CHAPTER 154: 154. THEY KNEW

Truthfully?

I thought that was the end of my story—the day I’d be etched into the history books as charcoal No. 472, cremated not in honor, but by proximity to a pissed-off, ancient dragon with identity issues.

The moment those glacier-blue eyes locked on to me, my throat went dry, heart flatlined, and life insurance policy metaphorically screamed in terror. But fate, or perhaps whatever cosmic entity enjoys dangling me over cliffs for fun, spared me.

Because I wasn’t the dragon’s target.

Its gaze passed over me like I was a discarded thread on the hem of its wrath. Instead, it tilted its head upward—its serpentine neck arching like it was pulling power from the very planet—and roared.

And then it unleashed hell.

A beam of pure white light—no, not fire, not mana, not any element I could name—shot from its open maw and vaporized the ceiling. No resistance. Just incineration.

Entire floors melted like wax under the sun. And then came the sunlight—bright, burning, unfiltered daylight that poured through the gaping hole where once an entire upper complex had stood.

We had been several floors underground. Now we weren’t.

If anyone had been above us...

They weren’t anymore.

Gone. Atomized. No bones. No ash. Just absence.

I gulped audibly.

’Isn’t that... a bit too threatening? I mean, I know it’s a dragon but come on—’

That shit was weakened.

My internal monologue was cut short by the next act in this horror show.

The dragon flapped its wings once.

Just once.

With a low, thunderous groan, it pushed off the ground with its hind legs, the crater beneath it expanding instantly as if the earth itself couldn’t handle its departure. Dust, stone, debris—all blasted away in a pressure wave that hit me like a truck on steroids.

I didn’t even get a chance to brace.

I was launched backward like a poorly thrown ragdoll, slamming into what used to be the elevator chamber. The metal doors crumpled like paper against my body. I bounced off, hit the floor, and tasted iron.

Blood.

Dripping from my lips. Nose. Maybe even my ears.

Everything ached.

Everything rang.

My ribs throbbed like someone had replaced them with bell chimes.

I staggered upright, blinking through the blur in my vision.

The elevator was gone. The stairs? Probably buried under rubble. My only escape was... up. Through the dragon-made skylight where sunlight still beamed through like a spotlight from heaven.

I grit my teeth, summoned my strength, and activated the skill that never let me down.

[Phantom Surge].

My body blurred, shadows surged from under my feet, and I kicked off the floor, dashing vertically like a ghost launched from a slingshot. I landed hard on the upper floor—well, what remained of it.

And the scene that greeted me?

Devastation incarnate.

Half the building had been eviscerated. Steel beams twisted like vines, stone crumbled like stale bread. Burn marks stained every surface. The stench of ozone and fear hung thick in the air.

The dragon was gone. For now.

But only a select few people remained—most were either dead or had the sense to flee.

The ones who hadn’t?

They were shaking.

And then my eyes found her—Kaelira.

She was running.

No—being hunted.

Vaylin was after her. The bastard looked like a walking executioner from hell, his massive axe cleaving through the air with terrifying ease. Each swing could split boulders. Each step brought him closer.

Kaelira darted, ducked, twisted—her twin daggers flashing in her hands like silver streaks—but no matter what she did, it was useless.

He was anticipating her.

Every dodge, every feint, every desperate counter—he saw through them like he’d read the script beforehand.

’Heightened perception?’ I wondered. ’Or future sight?’

Both were terrifying possibilities.

Or maybe it was worse.

Maybe he had time-stop. Or maybe a bound tracker that let him feel her next move. Regardless, Kaelira was on the backfoot.

She suddenly pulled away, disengaging—smart. She backed off, not out of fear, but calculation. She wasn’t fighting to win anymore.

She was fighting to survive.

But Vaylin?

He didn’t like that.

With a guttural growl, he spun, swinging his axe wildly in a random direction, as if mocking the entire battlefield.

For a moment, I thought he’d just snapped.

But then—

Spluch!

The sound was sharp. Wet.

I flinched.

Kaelira’s scream tore through the air like a banshee wail. But even then, she clamped it down. Gritted her teeth. Stifled the agony.

Because the axe had embedded itself—deep in her torso.

She staggered.

Hands instinctively grabbed the handle to pull it out—but Vaylin was already there.

He didn’t give her the chance.

He kicked her full-force—driving the axe deeper in with a sickening crunch as her body arched backward in pain.

She choked.

Then, as if this wasn’t enough, he yanked her by the hair, forcing her to look him in the eyes.

His voice was calm.

Mocking.

"Still trying to play hero, huh? Trying to get revenge, you stubborn little shit?"

He smirked, the corners of his mouth twitching with madness.

"Just like your dead sister. Same hollow stares. Same stupid defiance. But at least she had fun before dying."

He laughed.

A long, ugly laugh that didn’t come from amusement—but from something far more twisted.

From cruelty that enjoyed breaking people.

Before he could land another blow, my fist slammed into his jaw with the force of a mana-surge compressed into a single strike.

