Chapter 367 - Warm Triumph

Stumbling as he tripped over his own feet, he was left completely to the whim of that blade that loomed over him. It was nothing short of the morning star, though it's radiance came with dread rather than hope.

Though a direct hit of the steel missed his legs, the golden air crushed down on his shins while leaving deep cuts in his flesh.

"Ngh…!"

Ren gasped in pain as his legs began to immediately bruise and swell up, turning to a shade of purple. 

In such a position, he could only hold his blade in front of him as he sat on the grass, hiding behind his weapon as the king raised his own to the air once more.

"…Licht: Arrow!"

—Her words were like a blessing to his ears as the sound of the arrows formed of pure light followed her incantation.

Before the king could rain down death upon the young man, the arrows penetrated his back, giving him enough time to find himself on his feet again. 

As he stood, he winced, biting down on his bottom lip as tears lined his eyes from the sea of pain that sparked in his legs. 

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Is it broken? Fractured? It hurts so bad…! It feels like my legs are going to snap! Ren thought.

The adrenaline he knew had to be surging through his body wasn't aiding him with this pain. 

He attempted to use a proper stance, but he was unsteady as a flagpole in a storm as he swayed from his fragile, bruised legs' instability. 

Still, there was no choice but to stand, no matter the pain or cost--the finish line was agonizingly close. 

I can't move. If I try to take a step, I'll fall. Still...there is a way, he thought. 

As he drew in an unsteady breath into his flaming lungs, he watched as the king once more went on the offensive, despite the arrows of light embedded into his back. 

Seeing the state he was in, Iris abandoned her position on the backline--rushing forward now despite knowing full well the reservations he had for this outcome. 

But, the look in his eyes when he saw the azure-haired girl rushing to his aid told otherwise--he was relieved. 

I can't win this alone--I know that now, Iris. Asking you to act as the damsel in distress while I shoulder everything...it was immature. We're in this together! He thought. 

Still, it was simply impossible for her to reach him before the king could swing his gallant blade against the compromised young man--but Ren knew this already. 

Waiting until the exact moment it was swung, feeling the warmth of the overflowing radiance barely graze his skin--he moved. Not with his own two legs, but with his own, unspoken magecraft that flung him through the shadows. 

Shadow step, he willed. 

Dashing forward through the intangible realm of darkness, he appeared to the side of the king, witnessing a pulsation ravage the verdant field in front of the sword's path. 

I'm alive!...Holy shit! Ren celebrated in his mind. 

Now he watched as Iris drew in, stopping at a distance safe from the direct edge of Excalibur before pressing her palms together. 

"Hyperion: Protection! Times two!" 

Her incantation confused Ren for a moment, but it was clear what her intentions were the moment both barriers of light formed. 

It wasn't to protect her from any incoming harm, but instead the opposite: it ensnared her opponent. 

Good thinking…! Ren thought. 

Manifesting directly in front of the king and directly behind him, the walls of light magecraft enclosed him in a claustrophobic binding. 

The king attempted to move, but only a few sparse centimeters were afforded to him--leaving him unable to so much as hold his own weapon properly. 

"Ren!"

"Got it!"

Knowing full well what had to be done, he moved closer to the trapped guardian with the assistance of another shadow step, stopping just in front of King Arthur, with only the translucent wall between them. 

This is the last of my mana, Arthur. I'm not holding anything out on you, you hear? Ren thought. 

Raising his fist and clenching it tightly shut, he pushed his knuckles against the humming wall as his eyes laid on the king. 

"Araphel: Tyrant Lance!" 

--Forming directly against and within the weakened king, a rapid spiral of shadowy mana coalesced into the form of a drill. 

King Arthur had no defenses to hold against the dark drill, succumbing to its violent torque as it penetrated directly through his abdomen--spinning as the rabid magecraft tore away both ensnaring walls as collateral. 

Only light groans escaped the taut, wordless lips of the hollow king as he stumbled back with the dissipation of the drill--leaving a massive, gaping hole straight through his abdominal region. 

Iris quickly covered her mouth at the grotesque sight, but Ren kept his eyes on the king--not holding anything out. 

"...You're done, Arthur. It's time to rest." 

Ren spoke to the guardian, who still remained standing as a river of black blood poured from the clear passageway through his stomach. 

The king dropped his sword to the ground as the mortality that accompanied such wounds finally began to set in on the bulwark of a guardian. 

"I made a promise to you, didn't I? I'll follow it through now." 

He spoke softly, sheathing his dagger as he only held Belus in his hands now, holding a somber gaze in his eyes. 

Just this once, listen to me, I need you, Ren thought. 

Asking this of whatever laid in the depths of his soul, an answer was received: he could feel the peculiar warmth settle in his left iris--only that one eye shifted into the shape of a golden wheel as he stood in front of the dying guardian. 

"Manjushri." 

Ren commanded softly to his blade, igniting its beautiful silver with a layer of warm, golden flames. 

Standing next to him, Iris stood quietly at the serene sendoff, feeling a passing wind brush against the endless sea of verdant grass. 

It's time to sleep, Arthur, he thought. 

There was no reaction from the king, who in his hollow nature was simply resigning to death. With that lack of a reaction came a lack of resistance as the young man pierced the enlightened blade through the heart of King Arthur. 

The moment the steel laden in iridescent flames stabbed through the king, a light returned to his emerald eyes. 

Though it may be believed the lavish flames of gold simply scorned negative karma, it was simply not the complete truth. What they bestowed was freedom; the veil of darkness and corruption over the heart of the king was lifted. 

As was done to the great Minotaur, a passage to rest was opened for King Arthur. 

"Ah...you did it. I wasn't able to see it myself, but I'm sure it was a fantastic battle. I was right about you both…Iris, Ren." 

King Arthur spoke as he leaned against the young man, unable to hold himself as mortality clung to his form. 

He remained silent as the king's weight rested motionlessly against him, still holding tightly onto the handle of his sword as he could feel the beating of the king's heart beat melodically, slowing down with each moment. 

"...It's all returning: my comrades, my friends, my family...my people, the kingdom I built. It's all there...it's still with me." 

--As he spoke, his body began to resign to its true age; withering away as his essence became intertwined with the traveling winds. 

"Thank you, both of you, you've done a kindness to a man with nothing to his name. Go on and surmount this realm, champions." 

With his words as faint as a whisper, the gentle words spoken by the king of a lost kingdom accompanied his full departure. 

The warmth of a beating heart, gone. 

There was nobody leaning against him any longer, Ren simply watched as the miniscule particles that were once part of the king carried off into the skies, pushed along by the winds. 

All that remained of the king was his treasured blade, resting on the bed of emerald grass. 

"It's over…"

Iris finally spoke after a minute of the tranquil somberness persisted, standing directly beside the young man as they both looked down at the mythical blade. 

"Yeah. We did it. We won." 

He replied quietly, not moving his eyes from the blade; even as it sat there, priceless and unmatched, the thought to keep it for himself didn't even cross his mind. For the first time in his life, he felt utmost respect for one deemed his opponent. 

Like a shower of rain, the utopian domain began to crumble as aspects of the sky itself glided down. 

Amidst that bittersweet downfall, Iris' hand naturally guided to his own, holding gently while they patiently stood in the crumbling realm. It was a moment that couldn't be intruded with words; spoken only with their own hearts, they didn't feel true triumph, but only a somber victory--not fully for themselves, but perhaps for the king. 

Fading away, the boundless fields of flowers was gone, returning them to the quiet, desolate throne room devoid of such beauty.