Blood still dripped from the tips of his fingers. The body in his arms grew cold.
"Rachel… wake up… please…"
The voice was almost inaudible, as if choked by a burden too heavy to voice. Amid a battlefield trembling with magical explosions and human screams, a blood-soaked man knelt on the ground, holding a young girl who no longer moved. Her eyes were closed, her face pale, and her chest stained with an unending flow of red.
His name was Alexon Ralkan — prince of the Ralkan family, bearer of the title 'Unbeatable,' heir to a power that had been the pillar of the Larion Empire for generations. But now, that title meant nothing.
All that remained was failure—the one and only failure that shattered him completely—the failure to protect his only sister.
Behind him, the remaining thousands of Ralkan soldiers fought desperately, teeth gritted, hearts pounding, even as their bodies pushed past their limits. They were not blind to what was happening—they knew their commander had been emotionally shattered. Yet not one of them complained.
Because they knew it was Rachel Ralkan—the Light of the Ralkan family—and also because of Alexon, their prince. They had sworn to protect her, even at the cost of their own lives.
The magical barrier they had erected began to crack. The mages, who had drained their very last drops of mana, collapsed one by one.
Their last line of defense was about to vanish—their only advantage in this hopeless war.
Another explosion echoed.
The barrier could hold no longer—it shattered.
Then a fierce, raging roar erupted across the battlefield.
"THEIR BARRIER IS BROKEN! FOLLOW ME, CHARGE!!!"
The enemy commander's voice thundered like a hellish bell. The opposing forces surged forward like a dark tide, merciless and overwhelming. Hope dwindled.
Alexon held his sister's body tightly one last time, then lowered his head until his forehead touched Rachel's hair.
"Forgive me, Rachel. Your brother failed. I failed to protect you."
He gently laid her body on the ground. With trembling hands, he wiped her cold, blood-soaked face. As he stood, his body swayed, his steps heavy. Yet his eyes burned—not with power, but with a blazing guilt.
Memories, like dull knives forced through his heart, tore through his mind.
***
Before the war.
"I want to go with you, brother."
The voice of fourteen-year-old Rachel—her whimpers, the tears wetting her soft cheeks, her small hands clutching his robe. She didn't want to be separated from Alexon.
"This isn't a game, Rachel."
he said, trying to calm her.
Their mother, Kasandra Ralkan, pinched Rachel's cheek in frustration. But Rachel didn't give in. Her cries only grew louder, her desire uncontrollable. She wanted to go to the battlefield—if only to see the outside world, if only to be with her brother.
"I'm sorry, Rachel. You're not old enough yet. But when I return, I'll buy all your favorite snacks."
Rachel stopped crying for a moment—only to take a deeper breath and cry even harder.
Finally, the voice that decided their fate came from their father, Cantel Ralkan, the family head.
"Just take her with you."
The old, weighty voice sounded light, as if merely granting permission for his child to play in the backyard.
"It's only a small battle. The enemy numbers aren't large."
Alexon hesitated.
But his father stared sharply.
"Have you forgotten? When you were fourteen, you also begged me to let you go to the battlefield."
"But this is different, Father!"
"It's no different. Your title 'Unbeatable' isn't just for show, is it?"
Unable to argue further, Alexon relented.
"Fine. But she stays behind the battle lines, and I'll bring ten mages to guard her."
Rachel cheered with joy, jumping and saluting like a soldier. The world felt warm back then—and it was too easy to forget that all joy could vanish in an instant.
***
And that destruction came—in the form of a traitor.
"Damn you, Duckey! You traitor!"
"Traitor, huh? Hahah, sounds good," said the gray-haired man, standing atop a pile of corpses.
The scouts had reported 2,000 enemies.
But reality told a different story.
30,000 enemies surrounded them from all sides, trapping them in a sea of weapons and magic. The 5,000-strong Ralkan forces fell into chaos within hours. Amid the turmoil, Rachel—who had only intended to help heal the wounded—was stabbed in the chest by Duckey, someone they had once trusted.
Alexon saw it.
Everything collapsed.
"Die, Duckey!"
He drew his two longswords, burning every last ounce of his aura for one decisive strike.
But ten elite Knight Masters—the enemy's top guards—appeared and blocked his attack. The strike still broke through them, and one lost an arm, but Duckey survived.
"As expected from the heir of the Ralkan family. Your level is on par with ours. But even ten Knight Masters couldn't fully deflect your strike."
Still drowning in grief, Alexon staggered as if gone mad. His power raged, but he could no longer control it. He had burned all his aura channels in that last strike—a strike that could slice through mountains and cut down thousands of soldiers—neutralized by those ten Knight Masters.
Alexon fell to his knees. His body couldn't withstand the damage from overburn. His breath was ragged, his aura raging like a storm without direction.
"Just leave him. He'll die sooner or later," Duckey said with a laugh. Then he and the Knights vanished into the dust of war.
***
The enemy's voices echoed once more.
The Ralkan forces were pushed further back. Bodies fell one after another.
But… at that very moment…
Alexon raised his hand.
His voice was low, almost a whisper, yet the world heard it.
"I, Alexon Ralkan, heir of the Ralkan family, enact the RITUAL OF EQUIVALENT EXCHANGE."
Space distorted instantly.
The air stilled. Sounds silenced. Time stopped.
The entire world seemed to hold its breath.
The sky emitted a white light. It shone upon Rachel's body—her wounds healed, her blood vanished, her breath returned.
But another light—blood red—descended upon Alexon's body. Slowly, he began to disappear, particle by particle, like dust blown away by the wind. Yet before vanishing completely, he gently brushed the face of Rachel, who had regained consciousness.
Tears fell from his cheeks.
"I'm sorry…"
It was a sacrifice of life for life—an irreversible exchange. One life for another... though not entirely equivalent.
The moment Alexon's body vanished completely, the world resumed its motion.
The sounds of magic, explosions, and cries filled the battlefield once more. But now, at the center stood Rachel—alive and awake, surrounded by death and a sacrifice she did not yet fully understand.
"Take the young lady away!" shouted one of the remaining captains.
The Ralkan forces carved a path, securing Rachel amid the chaos. The vice-commander glanced at the sky for a moment, then roared with a heavy voice,
"We will keep fighting—even though we know how this story ends."
And they fought. Not for victory.
But to honor the death of their prince.
***
Enemy casualties: 6,358
Ralkan family casualties: 4,995
Defeat?
No.
Only sorrow.