Captain Sirea, the Sadistic Angel

The clatter of chains still echoed in the narrow corridor. The thick smell of blood hung in the air, as if the stone walls had absorbed every scream that had broken out here. Lyselle stood rigid in her place, her breathing still heavy after the brief skirmish with the two Drezhen soldiers who had tried to block their way.

However, before she could calm down, the sound of heavy boots approaching was heard. It wasn't a hurried pace, but a steady one—regular like the ticking of a clock counting down to doom.

From the shadows at the end of the corridor, the figure emerged. Tall, upright, with pale blonde hair tied neatly, a stark contrast to the cold blue eyes that looked on as if assessing the value of an item. His silver armor didn't shine like that of most knights—instead, it was stained a deep red in some parts, as if the blood of his enemies had become part of his uniform.

"Captain Sirea," Caelan muttered behind Lyselle, his voice tense. "The Sadistic Angel..."

The name alone was enough to make the two prisoners they had rescued earlier cower in fear in the corner of the room. Lyselle briefly looked back, seeing the hand of one of the boys trembling as he held onto her clothes, as if she were the only protection left in this world.

Sirea smiled faintly, a smile that held no warmth. "You're causing a ruckus in my territory." His voice was calm, almost friendly—but every word felt like a thin blade that could cut without warning. "And... you're taking home goods that aren't yours."

Lyselle took a half-step forward, her body becoming a shield between Sirea and the prisoners. "They are not goods."

Sirea sighed as if hearing a small child argue. "In that case... show me, Lady High Elf, how strong your conviction is. Because I don't let anyone leave here without paying a price."

Without giving a signal, Sirea drew his sword—a long blade with a slightly curved tip, still dripping with blood that clearly did not belong to Lyselle or Caelan. His movements were graceful yet deadly, like a dance created solely to separate soul from body.

Lyselle felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. This was no ordinary enemy. This was a life-or-death test.

The sound of iron boots broke the silence of the central execution square. Sirea advanced one step, each stomp of his heel seeming to signal that he had no intention of retreating. His gleaming white wings under the daylight enchanted the crowd... but his gaze was cold, stripping anyone who dared to look back.

Lyselle stood tall, her white battle gown fluttering lightly in the wind, her magic staff glowing faintly. "Are you here to block my sentence on Lethia?" her voice was calm, but loud enough to be heard among the crowd.

Sirea smiled faintly. "My sentence? You misspoke, High Elf. In the land of Virelion, only I decide who deserves to live... and who dies."

The crowd murmured, some beginning to back away. They knew this was not just a war of words—it was a battle between two equally feared figures.

"I don't care what title you carry," Lyselle replied, looking straight at him. "Lethia has spilled the blood of the people. She will die today, right here."

Sirea raised his silver sword, its blade reflecting the light like a flash of lightning. "You speak of the law... but in my eyes, you are just an arrogant girl who is disrupting order. And I..." he leaned slightly forward, his voice becoming a deadly whisper, "...am the angel who will break your wings."

The first clash began without warning. Sirea shot forward like an arrow, his wings tearing through the air. Lyselle raised her staff, creating a transparent shield that reflected a blue light. The silver sword struck it with a deafening metallic clang.

CLANG!

The shockwave hit the surroundings, sending dust and pebbles flying. Some of the people who were too close screamed, thrown backward.

"You're fast," Lyselle said while holding back the sword's push, "but speed means nothing if your heart is rotten."

Sirea pushed harder, his lips curled into a cynical smile. "And you're strong... but strength without courage is just an ornament."

Lyselle twisted her wrist, deflecting the attack, then fired an ice spear at close range. Sirea twirled his body in the air, the spear passing inches from his wing. "Almost," he said as he glided down, making a horizontal slash.

Lyselle jumped back, touching the tip of her staff to the ground. Green light formed giant roots that sprouted from the stones, trying to entangle Sirea's feet. But with one swing of his sword, the roots were cut like threads.

"You think playground tricks like that can hold me?" Sirea sneered.

"Not to hold you," Lyselle replied coldly, "but to make you see that I won't fall that easily."

The second clash happened so fast that the people's eyes couldn't follow it. The silver sword and magic staff clashed, creating a flash of light that tore through the air. Their voices were almost drowned out by the clanging of the weapons, but every word still pierced the heart.

"You think you're a hero, High Elf? You're not a savior... just a pawn who hasn't realized she's about to be broken," Sirea taunted.

"And you..." Lyselle swung her staff, triggering a burst of blue energy between them, "...are an angel who has forgotten the meaning of your wings."

The two figures separated for a moment, their breaths heavy but their eyes locked on each other. The air between them vibrated, as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for the next collision.

The deafening sound of metal clashing echoed again. Sirea's thin but deadly sword parried a Drezhen soldier's spear with lightning speed. The shadow of his body was almost invisible to the eyes of the spectators who crowded the square.

"He... he moves like a devil..." one of the citizens whispered, his face pale.

Sirea smiled faintly, but it was not a friendly smile—it was the smile of a hunter who had just found his prey. "Too slow," he said flatly.

With a single movement, he stepped to the side, twisted his wrist, and then— CRACK! The enemy's spear broke like a dry twig. Its owner hadn't even had time to react when Sirea's knee struck his stomach so hard that it sounded like a wet cloth being wrung out. Blood gushed from the soldier's mouth before his body was thrown three meters backward.

But Sirea didn't stop there. He advanced, penetrating the tight formation of soldiers, breaking the line like a storm ravaging a sailboat.

