Chapter 166

But it wasn’t.

A soldier who had clawed his way up from the bottom of the ravine collapsed, barely conscious, and reported through a voice frayed with pain and fear.

“The Ugel bastards… they’ve mobilized the Dragonborn,” he rasped. “Their numbers aren’t normal. It’s like they’ve gathered every last one that exists in Grandel…!”

One of his legs had been savagely torn away, little more than shredded muscle and exposed bone. The knights, grim-faced, shoved Elise back into the command tent, shielding her from the sight.

A single Dragonborn could be brought down if several knights worked in tandem. They were unintelligent, after all—like massive, aggressive beasts to be hunted.

But dozens of them? That changed everything.

It was the worst-case scenario—one no soul in Argan had dared to imagine.

Elise, once she’d acclimated to the throbbing ache in her limbs, shrugged off her heavy fur cloak and flung open the tent flap again. The stench of blood hit her like a wall, thick and coppery, and she nearly doubled over from the nausea.

Survivors were beginning to trickle back into camp, one by one. Bodies that had left whole returned mangled and soaked in blood. More than half were grievously wounded.

“Your Highness, you must get to safety,” one knight urged, his voice tight with urgency. “We need to teleport you out—”

“Has Duke Bellator returned?” Elise cut in, her voice quiet but steady.

No one answered. The man who had anchored Argan for decades—steadfast as an old tree—was nowhere in sight.

“Those still down there,” another knight said grimly, “they’re too close to the enemy lines. Even if we tried, magic wouldn’t reach them in time.”

“The vanguard’s been decimated!” a third knight cried, half-shouting. “More than half are dead already. We must return to the capital and regroup. Your Highness, we need to move—before they reach this camp!”

Elise raised her hand. It trembled, but the gesture was enough to silence them all.

Her voice was calm as she asked, “How many have made it back? And how many need treatment immediately?”

A knight stepped forward, helmet tucked under one arm, blood smeared across his breastplate.

“Out of sixty in the three guerilla units… only twenty-one returned, Your Highness. More than a dozen are in critical condition.”

They couldn’t heal everyone.

That much was clear.

The most urgent task now was ensuring the survivors made it back to the capital alive.

Elise didn’t hesitate.

“Take the wounded into the innermost area of the barrier,” she ordered, her voice clear and commanding despite the exhaustion tightening her chest.

One of the knights stepped forward, his brow furrowed in concern. “But, Your Highness—”

“You’ll only interfere with the spellwork,” she interrupted firmly. “That’s an order.”

No one argued further.

At her fingertips, glowing threads of mana began to unravel, spinning outward into a vast, intricate pattern. A massive magic circle bloomed beneath her in a pulse of light. It was the first spell she had ever learned—and the very first she had dared to cast.

Brilliant lines of radiance spread beneath the feet of the bloodied and broken soldiers, wrapping them in a lattice of shimmering energy. Ironically, the collapse of the outer barrier had freed enough ambient mana to make teleportation possible.

“Send word to the capital,” Elise said, her gaze never leaving the magic circle. “Tell them what’s happened here. There may be more survivors still on their way back. I’ll wait a little longer.”

A beat of silence followed, and then she added, softer but resolute, “If the inner barrier begins to fail, I’ll use the teleportation circle myself. Let His Majesty know… there’s no need for concern.”

The knights exchanged uneasy glances but obeyed.

The barrier had to be recharged with mana every half day. Elise knew that. And she had given her word—to the vanguard who had left before her, to the knights who’d marched into near-certain death—that she would wait here until the end.

She had sworn that as long as she stood, this final line of defense would never fall.

And a royal did not break their word.

To betray those who had trusted her with their lives was unthinkable. As long as there was even a single soldier left out there, still fighting to return, Elise could not abandon this post.

The teleportation circle pulsed, flaring with a final burst of light. In an instant, the wounded vanished.

***

Beyond the barrier, shadows slithered and loomed within the mist.

