Chapter 62: The Fallen King of Freya Familia
Haaah...
Akira exhaled deeply as he deactivated the Boosted Gear. A sharp wave of pain tore through his entire body—from his temples down to his heels—courtesy of the insane strain he'd forced onto himself.
Still, thanks to the Dragon Blood of Ddraig coursing through his veins, his physique and regeneration were just barely keeping him upright.
The surrounding area had been completely devastated. The once-flat battlefield was now nothing but scorched, broken earth—scarred by the violent blast of magic that had erupted moments earlier.
In the center of it all, a massive crater gaped open, still radiating heat. And at its base, Akira could sense a faint trace of life.
Even after taking that devastating attack head-on… Ottar was still alive.
Just barely.
Tap... tap...
Akira's boots echoed softly as he walked to the edge of the crater. Looking down, he found Ottar's battered body barely clinging to life. Most of the Boaz warrior's clothing had been incinerated, and huge lacerations marred his muscular frame. Blood still oozed from the many torn gashes covering him.
"You really are stubborn, Ottar... You're still breathing, huh?"
Akira's voice was calm and emotionless. From his elevated position, he stared down like a king gazing upon a defeated enemy. The tables had turned completely—he was the victor now.
Meanwhile, Ottar could barely remain conscious. His will alone was keeping his eyes open, fighting back the darkness creeping at the edge of his vision.
His sight blurred and twisted, but even through the haze, he knew—without question—who was standing above him.
"Shi... Shin Akira…"
He choked out the name, each syllable heavy with resignation. It was the last thing he could say. The final remnants of his pride and resolve had been spent.
Akira watched him for a moment longer… then turned and walked away.
He could already feel a number of powerful auras rushing toward his location. Not ordinary adventurers—these were the real elites.
And as strong as he was, Akira had just finished one of the most brutal fights of his life. His body was already beyond its limit.
Yes, he still had a single vial of Phoenix's Tears tucked away—an elixir that could instantly restore him even from the brink of death. But it was a trump card, meant to save his life in a true emergency. As long as he could walk away, he wouldn't waste it.
Whoosh—
Just minutes after Akira vanished from the battlefield, another figure arrived.
"…Unbelievable. This… is really Ottar?"
The man stared in shock. The proud, towering monster he had admired for years now lay crumpled and barely recognizable.
His name was Allen Fromel—a Level 6 adventurer, vice-captain of the Freya Familia, and a renowned warrior known across Orario as Vana Freya.
He had spent years challenging Ottar, desperate to surpass him and take the role of captain. Yet each time, he'd lost. Horribly.
And now—now the invincible mountain had finally fallen.
Without hesitation, Allen pulled a small glass bottle from his pouch.
Splash—
He poured its contents over Ottar's broken body. Instantly, the worst of the wounds began to close. Torn muscles slowly started to knit themselves back together.
Then, he pulled out a second bottle. Forcing Ottar's jaw open, he poured the glowing liquid down his throat.
This wasn't just any potion.
It was a High-Grade Elixir—a divine-tier healing item so rare and expensive that it couldn't be bought with mere money.
Even a basic Elixir could cost upward of 500,000 valis on the open market—capable of healing severe injuries, burns, or poison.
But what Allen used wasn't just "basic."
It was the highest quality Elixir available. Each vial worth millions of valis—a sacred remedy that could snatch a soul from the jaws of death.
And Allen had just used two.
All for one man—Ottar.
That was the strange paradox of the Freya Familia. On the surface, they were consumed by rivalry, infighting, and ambition.
But when push came to shove, none of them would let a comrade die.
Not because they were unified. Not because they loved each other.
But because each of them was a treasured asset of Goddess Freya.
To lose even one member… was an unforgivable offense to their divine queen.
To these loyal fanatics, anything that harmed Freya was a sin.
Even if they hated each other's guts—they would still save each other. For her.
Kuhak… kuhak…
A wet cough broke the silence. The Elixirs were working. Ottar stirred.
As he opened his heavy eyes, the first thing he saw was Allen's face.
"You really got your ass handed to you this time, Ottar."
Allen said it flatly, with zero sympathy.
"You're the one who came… Allen," Ottar muttered, slowly sitting up. His entire body still screamed in agony, but to someone like him, pain meant little.
Flashes of the battle replayed in his mind.
And though his pride resisted the truth, deep down, he knew.
Shin Akira had defeated him.
If Akira had wanted to kill him—he absolutely could have.
The only reason Ottar was still alive… was because Akira chose not to kill him. Out of consideration for Freya and her Familia.
"…He really is that strong, huh?"
Allen's voice was quiet.
For years, Ottar had been the absolute pinnacle of strength in their Familia. No one could even come close.
But now… Ottar had been crushed.
"Lady Freya's eyes are never wrong," Ottar said bitterly. "That man has only been in Orario for—what?—two weeks. And already, he's surpassed almost everyone. He even wields a sacred weapon."
"A sacred weapon?"
Ottar gave a small nod.
"Seems like a Dragon-type Sacred Gear. One that doubles his strength repeatedly over time. He started out weaker than me… but by the end, he'd completely overtaken me."
"…Doubles over time? That kind of artifact really exists?"
Even Allen was shaken. A weapon like that… it defied logic.
But looking at Ottar's wrecked body, he couldn't deny it.
"We need to go," Ottar muttered.
"Yeah."
That explosion earlier had drawn too much attention.
Strong individuals were already closing in on their location.
And before they arrived, Ottar and Allen needed to disappear.
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