Chapter 5: The Last Flame

Raye took a sharp breath, letting the heat within him simmer. The anger still crackled in his chest, but he tempered it. Now wasn’t the time to be reckless.

He stepped forward — then dashed in.

Steel clashed.

Raye unleashed a quick series of slashes — left, right, down, then an upward arc. He moved fast, his sword carving through the air with fluidity, speed increasing with each motion. His strength built in waves as his momentum surged.

Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.

Every strike met a wall. Vaerond blocked with minimal effort, barely shifting his feet. His expression never changed — calm, almost bored — as if brushing off leaves in the wind.

Raye gritted his teeth.

“You’re holding back,” he muttered.

Vaerond cast a brief glance over his shoulder. "Leave us," he said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the battlefield. His second-in-command gave a silent nod, and one by one, the soldiers withdrew, giving the duel a wide berth. Snow crunched underfoot as the crowd melted away, until only the two of them remained at the center of the scorched field.

Vaerond smirked.

“No. You’re just that predictable.”

With a swift pivot, Raye spun and delivered a heavy, downward strike aimed at Vaerond’s shoulder — but again, the Duke met it with perfect form, locking blades for a second.

“You’re so boring,” Vaerond said lazily, pushing Raye back. “I expected more from a so-called prince.”

Then, in a flash, Vaerond stepped in.

“Let me show you what real swordplay looks like.”

His blade came crashing down — once, twice, three times — each strike with brutal precision. Raye was forced to backpedal, sparks flying from each parry. A shallow cut grazed his side as he barely deflected the fourth.

He slid back across the snow, breath heavy.

No. I can’t keep up with just steel.

Raye gripped his sword tighter. Heat pulsed from his arm, flowing into the blade. Flames ignited, coiling around the metal like a living serpent.

“FlameBlade… First Form: Scorching Crescent!”

He lunged, his sword slicing a burning arc that trailed fire mid-air. Vaerond parried it, but the heat made him flinch — just slightly.

Raye followed up instantly.

“Second Form: Blazing Requiem!”

He raised the sword above his head, fire coiling upward like a flame about to consume the sky — then brought it down with explosive force.

As the blade struck the ground, a ring of fire erupted outward, searing in all directions like a shockwave, forcing Vaerond to leap back. The snow hissed and melted, a crater scorched beneath them.

Even the soldiers nearby staggered from the heatwave.

Raye didn’t let up.

“Third Form: Blaze Fang!”

He feinted right, then dashed left, sword dragging low through the snow and igniting it. In one fluid upward slash, a flaming claw-shaped trail arced toward Vaerond’s chest.

It almost connected.

But then—

BOOM.

A shockwave rippled through the battlefield.

Vaerond’s sword emitted a deep hum as his entire body began to glow faintly — gold interwoven with a dark violet hue. The air around him shimmered, and a crushing pressure fell like a hammer onto the ground.

“Enough warm-up,” Vaerond said coldly.

“Let me remind you who stands at the top.”

In an instant, he moved.

Too fast.

Raye instinctively raised his blade — just in time.

CLANG!

The impact sent a thunderous burst across the snowfield. Raye’s feet tore through the snow, and he was launched backward, a fiery streak marking his trail.

He dug his sword into the ground mid-flight, sparks and flame spitting out, until finally — he dropped to one knee, panting. The blade steamed from the heat clashing against cold.

His knuckles trembled.

That power… that speed…

But his eyes didn’t waver.

He rose.

The fire on Raye’s blade blazed brighter, no longer a mere ember, but a wildfire coiling around steel. His grip tightened, the air around him beginning to shimmer under the surging heat. He channelled more mana into his sword, pushing past the strain in his arm, until the blade pulsed like a burning heart.

He rushed forward again.

“First Form: Scorching Crescent!”

A wide, blazing slash swept across the air. Vaerond deflected it, but this time, the heat singed his cloak.

Clang!

Raye stepped in with speed.

“Second Form: Blazing Requiem!”

He raised the sword again, fire spiralling upward — and brought it down with explosive force.

“Third Form: Blaze Fang!”

A low slash shot upward like a rising flame. It grazed Vaerond’s side — the first real hit. Raye caught the twitch in the Duke’s jaw.

Still, Vaerond didn’t look worried.

He adjusted his footing, his blade now glowing faintly — a cold, white aura shimmering around it.

