mana, newly freed, fluttered uncertainly within her. Around her, the other disciples stirred, their gaunt faces a mixture of wonder and wariness.
“Lady Vitaliara…” whispered one of the disciples, her voice hoarse and barely audible. “How… how is she here?”
“And who is he?” murmured another, the words breaking like glass in the fragile silence. “That young man… how could someone like him—?”
The questions spread, hushed voices rippling across the chamber. Each disciple clutched at their restraints, at the remnants of their chains, as though to confirm they had truly been freed. They looked to Ilyana for answers, but she could only stare at the space where Lucavion had disappeared, her own thoughts churning with the same impossible doubts.
‘Who is that young man?’ The question echoed in her mind like a bell tolling far away, each strike reverberating with deeper unease.
How could someone so young claim to have killed Vaelric, the Crimson Serpent Sect’s monstrous leader? A peak 4-star warrior, feared even among the strongest around the place. Ilyana shook her head faintly, unable to reconcile what she had seen with what she knew.
“It doesn’t make sense…” she murmured under her breath. “How can he—how can anyone—?”
Her fellow disciples turned to her, their expressions desperate for clarity she didn’t possess.
“Can he really save us?” a voice asked, trembling with hesitant hope.
“Is he truly alone? The elders… the guards… the sect still has its strongest fighters,” another added, their tone wavering with fear. “Even a 5-star master would struggle against them.”
Ilyana swallowed hard, her throat dry. It was true—there were limits to what one person could do. Even if Lucavion had killed Vaelric, there were still the Crimson Serpent Sect’s elders, enforcers, and warriors. Their strength combined was unimaginable, a force that had already crushed the Azure Blossom Sect into ruin.
‘Even if he’s strong… how could he possibly fight them all? It’s impossible.’
And yet—she couldn’t ignore the reality of what she had seen.
Lady Vitaliara had been with him. The celestial figure, revered as a guardian of their sect, had spoken with unwavering trust in the young man’s ability. There had been something about him—something unexplainable that she had felt even in her weakened state. A presence that lingered like the faint glow of his strange, ethereal flame.
Lucavion’s calm voice echoed in her mind. “Vaelric’s body lies in pieces several floors above us.”
Her heart pounded, doubt gnawing at her resolve even as something strange stirred deep within her—a thought she dared not give voice to.
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“What if?”
What if it was true?
The thought struck Ilyana like a whisper of wind in the silence, so faint yet impossible to ignore. Her chest tightened as it surfaced, unwelcome and fragile, like the first flicker of light in an eternal night. She clutched her trembling hands together, her nails biting into her palms as though the sting might ground her against the tide of emotions threatening to swell.
What if he really meant it? What if he truly could save them all?
Her gaze drifted across the chamber to the other disciples, their faces gaunt, their eyes hollow yet glimmering faintly with the same unspoken question. None of them dared to hope aloud, but she could feel it—the flicker of longing that they all tried to suppress. It was easier to stay in despair, to accept the grim truth of their existence, because hope was dangerous.
Hope was cruel.
‘If he was lying,’ she thought bitterly, ‘if this is all some trick or illusion… I’ll be the one to break again. We’ll all break again.’
Her hands loosened from their fists, her fingers brushing over the frayed remnants of her tattered robes. Somewhere deep inside, something began to stir—a fragile, impossible thing that felt almost foreign after so many years.
What if… he comes back?
The thought was small, no louder than a whisper. It was a dangerous thing to believe in. But in that moment, Ilyana found she couldn’t stop herself.
‘What if he comes back, and we’re saved?’
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The walls trembled under the weight of each explosion, dust cascading from cracks in the stone ceiling. The sounds reverberated through the underground chamber like the pounding of a war drum, deep and relentless. Ilyana’s heart jolted with each rumble, the reverberations shaking through her ribs. Her thoughts swirled, unable to keep pace with what was happening above.
He’s fighting, she thought, her mind racing to grasp the truth. It doesn’t make sense otherwise. Someone must be up there—him or… maybe others.
