Chapter 96: Chapter 96: System's Warrior

Varick and Raelar collapsed, their lifeless bodies hitting the ground with a dull thud.

Fathoran: 0 Mana

Elio, Lucien, and Selene, shielded by the bodies of their fallen comrades, stared at the scene in horror. The reality of what had transpired took several agonizing moments to penetrate their stunned minds.

Fathoran looked at his hands with awe and horror. He had killed his own great-grandson.

For a moment, the weight of his actions seemed to crack his iron resolve, but he quickly steeled himself.

This was just another necessary sacrifice, he lied to himself, ignoring the tremor in his hands.

Selene was the first to react. A scream of pure rage escaped her throat, tearing through the air like a physical force. Her eyes, filled with tears of fury, locked onto Fathoran.

Without a second thought, she channeled another point of her remaining mana into an attack fueled by rage.

As Fathoran's mana depleted, Elio's prison gradually vanished.

Freed from his carbon cage, Elio fell to his knees. A few meters in front of him lay Varick's body, his face frozen in a small smile.

Elio remained motionless, unable to process what had just happened.

Those he believed to be his enemies... so many of them... had protected him.

Was he wrong?

A wave of nausea hit him, an oppressive sensation gripping his throat.

Elio retched, emptying what little remained in his stomach. The bitter taste in his mouth matched the acrid smell of destruction around him.

"Varick," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Why?"

Varick, his childhood tormentor, had given his life for him?

Confusion mixed with overwhelming guilt in his mind.

Elio extended a trembling hand towards Varick. Did he really hate him? All those years of abuse and humiliation seemed so distant now. Varick had changed, had tried to redeem himself, and Elio hadn't given him the chance.

Instead... he had brutally beaten him. Varick hadn't even defended himself, only apologized. The memory of Varick's bloodied face, his eyes full of remorse, flashed in Elio's mind.

Varen stopped next to Lucien, his eyes gleaming with a madness born of resentment. He raised his hand, ready to launch a fireball and burn his rival's skull once and for all. The air around his palm began to shimmer with heat.

As Varen's hand began to glow with the telltale signs of a forming fireball, time seemed to slow. The crackling of the nascent flame mixed with Selene's choked gasps and Fathoran's labored breathing, creating a haunting symphony of impending doom.

Then... A spear crossed through Varen's skull.

Elio's hand, outstretched towards Varick's body, began to tremble. The bitter taste of bile lingered in his mouth.

For a moment, he was lost in a whirlpool of guilt and confusion.

Still kneeling, Elio felt the world slow down around him. The faces of his family flashed before his eyes, his mother's kind smile, his sisters' laughter, little Rian's innocent gaze.

They were gone, taken from him.

His family was still dead. Nothing could change that...

"I will not let you down, mother"

"What are you made of, son?"

Fury, courage... Sheer will... Lies.

Vengeance, madness , sin... No.

"You are a warrior, born to face challenges with courage and wisdom like your father."

"I will not let you down, mother"

The grief and confusion that had paralyzed him moments ago crystallized into a cold, hard resolve. His family was dead, yes, but he could still fight for the city.

He could still make their sacrifice mean something.

He could still make his mother proud.

He blinked, his vision clearing. Lucien lay on the ground, Varen looming over him with murderous intent. Selene struggled in Fathoran's grip, her face turning red from lack of air.

A realization dawned on Elio: if Lucien and Selene truly were his allies, then they, along with his friends, were all he had left in this world. He couldn't let them die.

With a grunt of effort, Elio pushed himself to his feet. His eyes locked onto his lance, lying forgotten amidst the chaos. In three quick strides, he reached it, his hand closing around the familiar grip.

The weight of the weapon in his hand felt right, like an extension of his own body.