Azel stared at the man before him.
The figure stood tall, arms crossed, features hidden beneath a deep silhouette. Aside from his massive physique, Azel could make out nothing else. Behind him, countless more shadowy figures loomed in the mist — watching, silent, indistinguishable.
Azel's eyes, cold and steady, narrowed slightly.
"...Where am I?"
He asked, voice low.
The man's laugh was a rough rumble in the stillness.
"You are in your spirit form. What remains of you after death. For us the cursed, there is no salvation. No Nirvana. No peace. We are bound to wander this world until its end."
He gestured to the gathering crowd behind him
Azel said nothing, his expression unchanged.
"You are the last of us. The last Cursewright. So we've been watching you closely."
Azel's gaze flickered once, barely visible.
The man laughed again, a dry, bitter sound.
"To think you'd die for a demon girl... Ridiculous! You awakened the mark inside you that you shouldn't have yet."
Azel didn't react.
He remembered the night clearly—the power, the madness, the black flames devouring him from within.
It hadn't been Forbanna's doing. It had been his own will. His own curse, set free.
Lagunas stepped closer.
It was common among cursewrights to know demons existed. They fought beside them. Bled beside them. Feared them and respected them. Unlike other races, they were the only one in contact with them.
Azel was no exception.
The man studied him for a long moment.
"You have two choices: Let our bloodline die here.
Or survive and pass it on."
Lagunas said finally. His tone grew heavier, carrying weight like stone.
"We don't care what you choose after that. Revenge, redemption, solitude... it's your life."
Lagunas' gaze flicked briefly toward Forbanna, standing silently nearby.
"And her?"
Forbanna lowered her head, anger and sorrow flickering across her features.
Her voice, when it came, was strained.
"I only pushed him to survive. The mark... awakened too early. The trauma and pain in that battle cause that to happen-"
She trailed off, unable to finish.
Azel didn't look at her.
Lagunas nodded approvingly at his restraint.
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low growl.
"I will resurrect you. But know this — it will happen only once. Next time you fall... there's no coming back."
Lagunas straightened.
"At least have a child before you die. Carry the blood forward. That's all we ask."
The crowd of cursed souls behind him murmured, a low ripple like a dying storm.
Azel closed his eyes for a brief moment, accepting the weight placed upon him.
He said nothing.
Words were meaningless here.
Lagunas lifted his hand. A burning sigil formed above his palm, the ancient crest of the Cursewrights—a jagged spiral engulfed in black flame.
The sigil sank into Azel's chest.
Pain like molten iron flooded his senses. His spirit twisted, reconstructed, reformed.
Lagunas' voice echoed one last time as the world around him began to shatter.
"Live, Cursewright."
He gasped—air filling his lungs like fire.
The rain still fell. Anna still knelt, sobbing before the pile of ash that was now... stirring.
Slowly, the ash rose, swirling around a reformed body. Charred bones, blackened veins, glowing red tattoos crawling over pale skin.
Anna gasped, stumbling back in shock.
"Azel...?"
He opened his eyes fully. They were pitch-black, but no longer wild. This time, they were calm and controlled.
Azel stood up, the ashes falling from his skin like snow. The black flames around him dimmed into faint embers, lingering at his fingertips.
Anna rushed to him, grabbing his arms as if to anchor herself in reality.
"Azel!!"
She cried endless tears on his embrace.
Azel lowered his head slightly, forehead pressing against hers.
"...Sorry!"
It was barely a whisper, almost lost in the sound of the rain—but Anna heard it. And it broke her.
She hugged him more tightly, as if he might vanish again.
The path ahead would be cruel. Bloodier than anything before.
But for now, as the cursed blood burned quietly in his veins, Azel simply stood there—alive once more.
* * * * * * * * * *
Antony burst into the side hall of the cathedral, startling the few surviving clerics.
"You! Write! Now!"
He barked at a scribe, grabbing him by the collar.
The man fumbled for parchment and quill.
"Record this: 'The Cursewright is alive. Sir Hakugo has gone to intercept it."
The scribe scribbled hurriedly, ink splattering across the paper.
"Describe him."
The priest ordered another, thrusting him toward a table.
"Messy black hair, black eyes. Wears traveler's robes. Looks barely into his twenties."
The artist worked fast, sketching a rough image based on the description.
The priest snatched the finished parchment without waiting for approval.
He sealed it hastily with the cathedral's crest.
"Send it to the Main Church of Saint Heron. At once!"
"Y-Yes my lord."
Without looking back, he stormed deeper into the cathedral halls.
* * * * * * * * * *
The air was thick with the scent of burned wood and blood.Smoke curled from broken houses. The once-imposing slaver camp was nothing more than ash and debris.
Countless slaves stumbled through the underground ruins, their collars broken, their chains shattered.
Some wept. Some knelt and prayed. Some simply stood, staring at the man who had brought down the ones who had oppressed them.
Azel ignored them all.
He stood silent, black cloak fluttering lightly in the breeze, his black eyes scanning the wreckage with cold detachment.
He was used to these stares.
Fear. Awe. Hatred. Reverence.
It was always the same.
Piero and Mary pushed through the crowd, bloodied but alive, their faces lit with gratitude.
They stopped before him, bowing deeply.
"Thank you. You saved her."
Azel simply nodded. Then he turned to the slaves.
"Run! They'll search these lands soon. If you stay, you'll be dragged back into chains."
They did as they are told. All of them thanked him before going away.
"You will be pursued cursewright."
"I know."
"Thank you, truly."
With final goodbye they turned away vanishing into the woods.
Anna stepped closer to him, brushing soot from her torn dress. Her face was pale.
Macedonia's household would send investigators to get Piero. But with this much chaos, this much devastation... it would be easy for them to conclude Piero died in the fray — just another body among the ruins, devoured by a vengeful Cursewright's flames.
Piero had been right about one thing, though.
Word would spread.
Some of the freed slaves would talk. Some would whisper of the black-eyed stranger who toppled the slavers. Some would sell the story for gold.
Even the lapdog of Hakugo ran away.
His existence might soon reach places he didn't intend.
Anna glanced at him worriedly.
"I'll decide our next step soon."
She nodded, clutching his cloak as if afraid he'd vanish again.
For now, they had survived.
But survival, Azel knew, was just the beginning.
The storm was only just starting.