CHAPTER 139: CHAPTER 139 - ARE THEY OK?

The line was collapsing. Human shouts were being drowned by the guttural roars of the cultists as their ranks pushed forward like a black tide, devouring what little ground was left. Luca didn’t stop to think—he ran, sabers flashing, each step hammering into the mud.

A cultist lunged from the right, blade raised. Luca’s saber caught the strike, twisted, and drove through the man’s neck in one smooth motion before he tore free and kept running.

Shit, shit, shit—her majesty has no powers. She’s in the camp. If they’ve broken through...

Another came from the left, a spiked mace whistling for his head. Luca ducked under the swing, cut low across the man’s thigh, and kicked him aside.

If I’m even a second too slow... His heart was hammering in his skull now, faster with every stride. The camp’s edge was ahead, shrouded in smoke.

He broke through—and the world turned into a nightmare.

Tents were torn apart, their canvas flapping like dying birds in the wind. Fires licked at broken poles, turning the air thick with heat and smoke.

Screams rose from every direction. Devil cultists moved among the chaos, cutting down anyone they found—common folk who had nowhere to run, injured soldiers too weak to lift their weapons, women dragged from hiding places, their cries swallowed by the slaughter.

No, no, no—this can’t be happening here. Luca didn’t think—he moved.

A cultist loomed over a wounded man, blade poised for the kill. Luca’s saber split his spine in one stroke. Not him. Not today. Another grabbed a young woman by the hair—Luca’s second blade punched through his ribs before he even looked up.

Every second is one less chance I’ll reach them. He dragged the woman toward the edge of the camp, shoving her into the arms of a fleeing soldier, but his feet never stopped moving.

The urgency was a vice around his chest. Every heartbeat felt like it might split his ribs. I have to reach them now. Not in a minute. Not after one more fight—now.

A blade scraped across his shoulder as he spun—pain blooming hot under his armor. He cut the attacker down but another cultist drove a dagger into his thigh before he ripped it out and gutted him.

His breath was ragged now, each movement sending flares of pain through his battered body. Doesn’t matter. Pain means I’m still moving. If I stop... I’ll never see them again.

He reached the heart of the camp.

It was empty.

The tents were collapsed, the trampled ground littered with scattered belongings—a cloak, a half-empty satchel, a child’s shoe lying in the dirt. There was no one here. No Celestia. No baby dragon. Only the silence between screams, the distant clash of steel, and the throb of blood in his ears.

Luca’s knees buckled. He dropped to the ground, his sabers falling into the dirt beside him. Am I late? Did they—

The faces of the dead flashed in his mind—the butchered commoners, the fallen soldiers, the women’s screams. Then Celestia’s face. The baby dragon’s small voice. Papa... no. No, no, no.

His throat tightened. The world seemed to tilt. His hands clenched into fists in the mud as despair flooded through him. I should have been faster. I should have been there.

And then—

Kyaaaayayayaaayayaaaaaa...

A sound tore through the air, sharp enough to make his teeth ache.

A screech—long, high, and inhuman.

Luca’s eyes snapped open, flashing with something between shock and realization. That...

Luca lurched to his feet, heart hammering, sabers clenched so tightly his knuckles ached. The steel was slick in his grip, the blades already bathed in the dark, tacky red of a dozen kills. That sound... it has to be what I think it is. Please, let me be right.

He shoved out of the collapsed tent and sprinted toward the source of the screech, boots thudding through mud and ash. The air grew hotter with every step until the camp ahead lit up in a searing wash of crimson fire.

Above, cutting through the choking smoke, a Vermillion Phoenix blazed across the sky—its wings leaving arcs of molten light that rained death upon the cultists below.

Their screams were drowned in the roar of the flames. And there, standing atop the phoenix’s broad back, was Empress Celestia herself—hair whipping in the wind, her presence as fierce and unyielding as the flames beneath her.

Luca’s chest loosened for the first time since the alarm had sounded. Thank god. She is okay, but what’s she doing? Showing her might?

As far below, he spotted a small group huddled under the wreckage of a collapsed tent, the phoenix’s fire keeping enemies at bay but not for long.

So she was saving others huh, even in this situation, that’s the empress for you!

