Before Berat’s fingers could brush against Lyria, a suffocating chill spread through the air. It wasn’t the winter cold—this was sothing far worse. A dangerous, unnatural pressure settled over the bonfire gathering, making the rowdy laughter die in an instant.
Lyria’s head tilted slightly, her empty, icy eyes finally settling on Berat. Her gaze alone was enough to make even a seasoned warrior like him hesitate, but the alcohol in his blood dulled his instincts. He sneered, trying to regain his arrogance.
"What?" He chuckled darkly. "Don’t tell you’re shy now? Co on, demon bitch, don’t play hard to get—"
Before anyone could react, Lyria moved. She didn’t lunge, didn’t make a grand gesture—she simply lifted her hand and, in one fluid motion, grabbed Berat’s outstretched wrist.
Then, with a sickening crack, she twisted.
"GURGHHH!"
Berat howled, his knees buckling as his wrist snapped like a dry twig. He fell forward, clutching his arm, his drunken confidence gone, replaced by sheer agony.
The soldiers around the fire froze. So flinched, so instinctively reached for their weapons, but none dared to move. The way Lyria stood—completely calm, emotionless, as if breaking a man’s bones was no different than swatting a fly—made their blood run cold.
"You’re noisy," Lyria murmured, her voice devoid of warmth.
Berat gritted his teeth, face twisted in pain. "Y-You crazy bitch! I’ll fucking—"
Another snap.
This ti, she stepped on his ankle, pressing down just enough to dislocate the joint. Berat scread again, thrashing like a wounded animal.
"You talk too much." Her voice didn’t change, nor did her expression. She simply looked down at him, eyes devoid of interest, as if he wasn’t even worth her attention.
The bonfire flickered, the glow casting eerie shadows on her pale skin.
A few of Berat’s rcenaries moved forward, hands on their swords, but a Sparves soldier stepped in front of them, his own blade drawn.
"You really want to die tonight?" the Sparves soldier asked, voice low and dangerous.
The Northern soldiers hesitated, their bravado dimming. They weren’t stupid. If they tried anything, they’d be picking a fight not just with Lyria, but with Kael’s n. And after what they just witnessed, they weren’t so sure they wanted that.
Berat, still groaning on the ground, spat out a curse. "F-Fucking demon whore..."
Lyria finally released him, stepping back as if he was nothing more than a piece of trash. "Pathetic," she muttered.
Then, without another word, she turned and walked away, disappearing into the darkness beyond the firelight.
The soldiers remained silent, the rowdy energy from earlier completely gone.
Soone gulped. "That... was terrifying."
Another soldier nodded shakily. "I told you. She’s not human."
The fire crackled, the laughter of monts ago now a distant mory. No one dared speak against Kael again that night.
Kael had been watching the entire thing unfold from above, his eyes gleaming with amusent. But the mont Lyria snapped Berat’s wrist like a twig, he couldn’t hold it in anymore.
"FUCK, THAT WAS AWESO!" he scread, his voice booming over the bonfire. His laughter rang out, loud and unhinged, making the soldiers stiffen. So turned to look at him with shock, others with anger, and a few with outright irritation. But none of them dared say a word.
Kael grinned like a madman, eyes flickering with excitent. "I knew it! She had it in her blood! Hah, I was wondering if she was just so cold girl with no fight in her, but look at that—she ain’t below C rank for sure!"
He rubbed his chin, deep in thought, before tilting his head. ’But then, how the fuck did she even get captured for that ritual?’
His smile disappeared in an instant, replaced by a dark, murderous expression. His voice dropped into a growl, but it still carried across the bonfire.
"FFUUUCKK! I heard you all were talking shit about !"
The air turned heavy. The soldiers flinched. So gulped, eyes wide with fear. Others clenched their fists, barely holding back their anger. A few just sighed, as if used to this nonsense already. But no one dared to look away.
Kael jumped down from the wall, landing with a heavy thud. He walked forward, his steps slow, deliberate, like a beast approaching its prey. His eyes locked onto Berat, who was still groaning on the ground, clutching his shattered wrist.
"Bring a potion," Kael ordered, his voice sharp, commanding.
A soldier hesitated but quickly ran off and brought back a small glass vial filled with a glowing red liquid.
Kael snatched it from his hands and crouched next to Berat. "Quit your whining, you bastard," he sneered, grabbing Berat’s face.
Berat cursed, trying to struggle, but Kael didn’t give a shit. He gripped the back of the man’s head and yanked it back before forcing the potion into his mouth. Berat choked, gagging as the thick liquid burned down his throat.
But Kael wasn’t done.
He grabbed Berat’s dislocated shoulder and wrenched it back into place with a sickening pop. Berat scread in agony, his entire body convulsing from the sudden pain.
Kael just grinned. "Shut up and take it like a man, you piece of shit."
He stood up and dusted off his hands before turning to the others. His smile stretched wide—unnaturally wide. Then, in one smooth motion, he drew his sword. The steel glead under the firelight.
"I heard you said you were better than ," Kael said, voice dripping with mockery.
Berat, still panting, glared up at him with bloodshot eyes. "Of course I am, you fucking lunatic!"
Kael laughed. A deep, guttural, unhinged laugh. His shoulders shook, his body trembled—not with fear, but with sheer excitent.
"Then show , you son of a bitch," Kael hissed. He raised his sword, pointing it directly at Berat’s face. "Fight . Prove you’re a man. Show you’re better than ."
A mont of silence. Then, the Northern soldiers erupted into cheers.
"Kick his ass, Berat!"
"Show him what a real warrior looks like!"
The energy in the air shifted. The n of the North wanted to see Kael fall. They needed it. And Kael? He just grinned wider, his eyes glowing with madness.
Gare and Baret exchanged glances.
’He’s gonna fucking dismantle that shit.’
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