Chapter 71: The Best of Both Worlds

Between the screams, the crashing chaos, the spreading fires, and the nauseating stench that reached them even from afar, it took her a while to spot Aaron.

The entire battlefield seemed to breathe a dense, almost organic violence, where every exhale carried traces of ash and blood mixed together. The silhouettes merged at times within the smoke, then reappeared violently, cut apart by lightning, flames, or the pale light of the sky.

He had just summoned a massive tornado through his djinn, sweeping everything in its path.

The wind howled like a living entity, lifting earth, ice, and debris into a spiraling mass of destruction. Enemy lines collapsed like broken toys, indiscriminately swallowed by that unleashed force reshaping the battlefield in seconds. She recognized Alacazar without difficulty despite his now deep-blue skin — a Marid in all his splendor. His mere presence seemed to amplify the storm, as though the element obeyed him just as much as he commanded it.

Then she saw the man she loved unleash his fighting style at breathtaking speed: dual oriental swords.

His blades moved with him, slicing and cutting through anything that came too close. A hypnotic dance. Every movement was fluid, precise, almost unreal in its mastery, as though gravity itself hesitated to apply itself to him. It was a sublime sight — beautiful... and terrifying.

Snow trampled beneath the Vikings who had come to reinforce the fight was turning red in their wake. The ground disappeared in places beneath mixed footprints, dark splashes, and hurried traces of movement left by battle. She spotted Rauõr not far from her husband, advancing with implacable determination through the chaos.

The battle was swiftly concluded: in less than fifteen minutes, the orc battalion was annihilated. More than a thousand corpses littered the ground. And when silence finally returned, it no longer felt peaceful — only heavy, oppressive, filled with the weight of what had just ended.

"How many were there?" Blanche asked, fascinated by the scene.

"Two to three thousand, roughly," Argy guessed, still snapping photos of the battlefield.

"Three thousand," a familiar voice confirmed behind her.

Derek.

"Since when are you here?" Nicky asked.

The man completely ignored him, too absorbed by the view to answer.

"We should go prepare breakfast instead of standing around. I know three people who must be starving. And you," he added, pointing at the youngest, "you should go heal the wounded."

Argy nodded and followed Derek, who had barely spared Blanche a glance. Nicky shrugged and trailed after them, leaving the young woman alone. The group disappeared into the corridor with quiet confidence, their footsteps fading into a distant echo against the cold stone.

She didn't stay alone for long.

Alacazar materialized in front of her before she even had time to join the others. The air itself seemed to bend for a fraction of a second, as though reality hesitated to accept his arrival. A brief distortion, a silent shift — and the Marid's presence settled fully into place, undeniable.

She flinched.

The reaction was instinctive, barely visible, but real — her body recoiling before her mind could process what was happening. Her heartbeat spiked sharply, violently pulled back into awareness after the recent transition between calm and tension. She stared at the figure before her, immediately alert, every sense sharpened.

The silence around them seemed to close in.

"You scared me!" she snapped.

"Sorry, that wasn't my intention. Are you alright?" the djinn asked, still tinted in blue.

"I'm fine... It was just... impressive! Aaron's okay? Glen? Sapphire?"

"Not a scratch."

She sighed in relief while the djinn studied her without hesitation. Embarrassed, she gave him a nervous smile. Al laughed.

"Sorry," he said, pretending to wipe a tear. "Phénix told me about your recent discovery."

He glanced briefly at the sky.

"You should do the same with Kiyan."

"Ah..."

That was all she could manage.

"I just wanted to tell you that if you need anything, you can count on me. Just send Phénix."

Then, with unexpected gentleness, the djinn pulled her into a hug.

"When you used to spend your weekends at his place with my daughter, I was always there, watching over you. I saw you grow into the beautiful young woman you've become. I haven't always agreed with him, but I can tell you one thing: he is extremely lucky to have you."

Blanche remained silent.

Her silence was not emptiness — it was controlled space, carefully measured, where she let the information settle before responding. Her gaze never left Alacazar, as if testing every nuance of his presence, every subtle shift in his demeanor.

Familiars, it seemed, were not bound by the same rules. That realization hovered in her mind like a missing puzzle piece. He could speak freely, without filters, with the blunt honesty of beings who did not belong to the same social constraints as players.

She weighed her words carefully. The process was slow, almost meticulous. Every possible sentence seemed to be turned over, tested, examined from multiple angles before being discarded or kept. Nothing was left to chance, not even the implied tone she would choose. Her life was at stake, after all.

When she finally inhaled to speak, it was with the cold caution of someone who knew some truths, once spoken, could never be taken back.

"Tell me, Alacazar... you know. He's the one who made her... disappear, right?" she asked, unable to find an equivalent term for video in a world that didn't know such a thing existed.

The djinn stepped back slightly, placing both hands on her shoulders. After a long silence, he nodded with closed eyes.

"If you want to understand why faster, the answer is on his bedside table. Open the photo frame... and look at what he hides behind it."

Then the old man kissed her forehead and vanished the same way he had come.