Chapter 59
“Father, ugh! Please, spare me!”
The more Horace twisted in pain, the deeper the arrow pierced his flesh. Suddenly, his agitated horse reared violently. The hoof crushed Horace’s wrist clean off. The very wrist Cyrone had once promised to claim.
“Pathetic.”
Cyrone looked down with an emotionless expression. At the sight of his son’s suffering, Reiffers’s grip on his sword snapped with a sharp clang. Blood seemed to surge backward through his body, pouring from him like a broken dam.
“You! You! Damn you!”
Reiffers shouted, staring up at the battlements.
In his eyes, Cyrone was fading to a pale blur. Overcome by agony, Reiffers looked at his son retching and struggled to gather his thoughts. Where had all these soldiers been hiding? Could their plans have been leaked? By whom? From where…?
Cyrone’s voice cut through Reiffers’s mental turmoil.
“I can see right through your schemes. That’s a problem.”
This time, Cyrone lightly laughed, aiming the deadly tip of his arrow squarely at Reiffers’s head. Reiffers gasped, caught between the speed of the arrow and the raise of his shield.
The two options colliding chaotically in his mind.
In the midst of his rusty memories, Reiffers had forgotten one thing: on the battlefield, there is no room for thought.
“I told you not to be careless.”
Cyrone drew back his bowstring with ease and released it—thwack! The thick arrow sang through the air with a piercing cry sharp enough to silence even the screams of hell itself.
“Duke Reiffers!”
The soldiers, who had been charging over corpses, abruptly halted and looked up toward the source of the sound. The curving arrow struck true, piercing Reiffers’s leg.
An eerie silence fell over the battlefield.
“Tell me who your true master is.”
Cyrone asked, facing Reiffers who lay rolling in the dirt. Reiffers bit down fiercely on his lips, refusing to answer. A wave of unbearable pain surged through his lower body.
“Did you swear your loyalty to the end? Such devotion brings tears to my eyes.”
Though his voice held menace, Cyrone’s tone was calm and composed. He drew his bowstring once more.
“Aaagh!”
Reiffers screamed, clutching his face in agony. Dark blood poured from his pierced eyes, soaking his face. Unable to believe his lost sight, he clawed wildly at the earth beneath him.
“Cy-Cyrone—You wretched man!”
Reiffers finally stopped moving, emitting a horrific groan as no sober mind could endure such pain. He trembled violently, like a last fit.
“So you want me to find you personally.”
Cyrone nodded slowly, as if he had only just realized.
As the enemy leader’s eyes were pierced, a sudden wave of defeat washed over the rebels. Severed heads and crushed faces lay sprawled, blood splattered everywhere.
Cyrone leaned against the tower, silently watching the carnage below. Every inch of it was hell.
“Kill all the men and imprison the women. Especially, erase the traitorous noble families for three generations.”
His calm tone was unbefitting of the one leading this hellish onslaught. Leaving the writhing bodies behind, Cyrone turned his back.
It was fortunate that the night was darker than blood.
* * *
Elia opened her eyes late in the afternoon. Was this a dream? Where was she? Her dry eyes blinked twice toward the sky.
“Did you sleep well?”
Cyrone smiled, sitting by the window reading something. Elia stared blankly, unable to believe it was real. It wasn’t long before Cyrone crumpled the paper and came closer.
Cyrone’s shadow fell over Elia’s face. His beautiful eyes slowly traced each of her features.
“How do you feel?”
He asked, gently caressing her dry face, speaking in his usual calm voice.
“Where… am I?”
Elia tried to sit up but groaned softly. As her senses returned, her whole body ached as if beaten by a blunt object, especially her jaw, which throbbed painfully.
“How did I get here?”
Only then did Elia look down at her body. Some tingling sensation lingered. She must have been treated. Watching her, Cyrone clicked his tongue lowly, trying to suppress rising displeasure in his voice.
“I killed everyone who laid a hand on you.”
Though his voice sounded indifferent, like he was making a dark joke, Elia’s shoulders stiffened instantly. She knew this was no joke.
“You killed them? All of them? Why?”
Elia retraced her fading consciousness.
Killed? Who? No, all of them, he said. Who did that include? Her father? Could it be her mother? Rias? A splitting headache hammered half her skull.
“They were useless to you anyway.”
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