Kairi's sharp eyes had been locked on Aiden as her katana was dripping with his blood.

The crowd's roar faded into a dull hum. For a moment, she didn't hear them. Didn't hear the Queen's guilty cry, didn't hear the wives' anguish.

Her gaze was fixed only on him—on the man who had thrown himself into death's path without hesitation.

"…Tch," she hissed, biting the inside of her cheek. Her grip on the katana tightened. *What kind of fool… shields another with his own life… in a duel like this?*

But before her thoughts could sharpen further—

A blinding light erupted across the arena.

FWOOOM!

Kairi flinched, snapping her head toward the source—

And then—

BOOOOM!

---

30 Minutes Earlier.

The Albinos arena buzzed with tension, soldiers whispering in corners as word of the duel spread. They weren't just talking about any fight—it was between the Child of Prophecy and one of their strongest generals, Hanatan Kairi. The atmosphere was heavy, yet electric, every soldier eager to see blood spill in the sand.

But elsewhere, within the palace's surrounding gardens, life carried on in a quieter rhythm.

---

A tall man leaned against a carved stone pillar, his golden hair catching the late morning light. His sharp maroon eyes reflected the restless soldiers moving about, their chatter drifting to him.

"They say the Princess herself requested it… the duel."

"Between the Child of Prophecy and General Kairi? Tch, that's madness."

"No, no—you don't get it. It's not just him. His wife too. The Princess challenged her."

Their voices faded as the men jogged away toward the arena, boots clattering on stone.

The man's lips curved into a faint smile. His chiseled face—sharp jawline, smooth skin kissed faintly bronze from constant training—made him stand out as much as his uniform: fitted armor etched with Albinos sigils, polished but practical.

He didn't speak, simply listening, his gaze thoughtful.

Then—

"Sylas!"

His head turned, that smile widening at the sound of her voice.

A woman approached, her steps light but purposeful. Short purple hair framed her sculpted face, her orange eyes sparkling even from a distance. Her lips curved sweetly, the faintest blush already rising. She was short, her figure generously built—her modest tunic fit for combat, not court, but even so, her big chest pressed faintly against the fabric, a teasing shadow of cleavage where the laces didn't quite close. The tunic and trousers allowed free movement, but her wide hips and lean, toned legs gave away her strength.

She waved once, then jogged the rest of the way toward him, her smile brighter than the sun.

And when she reached him, she didn't hesitate—her lips pressed softly against his in a fleeting, tender kiss.

Instead of pulling away immediately, she lingered, her thumb brushing his jawline as if she didn't want the moment to end.

Sylas's smile deepened. "Well, well. Where have you been?" His tone turned teasing, playful. "Rehearsing that kiss you just gave me?" His smirk said it all.

Her cheeks flamed instantly. "Y-you dummy," she pouted, smacking his arm lightly. "Here I was, expecting you to thank me for it."

He chuckled, leaning closer. "Can't help it. You look adorable when you're flustered."

She pressed her lips tight, clearly fighting the urge to smile, but her orange eyes betrayed her, glowing warmly. "You're so cheesy."

He tilted his head, mock-serious. "You love it."

"I—hmph." Her blush deepened, and she looked away, but her hand slipped into his. Their fingers intertwined naturally, the gesture unspoken but full of ease and love.

Sylas chuckled, low and warm. "Dangerous, you know. Vice Commander sneaking kisses from her General in public."

Her blush deepened, though she smiled coyly. "Oh? And who's fault is it you always 'ask for them without asking,' hmm?"

He grinned wide, leaning a little closer. "Caught me there. But you're the one stealing them."

Her lips curved into a pout that didn't last long. "Idiot."

The noise of the arena in the distance felt far away compared to the heat of their closeness.

Then her expression softened, eyes searching his. "Sylas… did you sleep at all last night?"

He smirked, though a shadow of fatigue lingered in his eyes. "Not really. Too much to handle with all these restless men under my command."

Her pout returned, genuine this time. "You're impossible. And what did you eat?"

He raised a brow. "Oh? Look who's talking. Don't tell me you skipped again."

Her cheeks colored. "...Maybe."

"Unbelievable." He sighed, though his tone carried warmth more than scolding. "You nag me for not resting, but you starve yourself."

She huffed, crossing her arms under her chest. "I wasn't hungry!"

