Ashen Dragon

"Smack!"

The scroll fell from his hand.

The scarlet signature was so striking and clear.

Outside the Giant's Mouth Cave, the cold wind still howled, and the snow fell heavily, making the retainers shiver and exhale white mist. But inside the cave, it was warm as a furnace.

However, Alger felt as if he had fallen into an ice cave, collapsing to the ground.

His oath, his faith, his years of training and education, everything he pursued, all collapsed in this moment.

He had tirelessly trained in combat, harmonizing with the Giant Eagle, only to become an accomplice in sacrificing lives.

He had pledged loyalty to Duke Brad, never imagining that the one bestowing the sword was his greatest enemy in life.

He received education from the family's instructors, only to become a hound under someone's control.

His life-risking battles and sacrifices ultimately served his greatest foe in life, like a tragic figure from some opera.

—And this was undoubtedly the most thorough negation and most biting mockery of his life.

Once, Alger used hatred to blind his own thoughts, allowing him to carry out tasks recklessly, without considering morality.

But when this last layer of pretense was torn away, his heart was left with nothing but bloody wounds and endless regret.

Alger kneeled on the ground.

The scene of that massacre replayed before his eyes.

Surrounded by burning buildings, people waving torches and cheering, following him, shouting slogans of "Drive out the devil" and "Protect the citizens," while a Tiefling mother, empty-handed, only held her child tightly, kneeling before him with tears in her eyes, begging for mercy.

He also remembered what that mother said to him before she died—

"Please, let my child live."

But blinded by hatred, he had swung the Eagle Shriek Silver Sword without hesitation.

With a clear and crisp eagle's cry, he killed her cruelly.

He had murdered the mother and child.

He had personally set fire to their settlement.

His actions were no different from those he hated, even making him his foe's accomplice.

He was no avenger.

Nor a warrior of justice.

Just an ignorant pawn used by his enemy.

A butcher who slaughtered commoners.

A wretch who didn't even know himself.

"I'm sorry..."

His voice trembled.

Whether this apology was for Mezulash or those dead Tieflings, he didn't know.

Mezulash's pitch-black eyes remained unmoved, standing with arms folded, coldly watching him.

"Alger, it's too late."

"All of this has already happened."

"Your apology means nothing to me, it only disgusts me."

Alger didn't lift his head, but responded, trembling all over:

"Kill me."

Mezulash sneered and replied softly:

"If I could decide your life and death, you would have long been tortured to death in a dungeon."

"But look at you now, you look like a stray dog. Letting you live in pain, that's not too bad."

For his sworn enemy, this former Paladin spared no malicious words.

Alger repeatedly banged his head against the ground.

Blood flowed from his forehead.

Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the blood, blurring his vision.

He repeated again:

"Please, kill me."

Mezulash watched coldly, then said:

"You think being killed by me will bring you redemption, don't you? The clichéd trope of a killer being slain by an avenger."

"You always take things for granted."

"Just as you took for granted that the bloodstained Duke was a magnanimous good man, placing the blame for your parents' deaths on us, just as you took for granted the slaughter of our settlements."

Mezulash stepped forward, grabbing Alger's head and lifting him forcefully.

He whispered in his ear:

"Alger, your life and death have long ceased to be in your control."

"The only reason you're alive is because you still have value to Lord Cassius."

Alger was thrown heavily to the ground.

Mezulash finished speaking, then stood by watching.

This Tiefling Holy Warrior wasn't consumed by the hatred in his heart, now he only cared about the survival of his people; Alger's life meant nothing to him.

Cassius looked down at Alger, his golden eyes devoid of any so-called compassion.

"I told you there was no need to deceive you, only to let you witness the truth."

"You should have known all this long ago."

Alger kneeled on the ground, blood continually flowing.

"I should have... known."

He mumbled to himself.

The flowing blood seemed to clear his mind.

Alger finally regained his calm from the extreme collapse, his eyes a bit clearer.

He couldn't die yet; he hadn't resolved the true culprit behind all this, hadn't truly avenged his parents, hadn't completed his own redemption.

Once dead, there would be no chance to make amends.

The image of Duke Brad Rackman appeared in his mind.

That face seemed about fifty years old, with a pale complexion, always sporting two delicate mustaches, wearing silver-framed glasses, his hair and eyes pitch black, with an occasional flash of crimson.

He spoke slowly, with a heavy noble accent, yet without seeming forced.

Once, Alger felt deep admiration and gratitude upon seeing this face.

But now, all he felt was endless hatred.

With this thought, Alger said in a deep voice:

"I must live, to kill him."

"Who?"

Cassius's golden eyes showed a hint of amusement, feigning ignorance.

"Brad Rackman."

Alger uttered the familiar name, but this time with unwavering determination, a tone of inevitability.

"You alone cannot accomplish it."

"..."

Alger fell silent.

After a long silence, seemingly after deep contemplation, he finally lowered his forehead slowly to touch the ground, ignoring the dirt, his gaze exceptionally firm.

"Lord Cassius, I swear loyalty to you."

"I am willing to offer my life to you, to be your most faithful servant, to serve you with all my heart and soul. I will be the dagger in your shadow, the hidden blade in your hand, removing all obstacles for you."

"As long as you allow me..."

"To kill him."

Cassius nodded slightly and said:

"I don't need you to become a so-called Death Warrior, that is meaningless. I need you to help me... with an experiment."