The Kingmaker System Chapter 713 - 712. Hell’s Flames (2)

Eramid was the first to arrive at the scene, crashing through the smoke-filled clearing and immediately engaging the dark elves who were setting the place ablaze.

The faint cries of the last remaining survivors had already been silenced. Their broken bodies were scattered across the ground, contorted in unnatural postures, the blood seeping into the earth. The surrounding trees, blackened once more, had their bark cracked and withered under the pervasive taint of dead mana that hung heavy in the air like a deadly miasma.

Xeveris and the others followed moments later. Without hesitation, they charged towards the few dark elves present, intending to subdue them and drag them back to the settlement before they could inflict more destruction. However, instead of submitting to their elders, the younger elves fiercely attacked anyone who approached.

Even more alarmingly, they knelt beside the fallen, greedily absorbing the dead mana that emanated from the deceased. Dark tendrils swirled into their forms as they feasted on it. The sight alone left the elders stunned. No one in the settlement had ever been instructed in such abominable practices.

"You brats! What do you think you're doing?!" a man beside Xeveris shouted as he dodged a sweeping blade.

"Hold them back!" another bellowed.

Steel clashed in the clearing. Cloaks billowed in the smoke. Flames crackled from the nearby burning huts.

Xeveris grasped one of the younger dark elves by the shoulder and yanked back his hood, preparing to roar his name in anger, but then he stopped.

The face looking back at him was unfamiliar.

For a prolonged moment, Xeveris simply knitted his brows. As the leader for so many years, he knew every member of the settlement by name and by face. He recognized the children who had grown into hunters, the elders whose backs had stooped with age, and even the obstinate youths who believed they were too smart for the rules. Yet this one... he had never seen him before.

The youth slapped Xeveris's hand away and attempted to flee, but Yttriva intercepted him, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him back. She stared intently into his face, only for her own expression to stiffen with bewilderment.

"Who are you?" she demanded sharply. "Where is Fior?"

Before the youth could respond, another dark elf lunged at her from the side with a dagger. Yttriva released her captive and evaded just in time, the blade slicing only empty air.

Only then did Xeveris truly assess the chaotic scene.

The assailants were fewer than he initially estimated. And judging by the startled exclamations from his people, none of the others recognized them either.

"What is happening?"

"Hey! Who are you people?"

The rogue dark elves offered no replies. They maintained their distance, circling like savage predators, striking out at anyone who dared to approach.

A painful knot formed in Xeveris’s stomach. These elves were not from his settlement. He was absolutely certain of that. And there were no other settlements remaining on the island, not even concealed vestiges in Ortbon.

Then, from where had these dark elves emerged?

"Fior..." Xeveris whispered, a cold dread creeping over his skin. "Just what have you done?"

"Whoever they are, eliminate them first!" a voice commanded from behind the enemy line.

Instantly, the others surged forward, blades drawn. Xeveris’s people prepared to engage them, but before either side could collide, a massive sphere of black flames erupted between them.

The blast surged upwards like a living entity, forcing both groups to recoil as heat and darkness swept across the clearing.

The black flames rose like a colossal barrier, engulfing the clearing in intense heat and deep shadow. For several moments, visibility was completely obscured.

Then, as the inferno gradually subsided, the younger dark elves had vanished.

In their place stood a solitary figure concealed by darkness.

"Wh-What is that?!" someone stammered.

Xeveris's eyes widened. He recognized those flames. He had witnessed them once before and had fervently hoped never to see them again.

"It cannot be..." Eramid gasped beside him.

Even Yttriva, who seldom showed fear, had become rigid with apprehension.

The other elders reacted similarly. Faces that had endured centuries of hardship now turned pale with dread. Some took a step back, while others could only stare.

"How is this possible?"

"Th-There’s no way those flames are here..."

They murmured amongst themselves, their voices trembling, their composure shattering before the younger elves’ confused gaze.

The younger dark elves looked between the elders in puzzlement, unable to grasp what had so profoundly shaken them.

"What’s happening?" one of them inquired.

"Do you know who that is?" another demanded.