He smiled gently, tugging her hand back into his. "And I wasn't tired. Guess we're both liars when it comes to worrying about each other."

That earned him a small laugh, her orange eyes glowing warmly.

They stood in silence for a while, fingers laced, comfort found in the small act of nagging out of love.

Finally, Sylas broke the moment. "So. Do you know what's going on? Why all the rush?"

Her smile turned uncertain. "I don't know if I heard it right, but… the Princess. She wants to marry this Child of Prophecy."

His brows shot up. "What?"

She nodded, biting her lip. "It's true. She even asked one of his wives to duel her."

"…Our Princess?" His maroon eyes widened with disbelief.

She laughed softly, still blushing. "Mm. She chose General Hanatan Kairi for the duel. And then… Mrs. Nivara stepped in, too. She challenged the Child of Prophecy directly. To see if he's strong enough to protect the Princess."

Sylas let out a long whistle, shaking his head with a grin. "Looks like things escalated. Our Princess actually found someone who's her type. That's rare." His tone turned teasing again. "Did the sun rise from the west today?"

She puffed her cheeks, nudging him with her shoulder. "Don't joke." Her voice turned softer, hopeful. "So… wanna go see the duel? Together?"

Her blush returned, faint but sweet.

Sylas's smirk softened into something gentler. He opened his mouth to reply, to tease her again, to say yes—but before the words could come, the ground shuddered.

BOOM.

The sound tore through the air, a blast echoing across the palace grounds.

The earth shook.

Explosions ripped through the outer garrison walls, scattering debris across the sky. Smoke rolled like thunderclouds as soldiers screamed, some clutching wounds, others scrambling to form lines amidst the chaos.

Then came the voices. Raw. Guttural.

"For every lash!" roared the men, their black cloaks whipping in the wind, conjured blades glowing with unholy crimson.

"For every womb you defiled!" shrieked the women, their arms weaving together, drawing violet sigils in the air. Circles of fire and lightning formed above, linking into a vast, pulsating network.

They did not charge like bandits. They moved like an army. Each step in rhythm, each cry unified.

A soldier caught sight of them and shouted, his voice breaking the panic:

"Sir! Ma'am!"

Sylas stood tall, broad shoulders unshaken by the chaos. "Form ranks! Push the line!" His maroon eyes cut to his partner. "Sylara—left with me. We break them here!"

His body surged forward, a boulder in motion, his fist crashing into a demon's chest. Bone cracked, steel dented, and the enemy flew back, weapon scattering like glass.

Sylara was there beside him, her orange eyes burning. She ducked beneath a crimson blade, spinning low before her fist tore upward into a demon's jaw. The body flipped into the air—only for her knee to slam into its gut mid-flight, snapping it like a doll before it hit the dirt.

Her voice was fire. "Try to keep up, Sylas!"

"Remember your training!" Sylas barked, snapping a demon's arm before hurling him into two more. "No wasted motion!"

Sylara smirked, sweat on her lips. "I'm not the one wasting breath on lectures."

They fought like two halves of one soul—teacher and student, general and vice, lovers bound by the same battlefield rhythm.

And yet Sylara's voice dropped to a whisper, unheard by all but him as she struck another foe.

"If only… if only humans had not done this to them…"

Sylas's jaw clenched as he drove his fist into another enemy's shield, shattering it. "I know. But if we falter here, our men die. We carry both our blades and our guilt."

Their fists moved, but their eyes never lost the sorrow that lingered behind every strike.

Then, a voice thundered through the smoke.

"Demons? Good." A wave of molten heat surged, melting stone as a massive greatsword cleaved three Pale Hands in a single arc. "I needed something to burn."

(Kael Draven is fury given form, tall and broad-shouldered, his crimson hair tied back in a warrior's knot. A scar cuts across his jawline, a permanent reminder of battles past, while his molten eyes burn with vengeance. His armor glows faintly, as if molten steel runs beneath the plates, alive with heat. In his hand he wields a flame-coated greatsword capable of splitting the earth itself, his rage fueling the rivers of fire he commands. Reckless, aggressive, relentless—yet loyal to allies—Kael is a force of destruction, fire incarnate on the battlefield)

"General Draven!" a soldier gasped in relief.

Kael sneered. "Save your breath. Put it into killing." His greatsword roared with flame, molten rivers splitting the cobblestone as he pressed forward.

---

END OF CHAPTER : 110 : THIS IS SURPRISING!

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