Bloodbound Oath: Between Realms
Chapter 43: Sven

Chapter 43: Sven

Sven swung his sword, decapitating one of the weaker enemies. Swiftly, he snatched a spear from the ground and hurled it, striking an archer perched in a tree. He then spun around, parrying the blade of an enemy who had tried to ambush him. After exchanging four quick blows, he managed to stab the soldier through the chest, killing him. Sweat poured down his body as his eyes darted rapidly across the chaotic battlefield. Suddenly, he leaped to the side, narrowly dodging an arrow that whizzed past where he had stood, striking a random person fleeing behind him.

Before he could steady himself, more arrows flew toward him, forcing him to roll across the ground. As he strategized how to deal with the archers, he spotted one of his own soldiers ambushing the bowman, stabbing him in the back. Such scenes were common—there was no such thing as dueling etiquette here. Everyone clashed indiscriminately, and allegiances could shift in an instant.

Sven stood, scanning his surroundings once more. The enemy forces had dwindled significantly, and the survivors were beginning to retreat. Raising his sword, he roared, "Victory is ours!" and charged toward the nearest foe. His battle cry acted like a war horn, rallying his soldiers, who echoed his shouts in unison.

"Victory is ours!"

"Death to the enemies!"

The battle intensified, turning into a massacre. Within minutes, most of the remaining enemy soldiers were slaughtered, while the cowardly ones surrendered—only to be shown no mercy. Many were butchered for sport, their corpses desecrated in mockery. Those spared faced a fate worse than death: political imprisonment.

Sven watched it all with a pleased expression, unable to suppress a small, exhilarated grin. This wasn’t his first kill, but the sheer intensity and chaos of the battle sent adrenaline surging through his veins. Not to mention, he had slain ten enemies in a single fight—this would elevate his status and reputation even further. To him, reputation was everything. He despised humiliation in front of the public and other nobles, like the incident months ago when he had been thrown from his horse unexpectedly.

Truthfully, he was strong—under normal circumstances, he would’ve dismounted at the first sign of danger. But that time, his usually docile horse had suddenly panicked, leaving him no time to react.

As he surveyed the battlefield, he saw his father dismounting and removing his helmet. A broad, triumphant grin stretched across his face—they had won a crushing victory with minimal losses and secured valuable spoils. However, his father’s expression darkened after a closer inspection of the battlefield.

Noticing this, Sven rushed over. Before he could speak, Rudolph Mortimer approached, holding a few cloth strips soaked in a strange substance. He handed one to the mayor and another to Sven. "This is a beast attractant. It seems someone deliberately triggered the beast tide."

The mayor examined the cloth in his hand before replying with clear disdain, "That’s not all. It appears the elite commanders of the Cold Sun Empire retreated before we arrived, leaving their underlings to buy them time. This is absolute chaos." Initially pleased, he now seethed at the implications—any ambiguity in this matter could trigger a full investigation by the state magistrate, threatening his position.

He tossed the cloth aside carelessly and barked orders. "Trackers, find the escape route of those bastards’ leaders. Rudolph, you and the cavalry will accompany me. As for you, Sven—guard this area. Secure the spoils, bind the prisoners, tend to the wounded, and send scouts to sweep the forest perimeter. Establish a defensive formation—the beasts might return." His orders were strict and meticulous, knowing his son’s inexperience in warfare.

"Understood, Your Honor!"

"Understood, Your Honor!"

Sven and Rudolph placed their left hands over their right fists and bowed slightly—a common salute among Arcane Masters, symbolizing respect.

Rudolph departed, while Sven stood frozen for a moment, bewildered, before asking, "Father, what about the treasury? The Cold Sun forces clearly attacked the stationed jurors. Shouldn’t we assist them?"

The mayor glanced at him sidelong before answering with a faintly sinister smirk. "Let those jurors reap what they sowed. Besides, we don’t know the enemy’s numbers or if outside factions are involved. For now, we’ll exterminate these wretches. Once the situation clarifies, we’ll sweep the area and salvage what we can."

"Understood, Father." Sven repeated his salute and left to oversee the soldiers, barking strict commands. Yet, his heart remained unsettled, and he kept glancing at the forest with deep unease.

The mayor and his cavalry rode deep into the southern woods, intent on hunting down the fleeing elite forces. The mayor also wanted to identify the commander who had trapped them—his tactics in cutting communications and disrupting the southern army’s base left him deeply wary.

