The moment the woman on the throne gave her command, the soldiers moved in unison—forming a wide U-shaped formation around Akasa and Enzi’s group.
The open end faced the throne, reserved for the woman to watch. Torch flames swayed, as if bearing witness to the beginning of a death-bound duel.
Enzi’s gang—who had been trembling moments ago—now lowered their stances, bracing themselves for battle.
Akasa did not.
He stood still, eyes fixed on the short sword the woman had given him—an antique, resting quietly in his hand.
When the blade slid free from its sheath, a bluish-gray sheen shimmered along the metal—strikingly contrasted against the deep red scabbard and silver-ornamented hilt.
“This… is a beautiful sword,” he thought, eyes drawn to the faintly glowing blue gem embedded in its center.
The cold, captivating light felt ancient—familiar—as if it recognized him, despite this being the first time he had ever held it.
The blade seemed to whisper promises—quick solutions: an end to danger.
But another voice interrupted his thoughts—a vow, unspoken: never shared with anyone.
Akasa fell silent.
His fingers tightened around the hilt—not in fear, but deliberation. The intricate engravings along the blade felt too refined to exist solely as an instrument of death. It belonged more to legacy than slaughter.
With a breath so faint it barely stirred the air, he slid the sword back into its sheath.
Then, gently, he placed it on the ground. Not because he hesitated, but because he had chosen.
A ripple of disbelief spread through the courtyard.
Even the woman on the throne—who had remained relaxed until now—widened her eyes in genuine shock at the young man’s decision.
Akasa did not waver.
He stood upright, eyes closed, refusing to look at anyone—relinquishing his right to strike, while fully accepting whatever consequences would follow.
He stepped back once.
It was not fear that guided him, but resolve: he refused to participate in a deadly game forced upon him.
Silence stretched.
The torches flickered uncertainly, as if unsure whether to keep burning. In that quiet night, Akasa’s choice rang louder than any blade.
“Don’t hold a grudge… this is for survival!”
Enzi muttered the words too loudly—too clumsily—to justify himself. His reasoning stood in stark contrast to Akasa’s stillness.
The next second, Enzi moved. Bloodlust overtook reason.
Together with his two followers, he charged toward the antique sword lying on the ground—intent on killing Akasa in the name of survival.
But before his hand could reach it...
BRUK!
A heavy sound struck the earth—then a dull bounce, before absolute silence.
Something rolled across the ground—stopping just short of his feet.
Akasa knew. He realized the choice Enzi had made finally met its punishment.
When he opened his eyes—the truth revealed itself without mercy.
Blood sprayed without rhythm.
Enzi’s head lay severed from his body, eyes frozen wide in shock—forever trapped in the moment he realized it was over.
Danindra and Noviyanto staggered back, screams choking in their throats as they tried to flee.