The fight had ended, but the aftermath weighed heavy on Ravyn. His chest rose and fell with exhaustion, sweat beading across his temple. Though the Chimera was down, Ravyn had used far more mana than he expected. His body enhancement spells were powerful but demanding. He leaned against the cabin wall for a moment, catching his breath.
Kael stood nearby, her eyes wide with concern. She had seen everything—the sharp movements, the close calls, and her own moment of bravery when she distracted the Chimera before it could land a devastating blow on Ravyn. But now, silence lingered. Ravyn didn't speak. He simply walked out of the cabin, one heavy step after another, towards his horse.
Kael followed slowly, still unsure what to say. She expected Ravyn to mount the horse and ride off like always, while she trudged beside him. But something was different this time. Ravyn paused, then looked down at her.
"Get on," he said.
Kael blinked, startled. "W-What?"
He didn't repeat himself. He simply adjusted his seat slightly, making space. Kael, in a hurry before he changed his mind, jumped on the horse behind him. Her heart fluttered—not from the closeness, but from the surprise.
As they rode through the dim Fragrant Forest, the pace was faster, smoother. Kael wasn't panting or tripping anymore. She held onto the saddle and glanced at the back of Ravyn's head. Does he like me? she wondered. Her face turned a shade pink. Maybe... maybe he does.
But the truth was simpler—Ravyn pitied her. She was exhausted. Slowing down would delay them both. As a hellspawn, he was duty-bound to protect good humans, and Kael had done nothing to show herself evil. So he helped. No more. No less.
Eventually, the Fragrant Forest began to shift. The dim light that had cloaked them for hours started to lift. Trees grew thinner. The atmosphere lightened. They had exited the Fragrant Forest. Now, ahead of them stretched a new forest—the Zedilitric Forest. The trees were more spaced out, their leaves allowing sunlight to pierce through and bathe the path.
Ravyn slowed the horse.
"Five kilometers from here," he said, his voice low but steady. "There's a town. We'll rest there."
Kael nodded, holding on tighter. Her muscles were sore, but this was manageable. Much better than before.
They rode deeper into Zedilitric, and that's when the rhythmic thuds began. Faint at first—like a heartbeat in the distance. Then louder. Heavier. Closer.
Kael gripped the saddle tighter. "R-Ravyn? What is that?"
He didn't answer. His posture remained upright, eyes focused ahead.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
And then, they appeared. Nine armored soldiers on horseback emerged from the trees, surrounding them. They wore silver-plated armor, their helmets only covering the tops of their heads. Their chest plates were chainmail, and their legs were covered in iron-like armor.
One raised a hand. "Halt!"
Ravyn pulled the reins and the horse stopped without question. Kael looked around nervously. One of the soldiers eyed Ravyn.
"Are you from Telaria?" he asked.
Ravyn didn't blink. His gaze, calm and emotionless, met the soldier's. "No."
The soldier frowned. "That's not an answer we can accept without evidence."
But before tensions could rise, another rider appeared. His armor was similar, but his helmet was silver-blue and the emblem on his shoulder was red—unlike the white ones on the other soldiers.
Kael's eyes widened. Her mouth slowly opened in disbelief. No way...
It was Prince Comue.
The prince of Crewliywas.
He smiled as he saw Ravyn. "Ah, don't worry, men. This guy's a friend of mine."
The soldiers immediately relaxed. Kael's jaw practically dropped.
Comue dismounted and walked toward Ravyn. "You said you'd return after five months, Ravyn. Yet here you are, only two weeks later. Did the Fragrant Forest treat you that badly?" he said with a laugh.
Ravyn remained still. "No. I met a wizard. That was enough of an adventure."
The prince laughed heartily, slapping Ravyn on the back. "A wizard, huh? Sounds interesting."
He looked over at Kael, then back at Ravyn. "Shall we go back?"
Kael was still staring, her mind spinning. Prince Comue... knows Ravyn? They're friends? She could barely comprehend what she was hearing.
The soldiers began turning their horses, forming a protective circle around Ravyn, Kael, and the prince. As they began moving again, Kael leaned forward and whispered into Ravyn's ear.
"You... know the prince?"
Ravyn didn't even turn his head. "Yes."
Kael's head spun with questions. Who was this man she was traveling with? And why did the prince treat him like an equal?
But for now, she kept quiet. The trees of Zedilitric passed them by as the group rode toward the town.
There were very few people in the entire kingdom of Tenteri who could walk with pride like Prince Comue.
At the age of twenty-five, he was already a legend. Not simply for the circumstances of his birth, nor for the expectations that came with being royalty, but because of what he had done. His accomplishments. His raw, unstoppable talent.
The capital city of Crewliywas spoke his name often, from the mouths of beggars to the tongues of lords. It was not adoration born of mere birthright, but a kind of fearful respect. The kind reserved for men who had not only met greatness, but wrestled it into submission.
