Darkness.
Not the comforting shade of night — but a suffocating, endless void. No ground, no sky, no warmth. Only the weight of blood and grief.
Leon stood in that emptiness, the cold grip of his katana still in his hand. Its crimson glow pulsed like a heartbeat, and its voice slithered through the void.
"Now what, Hero?"
Leon's head hung low. He could still see it in his mind — Sylva, broken and bloodied, lying motionless.
His heart clenched.
"She's… gone…"
And for what? What was the point of all this? What good was being a hero in a world that devoured the people you cared for?
The katana's voice coiled tighter around him.
"Who did this to her?"
Leon's jaw clenched. "The Herald."
"Wrong."
A cruel laugh.
"It was them. The people. This country. Their war. Their greed. Their lies. If not for them, the cultists would have no reason to be here. No Ravon. No dragon. No Herald."
Leon's eyes narrowed.
"They made this happen. And they will do it again. To someone else. You were too weak to stop it. Too weak to protect her. How many times will you watch them bleed for the sins of kings and cowards?"
The words sank into him like venom.
Weak.
He'd always been weak.
No matter how hard he fought, how many near-deaths he'd scraped through — he was still powerless when it mattered.
"I should've… killed them all…" Leon muttered, his voice trembling with fury.
The katana hummed, satisfied.
"Then do it. Unleash your WRATH. Burn this rotten kingdom to ash. Tear down its walls. Gut its lords. They don't deserve to live in the same world as her."
Leon gritted his teeth, his aura boiling, his mind slipping.
"I… should… kill them… all…"
And then —
A voice.
Faint.
Soft.
Familiar.
"Leon…"
His breath caught.
It was like a ripple through the void.
Another heartbeat.
"Leon… stop."
He knew that voice.
He turned — and in the distance, barely visible through the fog of rage, was a flicker of warmth.
Sylva.
Her voice wasn't strong, but it was enough.
Enough to make him hesitate.
"Sylva…?"
The katana hissed.
"Forget her. She's gone. She was a weakness, Leon. Cut the chain. Be free."
"Leon…"
It came again — closer now.
A hand reached out, breaking through the darkness.
"I'm here." Sylva's voice, soft but steady.
The air crackled with tension, thick with blood and magic.
Leon stood before her, his katana raised, white hair hanging in wild strands over cold hazel eyes. The crimson aura writhed around him, twisting, hungry.
And then — the katana spoke.
Sylva could feel it, though she couldn't hear its words. She saw it in Leon's face, the way his jaw clenched, the twitch in his eye.
"She's dead," the katana hissed.
"An illusion. A lie. Kill it. Kill her."
And then — Leon moved.
The first swing came fast, too fast for anyone else to react. It cut across her side — shallow, leaving a burning sting, but no true wound.
Sylva didn't move.
She saw the hesitation, the confusion in his gaze.
Another slash.
Across her shoulder.
It cut through cloth, barely grazing skin.
His eyes narrowed, frustration rising. He grit his teeth and struck again — and again. Every blow faster, heavier.
But none of them struck true.
They nicked flesh. Tore through fabric. Left crimson lines that didn't bleed.
Because somewhere in that storm of rage, Leon's body refused to kill her.
And Sylva saw it.
Not just in the way his hands trembled. Not just in the way his blade wavered at the last moment.
But in his eyes.
Behind the fury.
The grief.
The hurt.
And it shattered her.
She took a slow step forward.
Her legs felt like lead, every joint aching, every heartbeat a hammer in her chest. Blood still trickled from her side, but it didn't matter.
She remembered.
That throne room.
The day he was summoned.
When she was nothing but a chain-bound thing presented to him like a prize. No emotions. No freedom. No hope.
And instead of using her, instead of breaking her further — he gave her a choice.
"Call me Leon."
"Not 'Master'. Not 'Hero'. Leon."
She hadn't believed him.
Hadn't let herself.
Because feelings were dangerous. Hope was a weakness.
But here, now — she saw the same broken boy in front of her, drowning in his own pain.
And it hurt.
It hurt more than any wound she'd ever suffered.
"Leon…" she rasped, her voice hoarse, barely a whisper.
Another swing. It grazed her cheek. A crimson line, warm against her skin.
But she didn't stop.
"Leon, look at me."
His eyes flickered.
She stepped closer.
Another cut. Across her forearm.
Still shallow. Still refusing to kill.
"I'm here."
And then she was within reach.
Within one more strike.
Her trembling hand reached out, fingers brushing against his chest.
"You promised…"
The katana's voice screamed in protest.
But Sylva didn't care.
She placed her palm against Leon's heart, felt the frantic beat beneath her fingertips.
"You promised to call me human."
His grip on the katana faltered.
"And I won't let you become this."
The crimson aura flared — then wavered.
