Part 12: Battle to Live

  Chapter 039 - A Farewell

  Wallan opened his eyes, uncertain, and raised his head. The man’s grip on the sword was faltering. Their eyes locked—one filled with quiet acceptance, the other cracked with conflict. Around them, the Groggins shifted. Their gazes narrowed. Xollor was shaking. And just when they thought the sword would fall and strike the man…

  Xollor dropped it.

  The heavy blade crashed beside Wallan, the steel catching a warped reflection of his weary eyes. Its glow faded. The enchantment dissolved. Silence folded over the moment. Wallan stared upward, mute. He couldn’t speak. He needed to understand what had just happened.

  “What is the meaning of this?” one Groggin hissed, shadows flickering across his face.

  Xollor didn’t answer immediately. He looked at Wallan for too long, too visibly. Then he turned to face the circle of Groggins. His shoulders tensed. His system continued to count down the time he had left, bleeding out by the second. He was pale now. His breath had grown heavy. But his eyes burned with defiance, brows furrowed in restrained fury. When he spoke, his voice quivered with weight.

  “Now look at who’s wagging their tails,” he said, his voice rough and rising. “All of you, licking the soles of your masters’ feet.”

  He drew a breath. Then, with a bitter glare, he added, “How humiliating. Weaker than a child’s incompetency.”

  The Groggins did not flinch. Their faces remained shaded and unreadable.

  Wallan watched Xollor turn. And when he did, Wallan saw Xollor’s back, pierced with daggers. Blood streamed down the slick metal chestplate. The man’s torso heaved with exhaustion, his breath shallow. Wallan’s eyes fixed on the blades, on the weight the man carried. He remained silent in his observation…

  and then his gaze shifted to the blade beside him.

  His hands twitched.

  The Groggins, on the other hand, gave Xollor time to respond. But he didn’t. One of them sighed and said, “Then you will die a cold death. You are disposable, like everyone else—”

  But his voice was cut off.

  His eyes lowered. Every Groggin lowered their gaze. Brows lifted, surprise written plainly across their expressions.

  Xollor felt it too, a sudden change.

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  —Something slid into his resting hand—

  He looked down. It was the hilt of his sword. His sword had returned to him.

  Shaken by the sudden weight, Xollor lowered his head and spun around, and he saw the unthinkable.

  Wallan knelt closer, guiding the blade into his hand. The two men locked eyes. No words passed between them. One gaze shook with conflict. The other was unwavering, content.

  “Xollor,” Wallan said, his grip loosening. “Do it. Raise your sword.”

  Xollor’s grip trembled, his breath catching in his throat. The Groggins shifted, visibly disturbed. A few grunted low in their throats, but none stepped forward. They refused to speak against their order. The order was unchanged. One lost composure and clicked their tongue, clearly disgusted by what they were seeing.

  Xollor turned the sword in his hand, holding it properly now. Wallan released it.

  “Don’t let them turn this into obedience, or survival,” Wallan said softly. “Let this be the last thing I choose.”

  He drew a final breath. “It is not their order you’ll follow… It is mine. Raise your sword, and slay me, so that you may live as a free man.”

  And slowly, he bowed his head.

  The Groggins stared at one another, their calm demeanor wavering under the weight of this unexpected outcome. Something human flickered behind their eyes, but their pale expressions buried it again. One of them, still holding a dagger, shifted awkwardly. The weapon now felt meaningless in his grasp.

  Xollor clenched his teeth, visibly shaken. He had never felt like this before. His thoughts scattered, his breath ragged. The calm he was known for had completely unraveled. He tried to steady himself, but his heart pounded too violently.

  Then Xollor looked back at him and asked, “You choose death over saving the child?”

  There was a pause. Wallan, still kneeling, head bowed, replied, “I choose what any father would… the life of my son.”

  Xollor stood motionless as those words passed through him. He gripped the sword with trembling hands. His expression wavered.

  He lifted the blade. Above them, the sun broke through the trees, casting sharp light across the crimson steel. It gleamed quietly, seeming to carry neither judgment nor weight.

  When Wallan heard the subtle clink of Xollor’s armor shifting, he breathed deeply. In his final thoughts, he saw her—his wife, sitting beside him. The warmth he had long missed settled over him. She didn’t speak. He whispered to the vision, his voice thin.

  “I hope you’re proud of me. I hope this is what I can give for all the wrongs I have done.”

  Xollor closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his grip was firm. His breath steady.

  And then, he brought the sword down.

  –460 HP

  HP: 0 / 460

  Luminescent birds scattered from the trees at the moment life ceased. They flapped their two pairs of wings and rose into the air, glowing feathers painting streaks of light across the sky. They sang with solemn clarity as they coursed eastward through the wind. The plants swayed beneath them, as if raising hands to bear witness. Green waves of light pulsed through stems and leaves. Whispers passed from root to root, about a farewell that would no longer be heard again.

  End of Part 12

  February 4