“Not bad,” Vaerond muttered, voice low but clear. “But still—”

Clang!

He launched a swift flurry of strikes — simple, efficient swordplay powered by raw aura. Each blow sent shivers through Raye’s arms, the pressure increasing with every clash. His boots dug into the scorched ground as he tried to hold his position.

“Did you come here looking for your father?” Vaerond asked, mid-combat.

Raye didn’t respond — his focus unshaken, blade locked with Vaerond’s.

“Ah… So I was right,” Vaerond smirked. “He’s not here. But he’s safe. Unharmed.”

The fire around Raye’s sword flared, but his lips remained sealed. His silence was louder than words.

Vaerond’s next strike was faster, the force behind it greater. Raye blocked, sliding back slightly.

“You’re strong, Raye. I can admit that,” Vaerond continued, still calm despite the duel. “But you won’t win this war. Not today. Not against us.”

Another clash — Raye gritted his teeth, his fire roaring louder. He didn’t back down.

“So… join us. You and your family will be treated better than your fallen kingdom ever did.”

Raye’s eyes burned — not just with fire, but with resolve.

“I’d rather fight as the last flame of my kingdom than survive as your dog.”

He launched forward again, faster than before — not because of rage, but clarity.

“First Form!”

“Second Form!”

“Third—!”

Each strike sharper, each movement more refined. But something else was flowing through him now — something new. Something raw.

He felt lighter. Stronger.

Unknowingly, his body had begun to circulate aura — not consciously, not perfectly — but instinctively. Like a match finally catching fire from friction.

Raye didn’t realize it. But Vaerond did.

So… he’s tapping into it now, the Duke thought, eyes narrowing.

Raye’s speed spiked. His next strike nearly broke through.

The fire wasn’t just fire anymore — it danced with a golden hue, tinged with heat and presence. His strikes now left trails that lingered. His body felt alive — burning, but controlled.

He leapt, gathering all of it for one decisive blow — his heart beating louder than ever.

Vaerond’s expression changed. The smirk faded.

In that split second, as Raye’s blade came down—

Vaerond responded.

He planted his foot, and unleashed his aura.

The space between them shattered.

One single, perfectly timed, devastating slash met Raye’s full-force attack.

BOOM.

A blast of power erupted — fire and aura colliding in an explosion of heat and light.

Raye felt it. The pressure. Fear.

His sword screamed in his grip. His arms went numb. His body was flung backward like a ragdoll, crashing into the charred earth, tumbling until his sword caught the ground and he used it to stop himself.

Kneeling, gasping — smoke rising from his shoulder where the aura had grazed him — Raye held himself upright.

The fire on his blade dimmed… but his will hadn’t.

Raye’s knees buckled as he tried to steady himself. The world spun, his breath shallow. His fingers dug into the scorched earth, refusing to let go of his blade even as his vision blurred.

His body screamed to collapse, but his heart — that burning, stubborn heart — still pulsed with resistance.

Vaerond stepped forward, the aura around him now calm but suffocating, like the eye of a storm.

“You’re a diamond in the rough, Raye,” he said, almost with a hint of admiration. “Had you been born in the Empire… you could’ve easily made it into the top fifty.”

He raised his blade above his head — the light glinting with finality.

“But this is the end. You’re going to die here.”

The sword came down — swift and merciless.

But—

CRASH!

Steel met steel — not Raye’s.

A gust of wind and a flare of energy swept across the battlefield as a figure lunged down from above, intercepting the killing blow mid-swing. Sparks burst as Vaerond’s sword was halted. His eyes widened. He instantly stepped back, reacting on instinct.

The assailant followed with another rapid strike — seamless, fluid, already mid-motion before Vaerond could fully recover.

Clang!

Vaerond barely managed to parry the second attack. The force slid him back a step.

Smoke and dust stirred from the sudden clash.

Then… from the haze…

Aurette Rhimehart stepped out.

Her silver hair glistened with frost, her ice-blue eyes sharp and unfazed. The temperature around her dipped slightly, enough for even Vaerond to notice.

She turned her gaze to Raye — still on one knee, panting, bruised, fire flickering faintly at his blade’s edge.

Aurette tilted her head, a teasing smirk pulling at her lips.

“So this is what the Fire Kingdom has to offer?” she said dryly. “And here I thought your flames would be a little less pathetic.”

Raye finally collapsed to the ground, still gripping his sword.