CRACK!

His head snapped back. His feet left the ground. He didn’t stagger—he soared, crashing backwards through the rubble, skipping across the ground like a broken doll before crumpling into a heap of limbs and groaning curses.

I didn’t bother watching him twitch.

My eyes were already on her.

Kaelira.

Her blood was everywhere—trailing down her torn outfit, smeared on her fingers, pooling beneath her boots. Her chest rose and fell in irregular, shallow gasps. Her lips trembled, probably trying to say something, but no sound came out.

This wasn’t good. Not even remotely.

I crouched next to her, the heat of her blood seeping into my palms as I inspected the wound. The axe was still embedded in her side. Pulled in deep—nearly to the hilt. Jagged, cruel. Not something made for a clean kill, but for pain.

Removing it now? Risked letting her bleed out in seconds.

So I didn’t.

I left it.

Not because I was scared. But because losing her here would piss me off more than anything else that had happened today.

I gently touched her cheek, wiping away some of the grime and blood. Her skin was cold.

Too cold.

"You’re not dying here, alright?" I murmured softly, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. "No naps, no sleep, no dramatic last words. You’re going to be fine. And you’re going to kill that bastard yourself."

I jabbed a thumb behind me—toward the shimmering, twitching silhouette of Vaylin.

He was bound.

My amethyst threads had him strung up like a cursed marionette—limbs wrenched behind his back, spine arched unnaturally, his mouth gagged by mana. Every time he tried to speak, a spark snapped through his jaw.

"See?" I whispered, my voice low, reassuring. "He’s not going anywhere. You’ll be the one to finish this. Just not now."

Her eyes met mine. Pain glazed over them, but there was still a flicker—something stubborn. Something fierce. She gave me a weak nod, her jaw clenching tight to endure the pain.

She was trying. She was trying so hard.

I exhaled, pushing my rising fury down. Now wasn’t the time.

I slipped one arm beneath her legs, another behind her back, and carefully lifted her into a princess carry. Her blood stained my hoodie. I didn’t care.

I needed to find Art. If I was lucky, he hadn’t wandered far.

And luck, for once, was on my side.

Because just beyond the fractured remnants of the building, standing amidst dust and broken glass—was him.

Art.

Alongside him were Zyon, Freya, Evelyn... and Amelia.

Their gazes shifted to me, and then to the figure in my arms.

Kaelira.

Still impaled. Bleeding.

Their expressions shifted instantly. Eyes widened. Pupils contracted. Mouths hung slightly agape as they took in the horror of the situation.

Zyon stepped forward first, voice tight. "Cassius—what the hell happened to you? You’re bleeding. Were you caught in the aftermath? And who is she—what’s going on?!"

I didn’t answer.

Not yet.

My eyes locked onto Evelyn. She wasn’t the strongest. She didn’t have combat utility. But she was dependable. Rational. And fast enough when needed. And she was useless currently because she didn’t have any combat strength.

She could get away here.

Which was exactly what I required right now.

I moved toward her, ignoring the questions.

"Evelyn. Take her to the Academy’s medical ward," I said, lowering Kaelira into her arms with care. "She’s not a student, so they’ll charge you credits. Tell them it’s on my tab. They’ll understand."

Evelyn blinked, stunned. "Wait, I—what—?"

But there was no time for hesitation. No time for confusion.

Kaelira’s eyes were growing heavier by the second.

"Go." I barked, sharp and urgent. "Now!"

That snapped her out of it. She nodded quickly, reached into her storage ring, and pulled out her personal teleportation crystal. Without wasting another breath, she activated it.

A flash of light.

And they vanished.

Just like that, Kaelira was gone—rushed to safety. Hopefully.

I let out a long, shaky breath.

Art approached, his face pale.

"Did... did that happen because she was buying us time?" he asked quietly, guilt bleeding into his voice.

I shook my head. "No. It wasn’t about us. It was something personal. She acted on her own."

His jaw tightened.

I didn’t let the silence hang long. "Anyway—did you guys see what just happened back there?"

Their expressions confirmed it. The gaping crater. The collapsed structure. The sunlight shining through the hole in the sky like divine wrath. There was no way they didn’t notice.

"That thing... was a dragon," I said slowly. "A Rank ★★★★★★★★ beast."

All of them paled. Like someone had just flipped the color switch on their faces.

Freya was the first to speak, her voice trembling. "That’s not... that can’t be... dragons are extinct. There hasn’t been one alive for centuries. And even if there was one left—how could it have that much power?!"

I nodded solemnly.

"I thought the same. But that’s not even the craziest part. It’s weakened and..."

I looked at Amelia.

She met my gaze—expression unreadable. Almost... resigned.

"That dragon... was Liana Everhart," I said. "Your mother. I saw her transform with my own eyes."

The silence that followed was not what I expected.

No wide-eyed gasps. No confusion. No denial.

Instead, what I saw was something far more disturbing.

Recognition.

They knew.