The translucent veil could only be seen up close. From a distance, it gave the illusion that there was no separation at all between inside and out. And every time one of the Dragonborn hurled its body against it, the ground shuddered beneath the force of the impact, a low, thunderous boom echoing through the air.

It was Elise’s first time seeing a Dragonborn up close.

They were nothing like the noble, awe-inspiring beings described in stories. There were no regal features or statuesque muscles carved like living stone. No majesty—only monstrosity.

Some had grotesquely twisted wings sprouting at odd angles. Others slithered on elongated tails, dragging themselves forward on all fours. One bore a dragon’s misshapen head, its jaw grotesquely warped. Another resembled an oversized lizard, with limp human limbs dangling uselessly from its sides.

They were abominations—hideous, deformed, and horrifying beyond description.

Some had their faces pressed to the ground, sniffing like beasts. Others gnawed hungrily at the corpses strewn outside the barrier. A few, seized by frenzied excitement, rubbed their genitals against the dirt with mindless intensity—behavior so far removed from humanity it turned Elise’s stomach.

And yet, despite the revulsion crawling up her spine, she couldn’t look away.

Her gaze remained fixed on them, wide and haunted.

This doesn’t feel like something happening to someone else, she thought.

Because in truth, her husband—and the child in her womb—belonged to the same lineage. They were of the same blood. And surely, none of these wretched creatures had ever wanted to be born this way. Who would choose a life built on tragedy before even drawing their first breath?

“Barbaric things,” Elise whispered under her breath, her voice thick with bitterness. She bit her lower lip, swallowing the fury rising in her throat. Maybe they were brought here just so I would see them. Maybe this was all meant for me.

Then suddenly—she felt it.

A faint, fluttering movement in her belly.

It didn’t hurt, but it was so unexpected that Elise gasped and pressed a hand to her stomach.

Was that… was that the baby?

Was it reacting to them?

Could it somehow sense the presence of others like itself—beings born of both dragon and human blood?

Her fingers trembled as they slid over her belly. Her voice came out low, dazed, and full of aching tenderness.

“It’s all right,” she murmured. “You’re going to live. And no matter what you look like… I’m going to love you so very much.”

For the first time, the burden of maintaining the barrier didn’t feel like a futile stand—it felt worthwhile.

And when, a day and a half later, more soldiers finally returned—barely alive—she was still there, waiting.

“Lord Bellator… he was at the front,” one soldier choked out, his voice weak and cracked. “He gave us cover to escape. Said not to let the Dragonborn anywhere near the barrier. There are still… still quite a few down there…”

The words trailed off as he swayed on his feet.

Elise stepped forward and gently took his hand in both of hers.

She didn’t speak. Instead, she began to murmur a prayer, her voice soft and unwavering.

The soldier blinked up at her, his lips cracked and trembling. As her voice washed over him, he seemed to relax just slightly—his expression faintly peaceful, almost childlike.

A faint smile flickered on his face.

And then, slowly, the light faded from his eyes.

Elise remained still, head bowed, the young man’s hand still in hers. For a long moment, she said nothing.

Then, quietly, she finished the prayer.

“May eternal rest and peace be upon you. O God, grant sanctuary to all who have departed.”

***

But by dawn on the second day, the situation had only worsened.

The surviving Dragonborn from the ravine had made their way up the cliffs, inching dangerously close—now almost upon the Argan encampment shielded by the inner barrier.

Boom. Boom. Boom…

From dusk until well past midnight, the relentless pounding of bodies against the barrier echoed across the landscape. It was a sound that gnawed at the nerves, a slow, merciless rhythm that sowed fear and desperation with every blow.

Individually, their magic was weak. But in such numbers, their force became undeniable. The barrier—Elise’s most intricate spell—had begun to fracture. Jagged cracks shimmered like spiderwebs across its surface.

It won’t last much longer, she realized.

And when it failed, the recoil would come straight back to her.

She needed to dismantle it before that happened. She knew this.

And yet… she couldn’t move.

If I leave now… it’s over. No one else will make it back.

