The final draconian soldier fell, cleaved by the arc of Asher’s blazing ring blade, a deadly crescent that left nothing but destruction in its wake. The ground below was a grim image, charred and scorched, proof of the fierce battle that had raged. For miles, the remnants of the draconian forces lay scattered, a silent, dark chorus to the cost of fighting a monster they couldn’t comprehend.

Asher, his form still wreathed in the remnants of dark green flames, allowed no time for reflection upon the desolation below. With a swiftness that belied the weight of the moment, he descended towards Rowena. As he drew close, the sinister flames that had danced around him flickered and died, his skeletal form giving way to flesh and skin, a transformation from specter to man.

“I am sorry I was late,” Asher spoke, his voice heavy with unspoken emotions, his eyes a mirror to the pain and regret that churned within him.

He cradled Rowena’s face tenderly, wishing he could soothe her pain with his touch.

Rowena, her spirit still blazing despite the trials, shook her head softly as she held his hand, “I should be the one apologizing for not coming to you sooner. I thought I could hold off the draconians if I prepared whatever small contingent I could to get you back home safely.” A heavy sigh escaped Asher’s lips as his gaze drifted to the fallen soldiers of his kingdom, each a silent guardian who had laid down their life for him.

A thousand souls, now part of the scorched Earth, their sacrifice making his heart heavy and his blood boiled thinking of how the draconians killed them all.

His piercing gaze turned to Drakar, who was now a broken figure, struggling to rise amidst the ruins of his own making, “Let’s go home and execute him before our people,” Asher’s voice was a low growl, a promise of retribution for the fallen.

As much as he had wanted to kill him already, he also knew that only by holding Drakar hostage would there be a chance to make sure the Draconis Kingdom wouldn’t dare to attack them.

Otherwise, they would just appoint a new king and launch a full-fledged war.

Rowena’s crimson eyes burned with a cold, unforgiving light. She nodded, her resolve steeling as Asher began his approach toward the defeated Drakar while Rowena tended to her wounded dragon. Without Flaralis getting healed enough to fly, they can’t safely leave with the injured Naida and Eradicator.

Nearby, amidst the chaos and carnage, Rebecca and Lysandra stood, their faces smeared with blood and their bodies riddled with injuries. Exhausted, wounded, yet undaunted, they were locked in a battle of wills, their hands gripping each other’s hair, refusing to give in despite expending all their mana.

“Your king is dead meat, heh… I am going to take you back with me and see how fast you become my…slave and return my son to me,” Rebecca taunted, her manic smile a grotesque mask, her teeth stained with fresh blood.

“You dream too much… for a dead woman,” Lysandra retorted, her voice a chilling whisper, her eyes reflecting a frost that no fire could warm. And as if nothing changed, the two mothers were at each other’s necks again.

As Drakar struggled to rise, a dark green fireball, a wrathful comet of vengeance, struck him squarely.

His body was slammed back to the ground, a puppet cut from its strings, as blood spewed from his mouth.

His groan, laced with pain and defeat, was music to Asher’s ears.

In that moment, the air shifted, the dust of conflict stirred by the arrival of new figures. Asher’s gaze lifted, his eyebrows arching in mild surprise. Ceti and Isola descended gracefully, riding a majestic flying beast that seemed to command the very winds. Upon seeing Asher, standing dominant over the fallen form of Drakar, Ceti and Isola exhaled in unison, their relief palpable, their eyes wide with a mixture of astonishment and happiness at the strength he exuded.

“Why did you two come here?” Asher’s voice was a murmur with a hint of worry since this was a bloody battlefield that may not remain silent for long.

Ceti’s response was a blend of indignation and affection, her cheeks puffing slightly as she placed her hands on her hips, “Hmph, seriously, Your Majesty? That is the first thing you ask after we were busy clearing the way ahead for your safe return? Do you have any idea how worried we were after hearing the draconians trapped you?”

Isola’s approach was one of warmth and affection, her arms enveloping Asher in an embrace that spoke of relief and unspoken fears, “We were worried we might be late, but fortunately our prayers were answered,” she whispered, her voice a soft melody of gratitude and concern.

Asher softly smiled, his arms returning Isola’s embrace, “You two shouldn’t worry too much. I am not that easy to kill.” Yet, even as he spoke, his gaze sharpened, noticing the fatigue that clung to Isola’s breath and the weariness that shadowed Ceti’s eyes. He could guess that they must have killed a lot of enemies on the way, especially the ones who were waiting to ambush him.

