The disciples began to move, slowly and hesitantly at first, as though their bodies had forgotten the feeling of freedom. Ilyana watched them step out of their cells one by one, their gaunt faces filled with disbelief as they followed Lucavion toward the exit. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows against the cracked stone walls, their footsteps echoing softly in the deathly silence of the underground chamber.
Lucavion took the lead, his stride unhurried, as though the weight of what they had just endured meant nothing to him. Vitaliara sat perched on his shoulder, her celestial form glowing faintly like a guiding star. Sheila and Manco stayed close to Ilyana’s side, their presence both grounding and surreal.
Freedom, Ilyana thought distantly as they climbed the narrow staircase that led upward. Her limbs still trembled, unaccustomed to movement after so long, but there was no stopping now. We’re leaving… we’re actually leaving.
As they stepped into the upper halls of the Crimson Serpent Sect’s stronghold, the air hit them like a physical blow—cold, heavy, and stained with the unmistakable scent of blood. Ilyana’s breath hitched as they emerged into the grand chamber, her wide eyes freezing on the scene before them.
It was a massacre.
Corpses littered the blood-soaked ground, their bodies sprawled lifelessly across the broken stone floor. Red trails streaked the walls, dripping in sickening patterns that told of a battle fought with ruthless precision. The sect’s enforcers, guards, and even robed elders lay in twisted, unnatural heaps—some slashed cleanly apart, others burned beyond recognition by searing flames that still smoldered faintly.
“Ah…”
A choked gasp broke from one of the disciples behind her, and others followed with sharp intakes of breath. The horror in their eyes mirrored her own, their fragile hopes now trembling in the face of this grim reality.
“T-This…?” a young disciple stammered, his voice cracking. “Did you… did you do all of this?”
Lucavion turned slightly, his smirk still firmly in place as he casually rested a hand on the hilt of his estoc. “Yep.”
That single word rang out like a hammer strike in the silence.
Ilyana couldn’t move, her mind struggling to reconcile what she was seeing. It didn’t make sense. This level of destruction… a sect as powerful as the Crimson Serpent Sect brought to ruin, their forces annihilated as though they were nothing. And all of it at the hands of one person?
It was impossible.
But here it was, spread out before her, undeniable and absolute.
“Impossible,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “How… how could you—”
The words died on her lips as a sudden realization struck her like ice water. Her heart seized, and she stumbled forward a step, her eyes darting around the hall as a surge of desperation clawed at her chest.
“Mother!” she cried, her voice breaking. “Where is Mother?! She was brought here too!”
Sheila and Manco froze at her side, their faces paling at the memory of Gabriela, the Azure Blossom Sect’s revered leader and Ilyana’s mother.
Ilyana spun toward Lucavion, her panic building. “Where is she? Tell me—where is Sect Master Gabriela?”
A terrible silence followed.
Lucavion didn’t answer. He stood there, his smirk gone, his gaze unreadable as he looked at her. Vitaliara remained still, her golden eyes lowering faintly as though she already knew what was coming.
“Why?” Ilyana’s voice cracked as she took another step forward, her desperation spilling into her words. “Why are you not speaking? Please, answer me!”
Lucavion’s dark eyes met hers at last. His tone, when he finally spoke, was quiet but unflinching.
“She is no longer here.”
The words struck her like a physical blow, stealing the air from her lungs.
“Ah…” The sound escaped her lips as though torn from her very soul. She staggered back a step, Sheila’s hands reaching out to steady her, but Ilyana didn’t feel it. The world seemed to tilt around her as Lucavion’s words echoed endlessly in her mind.
“She’s… gone?” she whispered, her voice hollow.
Lucavion didn’t say more, his silence confirming the truth she already knew in her heart. The stronghold reeked of death—her mother’s absence could mean only one thing.
Ilyana fell to her knees, her hands pressing against the cold stone floor as tears spilled down her face, silent at first, then wracked with quiet sobs.
“Please….”
Sheila knelt beside her, her own face streaked with tears as she tried to hold Ilyana close. Manco stood behind them, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, his grief evident in the way his shoulders sagged.
Lucavion watched silently, his expression unreadable. After a long pause, he spoke, his tone even but softer than before.
“Your mother fought to the end.” His words carried a quiet weight, a faint hint of respect lingering within them. “She held on for as long as she could.”
Lucavion’s gaze softened ever so slightly, though the steel in his voice remained. He spoke with a quiet finality that cut through the still air.
“She fought for one reason,” he said, his words deliberate, every syllable carrying weight. “It was for you, her daughter.”
Ilyana froze, her sobs catching in her throat as Lucavion’s words pierced through her grief.
“She held on for as long as she could, enduring everything they put her through,” Lucavion continued. “Even when it would have been easier to give in… she didn’t. She fought to protect the chance that you would live—that you might be freed from this place.”
He crouched down slightly, his dark eyes locking onto hers. They were calm, and unwavering, but not unkind.
“You are quite lucky,” he said softly, the faintest edge of reverence and melancholy threading his tone. “To have a mother strong enough to endure for you.”
“Ah…” Ilyana’s voice escaped her as nothing more than a breath. Tears streamed down her face, her expression twisting with grief and something else—something fragile, painful, and undeniably real.