When he was nine years old, he had shown signs of magic. That alone was remarkable. Most noble children learned the basics of etiquette, swordplay, and literacy. Magic was reserved for the gifted few. And even among those, it was rare for one to show promise so young. But Comue had not just displayed potential—he had cast his first spell unaided. A fire spell, of all things. Wild, powerful, and clean.
By the time he was eleven, the capital's finest mages had already been summoned to oversee his training. And by thirteen, they were already struggling to teach him anything he didn't already seem to know.
But it wasn't just magic that lived in his bones.
At the age of seventeen, Comue was given the prestigious and rare title of "Swordsmaster." A title not earned through mere training or noble blood, but bestowed only upon those whom the high council or rulers of a nation personally deemed masters of the blade. It was a title men in their fifties and sixties spent their entire lives trying to achieve. Most failed. Some died trying.
And there stood Comue, with steel in his hands, at only seventeen.
What made him different, perhaps, was not only his talent. It was his composure. That serenity he carried in his shoulders, the way his eyes remained focused even under pressure. He fought like a man twice his age, calculating, efficient, elegant. When he moved, it was never wasted motion. When he struck, it was with precision, not rage. Every swing had purpose.
Even Ravyn, a hellspawn feared and revered in equal measure, whose own swordsmanship was unmatched among common ranks, had never been given the title. He was older than Comue, more experienced in the field, and had cut through monsters and men with practiced ease. And yet the crown never offered him the honor. Not because Ravyn lacked skill, but because there was something about Comue that even the greatest warriors lacked.
Recognition. Nobility. That unspoken air.
It was no wonder that stories sprung around him like weeds in spring.
The most popular rumor in the capital, one passed through taverns and whispered in alleys, was that Comue had once slain not one, not two, but three Great Dragons when he was just twenty-one. And not from a distance with arrows or poison, but face-to-face. With his sword. They said he stood in a valley filled with fire and bone, his armor cracked and scorched, yet his grip on his weapon never faltered. They said the final dragon, massive as a cathedral, had roared so loud it cracked the mountain stone—and yet still fell to Comue's blade.
There were doubters, of course. There always were. But even they admitted one truth: if anyone could do it, it was him.
At twenty-five, Comue was no longer simply a prince. He was a general. One of the youngest the nation had ever seen. And not just any general. A leading commander of one of the most formidable battalions in Tenteri—the Iron Crest Army. A force so disciplined, so fierce, that even neighboring nations trembled at its banners.
Under his command, the army did not falter. They did not question. They followed.
They respected him, not just for his power, but for the way he led. He never barked orders from a distant tent. He rode with his men. Ate with them. Bled beside them. He remembered names. He listened. And when it came time to fight, he was always at the front.
There was a story from a border conflict two years prior. One in which Comue's forces had been ambushed by a group of mountain raiders reinforced by foreign mercenaries. The terrain was treacherous. The odds were poor. Yet Comue had not retreated. Instead, he led a daring nighttime counterattack, navigating the cliffs with only moonlight and instinct, striking fast and hard. The enemy fell into disarray.
By morning, they had fled.
It wasn't just his own kingdom that recognized him. There were enemies—soldiers from other lands—who spoke his name not with hatred, but admiration. Letters had once been intercepted from a rival general praising Comue as a "young lion destined for glory." Another nation reportedly tried to bribe one of his officers, not to kill Comue, but to get a lock of his hair. As if some part of his genius might be captured through it.
Comue didn't care for the stories.
He knew who he was. And he knew the weight of his birth.
There was one secret, however, that even most of his loyal soldiers did not know.
He knew Ravyn was a hellspawn.
From the moment they met, the prince had seen through the façade. Ravyn never admitted it aloud, but Comue had pieced it together. The inhuman stamina. The quiet servitude. The refusal to lie. The way he acted not on emotion but on principle, even when it was inconvenient.
Ravyn never begged for recognition. Never asked for titles. He followed orders and protected those deemed good. He had saved civilians, killed abominations, and walked through fire to guard human life. And yet society still looked at him with suspicion, like a beast in human skin.
Comue had never once treated him that way.
He understood the truth. That the hellspawn were not evil. They were created with a singular purpose. To protect. To serve. To carry the burden that humanity itself was often too selfish to bear.
The prince admired Ravyn in his own way.
Not with praise. But with trust.
He spoke little about it, of course. Some truths were best kept buried. Even a prince could only protect so much.
Yet as Comue rode alongside Ravyn now, watching the same unchanging expression carved onto the hellspawn's face, he knew that he was not looking at a subordinate. He was looking at a comrade. A kindred soul.
Both of them bore their duties like armor. Both of them had learned not to ask why.
That was the nature of legends. They did not emerge from comfort. They were forged in silence, duty, and sacrifice.
And Comue, at just twenty-five, was already one of the greatest legends Tenteri had ever known.