She rembered it too vividly now... the sound, the heat, the blood---it all ca rushing back at once.
The tenth prince’s hand, slick with his own blood, pressed against the wall.
Yona barely spared him a glance at first... too busy weaving between strikes, too intent on keeping the rcenary from interfering.
But when her eyes flicked back, she froze. His lips moved soundlessly, shaping words that clawed at the air, rewriting the sigils in strokes no tutor had ever dared to teach.
This was no sanctioned craft.
It was sothing hidden, sothing not ant to breathe in daylight.
A forbidden art, etched into the very bones of the barrier.
And the prince... hadn’t faltered.
Even as his body failed him, even as the Gula’s weight pressed him into the dirt, he had given and given... bled dry... forcing the ward to bend, to obey.
Her gaze dropped to the shattered sword, its edge splintered beyond repair. Cracks spiderwebbed across the steel, veins of ruin lit by a faint, pulsing red. Each throb echoed the mory of Sir Keiser’s strike... answered it, mocked it.
The tenth prince had done this.
This ward wasn’t the kingdom’s, nor the mage’s, nor any brigade’s. It was his. Born from his blood, his mana, his desperation.
The silence stretched, heavy, suffocating... thicker even than the smoke still curling from the Gula’s charred remains.
The brigade shifted uneasily, their eyes darting between the broken sword, their commander, and the pulsing red ward. No one spoke. No one even dared draw breath too loudly, as if a single sound might shatter whatever fragile balance held them here.
Sir Keiser’s golden eyes narrowed. The corners of his mouth curled... not into a smile, not into a snarl, but sothing jagged between the two.
"So," he muttered, voice low enough that the ground itself seed to rumble with it. "This brat really did this."
He let out a sharp, humorless laugh and crouched over the shattered blade as if studying a carcass. "A ward that spits back a kingdom-forged sword... tch." His gaze slid toward Muzio’s bloodied form, eyes narrowing. "All that mana, squandered on a broken ward."
Yona felt her jaw clench, but she didn’t speak.
Lenko, though... Lenko was shaking, his copper hair wild around his face, his hand still hovering near the ward. His eyes burned as he glared up at Keiser.
"My lord isn’t... " his voice cracked, but he swallowed hard, forcing it steady. "He isn’t just so brat. He’s the tenth prince of this kingdom. He... he bled himself raw for all of us! If not for him, the village would be gone, we’d be gone, even your damn brigade would be burning up corpses instead of beast remains!"
The murmurs from the brigade cut off instantly. No one interrupted. No one moved. They were watching. Waiting.
"How did he do it then?" Sir Keiser’s voice was low, but the weight in it cut sharper than any blade.
Yona’s breath caught.
His gaze had already shifted... down, past the boy’s still body, toward the foundation stones. There, the truth bled through. The faint pulse of the runes was tangled with streaks of dried blood. The shaky lines of a hand dragged down stone, the splatter where the tenth prince pressed his palm too hard, the ugly smudges of blood that weren’t supposed to be there at all.
Her throat tightened. She knew the words, but they weren’t an answer. Not one that would fix anything.
"He rewrote it," she whispered at last. "With Blood Scripting."
But that truth was hollow. It gave no answer on how to undo it, no way to break the lock that barred those outside from entering, and bound those inside to their cage.
Then, as if struck by lightning, Lenko’s head snapped toward Muzio’s still body... and then to the foundation wall of the gate, where runes pulsed faintly beneath streaks of blood.
The others froze, watching him. He was the only one moving.
Step by step, first halting, then faster... nearly stumbling in his haste...
Lenko closed the distance. He dropped to a crouch by the wall, copper hair catching the torchlight as he pressed close, fingers hovering over the sared stains that bled into the runes.
When he spoke, his voice trembled... not with fear, but with conviction.
"We can get the ward to open."
Yona arched a brow, a breathless, bitter chuckle slipping free as she caught what he didn’t say.
"Your lord is a terrible influence."
Lenko’s head snapped toward her, sharp as steel. But his eyes weren’t defensive this ti... they burned with sothing steadier, more resolute. For once, he wasn’t about to argue with her.
anwhile... Diego and Sir Keiser exchanged baffled looks, watching as the two leaned closer to the wall of horror with sothing dangerously close to hope. The brigade, restless as ever, erupted into murmurs.
"Did you hear? They said they can open the gates."
"...Are you serious?"
"They ntioned blood scripting... "
"Isn’t that taboo?"
"...Yeah. It is."
The chatter grew, buzzing in the background, but Keiser ignored it. He was used to the brigade’s noise... everywhere he went, they followed like a swarm.
"Care to explain?" Keiser asked at last, his voice dry as flint. His hand flicked toward Muzio, sprawled unconscious at his feet. "Or should I go ahead with my plan?"
"No need," Lenko shot back, scowling.
Diego lifted a brow as he stepped in. "So should I expect no stampede this ti? No horses, chickens, or goats charging in to smash the walls this ti?"
Lenko winced, almost horrified. "...N-no. After everything that’s happened, I couldn’t stomach seeing anyone else here get hurt." His voice faltered, then steadied, his expression settling into sothing uncharacteristically solemn.
"That horse," Yona murmured as she knelt beside him. "What was his na?"
A sad smile tugged at Lenko’s lips. "Sir McKenzy. The young lord nad him himself."
Sir Keiser let out a long sigh, finally turning away.
He lowered himself to sit with his back against the ward, knowing it would be a long night. His gaze drifted to the tenth prince, and a deep frown shadowed his face.
The boy looked as though the world had gnawed at him, chewed him over and spat him out a hundred tis. And yet... he still breathed.
Closing his eyes, Keiser set the chipped sword within easy reach, its battered edge catching the torchlight.
It lay beside Muzio’s still form---ready to carve into any beast foolish enough to creep near the boy.
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