Behind her, the disciples broke. Silent tears turned into quiet sobs as the weight of reality finally settled over them. They all had known—deep down—that this was inevitable. That Gabriela, their sect master, would not have survived the horrors of the Crimson Serpent Sect. But hearing it aloud, hearing the sacrifice she made for her daughter, shattered the final remnants of their resolve.
Sheila held Ilyana close, her tears flowing freely. “Lady Gabriela… she never gave up on you,” Sheila whispered, her voice trembling. “Even until the end…”
Manco stood behind them, his fists still clenched at his sides, his face a mask of grief. Though he said nothing, the slight quiver in his shoulders betrayed his sorrow.
For a moment, Lucavion said nothing, letting the room be filled with the sounds of their quiet mourning. The weight of their loss was palpable, heavy enough to still the air.
But then, Lucavion straightened, his voice breaking the silence like a blade cutting through cloth.
“Now,” he said, his tone low but firm, “what do you want to do?”
Ilyana blinked, her tear-streaked face lifting as she looked up at him. Her reddened eyes met his sharp gaze, confusion and despair mingling within them.
“What?” she whispered, her voice faint and broken.
Lucavion straightened fully, his presence dominating the broken silence of the blood-soaked chamber. His dark eyes swept over the grief-stricken disciples, his expression unreadable but carrying none of the sharpness from earlier. He regarded them calmly, waiting until their soft sobs and trembling breaths began to quiet.
Then, he spoke, his voice cutting through the heavy air with a cool finality.
“Now,” he repeated, his tone deliberate and clear, “what do you want to do?”
Ilyana blinked, her tear-streaked face lifting slowly as she stared up at him. Confusion flickered in her red-rimmed eyes, mingling with the lingering despair. “What do you mean?” she whispered, her voice faint and broken.
Lucavion’s smirk returned, faint and sharp, though it lacked its usual bite. “What I mean,” he said simply, “is that you are free. The Crimson Serpent Sect is done. The choice is yours now.”
He turned slightly, gesturing to the grand hall around them, the aftermath of his ruthless handiwork laid bare. “You may take whatever is here in this place. Gold, artifacts, weapons—loot it all. Use it to start a new life, or to rebuild what you lost. It’s up to you.”
The disciples exchanged stunned glances, their grief momentarily interrupted by disbelief. One young man stepped forward hesitantly, his voice shaky. “We… we can take everything? Everything in the sect?”
Lucavion’s gaze flicked to him, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Yes, everything. The vaults, the treasures—whatever you can carry.”
“But… you don’t want anything?” another disciple asked, her voice incredulous. “You defeated them all. This should be yours.”
Lucavion chuckled softly, a quiet sound that echoed through the grim chamber. “I don’t need their money,” he replied, his tone carrying an edge of amusement. “I didn’t come here to get rich. Though—” He tilted his head slightly, his smirk widening. “It’d be better if you left fifty or a hundred gold behind. I need to pay some people with that.”
A ripple of shock passed through the group, their disbelief turning to tentative laughter, weak but genuine. For the first time in years, the disciples felt the weight of hopelessness begin to lift, replaced with something fragile—possibility.
Ilyana wiped at her tears, her gaze never leaving Lucavion. “You’re… giving this all to us?” she asked quietly, her voice still trembling but steady enough to carry her disbelief. “Why? You have no reason to.”
“Well….Let’s say I made a promise.”
Ilyana’s breath hitched, fresh tears pooling in her eyes, though this time they were different—softer, quieter.
‘A promise….’
She didn’t understand what he meant.
‘….Lady Vitaliara?’
Maybe it was a promise that he made to Lady Vitaliara, or maybe something else.
‘But we can’t do it.’
Ilyana stood frozen as Lucavion’s words hung in the air, echoing through the blood-soaked chamber. Take everything. Use it to rebuild.
The disciples murmured softly among themselves, their voices trembling with both confusion and hope. But Ilyana… she knew. It wasn’t that simple. It could never be that simple.
They could gather gold, artifacts, and weapons; they could scrape together the shattered pieces of their lives. But what then? They were weak, their sect destroyed, and their hearts had been emptied by grief and suffering. Survival wasn’t only a matter of tools and treasures.
Her mother’s voice, soft yet unyielding, drifted into her mind like a distant echo from the past.
“My daughter, no matter what happens, never become someone who doesn’t know gratitude. And always, always make sure to cherish those who have extended you a hand.”
The memory struck her like a physical blow. Gabriela’s words, spoken so many years ago, had been a lesson—a command—that had shaped her heart and her values. Gratitude.
Ilyana’s trembling gaze lifted toward Lucavion.
‘This person saved me.’
The thought came with a heavy finality. This young man—this impossible, arrogant, and unrelenting young man—had shattered the chains that bound her, ended the nightmare they had endured, and given her and the disciples a chance at life again. Why?
Was there something to gain from this? Perhaps. Maybe he had his reasons, his promises, or even his motives. And maybe he didn’t.
But in the end, it didn’t matter.
He saved us.
Her mother’s words echoed in her mind again, loud and clear this time. “Always cherish those who have extended you a hand.”
‘I will repay this,’ she thought, her grief and uncertainty hardening into quiet resolve.
Ilyana clenched her fists at her sides and straightened her back. Though her body still trembled with exhaustion, her voice emerged steady, carrying with it the weight of her decision.
“I will follow you.”
She made her decision.