Chapter 49 – The Dance of Death

Ren walked through the rows of cells, dragging his scythe along the iron bars. The shriek of metal echoed through the underground like a funeral bell. Every lock split apart with a sharp crack, freeing the prisoners as he advanced.

He no longer hid in shadows. He wasn’t an assassin moving in silence—he was a judge without restraint.

One of the guards he had left unconscious stirred awake and hurled himself at Ren with a desperate cry. The scythe swung down in a wide arc. The man was cleaved in two… yet not a drop of blood spilled. His body crumbled into ashes, leaving behind only a strangled scream before vanishing into nothing.

Far above, in the divine realm, Shion lifted her gaze to her moon. The celestial body had turned a deep crimson.

“What a beautiful night…” she whispered, setting her teacup down and rising to her feet.

Her silhouette began to move among veils of shadow, as if she were dancing to some inaudible melody.

Meanwhile, Ren pressed forward through the corridors. Every guard who stood in his path was felled in a single stroke. With each soul cut away, the scythe shuddered, and Shion’s shadow danced with greater fervor. Those who fell found neither rest nor rebirth—they were erased from the cycle forever.

Ren’s steps were steady, yet his figure flowed like a performer in a ballet. His scythe traced flawless arcs, every strike a step in the choreography, every death a note in the symphony of annihilation.

“Stop him!” the prison general shouted from above.

Hundreds of soldiers raised muskets and short pistols, unleashing volleys of mana.

But Phantom was no longer human. His dance slipped between each projectile, each flash of light. With a graceful spin, he split a surge of magic in two; with another, he cut down three men in a single stroke.

In her realm of twilight, Shion twirled over a pool of crimson, the red moon reflected in her eyes.

“Not a single soul will escape tonight…” she laughed, spinning in delight. “This is my gala.”

Ren paused for a moment, surrounded by fading enemies, and stretched out an arm like an actor at the end of a play.

“Welcome to my final performance.” His bow froze the hearts of all who still dared to look at him.

Hours later, Ren’s dance came to an end. The echo of the last screams faded, leaving only the crunch of frost breaking beneath his boots.

The open cells revealed dozens of frightened faces: criminals, heretics, innocents condemned by the Church’s whims. All of them looked upon him with the same reverent terror.

“Go.” His voice rang out like a decree.

No one dared to defy him. The prisoners fled through the corridors, stumbling over one another, whispering silent thanks to the specter they could not decide was a savior… or an executioner.

Ren spun the scythe and drove it into the ground. A surge of dark fire raced along the halls, igniting torches, curtains, shelves of parchment. Prison records—names, crimes, sentences—burned away in seconds, turning into black smoke that rose to the soot-stained ceiling.

“I won’t leave behind a single chain that binds you here…” he murmured, the firelight glinting off his mask.

In the divine realm, Shion lifted a hand toward the moon, as if inviting it to dance, delighting in the spectacle below.

“Even consumed by hatred, he never stops planning… what an exceptional human.”

The flames devoured everything.

No matter how many water spells the mages cast, the black fire would not yield. The prison of Luxaris was swallowed down to its foundations, reduced to ashes by a blaze not of this world.

Ren stepped through a portal and vanished into the shadows, like a rumor fading into the night. Another specter in the darkness. Another myth to be whispered in taverns.

By dawn, King Dorian Luxaris received the report in his throne room.

A soldier knelt before him, forehead pressed to the marble floor.

“Your Majesty… we have been unable to reach the lower levels. So far, there are no survivors.”

“I see.” The king idly toyed with a coin between his fingers, unmoved.

“And my daughter?”

The soldier swallowed hard.

“No, sir… the place is unrecognizable. We’ve never seen flames like those before.”

Dorian clicked his tongue, dismissive.

“It doesn’t matter. Sakura was never that important. If anything turns up, inform me.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The soldier bowed and quietly withdrew.

From the shadows of the throne room emerged a young man with an androgynous air—shoulder-length black hair, glasses glinting under the torchlight.

“What do you think, Lucy?” the king asked, spinning the coin across his palm. “Could it have been an accident caused by mana weapons?”

The adviser adjusted his lenses.

“I doubt it, sire. Based on the experiments, mana explosions don’t create flames of that color.”

Dorian leaned back against his throne, indifferent.

“Then do you think the demons have finally decided to move against us?”

“I wouldn’t rule it out. My sources confirm Lilith has returned, stronger than before, ever since Yukihana.”

“I see… then our business hangs by a thread. This attack wasn’t random.” The king let the coin fall and caught it again. “What I don’t understand is the objective.”

Lucy tilted his head.

“If they wanted to weaken us, the prison was not a critical target. And the princess Sakura is hardly a useful hostage. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“So you think it was meant as a warning?”

“I’m not certain. But with me here in the capital, you should feel reassured.”

“Hmph.” Dorian allowed himself a brief smile. “Indeed.”

Lucy knelt, bowing his head.
“Thank you for your trust, Your Majesty.”

“Send envoys to Yukihana, to Umbra, and to Cegris,” the king commanded, his voice echoing through the empty hall. “We need new ‘alliances.’ We’re running out of pawns… and our economy worries me.”

“As you wish.” Lucy vanished into the shadows.

The king remained alone on his throne, spinning the coin over and over between his fingers.

The board of the world has shifted.
Who will our next enemy be? The Yuki? The demons?

The coin slipped, ringing against the marble with a metallic chime.

“It’s about time we summon a new hero,” Dorian murmured. The echo of his words spread like a dark omen. “This nation needs a symbol. This world… needs freedom.”