I lowered my gaze to study the scene before .
Lancelot lay sprawled across the bloodied ground, a massive gash carved across his chest.
The man who should have been grinning with his usual insufferable confidence now stared up at with the glassy-eyed look of soone rapidly approaching death’s threshold.
“You’re... goddamn late... y’know…”
Despite everything, Lancelot managed a weak smile.
The iron breastplate strapped across his torso had been twisted and torn with brutal efficiency. Blood welled through the gaps like a crimson spring, painting the tal in dark rivulets.
Even without a healer’s training, I could see this was the kind of wound that ca with no guarantees of survival.
I hadn’t witnessed the battle that led to this mont, but the evidence painted a clear picture.
The fool had thrown himself into harm’s way to protect my brother—soone considerably stronger than himself.
What did he think he was, so kind of martyr nad Lea?
“Tch.”
Irritation flared hot in my chest, the muscles in my face tightening.
I couldn't say where the anger ca from. It just felt wrong
“Lancelot.”
“What, not even going to call ‘sir knight’ anymore?”
Puh—
A weak chuckle accompanied his words.
Here he was, practically knocking on death’s door, and he still had the energy to worry about titles.
The man’s commitnt to being insufferable was genuinely impressive.
“Survive this, and I’ll call you ‘sir.’ So tell —do you think you’re going to die?”
“Heh... feels like I might. But I’ll try to stick around sohow.”
“Good idea. Then put everything you have into staying alive. I have unfinished business to attend to.”
I shrugged out of my coat and tossed it to him before turning away. The wound was severe, but he could probably hold on a while longer.
My second brother could handle the imdiate bleeding and get so healing potion into him—that should buy us the ti we needed.
Keeping my expression neutral, I lifted my gaze to study my true opponent.
Count Dragunov stood there glaring at with eyes that burned with self-righteous fury, as if he considered himself the wronged party in this entire affair.
The sight of his indignation drew a derisive laugh from sowhere deep in my chest.
He deserved sympathy, that I could admit. I grasped that Artezia had manipulated him, that his family had been slaughtered. I comprehended the source of his rage.
But what did any of that have to do with ?
The hundreds of soldiers and knights who had died here today—they had all possessed families as well.
Why should I show rcy to a man who had launched into wholesale slaughter without bothering to verify the truth of his grievances?
I had no patience for such charitable gestures.
“Playing the victim, I see,” I murmured, beginning my approach. “Acting as though you’re the only soul in this world who has ever known loneliness or injustice.”
What was driving this rage?
It couldn’t be revenge for a fallen comrade—I had only ever used Lancelot as a tool.
It couldn’t be friendship—the man was nothing more than an irritating subordinate.
And it certainly couldn’t be sothing as ridiculous as affection—
God, what a revolting thought.
I would rather hang myself from the nearest tree.
So I couldn’t identify the source of this fury.
But I knew this much: my anger was genuine.
Nevertheless, I needed to maintain control. Charging in blindly simply because I was angry would be suicide against an opponent of this caliber.
I had to find the balance between cool calculation and burning rage.
Steadying myself with deep breaths, I began to examine my emotions with clinical precision.
In that mont of perfect clarity—
WHOOOOSH!
Sothing fundantal shifted in my mind. Not simply the expression of rage, but the complete absorption and observation of it with perfect understanding.
Utter composure.
This had been the barrier preventing my advancent all along.
The revelation created a new pathway from my Aura Heart straight to my consciousness, flooding my entire body with crystalline clarity.
With a slow exhale, I opened my eyes.
I finally understood the source of my anger.
“Because soone dared to attack one of mine. Isn’t that right”
“What are you babbling about, filthy brat!”
Count Dragunov’s roar echoed across the battlefield as he hefted his massive greatsword.
The man possessed all the sophistication of a rabid beast—incapable of understanding anything beyond violence and fury.
I raised one hand in a gesture of dismissal.
“Quiet. I happen to be allergic to wild animals, and listening to all that barking makes itch. Please show so consideration.”
“Little son of a bitch!”
Count Dragunov launched himself forward with murderous intent.
How tedious…
I flexed my fingers, calling several arrows to my will. The projectiles moved as if alive, reshaping themselves with fluid grace.
Ssssss—
Three serpentine forms materialized from my arrows, slithering forward to intercept the charging count.
Clang! Clang!
Dragunov’s greatsword swept through the air, batting aside my creations with raw strength.
“You presu! To stop ! With such puny attacks?!”
His eyes blazed with killing intent as he bellowed his defiance.
I ignored his theatrics, turning my attention inward to examine the Aura Heart within my chest.
So I’ve been doing this wrong the entire ti.
I had fundantally misunderstood the nature of Aura itself.
Always I had wondered how those who reached the realm of Aura Master possessed such vast quantities of power. It turned out I had been operating from a flawed premise.
They didn’t have more Aura—they simply used it with greater efficiency.
Whoosh—
I drew upon the remaining energy in my Aura Heart and breathed it into the arrows I had transford.
Sssss—
The serpents I had summoned began to shed like real snakes, their bodies swelling as scales split and expanded. They grew exponentially, sinuous forms stretching and thickening until they opened massive jaws to unleash thunderous roars.
Through the dium of my arrows, I had called forth not one, but multiple Imugi—legendary creatures revered on the Eastern Continent, beings poised just short of ascending into true dragons.