Luca cut down a straggling cultist that lunged for him, then rushed to finish off the ones still alive before leaping toward the phoenix. His boots hit its back with a thud, the heat radiating through his armor.

Their eyes met.

"Are you okay?" they both said at the same time.

"Yes, I am," they answered together again, the unison oddly grounding amid the chaos.

Luca exhaled shakily. "I was so scared something might have happened to both of you. Ah—where is the baby dragon?"

"Don’t worry," Celestia replied, her voice steady even now. "I realized I could place her in my beast space as well, so she’s safe."

Luca nodded, relief washing over him—just in time for a scream to pierce through the din. Both their heads snapped toward it.

Celestia spoke to the phoenix without hesitation, urging it toward the sound. The great bird’s wings cut through the air in a rush, and in moments they spotted another cluster of survivors cornered by snarling cultists.

"Conserve the phoenix’s strength," Luca said, already moving toward the edge of its back. "These are still small fry. I can handle them alone. "

He dropped from the phoenix in a blur, hitting the ground in a crouch before exploding forward. His sabers flashed in twin arcs—one cultist’s throat opening in a spray, another’s chest splitting as he spun past.

The survivors’ wide eyes tracked him as he cut a path through the enemy, every movement precise, economical, and fueled by the razor edge of his relief-turned-rage.

They moved as one—Luca cutting down stragglers on the ground while Celestia and her phoenix rained fire from above—pulling people from wreckage, shielding the wounded, dragging survivors toward whatever semblance of safety remained. Every rescued face was a small light in the smoke and ruin, but the battle still roared around them, relentless.

Then, a deep thud rolled across the battlefield.

Luca’s head snapped up. Far ahead, through the haze and chaos, Sir Rolph was hurled backward, smashing into the ground with bone-jarring force. Dust plumed around him as a voice boomed over the clash of steel:

"Hahahahahaha! Rolph, oh Rolph... you are nothing in front of me now! The Devil Emperor has given me more power! Hahahaha!"

The words seemed to suck the air out of the humans nearby—their stance faltered, eyes darting toward their fallen champion. But Rolph planted his sabers into the ground and used them to lever himself up, shoulders squaring, golden hair whipping in the wind.

In the next heartbeat, his aura exploded outward, a searing silver-gold light that rippled across the air like the surface of a sunlit sea. The ground beneath him cracked in spiderweb patterns. With a sharp exhale, he shifted his stance, both sabers crossing before him.

"Moonlight—"

He blurred forward, vanishing from sight for a fraction of a second.

"—Sever!"

The world seemed to split. A crescent arc of blinding light tore through the space between Rolph and his foe, so bright it etched shadows into the battlefield. The force ripped past the Devil General, and a delayed shockwave hammered outward, toppling nearby cultists.

Santos’s mocking grin twisted into a grimace as the strike smashed into him. His body was hurled backward, crashing into the ground hard enough to gouge a trench through the dirt. Smoke curled from a deep gash across his chest, blackened at the edges where the aura had burned him.

Rolph straightened, voice like ice. "You’re still trash, Santos."

Luca’s breath caught. His eyes locked on that strike, every detail burned into his mind. Wait... isn’t that— He turned to Celestia. "Isn’t that Moonslayer?"

But before she could respond, the phoenix shuddered violently beneath them. A shadow slammed into its side, and in the next instant the great bird crashed to the ground. The impact hurled them both from its back. Luca hit hard, the wind knocked from his lungs, a cough tearing through him.

He rolled and scrambled toward Celestia, forcing his battered body to move. She was on her side, blood darkening her robes. He pulled her upright, scanning her face. The wounds were worse—too deep, too many.

A voice slithered out of the dust and ruin, high-pitched and cruel.

"Jijijijijijijiiieee... you’re being a nuisance, brat."

Luca’s head rose, locking on the figure ahead. His knees trembled but he stood, gripping his sabers until his palms ached. Then he lunged.

He didn’t make it two steps before the world bent. Space itself seemed to stretch and warp—and then an invisible force slammed into him like a collapsing wall.

He flew backward, crashing through the torn flap of a nearby tent. Blood surged up his throat and spilled past his lips. His vision blurred, but his eyes widened in disbelief.

"S-spatial expansion...?"