“I’ll give it a try,” Jared murmured, nodding once, grateful for her kindness yet drowning in awkward relief. Accepting his excuse, Luna gathered what remained of her dignity and slipped from the chamber, leaving the door to sigh shut behind her.
The moment she was gone, Jared exhaled a breath that seemed to drain every muscle. He had barely perched on the mattress when Dragonslayer, sheathed at his hip, shuddered.
A pulse of white brilliance split the shadows like lightning. A woman stepped forth from the light, graceful as moonlit frost.
“Zelda?” Joy burst across Jared’s face. He caught her slender hands, clasping them as though he feared she might evaporate.
Zelda, the sword spirit bound to Dragonslayer, had remained in silent convalescence ever since her grievous injuries. Now, without warning, she stood before him whole, her aura bright and unbroken.
“Master…” Zelda’s smile blossomed like dawn breaking over still water. “Your wounds, truly mended?” Jared asked, voice rough with concern and wonder.
“All healed,” she replied, nodding eagerly. “These days inside Dragonslayer felt endless. I watched you favor other women and nearly burst with envy. I have missed you beyond words.”
Her wide eyes shimmered with longing that stole the air from his lungs.
Jared read the unspoken plea in that gaze. He had planned to rest, but Zelda’s need outweighed his weariness.
Gathering her into his arms, he sank with her onto the mattress. Moonlight slipped past the lattice window, veiling the room as their figures melted into one another and the candles guttered to darkness.
Inside the Sixth Hall council meeting room, Stebarin sat brooding in a high-backed chair, shadows carving deep trenches along his grim features.
Across the long stone table, Drystan Hexford, lord of the Sixth Hall, regarded him in taut, foreboding silence.
“Drystan, with the Soul Urn smashed to dust, can you still deliver the souls we bargained for? Malevolent Path Hall has shown nothing but sincerity, we handed over mountains of refined celestial gems. Do not tell me our trust was misplaced.”
Stebarin’s voice cut the air, and his crimson eyes drilled into Drystan until the Sixth Hall master felt his very bones vibrate.
“Please, Mr. Hemato, be at ease,” Drystan said, forcing a respectful bow. “I have already informed Enaricus of the mishap, and he has sent Cormac to help me hunt Jared down. As soon as that wretch is dead, I will hand over his soul to you personally. Compared with ordinary cultivators, the power contained in his soul is worth ten, no, a hundred of the others.”
The words tumbled out in a single breath, as though speed alone could patch the widening cracks in his plan.
“Make sure you do,” Stebarin warned, his tone flat as a blade laid against a throat. “That boy is no easy prey. Back in level six, I watched him rally a rag-tag band against the Soul Devourer. In the end, experts from level nine descended to pull him out. Had I not run when I did, I would be buried there with the rest.”
“Experts from level nine?” Drystan blinked, genuinely startled, he had heard nothing of the level six debacle. “Tell me, what became of the Soul Devourer? Was his soul destroyed?”
“Hardly,” Stebarin said with a slow shake of his head. “Someone spirited him away before the killing blow could land.”
“And who, exactly, snatched him away?” Drystan asked, curiosity flickering through his fear.
“That is a question you’d be wise not to ask,” Stebarin replied, voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. “They are titans of Level nine, their names would mean nothing to you. Keep your mind on the souls, nothing else. If our partnership runs smoothly, Malevolent Path Hall will see to it that Enaricus ultimately claims the whole Celestial Palace.”
“I understand… My men are already out scouring for fresh souls,” Drystan said, pounding a fist against his chest in pledge.
Stebarin offered a curt nod, the crimson hems of his robe whispering across the tiles as he vanished through the doorway. Only then did Drystan allow himself a long, shuddering exhale, silently praying that Cormac would arrive before Jared did.
If I have to face that man alone, I don’t stand a chance…
At the Linford residence in Eastshire District, Flaxseed had indulged in revelry for three straight days, leaving two young maidservants utterly exhausted.
As the two men prepared to depart, Luna hurried after them, begging to accompany them to the Sixth Hall in hopes of reclaiming her father’s soul.
Jared, however, declined. Luna’s strength was far too meager, and dragging her into a battlefield would force him to shield her, an impossible burden.
“Should your father’s soul still exist, I will bring it back,” he promised, meeting her gaze without flinching.
But his soul is long gone… I absorbed it myself, fuel for my own road forward.
Trusting his vow, Luna nodded and stepped aside, allowing the pair to leave.
Leaving Eastshire District behind, Jared and Flaxseed followed the bearings provided by the district lord, carving a path northwest across the wilds.