For the briefest of moments, a thread of logic tried to tie itself together. What if he’s not alone? That would explain it—the sheer scale of the destruction, the confidence in his voice when he left them. If he had allies, others strong enough to stand against the Crimson Serpent Sect’s warriors, then maybe… just maybe…
Another BOOM! shook the chamber violently, and the disciples gasped in unison, their wide eyes darting toward the ceiling as though it might collapse. A hush fell over them, each breath shallow and anxious. Then, as suddenly as it began, the explosions stopped.
The silence that followed was far worse.
Ilyana’s breath caught in her throat. The stillness felt deafening, thick and unnatural, as though the very air had frozen in anticipation. Her heart pounded like a drumbeat in her ears.
“Silent,” she ordered sharply, her voice cutting through the unease. Her tone, though soft, carried the authority of her position—the weight of her name, even if they were far from their former glory. “Everyone, calm down.”
The disciples stilled, their restless whispers dying in an instant. Despite their fear, they turned their attention to her, their trust in her leadership unshaken. Ilyana straightened, forcing her trembling limbs to steady. She couldn’t allow panic to spread, not now.
He’s alive, she told herself. He must be.
The creaking sound of the heavy iron door echoed from the far side of the chamber. Ilyana’s breath hitched as the disciples instinctively shrank back, their gaunt forms pressing against the walls, their eyes fixed on the entrance. The hinges groaned in protest as the door swung open, and the dim torchlight from beyond spilled into the darkness like a golden flood.
And then—he appeared.
Lucavion stepped into the chamber with an unhurried stride, his dark coat billowing faintly behind him. His estoc hung loosely at his side, the faint glow of the [Flame of Equinox] still shimmering along the blade’s edge. A wide smirk curled across his lips, as if the chaos above had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
“Ah,” he drawled casually, his dark eyes scanning the room, “you’re all still here. Good.”
Beside him, Lady Vitaliara stepped forward, her celestial form aglow with an ethereal radiance that seemed brighter than before. Her golden eyes scanned the chamber with quiet purpose, and her tail flicked once, a sign of calm reassurance.
But it was the figures trailing behind them that stole the breath from Ilyana’s lungs.
Two familiar silhouettes emerged from the doorway—figures she had long since assumed dead. Her wide eyes locked onto them, her heart seizing in her chest.
“Sheila…?” The word escaped her lips in a breathless whisper. “Manco…?”
The two figures stepped fully into the light. Sheila, her once-pristine robes now dirtied and torn, still held herself with the poise of a loyal attendant. Manco, always the sturdier of the two, bore fresh cuts across his arms but stood tall, his sharp eyes filled with unyielding resolve.
“Young Lady!” Sheila cried, her voice breaking with relief as she rushed toward Ilyana. She fell to her knees in front of her, tears streaking her dirt-smudged face. “You’re safe… thank the heavens, you’re safe!”
Manco followed closely behind, bowing his head low as his fists clenched tightly. “We never stopped looking for you, Young Lady,” he said gruffly, his voice thick with emotion. “We promised we’d find you.”
Ilyana couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The sight of them—alive, real—was too much. Her throat tightened as an overwhelming rush of emotion clawed its way to the surface.
“You… you’re alive?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “How? How are you here?”
Lucavion, still smirking, tilted his head as though amused by her reaction. “You have me to thank for that,” he said nonchalantly, brushing a speck of dust from his coat. “They were in far better shape than most, so I figured you’d want a reunion.”
“Figured?” Vitaliara huffed softly, her golden eyes narrowing as she perched back on his shoulder. [You have a flair for dramatics, Lucavion.]
“Guilty as charged,” Lucavion replied with an exaggerated shrug. Then his gaze sharpened, his smirk softening into something that almost resembled sincerity. “But we don’t have time to sit here and cry tears of joy. You’ll have plenty of time for that later—once we’re out of here.”
Ilyana’s head spun as the words sank in. Escape. Freedom. The very thing she had convinced herself was beyond reach. And yet here he stood—this impossible young man with a smirk far too arrogant for his own good and Lady Vitaliara at his side, as though the world had simply bent to his will.
“Now….You are allowed to leave….”
“Ah….”