Yet, none of the elders offered an answer. They were unable to. To voice the truth aloud would be to accept it, and many of them were still struggling to deny what stood before them.

Xeveris slowly stood straighter, infusing his spine with renewed resolve. Somewhere deep within, he had anticipated that it might come to this.

Aelfric’s parting letter had been a stark warning, hinting at clandestine forces at play. Yet, Xeveris had hesitated to voice these concerns to his people. The very idea of such entities still existing had seemed utterly implausible. It appeared wiser to await concrete evidence rather than sow baseless fear.

Now, that evidence materialized before him, a being of flesh and roaring flame.

Every shred of doubt Xeveris had harbored dissolved instantly.

"Le-Leader..." Ermid stammered, his voice thick with disbelief. "How can this… this thing be here?"

Yttriva’s lips thinned into a sneer as her gaze locked onto the ominous figure.

"A dark mage."

The figure, cloaked entirely in darkness from head to toe, remained still for a beat, its features obscured by deep shadow. Then, a deliberate step forward was taken.

"Dominus expected you all to interfere with us."

The voice that emerged was undeniably male, yet devoid of any warmth or emotion, flat and hollow. It sounded less like a person speaking and more like a sentence being passed.

Xeveris’s brief moment of stunned silence shattered upon hearing that name.

Dominus.

A chilling dread coursed through him. This was no mere random act, no group of hot-headed youths acting on their own impulses. The involvement of such a title signified something far more sinister. It suggested history was on the verge of repeating itself.

Xeveris’s jaw clenched as the figure continued its advance, passing through the dissipating veil of black flames.

"I shall ensure our plan does not falter this time."

Xeveris’s eyes widened in sudden understanding.

In a flash, disjointed suspicions coalesced into a coherent picture within his mind. Fior’s peculiar conduct. The recent unsettling events. The missing pieces that had never seemed to fit—this had not commenced tonight. It had likely been set in motion long before any of them suspected.

They had all been manipulated, mere pawns in a grander game.

And if this insidious conspiracy extended beyond their island shores, the peril was no longer a localized threat. It imperiled the entire world.

A cold exhalation escaped him, but Xeveris swiftly suppressed the burgeoning panic. His fists clenched, and a dark, menacing aura of dead mana began to swirl around his body like tendrils of smoke.

"Prepare for battle," he commanded, his voice firm.

The disquieted dark elves immediately turned their attention to him. Though his arms trembled slightly, he stood resolutely at the forefront, an unshakeable bastion. Witnessing their leader’s steadfastness helped many pull back from the precipice of overwhelming fear.

Yttriva moved to his right, her weapon drawn in a fluid, seamless motion. Ermid took his position to the left, settling into a defensive stance despite the palpable tension constricting his shoulders.

"Do not tell me Fior has allied himself with them," Ermid grumbled under his breath.

"If he has," Yttriva spat, her eyes fixed intently on the shrouded adversary, "I will personally see him dead the moment he appears."

The figure clad in black shifted its posture slightly, inclining forward, and then vanished into a blur of motion.

He surged towards them with an almost supernatural swiftness.

Yttriva reacted instantaneously, loosing an arrow aimed directly at the mage’s chest. The dark mage evaded with an unnerving, fluid grace, the projectile whistling past him. However, contrary to what he might have anticipated, the arrow’s trajectory didn't carry it into the distant trees. The instant it missed its mark, it sharply arced through the air, wheeling back towards its wielder.

Concurrently, Ermid and Xeveris charged from opposing sides, their blades—a dagger and a saber—a blur of flashing steel.

The mage tilted his head almost lazily as he perceived the returning arrow’s approach. He reached up with apparent ease, plucked it from the air, and reduced it to dust in his open palm. In the very same motion, he sidestepped Xeveris’s wide, sweeping attack, grasped Ermid firmly by the wrist, and flung him aside as if he were utterly weightless.

Ermid collided with a sturdy tree trunk with a sharp cry, searing pain erupting through his side. He crumpled to the base of the tree, gasping for breath, one hand instinctively going to his injured ribs. A secondary wave of agony flared from his wrist. Glancing down, he saw that the spot where the mage had gripped him was severely scorched, the flesh a raw, angry pink and already beginning to swell ominously.

