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Chapter 78 - **Chapter 78: Voluntary Exile **

The beast leapt from the castle rooftop, its claws briefly scraping against the stone before it landed with uncanny grace atop one of the surrounding ramparts. The impact made the structure tremble, but it didn't lose a second: in a tight, fast, and precise gallop, it raced along the wall like a fleeing shadow.

Then, in a perfectly controlled surge, it jumped. It landed on the roof of a house below, dislodging a few tiles as it did, then continued — from rooftop to rooftop, house to house. An aerial escape, fluid and almost unreal.

Amid the frantic flight, Dante pulled out the letter Kazan had entrusted to him. The paper was crumpled, stained with battle dust, but the writing remained clear, steady, solemn. He unfolded it carefully, eyes fixed on the words of his mentor.

"Dante,If you're reading this, it means I wasn't there to say goodbye. But you're alive, and that's all that matters.Your face is now known to everyone, your name recorded in the kingdom's archives. There's no going back.From now on, you must follow Samuel. He carries a burden few understand. You must walk beside him — not just as a comrade, but as a man he can count on.You have the spirit for this. Your father saw it in you, and so did I.He would have wanted you to be free. So go.Go, and change this fucked-up world.— Kazan"

Dante's fingers trembled. Rage gnawed at his gut — at the world, at injustice, at this senseless war. But deep inside, something else glimmered. A silent acceptance. A gratitude for Kazan — a father, despite everything.

He didn't say a word. But his gaze had changed.

That's when the arrow cut through the air.

A violet, crystalline light flashed past, slicing through the space beside them like a curse. It flew mere inches from Helydia and slammed violently into a wall behind them, exploding in shards of pure energy.

The group turned in unison, breath caught.

On a tall window of the castle they had just fled, a man stood — perfectly still, like a statue.

A white man with a slender, almost tapered build, shaped more for precision than brute strength. His pale skin contrasted with his short, curly black hair, always slightly tousled despite its softness. Two round, silver-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, framing sharp, violet eyes that never stopped moving — always calculating, always anticipating. Beneath a neatly trimmed mustache hid a calm, enigmatic smile — the kind worn by someone who knows more than they say and prefers to watch rather than speak.

He wore a light armor, finely crafted, of pale, weathered gold that looked centuries old. It wrapped his torso and shoulders without weighing him down, leaving his arms free to move fluidly. Small matte gold plates were layered over deep violet fabric — supple, yet reinforced at vital spots. It wasn't a soldier's armor, but that of a noble scout or archer, built for speed and elegance.

His bow was a true masterpiece. Forged entirely from dark wood reinforced with a mysterious alloy, it looked both ancient and enchanted. Thin runes, carved with surgical precision, lined the limbs and glowed faintly with golden light each time he drew it. At the bow's heart, a central crystal — violet or blue depending on the light — sat nestled within a spiral of engraved gold. On his back, a rigid leather quiver held a series of blackened-wood arrows with deep gray, almost obsidian, heads — each one designed to pierce armor, perfectly balanced, deadly by design.

This man looked like a scholar of the hunt, an elite archer, or perhaps a scout of mysterious origin — discreet, elegant, and dangerous.

Relia paled.

"That's the Fundament of Exploration… Zerak Argor!" she shouted. "Also known as the Pathfinder of Worlds. He's found us! We need to get out of here, now!"

In an instant, a storm of crystalline arrows rained down on them. Each projectile whistled through the air with supernatural precision, like a divine verdict.

The beast twisted and leapt with impossible agility, dodging each arrow by a hair's breadth. Its muscles stretched to the limit, its breath heavy. The group clung to the saddle's straps and rails as best they could.

Canon, tense, shouted:

"Hey, blondie! You've always got some freaky gadgets and artifacts — the key that opens everything, the eye that talks, the crystal that makes smoke… You don't have something to get us out of this?!"

Dante turned to him, eyes suddenly wide, a spark igniting in his gaze.

"That's the first non-stupid thing you've ever said, gorilla."

He climbed toward Samuel, gripping the saddle to keep from being thrown off as the beast twisted and dodged violently, and yelled:

"Hey Samuel! I might have something to get us out of this… but it's risky."

"What ? What do you mean, risky ?!" Helydia called out, clutching a leather handle, her hair whipped by the wind.

Samuel hesitated. It wasn't in his nature to act without thinking. But he felt the danger closing in — a deep, visceral instinct. They were out of time.

He looked Dante straight in the eye.

"I don't know what you're planning, but if it gets us out of here… do it."

Dante nodded. He slipped his hand into his shirt and pulled out a small green cube — its corners rounded, its surfaces covered in ancient carvings. At its center, a strange, swirling symbol.

He gripped it tightly in his palm, as arrows kept raining around them. Then, shouting over the chaos:

"VOLUNTARY EXILE!"

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