Chapter 179 I'm Sorry
The battlefield had lost every trace of rhythm as the clash of metal rang without pause, each strike carrying weight while bodies moved through blood and dust with a desperation that left no room for hesitation. The air felt thick, heavy with effort and pain, as both sides pressed forward without regard for what had already been lost.
Fernando stood firm despite the strain building within him, his weapon rising to meet another strike before he forced his opponent back with a sharp motion of his arm. His breathing had deepened, his chest rising steadily as his eyes moved across the field, taking in every shift no matter how small.
“Stay together,” he called, his voice firm though there was tension beneath it.
A guard near him nodded, though his stance wavered slightly.
“We are trying.”
Lucia stepped forward, her movements precise as she avoided a strike and drove her weapon forward, pulling it free quickly before turning to face another attacker.
“They are not easing,” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly.
Rowan stood close, his posture still strong though there was a faint tightness in his movements now, as though something within him was beginning to strain under the weight of the fight. He blocked an incoming strike and pushed forward, his jaw tightening.
“They will not,” he replied.
Alberto moved toward them, his breathing controlled but heavier now as he struck one opponent aside and turned quickly to face another. His eyes remained alert, scanning constantly.
“Fernando,” he called.
“I am here,” Fernando answered, stepping closer without hesitation.
Their movements aligned naturally, each covering the other as they held their ground.
“This is shifting,” Alberto said, his voice low.
Fernando nodded slightly.
“I can feel it.”
The shift came again, more obvious now.
A guard behind them faltered, his weapon slipping from his hand as his knees gave in.
Another staggered, his breath uneven as he tried to remain standing.
Lucia turned sharply, her expression tightening.
“This is not normal.”
Rowan glanced toward them, his brow furrowing.
“They are weakening too fast.”
Alberto’s eyes hardened.
“I guess that bastard managed to poison them.”
Fernando’s jaw tightened, his gaze sweeping across the field as more of their fighters began to lose strength, their movements slowing, their defenses breaking.
“Fall back,” he ordered, his voice cutting through the noise.
Lucia stepped in immediately, reinforcing the command.
“Retreat and regroup.”
Rowan nodded, stepping back while still blocking incoming attacks.
“We draw them in.”
The retreat began, not in panic but with controlled urgency as they pulled back, guiding the enemy forward.
The clash did not stop.
If anything, it grew sharper as the opposing side pressed harder, sensing the shift.
Fernando moved carefully, his strikes measured as he stepped back.
“Prepare the ambush,” he called.
Alberto stayed close, his eyes moving quickly.
“They are closing in.”
“They will,” Fernando replied.
“That is the plan.”
The formation shifted again as hidden guards moved into position, those still strong enough bracing themselves for the moment to strike.
“Now,” Fernando called.
The ambush struck from both sides, sudden and forceful, catching the advancing enemies in a moment of vulnerability. Cries rang out as confusion spread, their momentum breaking under the unexpected pressure.
Lucia moved quickly, her strikes precise.
“Push forward.”
Rowan stepped into the opening, his movements steady despite the strain in his body.
“Do not let them recover.”
For a brief moment, it seemed to work.
Then something else entered the field.
She moved through the chaos with a speed that drew attention without effort, her figure slipping between fighters with a sharp grace that felt out of place in the brutality surrounding her.
Rowan noticed her first.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he adjusted his stance, his focus shifting entirely.
“Who are you?” he asked, his voice steady though there was a faint edge of curiosity beneath it.
The young woman did not answer.
She stepped forward, her gaze fixed on him with an intensity that felt deeper than the fight itself.
There was something about her.
Something familiar.
Rowan frowned slightly, though he did not allow the thought to distract him.
She moved.
Her strike came fast, forcing him to react immediately as their weapons collided with a sharp sound that cut through the surrounding chaos.
The impact pushed him back a step.
His grip tightened.
“You are skilled,” he said, his tone shifting slightly.
She remained silent.
Her eyes held his, though there was something within them that flickered briefly, something that did not match the coldness of her movements.
