Snow fell even heavier.
Val was nearly done with his part, and so was Isla.
Standing before him now were the Winter Sovereign and the Iron Duke.
The Iron Duke lunged, his spear gleaming with aura, but Isla blocked the blow. The clash sent tremors across the blood-soaked field.
The Winter Sovereign, grimacing from the pain of his severed arm, focused his aura and cauterized the wound. Blood stopped pouring, but the price was paid. He only had one arm now. Still, it was worth it if they could bring Isla down.
Drawing deep from his reserves, he activated his strongest technique.
Frost Art – Full Form: Ice Age
A wave of frost erupted from his body, freezing the very air. The ground cracked and groaned under the weight of spreading ice.
Isla was caught in the surge, locked within a towering structure of crystal-clear ice. He struggled—but could barely move.
"Now! I can barely hold him!" the Winter Sovereign barked.
The Iron Duke roared and wrapped his spear in a thick layer of aura. He charged, thrusting it toward the ice-locked Isla.
The moment before the spear struck, the ice shattered—but not fast enough. The tip pierced Isla's side, blood bursting from the wound.
"Damn it… too shallow!" the Duke snarled.
Isla steadied himself, ignoring the pain. He shifted into a familiar stance.
The Iron Duke's own stance.
Mocking him.
"You bastard!" the Duke growled.
Isla charged. His sword met the Duke's spear—but the sword shattered on impact. The Duke grinned.
"You have no weapon left."
Isla locked eyes with him.
"Do I ever need one?"
With his bare hand wrapped in black aura, Isla drove it through the Duke's armor, piercing deep into his abdomen. He had aimed for the heart—but stopped short. He was returning the pain.
The Iron Duke collapsed to the ground, screaming. The Winter Sovereign, desperate, tried to attack, but his blade passed harmlessly through Isla's body—just another illusion.
The Sovereign turned and tried to stabilize his comrade. Aura flowed as he cauterized the new wound. Both men were barely standing.
Then, the Winter Sovereign pulled out a pendant—a mana jewel passed down through generations. A relic of ancient power.
Chanting began.
Amplified Frost Art – Final Form: Ice Age
The jewel glowed once, violently—and shattered. Frost engulfed the area.
Isla, once again, was sealed in an even denser cage of ice. The Sovereign collapsed to one knee, panting.
"That was the last of it. The stone… a treasure of our sect...."
They looked up, smiling weakly. Isla was finally still.
But then, a finger twitched.
"RUN!" the Winter Sovereign screamed.
He drew his sword, but it was already over.
Heavenly Dark Art – Final Form: Dimension Slash
With a flick of his finger, a wave of pure dark energy erupted.
It shattered the ice instantly, pierced the Winter Sovereign's chest, and sliced the Iron Duke's remaining arm.
Then it carved through distant mountains—splitting them like paper.
The battlefield fell into silence.
Isla stepped out of the broken prison. His body was frail. His shirt had long since been torn apart. Blood clung to him.
But his eyes burned with hatred.
He walked toward the Iron Duke.
The Duke, pale and trembling, crawled away. "Don't come near me! I have the Empress as hostage!"
Isla chuckled coldly. "The only one weak enough to be a hostage... is you."
His sword came down.
The Iron Duke's head rolled to the snow. Isla stepped forward—and crushed it underfoot.
Behind them, what remained of the enemy forces panicked. Their commanders were dead. The last hundred border guards moved in for cleanup.
Blood painted the snow.
The war was over.
As flakes fell onto Isla's bloodied face, he stood in silence.
How ironic.
This was the same land where he had killed his wife... and her family.
Now, he had killed his former retainers.
Val approached from the carnage.
"What's next?"
Isla turned. "Get me a wagon. We're going back to the capital. And then… you'll clean up the rest of the duchy."
A wagon arrived shortly. Isla climbed in. Shirtless, sitting in lotus position, he closed his eyes—letting the cold calm his body.
He began to meditate, slowly restoring his aura.
Royal Palace – Capital
In the Empress's chambers, blood coated the marble floor.
Her white dress was stained crimson, her hands soaked in red. Around her lay twenty assassins—slain in ways that only monsters could devise.
She licked blood from her fingers. Fangs were visible.
From behind a pillar, a trembling maid watched, her mouth covered by her own hands in horror.
Then—silence.
The maid peeked out.
The Empress was gone.
Panic seized her. She turned to run—
—but the Empress stood right behind her.
With a hiss and a flash of fangs, she bit into the maid's neck.
Palace Garden
The last infiltrator fell.
Prince Ian stood tall, bloodied sword in hand. The palace guards had barely lifted a finger.
He tilted his face to the sky, letting the moonlight wash over him.
"Surely," the guards whispered, "this whole damn family is blood-crazed."