Her breath caught as the image of Duke Bellator rose sharply in her mind—his weathered face, the steadfast gaze, the way he had stood unshaken even in the worst of storms. His fate was still unknown, but Elise felt his presence like a ghost standing just out of reach.

“Your Highness,” a knight said gently. “Please… It’s time.”

The others didn’t speak, but the way they shifted—exchanging silent, heavy looks—said enough. They had stood guard over her for two nights, unflinching. Most of them were Rotiara-born, trained to stay calm where others might break. But even they now wore the hollow-eyed look of men who had seen the edge of despair.

Elise’s jaw clenched. Her eyes fluttered closed for one steadying breath.

Then, slowly, she raised her hands and released the spell.

The barrier shimmered once then collapsed inward, dissolving like mist on the wind. Her knees nearly buckled with the weight of it. If they didn’t leave now, the Dragonborn would overrun what was left. Every remaining life here would be lost.

She gathered the final strands of mana still hanging in the air, drawing them into her core. Then she turned and knelt, preparing to inscribe the last teleportation circle—the escape route she had kept in reserve.

But something was wrong.

Elise’s hand paused mid-gesture. Her gaze swept the air in front of her—then again, more urgently this time.

Nothing.

What should have been there had vanished without a trace.

***

When Rezette entered the ravine on the road to Riosa Castle, he found himself standing in the middle of a vision of hell.

He reached up and pulled down the black cloth that covered the lower half of his face, allowing the rancid air to hit him unfiltered. His sharp gaze swept the carnage before him.

He had taken the long route, circling around the far side of the Ugel encampment to avoid unnecessary conflict. The path had been a jagged cliffside trail, barely wide enough to traverse on foot. Yet, ironically, the lack of opposition had allowed him to arrive more quickly. Even so, he had come too late. The battle had already taken place.

His eyes narrowed as he muttered under his breath, “Who came out on top?”

The stench of blood was suffocating. It clung to the back of his throat, stirring a dry, almost primal thirst. His heart pounded hard and fast in his chest.

The banner of Argan lay in the dirt ahead of him. Once golden with the symbol of the sun, it now lay trampled and stained, dragging limply through the mud and blood.

Rezette stood motionless, his body stiff. For a moment, it felt as if all his senses had been severed.

Behind him, a shout rang out. Harsh and guttural voices echoed across the ravine.

“Find Duke Bellator’s corpse,” one of the barbarians barked. “The old man should be somewhere around here. If the princess is still alive, she’ll be close by.”

Rezette inhaled sharply. His chest expanded with the sudden breath, as if his heart had just restarted. Pain thudded deep in his ribs.

“She’s alive,” he whispered to himself, voice tight with urgency.

The glimpse of carnage before him was nearly overwhelming. But the moment the thought crossed his mind, something inside him snapped back into place.

She was still here. Somewhere close.

He clenched his fist, and the cold, hardened joints in his fingers cracked as they returned to alignment. His body, sluggish from shock, began to move again. His thoughts sharpened.

He wasn’t too late. Not yet.

Rezette turned in place, scanning his surroundings with quick, frantic eyes. The scent of death was thick in the air. Dozens of corpses rotted under the open sky, their blood saturating the soil. His sense of smell, heightened by his lineage, flared with discomfort.

If Elise had passed this way, even briefly, there would be a trace of her left behind. A breath of her scent, a wisp of her presence. But with the overwhelming odor of decay, it would take time to find it.

He forced himself to breathe deeply, again and again, resisting the frenzied energy rising in his chest.

Then it happened.

From his left, a scream tore through the fog.

“Raaahhh!”

Something lunged at him.

His body reacted before his thoughts did. His right arm shifted in a flash, muscle and bone warping as he caught the attacker’s head in his hand. Without hesitation, he threw the man aside with the ease of flicking away an insect.

A heavy crack followed.

The body slammed into the earth, limp and broken. Rezette barely glanced down.

The corpse lay crumpled at his feet, one eye still wide open. Half the man’s face had caved in from the impact.

Rezette’s gaze focused on the eyes.

Pale yellow. Bulging. Sickly, like the yolk of a rotting egg.

He recognized them.