“I will follow you.”
The chamber fell silent. The other disciples turned to stare at her, their wide eyes filled with confusion and surprise. Even Sheila and Manco froze beside her, their faces mirroring the shock that rippled through the group.
Lucavion, however, tilted his head slightly, the faintest flicker of surprise crossing his features before his smirk returned. “Oh?”
“I said,” Ilyana repeated, lifting her chin, “I will follow you.”
Lucavion’s dark eyes met hers, sharp and assessing, as though he were peering into the depths of her resolve. “And why would you do that?” he asked, his tone curious, almost teasing.
“Because you saved me,” Ilyana replied, her voice firm despite the faint tremor in her chest. “You saved all of us when no one else could—or would. Whether you did it for a reason or not doesn’t matter. My mother…” She swallowed hard, her voice softening as she continued. “My mother taught me never to forget those who have extended me a hand when I was in need.”
Her gaze didn’t waver from his. “I will repay this debt. I don’t know how yet, and I don’t know what I can offer, but I won’t ignore the life you’ve given back to us.”
Lucavion stared at her for a long moment, his smirk fading into something quieter—more thoughtful. Beside him, Vitaliara’s golden eyes glimmered faintly as she regarded Ilyana with a soft, knowing gaze.
[She’s sincere,] Vitaliara said gently, her voice resonating in Lucavion’s mind. [Her heart is strong, even if she doesn’t see it yet.]
Lucavion let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head faintly. “You’re a stubborn one,” he said, his voice carrying the faintest edge of amusement. “I didn’t ask for followers, you know.”
“I don’t care,” Ilyana replied simply, her tone unwavering. “This is my decision. I’ll follow you—not because you asked me to, but because I owe you my life. And that debt will be repaid.”
Lucavion’s dark eyes lingered on Ilyana, studying her as though he could peel back the layers of her resolve and see what lay beneath. For a moment, the smirk on his lips faltered, replaced by something quieter—curiosity, perhaps. Or maybe disbelief.
And then it returned, sharp and amused, like the edge of a blade that had tasted far too much blood.
“Even though I’m someone with this much blood on my hands?” he asked, his voice calm, yet tinged with something darker.
Ilyana’s gaze didn’t waver, her eyes meeting his steadily despite the way her chest tightened at his words. She could feel the weight of what he meant, the unspoken truth of what he had done—the bodies strewn across the Crimson Serpent Sect’s halls, the ruthless precision of his blade. He was a force of chaos and death, wrapped in the casual guise of a smirking young man.
“Yes,” she replied firmly, her voice unwavering. “Even though you have this much blood on your hands.”
Lucavion tilted his head, the faint amusement in his expression deepening. “Even though I’m someone who’ll be in trouble a lot?” he pressed, his tone growing lighter, almost teasing now. “Someone who will constantly put himself in dangerous situations?”
“Yes.”
“Even though,” he continued, his smirk sharpening, “staying near me means you’ll be targeted too? You’ll end up in the line of fire just for being my acquaintance?”
“Yes,” Ilyana repeated without hesitation.
The simple word echoed through the chamber, soft but resolute, ringing louder than any shout. Lucavion paused, as if waiting for her to falter, to take back her words. But Ilyana stood her ground, her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she held his gaze.
“This is my choice,” she said quietly, her voice steady as a flame. “Whatever comes from it—whatever danger, whatever blood—I accept it. I owe you my life, and I will repay that debt.”
Lucavion stared at her, his smirk softening into something more subtle, more genuine. The faint flicker of surprise in his eyes disappeared, replaced by something harder to define. Respect, perhaps, or a glimmer of something he wouldn’t name.
“Stubborn,” he muttered, shaking his head with a faint chuckle. “Absolutely stubborn.”
[She’s serious, Lucavion,] Vitaliara said softly, perched still and silent on his shoulder. Her golden eyes gleamed as she watched Ilyana with quiet approval. [Don’t dismiss her so easily.]
‘Heh….Even though she looks fierce and admirable, that is not how the world works…..She is far too weak to stand by my side.’
Lucavion’s gaze lingered on Ilyana, his smirk sharpening as his dark eyes bore into hers. For a moment, silence stretched between them, as though he were weighing her very soul. Then he spoke, his words carrying the weight of finality.
“You’re too weak to stand by my side,” he said, his tone blunt, cutting through the fragile resolve she had wrapped around herself. “If you really want to repay me, then you must get stronger.”
Ilyana flinched, his words striking deep. Yet she didn’t break. Her fists clenched at her sides as her jaw tightened, her gaze holding firm.
Lucavion said nothing more. He turned away, his coat sweeping behind him as he strode toward the grand chamber’s exit. His boots echoed softly on the blood-streaked floor as he passed by the fallen elders, his sharp eyes scanning their remains with methodical precision. He crouched briefly over each body, plucking the spatial rings from their fingers with casual indifference—one by one.
“Even if we’re weak now…” Ilyana called after him, her voice trembling but steady, “we can still be a help to you!”
Lucavion didn’t pause, his smirk audible in his voice. “With the way you are, you won’t.”
The words cut deep, and yet there was no cruelty in them—just a cold, matter-of-fact truth. Ilyana’s chest tightened as she watched him, frustration bubbling up within her.
“But who knows?” Lucavion said, his voice carrying as he straightened and resumed walking. “Maybe the next time we meet, you’ll be different.”
“Wait!” Ilyana shouted, her voice louder this time, filled with defiance and resolve. “I will repay you, no matter what! Just wait and see!”
Lucavion tilted his head slightly as he reached the far end of the hall. Though he didn’t turn around, the faint sound of his chuckle drifted back to her. “Heh… I’ll be waiting.”
Just as his figure was about to disappear into the shadows of the corridor, something struck Ilyana like a sharp jolt. His name. She had never learned his name.
“You!” she shouted desperately. “How can I find you?”
Lucavion paused, his silhouette framed by the flickering light of the torches. For a moment, he said nothing, and then his voice cut through the silence, calm and clear.
“The name?”
“Yes!” Ilyana replied breathlessly. “Tell me your name!”
Lucavion glanced over his shoulder, his face still hidden in shadow, though the faint curve of his smirk was unmistakable.
“Lucavion.”
The name hung in the air, as though it carried a weight all its own.
“Lu… ca… vi… on?” Ilyana repeated slowly, tasting the name as though it were foreign and familiar all at once.
Before she could say anything more, Lucavion turned away fully and stepped into the darkness beyond. His figure disappeared as silently as it had come, leaving only the echo of his name and the lingering scent of blood in his wake.
“Lucavion…” Ilyana whispered, her voice soft but resolute as she stared at the spot where he had disappeared. The silence of the chamber seemed heavier now, the absence of his presence like a void left behind.
Her hands curled into fists as her resolve hardened into something solid, unshakable. Her voice, though quiet, carried with it a promise—one born from grief, gratitude, and unyielding determination.
“I will make sure… I will repay it back,” she vowed, her eyes never leaving the darkened corridor. “No matter what.”
The disciples behind her looked on in silence, watching as their young leader stood tall, her expression set with purpose.
And in her mind, the name echoed like a beacon.
Lucavion.