For the first ti, I saw fear flicker in Count Dragunov’s eyes.
“The Divine Archer’s…?”
The tremor in his voice told everything. He had encountered my master before—and lived to rember the experience.
Under normal circumstances, I might have indulged in a bit of idle banter.
But I wasn’t in the mood—and I didn’t have the ti. With every passing mont, Lancelot edged closer to death.
The only priority was ending this quickly.
I flexed my fingers, taking direct control of my transford arrows.
Whoosh—!
The Imugi surged forward with gaping maws.
“Curses!”
Count Dragunov snarled as he swung his greatsword in desperate arcs.
But he had already expended his reserves using that self-destructive technique earlier. His strength was fading with each passing second.
I watched him swallow blood as he gripped his weapon with white knuckles. The fool was preparing for one final, desperate gambit.
“You’re coming with to hell…!”
Count Dragunov raised his greatsword above his head, drawing upon every fiber of remaining strength.
He brought the blade down.
KRAAAAAASH!
The ground split like glass as sword energy erupted toward in a wave of destruction.
My Imugi moved to intercept, but the attack tore through them like paper. This was the kind of strike that could only be achieved by burning one’s remaining life force.
Regardless…
“You’re welco to die alone. I still have a future to attend to.”
I spoke with casual indifference, raising a single arrow to et his assault.
When the first arrow shattered, I used another. When that one broke, I deployed yet another.
In this thodical fashion, I completely neutralized Count Dragunov’s final attack.
“Cough!”
Blood sprayed from his lips as he collapsed, the inevitable consequence of expending every last ounce of strength.
“I... curse you all!”
His words ca out as more of a death rattle than an actual malediction, but I nodded politely as I listened.
“I do hope that curse finds its mark.”
I drew the Mithril dagger from my coat—the blade the Emperor himself had bestowed upon , forged from the finest magical steel.
Weapon in hand, I approached the fallen count.
He glared at with the last embers of defiance, but lacking the strength to move, hatred was all he had left.
“I’ll take care of your revenge… so you can serve as everyone else’s.”
Count Dragunov’s eyes widened in confusion, but I saw no reason to drag things out any longer.
The Mithril blade slid into his throat, sharp enough to part flesh like water.
He died in a spray of crimson, his final breath escaping in a wet gurgle.
I severed his head cleanly and held it aloft for the remaining soldiers to witness.
“You will all stop where you are. This war is over.”
The declaration rang across the battlefield with absolute finality.
* * *
Ron Berg stared at his youngest brother with blank incomprehension.
How is this possible?
Less than a full year had passed since Louis had co of age. Yet what had he just witnessed?
Creating living monsters from simple arrows and using them to overwhelm a Master Knight—the sa caliber of opponent that he and their father had needed to face together.
To think such a formidable warrior could be defeated by a single person, and that person was his baby brother…
He wondered if this was truly the sa sibling he had known all his life.
Moreover, that technique Louis had employed at the end—wasn’t that Divine Beast Invocation, the legendary signature of the Divine Archer himself?
They said no knight, no archer in recorded history had ever successfully replicated it.
Yet his brother had wielded it as if born to the art.
“This is absolutely insane…”
The words escaped Ron’s lips unbidden.
From below, Lancelot—currently receiving ergency dical attention—managed a weak laugh.
“Our captain’s... a bit out of this world... Don’t feel... too discouraged...”
His speech was slurred from blood loss, yet his mouth still refused to stay shut.
Only his youngest brother’s subordinate would maintain such insufferable comntary while half-dead.
“Hah... Just stay quiet and hold still. You’ll start hemorrhaging again.”
“Yes sir... heh.” Lancelot curled his lips and nodded weakly.
Ron sighed as he continued applying pressure to the wound.
But still...
“Where did he learn sothing like that?”
“What do you... an?”
For crying out loud!
“Just keep—never mind. Forget I asked.”
The man’s insubordination was legendary, but considering he had nearly died protecting Ron, perhaps a little leeway was warranted.
Either way, it wasn’t like he’d actually listen.
“That was Divine Beast Invocation—a technique exclusive to the Divine Archer. No knight has ever successfully perford it.”
“Ah... but he was always... a genius, wasn’t he? Probably... figured it out himself. Ugh... damn, I feel terrible.”
“Which is exactly why I’m begging you to keep your mouth shut, fool.”
Ron pressed his palm over Lancelot’s mouth firmly.
“Mmph! Mmph!”
Muffled protests erged, but Ron maintained his grip until the injured man finally lost consciousness.
“Whew, finally. Now I can actually treat this properly.”
Ron exhaled deeply as he resud his dical work. But calling his brother a genius?
He had never thought of Louis in those terms before.
“That little delinquent... a genius?”
A faint smile tugged at Ron’s lips as he shook his head.
That couldn’t be right. He knew better than anyone how utterly lacking in natural talent his youngest brother had been.
This achievent must have been born from trendous sacrifice and effort.
“Impressive,” Ron murmured.
To reach such heights starting from absolutely nothing... he couldn’t begin to imagine the price that had been paid.
Those types are far more dangerous than natural geniuses.
Though Louis’s Aura realm might still seem modest, soday he would undoubtedly reach the level of a Master.
Ron continued his dical work with quiet satisfaction—though his assessnt might have differed if he realized that Louis Berg had already achieved that legendary rank.
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