Sylvaris coldly turned to the guards.
With a casual flick of his wrist, he swung his sword once, sending a thin spray of blood splashing onto the ground. Then, without a word, he sheathed it with a sharp, final click.
His arms slid around the waists of his won — both Faylira and Liraeth — who, still caught in the heat of everything that had just happened, said nothing.
They simply leaned into him, their hearts thundering in awe, their eyes shining with a mixture of pride, fear, and a fierce, dangerous kind of love.
Sylvaris took a single step forward.
The guards took a single step back.
His presence was too much, too vast, too heavy; each step he made sounded like the return of a battle god from a victorious conquest.
Even breathing beca difficult in front of him, the air itself growing thick, almost suffocating under the sheer force of his aura.
They did not dare raise their blades again.
He might not have been the strongest man in the kingdom, not yet at least, but he was certainly the most ruthless, and worse still, he had the backing, the status, and the power to act exactly as he pleased.
The guards, silent and trembling, continued to back away. And Sylvaris, holding his won tightly against him, walked out of the alleyway without a single obstacle in his path.
The crowd, sensing the storm rolling off him, parted instinctively, opening a wide corridor for him to pass as if they were peasants parting for a king. He didn’t even look at them.
"Clean up the scum," Sylvaris said without slowing his steps, his voice cutting through the stunned silence like a blade. "Their blood stains this city."
He paused briefly, casting a glance over his shoulder at the frozen guards.
"If you want to hold accountable for their deaths, please — do so."
His smirk sharpened, cold and rciless. "But make sure you speak to the king first. Let’s see what he says."
Sylvaris’s golden eyes glead, a dangerous glint dancing inside them. "And if not... then shut up and do your jobs. It’s already embarrassing enough that you failed to protect your own people. Now you even dare to draw your weapons on ?"
He tightened his grip around his won in a silent ssage to the entire world.
"Next ti," Sylvaris said softly, but the threat beneath his voice was deafening, "I will question whether you are involved in the criminal activities yourselves."
He smiled coldly. "And if I find you guilty... I will treat you the sa."
The final words rolled out of his mouth like judgnt from a god, heavy and inevitable.
"So think carefully before you ever draw your blades against again," he finished, his voice dropping lower, colder. "Because a blade has two sharp edges. And if you make one wrong move... one of them might cut you cleanly in half by accident."
Without waiting for a response, Sylvaris turned away, leading Faylira and Liraeth through the shattered silence of the street, the world itself bending to let him pass.
The girls knew better than to say anything right now.
They were happy.
The way Sylvaris acted — fierce, ruthless, willing to raise hell just for them — was the dream of every woman’s heart, whether they dared to admit it or not.
Soon, the three of them disappeared into the distance, their figures swallowed up by the weaving streets, while the guards were left standing awkwardly in the bloodstained alleyway, scratching their heads and wiping cold sweat from their brows.
"Scram, all of you! This is a cri scene!" the captain barked suddenly, his voice sharp with irritation. "Unless you want to help clean up the blood, get the hell out of here!"
The crowd scattered at once, whispering among themselves about what they had just witnessed — the day the "hero" turned into sothing far more terrifying than a simple savior.
"Damned hero..." the guard captain muttered bitterly under his breath, shaking his head. "Once again, he shows up just to cause problems in our peaceful city."
He turned sharply, pointing at one of the younger guards. "You!" he barked.
"Sir! Yes, sir!" the rookie shouted back, standing stiffly at attention.
"Go quickly," the captain snapped, "and report this incident to the Holy Church. Tell them to notify the capital imdiately. Maybe they can co and collect the hero before he does sothing else... stupid."
The young guard didn’t waste a second.
He took off at full speed, rushing through the crowded streets toward the towering Gothic silhouette of the church.
It wasn’t long before he arrived breathless at its grand entrance, only to find Sister Lilith already waiting there, standing calmly at the top of the stairs, her expression perfectly blank, her body still sohow radiating a heat, a scent, an invisible temptation that clouded the mind.
The rookie nearly stumbled backward as the faint scent of arousal from her skin hit his nostrils.
"A-Ah! Sister Lilith!" he stamred, trying desperately to hold onto his composure, "I — I ca to et you! There’s a... a problem with the hero, and we need your guidance!"
His voice cracked embarrassingly, and he found his traitorous eyes drifting down her smooth, exposed thighs, visible just beneath the hem of her too-tight nun robes.
But Lilith barely acknowledged him.
She didn’t even glance in his direction.
"Let guess," she said coolly, her voice like distant bells tolling for a funeral, "he killed so criminals... and now you fools don’t know what to do?"
The rookie swallowed hard.
"Y-Yes!" he squeaked, tearing his eyes away from her skin.
Lilith waved her hand dismissively, her gaze still fixed sowhere far beyond him.
"Good," she said. "I’ll handle it."
She stepped forward slowly, each step asured and full of lazy, dangerous grace.
"Tell your superiors to hold their weapons. The hero is not to be touched. He has the law backing him. He can kill criminals as he sees fit. That’s the price of having a true weapon at your side. Now go, child. The world awaits your protection."
The young guard flushed deep red but bowed quickly, murmuring his thanks before rushing away, leaving reluctantly, his heart burning with impossible desire for a woman far beyond his reach.
Lilith watched him go, but her thoughts were elsewhere entirely.
She turned her pink eyes back toward the city streets, her gaze distant, thoughtful, and for the first ti, sothing softer flickered across her expression.
"How amusing," she murmured to herself, her voice barely audible.
"I wonder just how far you’ll go, Sylvaris Elyndor... to achieve your personal goals." She smiled faintly, a curve of lips that no one saw.
"I think we’ll be eting again very soon," she mused, her voice filled with sothing dangerously close to anticipation.
"After all..." she whispered, her words carried away by the wind, "the Church will never let you go after this. Not in a million years."
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