Return of the Mythic Bloodline

Chapter 497: A sword with silver hilt

It was set on fire, just like every other house in the village.

Around the house, more than twenty monsters lay dead, their bodies gnawed and ripped in irregular patterns, the injuries not seeming to have been caused by a human.

Her eyes widened in horror, her irises shrinking as they fell on the doorstep where Shiro lay.

His damp white fur had turned crimson, clinging to his body where numerous deep wounds were visible. One of his eyes was completely destroyed by a sharp claw mark, and his belly, which still barely vibrated, was split open.

"Shiro," Celestia cried out, reaching him.

He slightly lifted his head, his last struggle as life slowly left his body. He let out a low whimper, his remaining eye turning teary, as if he was apologising to Celestia.

And then he fell, completely limp.

"N-no!!!"

Tears fell down Celestia’s face, but she did not remain there for more than a second.

She entered the house. Its door was broken, carrying numerous claw marks.

A wide trail of grey and crimson blood was painted across the floor, leading inside.

Shiro had fought bravely until his limbs gave out, and only then had the monsters paved their way inside.

In the hallway, dozens of corpses of goblins and orcs lay, severed by something sharp, like a sword.

She moved past them, her steps slow and heavy, as if she was afraid of what awaited her.

Beyond the burning planks and rising smoke in the hall, behind the table where the family had shared so many meals, Tristan lay motionless on the floor with his back facing the ceiling.

A broken sword lay beside him, its blade snapped near the hilt. One of his arms had been ripped apart, a grotesque tangle of torn flesh and splintered bone. His leg was broken, bent at an unnatural angle. His open back revealed numerous deep slashes carved through the skin, through the bone, and deep into his internal organs.

Celestia’s legs buckled. Her face became completely expressionless, as if her brain was struggling to process what she was feeling, as if reality had simply refused to load.

She skidded forward and dropped to the floor beside Tristan.

"H-honey..." She murmured, her voice barely audible above the crackling of the flames. Her trembling hand moved toward his shoulder, hesitating for just a heartbeat before making contact.

She rolled him over with whatever willpower was still keeping her intact, every muscle in her body screaming in protest.

A loud gasp escaped her lips as Roland’s body was revealed beneath Tristan, the boy he had tried to protect with the sacrifice of himself. The little auburn haired boy who had wished Celestia a happy birthday just hours ago lay eerily peaceful.

"Roland... Tristan..." She murmured in a low, hollow voice.

"Ce-Celestia..." A faintly audible whisper escaped Tristan’s lips, barely a breath against the roaring destruction around them.

A mild sigh of relief escaped Celestia’s lips within all her heavy gasps. A

She instantly laced his body in her Soulforce, a desperate attempt to keep him with her, to anchor his soul to the world by sheer force of will.

"I’m-I’m sorry...Ce-Celestia," he murmured, tears streaming down his wounded face, cutting pale tracks through the blood and soot. "O-once ag-again, I c-couldn’t pro-protect... m-my family."

"N-no, Tristan! Nothing will happen to you," Celestia blurted, holding his hand tightly between both of hers, pressing it against her chest as if she could force her own heartbeat into him. "I’m still here."

"Ce-Celestia. Y-you are m-my world. A-as long as you live, I w-won’t have... an-any regrets."

"Don’t say nonsense, honey," Celestia shouted, her voice breaking, turning into pleas. "I will not let anything happen to you. I will bring you to the best healers. I will massacre every last monster that did this to you."

Tristan shook his head weakly, the motion barely perceptible. He moved her hand toward his chest, guiding her fingers to a deep stab wound directly over his heart.

"I-it wasn’t... m-monster." His voice was fading now, each word a battle. The light in his auburn eyes vanished as they began staring into the abyss, unfocused and distant.

"Tristan!! Tristan!!!"

She cried out, her whole body trembling, uncontrolled tears flooding through her eyes, dripping onto his still face.

She continued calling his name, shaking him gently, then desperately, but he did not respond.

He was already gone.

She pulled both Tristan and Roland into her arms, cradling them against her chest as if she could shield them from death itself, and screamed. A raw, unfiltered cry tore from her throat as her whole world crumbled in her arms.

Tristan was keeping himself alive by forcefully beating his wounded heart using Soulforce, enduring agony beyond measure just to say his final goodbye to the woman he loved.

The roof continued to burn mercilessly above them. Burnt planks began falling to the floor, crashing down in showers of sparks and embers. The air inside the room turned heavy and thick due to smoke, each breath a labor for Celestia’s lungs. Some of the flames brushed against Celestia’s skin. She did not care about them. The pain she was feeling currently was far more than anything this fire could inflict on her. Her flesh could blister and blacken, but it would never match the inferno raging inside her chest.

At that moment, she had no will to live. She wished to be consumed by these flames along with her family. To close her eyes and let the fire take everything, ending the nightmare in one final embrace.

But then, her eyes narrowed at Roland’s body. She looked closer, forcing herself to see what her grief had hidden. There was not any visible injury upon him except one. Just like Tristan, his chest carried a deep slash that had cut his heart, a wound too clean and too precise for the claws and fangs of beasts.

The monsters did not carry swords. They were not killed by them. A cold realization began to dawn on her, cutting through the fog of sorrow.

It was only then that she noticed something familiar placed beneath the burning planks, half buried in ash and rubble.

It was a hilt, silver in colour.

She moved aside the burning planks with her bare hands, her skin sizzling against the hot wood, but she did not flinch.

Piece by piece, the debris was cleared away, revealing the complete form of the sword, the sword that belonged to Ezekiel Silverhart.