Amberine could feel her heart pounding as she watched Draven and Duchess Blackthorn face each other. The duchess's gaze was unwavering, her eyes filled with distrust, disdain, and an unspoken fury that was almost palpable in the narrow corridor. She held her black fan close, her fingers tightening around its handle, and her expression was as cold as it was fierce.
Draven, on the other hand, seed completely unfazed. His eyes t the duchess's with a steady, almost indifferent calmness, the kind of look that spoke of soone who was completely in control of the situation—soone who always saw a few moves ahead.
"Where is the front?" he asked bluntly, his voice cutting through the heavy silence that hung between them. "There must be a main front where the invaders are being pushed back."
The duchess didn't answer imdiately, her scornful glare locked onto him as if she was searching for a reason to deny him. There was a long pause, the weight of the mont pressing down on all of them. Amberine glanced at Ifrit, the little fire spirit trembling slightly beneath her robe, his tiny claws gripping her shoulder. Enjoy more content from My Virtual Library Empire
"Amberine, I don't trust him," Ifrit whispered, his voice so soft that only she could hear. "But stay close to him. This isn't the ti to let pride get in the way."
She knew he was right. Her emotions were tangled, conflicted—part of her wanted to turn away from Draven, wanted to refuse to accept his help. But they were far past the point of letting personal grudges dictate their choices.
After a mont, the duchess sighed, a reluctant acceptance crossing her face. "The primary front is one of Aetherion's main structures—the Arcane Conflux." She spoke with asured caution, but there was an urgency in her tone. "It's where the majority of the defenders are gathering, but..." She paused, her expression darkening as if she wasn't sure how much to say.
"The Arcane Conflux," Draven repeated, nodding. His eyes flicked to the side, calculating sothing that only he could see. "It makes sense. The convergence of all ley lines in this fortress... they would target it. With the fortress' magic defense system, all hostile forces would be driven to a single point for containnt and neutralization."
Amberine's eyebrows furrowed. She hadn't known about the Arcane Conflux—at least, not in that much detail. It was a strategic point, crucial to Aetherion's magical stability. She exchanged a quick glance with Ifrit, whose eyes had grown even wider.
"We're losing control of the Arcane Conflux," Duchess Blackthorn admitted. Her voice was flat, void of emotion, but Amberine could sense the bitterness beneath. "They've weakened the defense chanism. They're targeting every key structure—they seem to know exactly where to hit."
Draven's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening slightly as he considered her words. "Then they've found a way to breach the magic defenses. Either from within or by so other ans." His gaze turned sharp, his eyes focusing on sothing just beyond them—as though already planning his next move. "We'll go there next."
But before anyone could take another step, a sudden noise made Amberine's heart skip a beat. Sothing moved in the shadows, the air around them growing heavy with an ominous presence. Amberine turned her head just in ti to see a figure materializing from the darkness. The robes were dark, the unmistakable insignia of the Devil Coffin glowing faintly on its chest.
The figure didn't even have a chance to fully erge before Draven's eyes flashed dangerously. He lifted his hand, and the psychokinesis pen at his side glowed briefly, as if it were an extension of his will. In an instant, the figure was flung against the stone wall, crushed with such force that the sickening crunch echoed through the corridor. Amberine shuddered, the casual brutality of the act making her stomach turn.
"They must have weakened the magic defenses from inside," Draven comnted, his voice eerily calm as if he hadn't just killed soone without a second thought. "The front isn't secure. They're sabotaging us from within as well."
Duchess Blackthorn clenched her jaw, her gaze darting to the now lifeless body on the floor. "They're everywhere," she said, her tone betraying the faintest hint of fear. "We're struggling to hold defensive points across the entire fortress. They're focusing on the strategic magical points, and if they gain control over them—"
"Then we'll lose everything," Draven finished, his voice cold as ice.
There was a mont of silence, the truth of those words hanging heavy in the air. Amberine could feel it—the weight of what was at stake pressing down on all of them.
Draven turned his attention to Duchess Blackthorn, his gaze narrowing as he studied her. "Have the spirits been secured?" he asked. His tone was sharper now, more urgent, and there was a darkness in his eyes that made Amberine's heart tighten.
Duchess Blackthorn hesitated, her face paling. Her silence was enough of an answer.
