Legacy Of The Extra-Chapter 61: Heldenstein(1)

Flames.

Black flames.

Everywhere. Eating everything it touches and not leaving any trace—Houses, trees, animals, people. Everything was erased as soon as it touched those abysmal black flames.

The streets of Kaiserhelm were filled with rubble of houses and bodies—men, women and even children, consumed by those wild flames. The air's fresh scent turned into that of the metallic tang.

A scent that every human hated.

It was disgusting, the way they died. Their organs spilling out on the ground, giving any weak-hearted person a stroke.

Clang!

Clang!

Clang!

The sound of blades clashing together could be heard in the distance. Each strike created sparks as the attacks continued with speed undetectable to the human eye.

"Huff... Huff... Huff..."

The heavy breathing of a young man could be heard as he clutched the hilt of his blade that stabbed itself into the ruined concrete of the streets.

He had fiery red hair mixed with patches of dirt that framed a handsome and sharp face. One of his eyelids shut as blood trailed from it to his chin.

His armour, or what remained of it, clung to his body—The half chest plate, only one gauntlet at his forearm. His cloak was tattered, filled with holes. Lines of red appeared all over his body.

He was injured, and he knew it.

But his gaze did not falter from the figure that stood before him.

The shadow that loomed over the red-haired boy was an ominous one. His black hair seemed like the void itself. A long, tattered lavender cloak flowed from his dark, spiky shoulder pads to his calves.

He wore a mask that reminded the boy of a demon. Of a fiend. Purple lines etched onto it like sigils. Horns arched from his forehead. And from holes of mask he could see the man's deep red irises cursed with a black reptilian slit like those of demons and dragons.

He held an ebony blade that looked like a longsword. Its edges are as sharp as a beast's fangs. The man was no mere mortal—he was a demon. No, he was more than that.

The red-haired boy's jaw tightened, hands clutching the hilt even more tightly. Turning his blood-streaked knuckles white.

"Why?!" He blurted out. Shouting at the demon that stood before him. "Why—Why did you do this?!" His voice cracked as sheer fury clouded him. "I thought we were comrades?"

"I trusted you with—with almost everything," Tears fell from his eyes, trickling down his face. But his gaze remained firm, his amber eyes reflecting the dark man's silhouette.

"But you!" He lifted his sword from the concrete, flames erupting from his left eye. "You burned it all down!" Hot flames erupted from his blade, distorting the air.

"I won't forgive you!" He swung his blade towards the dark figure, creating an arc of flames as wide as the streets they stood on. It burned everything in its path—Rubble, corpses and head straight for the dark figure.

The figure did not move an inch as the hot flames approached him. He stood with an air of indifference as if the situation was nothing more than unwanted.

He simply raised his free hand towards the arc of fire, releasing a spark of a new set of black flames erupting at his palm.

[Destruction]

A single word.

And the arc of flames that almost burned him to ashes disappeared as if it had never even been there before.

And the worst thing was—the figure did not even seem fatigued.

He did not even sweat.

No... The red-haired boy fell to his knees. His eyes widened with disbelief as he stared at the dark figure. I did not even scratch him... and I am out of mana.

His body leaned forward towards the concrete. He planted his palms on the ruined surface, supporting his weight.

Did I just lose everything? My sister? My father? My mother? My comrades? And all of this...

His face looked up at the dark figure who approached him with steady steps. He was not fazed by the destruction, by the corpses that he stepped on.

His blood-red eyes were focused on him.

On the boy.

He raised both of his hands and then—

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

"Such a good show," The man finally spoke, looking down at the boy. His voice seemed to be carved out of the depths of hell itself with how deep and demonic it sounded. "But alas, the hero failed." He sneered, his tone breaching the bounds of mockery.

"Why did you do all this?" The boy replied sharply to his mockery. "Weren't they your comrades? Did you not care about them? Tell me?!"

"Quiet down now, would you?" He did not take the young man seriously.

"Why should I?!" The boy shouted again. "I thought you wanted to protect them, but—"

Before the red-haired boy could speak further, he felt a cold sensation crawling up his neck.

And then—

Spurt!

Thud!

Drip.

Drip.

His head fell from his neck. Rolling on the cold concrete below it. His eyes rolled back as the sound of blood dripping was the only thing that remained before everything faded.

—

"No!" A young man sat up in his bed, screaming. His red hair spilling over his face. Sweat trickled down his chiselled body as he gasped for air.

What the hell was that?!

He clutched his head. His mind spiralled threads of thoughts that overwhelmed his young brain. Did he—Did he just cut my head off? Did I just die?

His hand roamed around the joint of his neck. Releasing a sigh of relief as he felt his skin there. I am... I am alive...

[What happened, Raiden?] A voice inside his head spoke. It was deep but not as demonic as the monster he had faced in his nightmare, and he seemed rather concerned about the younglings named Raiden.

Sir Gabriel, I just saw a nightmare that is all. His fists clenched on the sheet of his bed.

[You can tell me, child. After all, I am like a parent to you.] He reassured, earning a smile from Raiden.

I saw a monster—No, a demon. He was a demon. His jaw tightened. He massacred everyone. It did not matter to that monster who the person was. It only wanted blood and nothing else.

And he killed me... by slicing my neck off.

Gabriel did not answer right away. He carefully chose his words, making sure that the child in front of him would not take this nightmare to his head.

[Listen, Raiden,] He started. His voice was low and soft. [What you just saw was nothing but a nightmare. And they tend to happen often when one is anxious. You are attending the Germainia Empire's one of the most prestigious institutions today—The Heldenstein Academy.]

What do you mean by that? Raiden asked.

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[What I mean is that—you are clearly nervous. Which I can understand. You will be meeting new people as well as your old noble friend. And the Academy is known for raising prodigies such as Michael Von Blitzfeld, the Heir of the Storms himself.]

[It is bound to make you anxious and excited at the same time. The former is more common. Hence, a nightmare occurred.]

Raiden's face lit up. Thank you. He offered proper gratitude to the voice in his head that called himself Gabriel.

[You are welcome.]

As far as Raiden remembered, Gabriel just ended up in his head one day. Speaking with his deep and caring tone that soothed Raiden's mind. Ridding him of any doubt or nervousness.

He was just thirteen years old when he fell from the tree in their estate garden while he was playing with his twin sister Leona. He hit his head pretty hard on that, making his mother—Duchess Sophia Von Emberhold—cry like a river.

She was a dotting mother after all. Who equally loved the two of her children, or maybe Leona more, because she was born a little later than Raiden.

And he had no complaints about his father either—Duke Gregor Von Emberhold—A saint of the blade arts of the Montante and the duke of one of the strongest houses in Germainia—Emberhold.

Slam!

As Raiden was pondering, a huge sound of a door slamming brought his mind back to reality. "Brother, are you alright?!" The panicking voice of a girl could be heard right after the bomb.

Raiden slowly turned his head around, peeking a glance at the young woman who had stormed inside his room—Red hair just like his, fiery eyes just like his. But she had a few things that distinguished him from her.

Her oval face that made her look like a cute little young lady, which she was—or not. Only Raiden knew the truth.

A white coat with silver trims around collar edges and a silver brooch adorned her body. Under it, she wore a black shirt and a black skirt.

Her fiery eyes then fell on him, and the panic from them disappeared in an instant. She just stared at him, blankly.

"Hey there, Leona." Raiden greeted her, giving her an awkward smile.

"YOU AREN'T EVEN FUCKING READY YET?! YOU STUPID BROTHER! WE ARE GOING TO BE LATE LIKE THIS!"