"Stop! Protect the captain—" One of the Drezhen soldiers shouted, but was cut off by a horizontal swing of Sirea's sword.

Fresh blood splattered in the air, some falling on Sirea's cheek. He blinked, completely unfazed. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it more. "You think you can stop Virelion with moves like that? Absurd."

The second clash erupted. A large soldier with a giant shield tried to hold him off. Sirea didn't attack directly, but instead twisted his body, kicking the bottom of the shield. A loud thump was heard, and his leg bone seemed to become a sledgehammer that crushed the opponent's bones.

"Aaaargh!" The scream tore through the air, making some of the citizens cover their ears.

Lyselle, who was standing at the edge of the crowd, gripped her cloak tightly. Her eyes couldn't leave the sight—not because she was impressed, but because there was something terribly wrong here. She knew Sirea was the captain of an elite force, but the way he was finishing off his enemies... was too sadistic.

"Is he... enjoying this?" Lyselle muttered, her voice barely audible.

Sirea briefly turned his head, as if he had heard the murmur despite the crowd's noise. His eyes met Lyselle's, and there was a glint that was hard to decipher—a mix of challenge and... a warning.

"There's no place for softness on the battlefield," Sirea said loudly, whether it was directed at Lyselle or everyone in the square.

Then he turned his back and— SWISH! His sword quickly pierced the neck of the next opponent. Blood gushed out like water from a broken jug. Some small children in the crowd screamed and were hugged tightly by their parents.

"That's enough, Captain!" one of the Virelion officers tried to stop him. "They have surrendered—"

Sirea stopped his advance, then looked at the officer with a cold stare that could freeze blood. "Surrendered?" he repeated the word, as if tasting it on his tongue. "Surrendering is just another word for breathing a little longer before you die."

The officer swallowed, not daring to speak again.

The next physical clash was even more brutal. Sirea twisted his sword, parrying a double slash from two opponents at once, then stepped forward, hitting the chest of one of them with his shoulder. The opponent's body was thrown backward, hitting a stone wall behind him. The sound of cracking bones was clearly audible, followed by a painful shriek.

The people in the square began to realize something—this wasn't just a battle to win. This was a show. Sirea was deliberately making it a spectacle, carving fear into the hearts of everyone who saw it.

And behind all of it... his smile never faded.

The sound of clashing swords echoed again, bouncing off the black brick walls of the Drezhen headquarters. The flames from the torches along the corridor flickered, as if they too were feeling the tension that was pressing down on the air between them.

Lyselle tried to control her breathing. Sirea was indeed like a shadow, every attack came from an unexpected angle—and every one of his movements left a small wound on Lyselle's skin, as if deliberately made to weaken her mentally.

However, before Sirea could launch his next slash, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed behind Lyselle.

"Lyselle!"

The voice was deep, firm, and full of authority. Caelan emerged from the next corridor, his long coat swinging, the large sword in his hand gleaming under the torchlight. His face was cold, his eyes lit up with a sharp focus.

Sirea smiled crookedly.

"Ah... the king's dog has come, I see. Interesting."

Caelan didn't respond to the taunt. He just stepped forward, standing parallel to Lyselle.

"Are you hurt?"

Lyselle shook her head quickly, even though the blood on her arm was clearly visible.

"I can still fight."

Caelan shifted his gaze to Sirea.

"You've caused enough chaos. Surrender now, or—"

"Or what? You'll try to cut off my wings?" Sirea chuckled, then flapped his wings slowly, making the dust on the floor swirl. "Go ahead and try. I want to see if your reputation is just empty talk."

The tension thickened even more. Lyselle could feel the cold aura from Caelan beginning to spread, mixing with the heat emanating from Sirea. The two forces collided in the air, making it hard to breathe.

Without warning, Sirea swooped toward them. Lyselle and Caelan moved almost simultaneously—Lyselle leaped to the side, unleashing a flash spell to cut off Sirea's path, while Caelan swung his sword in a vertical motion that tore through the air.

A loud clang was heard. Sparks flew from the meeting of Caelan's sword blade and Sirea's thin sword. The vibration was so strong that Lyselle felt it down to her bones.

"Not bad," Sirea said while pushing Caelan back half a step. "But not enough yet."

Caelan said nothing, just held his sword in a ready position. But from the look in his eyes, Lyselle knew—Caelan had read this opponent's rhythm.

Lyselle used the pause to prepare her magic. The tips of her fingers glowed with a pale blue light, forming intricate patterns in the air.

"Caelan! Drive him toward me!"

Caelan gave a slight nod, then pressed forward with quick attacks, forcing Sirea to move backward into the desired position. Sirea, although clearly skilled, couldn't completely ignore the double pressure.

Once he was at the right distance, Lyselle unleashed her spell.

"Astra Fulminare!"

A blinding flash of light, accompanied by a crack of lightning, struck the floor. Sirea managed to dodge, but the tip of his wing was scorched, leaving a trail of thin smoke.

Sirea turned to Lyselle, his gaze turning cold.

"You will regret that."

"We'll see," Lyselle replied, though her breath was beginning to grow ragged.

Caelan advanced again, this time with faster movements, taking advantage of Sirea's moment of anger. Their swords clashed repeatedly, each collision sparking light. Lyselle also attacked from the other side, forming a triangular pattern that forced Sirea to remain on the defensive.

However, from Sirea's faint smile, Lyselle realized—this wasn't over yet.