Draven's eyes darkened, his entire deanor shifting. He took a step closer to the duchess, his presence towering over her. "Chancellor Kyrion," he said, his voice low, intense. "The Master Necromancer from the ice-locked northern regions—is he alive?"
The duchess's expression turned grim, her lips pressing into a thin line. She shook her head slowly. "No," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "He was unfortunate. During the council gathering, a summoning circle appeared—chains, dark magic—it seed to focus only on him. I don't know if he's alive or dead, but... it doesn't look good."
Amberine felt a shiver run down her spine. The chancellor—one of the strongest mages in Aetherion—was taken, possibly dead. The weight of that revelation made her chest tighten, fear crawling its way through her veins. She glanced at Draven, expecting him to look indifferent. But what she saw instead surprised her. His eyes had grown solemn, his expression more focused than ever.
"Do you understand the gravity of this situation?" he asked, his voice sharp, almost scolding. "This is the Devil Coffin. Unlike regulated practitioners like Chancellor Kyrion, these people do not operate within the limits of traditional necromancy. They are unregulated, illegal—dark mages without boundaries."
The duchess looked taken aback by the sudden sharpness of his words, her eyes widening slightly. "What are you implying?" she asked, her tone wavering.
Draven's gaze pierced through her, his voice turning cold. "Imagine soone as powerful as Kyrion falling into their hands," he said. "Imagine those unregulated necromancers gaining control over the powerful spirits residing in this fortress. Reanimated, enslaved to their will—what do you think that ans for us?"
Amberine's breath caught, realization dawning on her as she watched the duchess's face turn visibly pale, her fan trembling slightly in her hand. The implications were horrifying—spirits as powerful as those trapped in Aetherion being used against them. The very idea was enough to turn her blood to ice.
"The fortress will fall," the duchess whispered, her voice barely audible.
Draven didn't answer. He didn't need to. The look in his eyes said everything—they were already on borrowed ti.
And then it happened. A sudden gust of wind blew past them, cold and unnatural, carrying with it a chill that made Amberine's skin crawl. Draven's eyes flicked to the side, his expression hardening.
"It's too late," he muttered under his breath.
Amberine turned her head, her heart leaping into her throat as a figure appeared—a dark, decaying form, armor rusted and body twisted. It was an undead knight, reanimated, its empty eyes glowing faintly with a sickly green light.
Draven didn't hesitate. Flas roared to life in his palm, casting flickering shadows across the corridor. He moved forward, his other hand gripping the knight by the head. The fire burned with a purifying intensity, blue flas licking at the darkness animating the creature. It wasn't just a fire—it was sothing more, sothing that seed to cleanse and destroy the darkness within the creature. In monts, the knight crumbled to ash, the flas snuffing out just as quickly as they had appeared.
"We're leaving," Draven said, turning to Amberine. His voice was calm, but there was a sense of urgency beneath it. Amberine nodded, her breath shaky as she stepped closer to him, Ifrit pressing tightly against her.
Draven took a step forward, his eyes scanning the hallway, calculating their next move. But before he could take another step, sothing shifted in the air—a ripple, a disturbance that sent a shiver down Amberine's spine.
A portal opened right before them, faster than anything Amberine had ever seen. There was no ti to react, no ti to understand what was happening. Draven's eyes widened, his head snapping toward her.
"Amberine, dodge!" he shouted, his voice filled with an urgency she had never heard before. He flung his psychokinesis pen toward the portal, a desperate attempt to disrupt whatever was coming.
But it was too late.
The figure that stepped through the portal was cloaked, a dark hood covering its face. Amberine's breath caught, her heart pounding in her ears as she stared at the figure. The smile—the smile beneath that hood was one she knew all too well. It was the smile that haunted her nightmares, that twisted her mories with fear and darkness.
"I found you," the figure said, its voice a chilling whisper that made Amberine's blood run cold.
In an instant, Amberine felt herself being seized. A powerful grip closed around her arm, pulling her with a force that made her stumble, her eyes wide with panic. She reached out, her breath catching in her throat as she saw Draven's face—the shock, the fury that flashed across his features.
"Professor," she gasped, her voice trembling, barely a whisper as she felt herself being dragged away. "Save ."
And then, everything went dark.
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