She attacked again.
Faster.
Rowan blocked, though the force behind it forced him to twist his body to maintain balance.
He countered, his strike grazing her side, drawing a small reaction as she stepped back.
Blood marked her now.
Yet she did not slow.
Lucia glanced toward them, her expression tightening.
“Rowan,” she called.
He did not respond.
His attention remained locked.
Something was wrong.
Not with her skill.
With the way she moved.
With the way she looked at him.
He stepped forward again, his voice quieter now.
“Have we met?”
Her expression shifted for a brief second.
A flicker.
Gone almost as quickly as it came.
She struck again, forcing him to block, their weapons clashing once more.
Alberto noticed the change, his eyes narrowing slightly as he fought.
“Who is she?” he asked.
Fernando shook his head once.
“Focus.”
The fight between Rowan and the young woman grew tighter, closer, each movement sharper as they pushed against each other with equal force.
Rowan’s breathing deepened, his body showing the strain now, though his stance remained firm.
“You hesitate,” he said.
Her lips parted slightly, though no words came.
Instead, her next strike came with more force, driving him back another step.
He steadied himself, his eyes searching her face.
Something twisted in his chest.
A feeling he could not place.
That moment was enough for Rowan to press forward, his strike breaking through her defense and forcing her down to one knee.
Her breathing was uneven now.
So was his.
He raised his weapon.
It should end here.
His arm tightened.
another voice tore through the battlefield.
“Stop.”
Mira.
Her voice carried a sharp desperation that cut through everything else.
Rowan froze.
His head turned instinctively toward her.
Mira stood at the edge of the fight, her face pale, her hands trembling as her eyes locked onto the young woman.
“No,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
Her steps faltered as she moved forward, tears already forming.
“That is not possible.”
Rowan frowned, his confusion deepening.
“What are you saying?”
Mira’s gaze did not leave the young woman.
“That is my daughter.”
The words struck harder than any weapon.
Rowan’s breath caught.
His eyes snapped back to the young woman.
“No.”
The denial came without thought.
His grip loosened further.
The young woman’s expression broke for a brief second, something raw surfacing beneath the control.
“Mother?” she whispered faintly.
Mira’s body shook.
“It is you, is it not?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Rowan’s hand dropped slightly.
His mind struggled to catch up.
“Our daughter?” he asked, his voice quieter now, filled with disbelief.
The moment stretched.
The young woman moved.
Her strike came fast, driven by instinct or something deeper that had not been broken.
Rowan did not react in time.
The blow landed.
His body jerked, the impact forcing the air from his lungs as his strength gave way.
“Rowan,” Lucia shouted.
He staggered back, his eyes wide, shock overtaking everything else.
The young woman froze, her expression cracking as realization settled too late.
“No,” she whispered, holding her head in her hands.
Rowan’s knees gave in.
He fell.
Mira’s scream tore through the battlefield, raw and filled with pain that could not be contained.
“No.”
She rushed forward, dropping beside him, her hands shaking as she reached for him.
“Stay with me,” she pleaded, her voice breaking.
Rowan did not respond.
Her tears fell freely now, her breath uneven as she turned slowly toward the young woman.
Her hands rose, trembling as she stepped forward.
The young woman did not move.
“Mama,” she whispered again, her voice weak.
Mira’s hands reached her, gripping her tightly before rising to her neck.
“Why?” Mira asked, her voice barely steady.
The young woman’s eyes filled, her hands weakly gripping Mira’s arms.
“I did not…”
Her words failed.
Mira’s grip tightened.
“I am sorry,” she whispered, tears falling without pause.
The young woman struggled briefly, her strength fading quickly.
Her hands fell.
Her body went still.
Mira’s grip loosened slowly as the weight of what she had done settled over her.
“I am sorry,” she repeated, her voice breaking.
Her body swayed.
The strength left her.
She collapsed.
Around them, the battle continued without pause, the clash of metal and the cries of war carrying on as if nothing had happened, even as the ground beneath them bore witness to the cost.