"Majesty, stay right behind me," Michael said, stepping in front of me like a living shield, his back straight and eyes sharp. His presence alone pushed back the fear clawing at my chest.
Javier moved to stand beside his father, and just like that, it became two against one.
One of them was Orin—Javier's father and once the strongest warrior in Runevale before losing his right arm in battle against the King of Persia. The other was Javier-leader of the execution squad in Runevale. And facing them both... was Michael. The current strongest in the kingdom.
Even Michael knew this wasn't going to be easy.
"Majesty," he said quickly, turning his head slightly toward me, voice low but firm, "run now. At the eastern gate, there'll be soldiers in dark cloaks waiting. They'll help you escape the kingdom. I'll come find you once I'm done here."
"But I can't leave you alone," I said, panic rising in my chest. Something felt off. My mother—Lady Nyxelene—hadn't made a move yet. She was too quiet. Too calm.
Michael glanced back at me, his expression softer for a moment. "What's a little girl who cries whenever I'm not around going to do here, huh?" he asked gently, almost with a smile. "Please go. I don't think I can protect you and fight those two at the same time."
He wasn't just saying that. Orin had once been one of his mentors. Michael knew exactly what he was up against.
Before I could reply, guards burst out from the crowd like a swarm of insects, circling us in every direction. Swords drawn. Eyes cold.
Michael didn't hesitate.
In a flash, he charged toward the eight guards blocking our escape. His movements were sharp and fluid—deadly. One breath, one heartbeat—and it was done.
Eight men fell in three seconds. Their blood painted the ground.
Gasps and screams erupted from the crowd watching from afar. Some backed away in fear, others stood frozen in shock.
Before Orin or Javier could react, Michael turned back and roared, "Now, Majesty! RUN!"
And I ran.
I ran as fast as my legs would carry me, not daring to look back. I didn't want to see what would happen. I didn't want to see him hurt. I trusted him. I had to.
Even though a part of me knew...
He was throwing everything away—just like I feared.
Three soldiers rushed after me, weapons drawn, but they didn't even make it to the door.
Their bodies dropped one after the other, blood spreading across the marble floor beneath them. Michael didn't even look back. It was as if their movements were nothing more than slow, predictable gestures to him—easy to read, easy to cut down.
Orin raised his hand, signaling the remaining guards to fall back. He knew it was pointless to throw ordinary men at Michael. They wouldn't last more than a heartbeat, no matter how many they are.
This wasn't just any man.
He was known across kingdoms as the multi-genius—someone who could master anything on his first try. Be it swordsmanship, magic, or even the ancient language of Šërēĺįťh. Michael had always been different.
"Michael," Orin said, stepping forward with a frown carved deep into his face, "do you really think you can take on the entire Kingdom of Runevale alone? What happened to you? Why betray everything we stood for and go against the queen?"
Michael didn't hesitate. His voice was sharp, like a blade drawn in the dark. "Old man, tell me—would you sit still if the queen ordered Javier's death?"
Orin's face twitched, but he said nothing.
"Of course you would," Michael continued, his tone filled with quiet fury. "Isn't that what you did when Irene's abilities were being sealed? You just watched... stood there and watched, like a damn statue. You don't protect, Orin. You follow orders. That's all you've ever done."
"You bastard!" Javier shouted, leaping forward with fire in his eyes.
He twisted midair, spinning into a fierce combo—four strikes in a blink. Michael blocked every one of them with sharp, clean parries, his feet sliding just enough to hold his ground. Before he could counter, a sudden blade came from his blind spot—Orin. Michael ducked, barely avoiding the sweep of his former mentor's dagger.
The battle exploded from there—fast, brutal, and loud. Sparks flew with every clash of metal. Michael was outnumbered, but he wasn't falling.
He held his own.
Javier was swift, attacking with youthful aggression, while Orin fought with precision and calm experience, each strike measured and deadly. Michael danced between the two, blades spinning in his hands, sweat rolling down his temple but his eyes never wavering.
"He's still holding back…" one of the nearby guards muttered in disbelief.
"Was Michael always a monster ?" another asked, his voice trembling. "He's going up against the living legend Orin and his son... and he's not even losing ground."
"To think we were ordered to subdue someone like him..."
They watched, unsure whether to feel awe or fear.
Michael was no longer just the strongest in Runevale.
He was beginning to look like something else entirely—something even the kingdom might not be able to contain.
Michael was holding his own—and what made it worse for his opponents—was that he was doing it with only one sword. He gripped Ignis, his offensive blade, with steady hands, its crimson edge flashing like fire under the light. The crowd watching knew what this meant.
Everyone in Runevale had heard of Ignis and Nox—the twin blades forged for Michael alone. Nox was for defense, Ignis for attack. It was said he only used both when he truly felt cornered. And when he did… it was called Blazewrath.
The fact that Nox hadn't even been drawn yet infuriated Orin.
Michael didn't see them as a threat.
Gritting his teeth, Orin's expression darkened. Without saying a word, he shifted his stance. His dagger began to hum with pressure, the air around him growing dense. It was clear—he was done holding back. With Javier moving in perfect rhythm beside him, the real fight began.
Attacks flew at Michael from every direction, blades coming in sharp and fast. He blocked, dodged, and countered with fierce determination, but it was clear he was slowly being pushed back. His movements, though graceful and precise, couldn't fully keep up with two of Runevale's most powerful warriors at once.
And all the while, Queen Nyxelene watched from her throne, expression unreadable, as if she were merely watching a play.
"Looks like this is it for the oh-so-great Michael," someone in the crowd muttered with grim satisfaction.
"Haven't you noticed?" another voice said, sharper. "He still hasn't pulled out Nox."
Michael's breathing grew heavier, his shirt clinging to his skin from sweat. He deflected another blow from Orin, twisted to parry Javier's strike, but then—two attacks came at him from both sides. The angles were tight, too sharp to dodge completely.
It looked like it was over.
Then, it happened.
With one swift motion, Michael's hand reached behind him—and the moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt of Nox, time seemed to slow.
The air crackled. The ground trembled.
In one seamless motion, he drew the second blade. Blazewrath had been unleashed.
Gasps erupted from the crowd.
Even Orin's eyes widened.
Javier stepped back without meaning to.
The twin swords glowed—Ignis with burning red flame, Nox with a quiet, deep blue shimmer, like still water hiding a storm. Every guard and soldier present could feel it—the shift in pressure, the terrifying calm before the storm.
The real fight had just begun.