“You two should catch a breath and help Naida and Eradicator. Their injuries need to be stabilized,” Asher urged.

His gaze drifted to where Naida and Eradicator lay, their singed forms making his heart clench.

Ceti and Isola, ever vigilant, caught the urgency in their tone and nodded, their steps quickening towards the two fallen figures. But Ceti suddenly stopped and glanced at Rebecca and Lysandra fighting to death and asked Asher, “What about them? Should I help her?”

Asher narrowed his eyes and shook his head, “Let them be,” He couldn’t care less if Rebecca or Lysandra died or if both of them killed each other. Now that Drakar was in his hands, he didn’t need Lysandra anymore. He also knew Lysandra not only hurt Rowena but almost killed Naida and Eradicator, which only cemented his decision.

Asher then turned his attention back to Drakar, his grip firm on his collar as he lifted him up, “I’d say you were right about me being a child, but even children know not to play with fire,” he taunted, his voice a blade sharpened by contempt.

Drakar, reduced to a shadow of his former self, could only respond with a cough, blood and defeat mingling in his mouth.

The humiliation was a new torture, a reality he had never envisioned—a defeat not just of body, but of spirit.

This alien was a junior who wasn’t even 1

/10th of his age and was a soulless cripple just a few years ago. What kind of cruel joke was this??

“Shh…don’t try to speak. You will need to save your energy to wail like a dying pig when we execute you by taking our own sweet time,” Asher’s words were ice, his smile the cold edge of winter’s blade.

He then wondered if he should refill his mana reserves since he spent almost his entire mana to quickly defeat Drakar and the rest of his men, but he knew it was worth it, not that there was any other choice.

Asher’s gaze then swept over Rowena and Flaralis, wondering if they were ready to leave. Otherwise, there won’t be any time to refill his mana.

But he could see that Flaralis bore the scars of the brutal confrontation, it’s massive body riddled with deep gashes and wounds. Rowena tended to her dragon with potions, but even with those, Flaralis wouldn’t fully recover until it was tended to by expert physicians.

He knew the draconian weaponry had left its vile mark, hindering Flaralis’s natural healing ability. It was no surprise since the draconians researched for thousands of years to find ways to kill a dragon.

But his brows raised when, against all odds, Flaralis, with a spirit unbroken, gritted its teeth and rose, its massive wings unfurling like the banners of an indomitable will.

“Flaralis hasn’t healed enough, but she has enough strength to let us reach home. We shouldn’t stay here any longer,” Rowena declared, her voice a mix of concern and determination.

Asher nodded, knowing that Drakar probably had called for reinforcements long ago.

He began to drag Drakar, his defeated figure now a mere burden to be carried.

Isola and Ceti, their own strength waning, bore Naida and Eradicator on their backs after stabilizing their injuries. Ths chapter is updated by Noᴠelꜰre.nt

Meanwhile, Rebecca and Lysandra lay spent, the remnants of their ferocious clash leaving them kneeling before each other, though their gazes were still piercing into each other’s souls.

*RUMBLE!*

But as Asher approached Flaralis, the sky itself revolted, a sudden tumult of dark clouds and crimson lightning began to shroud the previously sunny skies.

A chill of unease wound its way up Asher’s spine, a silent alarm that resonated with Rowena and the others. Their gazes turned as one towards the source of this ominous herald.

From the shadows emerged a figure, tall, bulky, and imposing, his presence a silent storm of power and dread. His blood-red eyes gleamed in the darkness, a beacon of foreboding that seemed to command the very lightning that danced in the sky.

“It can’t be…” Rowena’s whisper was filled with disbelief, her eyes fixed on the approaching figure.

A bolt of crimson lightning split the sky, casting a stark illumination upon the figure. Asher saw an old man, his skin a deep, unsettling red, his thick, white hair and mustache a stark contrast to his formidable physique.

His muscles, hinting at untold strength, seemed to pulse with a life of their own, veins etched against his skin like the roots of an ancient, unfathomable tree.

He seemed like an anachronism, a being whose very existence defied time and nature and was dressed in a white chiton, showing off his bulging arms.

His aura, though restrained, was a maelstrom of latent danger, a force that dwarfed even the mightiest of foes Asher had ever faced on Earth and in this world.

“Who is he…” Asher’s question was a whisper, a murmur of uneasiness against the rising tide of danger.

“T-The Moon Guardian…” Ceti’s voice was barely audible, her eyes mirroring the shock and gravity that had seized them all.