Ermid swore under his breath and with considerable effort, forced himself back to his feet, his gaze fixed in utter disbelief at the sight of a single dark mage systematically neutralizing their fighters, one after another.

He weaved through them like a phantom amidst inferno. Every offensive maneuver was surgically precise. Every defensive evasion seemed effortless. Warriors fell in rapid succession until only a select few of the most formidable remained standing: Xeveris, Yttriva, Ermid, and a handful of the older, seasoned elders.

"What can we possibly do against this… monstrosity?" Ermid panted, his breathing ragged.

"His flames incinerate everything they touch," Yttriva stated, her brow furrowed as she drew and nocked another arrow.

"Hellfire," Xeveris grimaced, the words laced with frustration. "We cannot stand against him effectively without a holy weapon."

"And we possess none."

As if responding to their dire assessment, the mage raised a hand. A colossal sphere composed of roiling black flames hurtled directly towards them.

They narrowly averted disaster, scrambling aside just as the devastating inferno consumed the very ground they had occupied moments prior. A wave of intense heat washed over the clearing. Billowing smoke and choking ash filled the air.

The dark mage observed them with an emotionless gaze, then tilted his head back slightly.

"I have lingered here far too long," he declared, his voice echoing flatly. "It is time for me to proceed."

Black fire erupted from the ground beneath him, spreading outward like a wildfire that consumed everything in its path. Several dark elves attempted to flee, but Xeveris and the others stood firm, understanding the futility of outrunning the inferno.

Just as the flames enveloped them--

A blinding flash of white light split the clearing.

The sudden, pure luminescence stunned them for a moment. A deafening crack followed, shaking the very earth and causing them to stagger back.

When their vision returned, the black flames had been cleaved apart.

A familiar aura emerged as a figure stepped through the smoke.

Xeveris turned towards the steady sound of approaching footsteps, observing an elegant man. He approached them with measured calm, adorned in robes of green-blue with golden embroidery at the cuffs and collar. In his grasp, a radiant white weapon gleamed.

Long, silver-white hair cascaded around a face of breathtaking beauty, and piercing blue eyes surveyed Xeveris and his companions before a subtle smile graced his lips.

The younger dark elves watched with their mouths agape. Several elders immediately lowered their heads in deference.

Maintaining awareness of the enemy, Xeveris inclined his own head respectfully.

The King of Nelius Ocean had made his appearance.

Zale Turquoise.

His presence exuded a cool, gentle aura that contrasted with the scorched, mana-dead clearing. Merely by standing there, he seemed to illuminate the desolate area.

"Why... why are you here, Your Majesty?" Xeveris inquired, unable to avert his gaze from the weapon Zale held.

It was a sacred blade, forged from the scales of an ancient dragon, its holy radiance self-evident. The weapon, supple and fluid, curved and flowed like liquid steel – the very blade that had chosen the current King of the Merfolk as its master. Serathil.

Zale's timely arrival to save them was nothing short of miraculous.

"Am I too late?" Zale commented lightly. "I was told to arrive an hour after midnight."

His gaze suddenly shifted past the dark elves. Serathil moved before he did, launching from his hand like a living serpent. It coiled through the air, slicing cleanly through a sphere of black flames hurtling towards them from behind.

Xeveris's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, you were told?"

Zale merely smiled. He then moved past the dark elves, directly confronting the cloaked mage.

"Jabran," he stated calmly. "If I am not mistaken."

The dark figure visibly flinched.

The dark elves exchanged confused glances, yet a renewed sense of hope flickered amongst them as they observed the two men.

"How do you know my name?" the mage demanded.

Zale offered a slight shrug, his long, pale fingers lightly brushing against the segmented scales that adorned Serathil's blade.

"Oh, you know," he replied pleasantly. "From my Master... who happened to defeat you back in Sestia."

The flames surrounding Jabran intensified dramatically. Beneath his hood, his expression contorted.

"The Dragon."

"Indeed," Zale confirmed. He flexed his wrist, and Serathil produced a resonant hum as it moved.

"Now then," he said, his smile broadening, "shall we commence?"