And Leon's sword hand shook.
His lips parted, voice ragged.
"Syl…va…?"
She gave a weak, bloody smile.
"It's me."
And for the first time since the battle began, a single tear slid down Leon's cheek.
* * * * *
The katana gleamed in Leon's grip, poised for a final strike.
The tip hovered a hair's breadth from Sylva's throat, the crimson aura crackling around them like a storm barely contained.
Time stretched.
Sylva didn't flinch.
She smiled.
A soft, faint, broken thing — but a smile nonetheless. It was foreign, unfamiliar on her face, but somehow it fit.
It made Leon's hands tremble.
She lifted one bloodied, shaking hand and rested it against his cheek, her thumb brushing the edge of his jaw.
"It's alright, Leon."
Her voice was soft, hoarse, but steady.
"It's over. I'm here. You're okay."
For a moment, nothing moved.
The crimson glow around the katana pulsed once more, a final desperate surge — but it was too late.
Leon's grip faltered.
The blade slipped from his fingers.
It hit the ground with a dull clang.
The crimson hue faded from the steel, dulling back to its original silver sheen. The oppressive, suffocating aura evaporated, leaving only a faint, lingering warmth in the air.
Leon's hair shifted — the ghostly white receding, fading into black, with pale silver streaks remaining at the ends.
His golden eyes returned, glassy and wide, locking on Sylva's.
"I'll see you again soon…"
The katana's voice whispered one final promise in his mind, before falling silent.
And then — Leon broke.
The weight of everything, the grief, the fury, the helplessness — it crashed down on him at once. His legs buckled and he dropped to his knees, pulling Sylva into a desperate, trembling embrace.
He clung to her as though she might vanish if he let go.
His voice cracked.
"I thought— I thought I lost you…"
Sylva winced at the pain in her body but managed to wrap one arm around him.
"Idiot," she muttered, resting her head against his shoulder. "Takes more than that to kill me."
* * * * *
A short distance away, Velis lay half-buried in a crater, her body battered, blood staining her torn clothes. She watched the scene through half-lidded silver eyes, a faint, crooked smile tugging at her lips.
"Tch… Bet the Demon Lord's enjoying this little drama," Velis murmured to herself.
The wind carried the smoke, the scent of blood.
And then — she sensed them.
Selene and Iris approaching fast.
Velis let her head fall back against the broken stone and closed her eyes, smearing blood across her cheek.
"Better act the part…" she sighed.
She went limp.
As the sound of hurried footsteps reached her, and Selene's voice called her name in panic, Velis wore a tiny, unseen smirk in the shadows.
The show wasn't over yet.
* * * * *
The blood moon faded, its crimson hue draining from the sky like spilled ink, leaving behind a cold, colorless night.
The city square lay in ruins.
Buildings half-collapsed. The air thick with smoke, blood, and ash. The ground scorched and cracked, littered with the mangled remains of monsters and fallen adventurers.
And in the center of it all — Leon knelt, holding Sylva in his arms.
Her breathing was shallow, face pale, streaked with blood and soot, but she was alive. The tension in Leon's body eased only slightly as she slipped into unconsciousness.
He cradled her gently, standing slowly as his battered frame protested every movement.
The once-menacing crimson aura had long since faded, leaving only the pale silver sheen of his katana and the echo of the storm behind his eyes.
And then a voice cut through the silence.
"Oi! You lot see that?"
It was Kieran.
Bloodied, scraped, one arm cradling his ribs, he had been fighting the remaining monsters— but still grinning like a fool.
He turned to the battered, shaken remnants of the city's defenders. Soldiers, adventurers, townsfolk, all frozen in shock and exhaustion.
"You just gonna stand there like idiots?" Kieran barked, waving a hand toward Leon. "That's your goddamn hero! The one who saved your hides!"
There was a moment's hesitation.
A flicker of uncertainty.
Then one voice rose from the crowd.
"Leon…"
Another followed.
"Leon!"
Then another.
And another.
Until the square filled with voices, ragged and hoarse, calling the name.
"Leon! Leon! Leon!"
Kieran grinned wider.
"And don't forget his crew! The Crimson Vow!"
"The Crimson Vow!" someone echoed.
And just like that — the battered survivors began to chant it together, a broken chorus rising into the night.
"Leon! The Crimson Vow!"
The cries rang out, carrying beyond the ruined walls of Cindralis, a fragile, defiant note against the darkness.
Leon barely registered the sound. His gaze remained on Sylva's sleeping face, the hollow ache in his chest refusing to ease.
But he held her tighter.
And in the distance in Selene's arms, Velis watched, her silver eyes gleaming.
A quiet smirk touched her lips.
"Tch… dramatic idiots."
She closed her eyes.
The storm had passed.
But the war was far from over.