After his father’s departure, Sven hesitated for several minutes before gathering his courage. He decided to venture into the forest with the remaining elite soldiers.

...

Now, Sven’s eyes widened, his mouth falling open at the sight of mountains of gold and silver coins, along with hundreds of chests overflowing with treasure. Despite his high status, he had never seen even a quarter of such wealth in his life. Excitement and greed flashed in his eyes.

He tossed aside the enhanced torch in his hand, struggling to compose himself. After one last awestruck glance at the hoard, he steeled his nerves, refusing to let greed consume him. Still, he felt immense satisfaction—his instincts had been right to come here.

Their journey had been rough, costing five men to beast attacks and fleeing soldiers. But it was worth it. Notably, Sven hadn’t fought at all—his aura remained stable, his clothes neat, unlike his disheveled subordinates.

His men trembled, gaping at the unbelievable fortune before them. None could tear their eyes away from the gold and silver. Luxurious fantasies flooded their minds as if they’d stepped into a beautiful illusion. Some walked forward, grabbing handfuls of gold to confirm it was real. Even the guard watching Devlin took a few steps before hesitating.

Darnell, Roland, and their remaining soldiers stood frozen, watching with cold tension. Some trembled; one even wet himself. They had suffered enough—now, their last hopes of survival were shattered.

As chaotic thoughts swirled in Darnell’s mind, he noticed something from the corner of his eye. He turned coldly, spotting the enhanced torch Sven had discarded earlier. It had extinguished on its own. Confused, he instinctively glanced toward Sullivan’s hiding spot.

Darkness.

Suddenly, the lighting formation failed, plunging the treasury into absolute blackness.

"Aaaah!"

Before anyone could react, a scream of agony echoed, making their bodies shudder. Despite their sharp vision, the absence of any light left them blind.

In panicked frenzy, Roland and his men scattered, fearing another explosion. Meanwhile, Sven’s group trembled—the scream had come from right beside them. The most experienced soldier conjured a fiery aura flame, illuminating their surroundings.

There, they saw a comrade’s corpse sprawled on the ground, a shallow pool of blood beneath him. A massive, funnel-shaped hole pierced his chest, exiting through a smaller hole in his back—a brutal, unfamiliar wound.

The boy they had captured earlier was gone without a trace.

"What happened?!"

"Where’s that damn kid?!"

Terror laced their voices as Sven forced himself to stay calm. He snatched up the discarded torch, reignited it, and strode toward the dead soldier. Flipping the body over, they saw the grotesque injury clearly.

"Don’t panic! Someone’s toying with us!" Sven’s gaze swept the room before locking onto Darnell and Roland.

"Indeed, young master. They must be hiding here," one soldier muttered, weapons drawn. Another spotted the lighting control lever and activated it, flooding the room with light. The aura flame was extinguished—maintaining elemental conversion drained too much energy.

To avoid repeating their mistake, Sven ordered sharply, "You two, guard the lights. You—keep that torch lit. The rest of you, kill these enemies!"

Twelve men stepped forward, all early-stage Pathopeners, highly experienced. Their bodies radiated power, aura energy thick around them and their weapons. Within seconds, they encircled their foes in a semicircle.

Darnell shot a conflicted glance toward Sullivan’s hiding spot before sighing. "This wasn’t the plan." He had intended to uncover Sullivan’s backers and eliminate him discreetly—not get dragged into a full-blown battle. But now, trapped with no answers, he had no choice but to fulfill his end of the deal.

Resigned, he discarded his sword—a weapon he never favored—and picked up a dead soldier’s spear. In truth, he was left-handed, a fact he hid to conceal his identity as the Golden General.

Gripping the spear tightly, he unleashed his suppressed aura power. His energy surged, nearing the mid-stage of Pathopening.

Roland stiffened, recognizing him instantly. ’Golden Commander Andrei Hawthorne.’ He had seen Andrei at the Battle of the Glass Shore, when Roland was just a lowly soldier. The memory of Andrei slaughtering five mid-stage Arcane Masters with his spear still haunted him.

Even the thunder powder explosion hadn’t terrified him as much as that recollection.

Andrei raised his spear, pointing it at an enemy. "Come meet your deaths."

His words weren’t empty—he struck first, his spear lashing like a whip. The targeted soldier barely blocked with his sword, but the force knocked him back a step. Before he could recover, Andrei lunged, driving his fingers like daggers into the man’s chest—and ripped out his heart.

Blood gushed as the soldier collapsed, dead before he hit the ground. Andrei tossed the heart onto the corpse.

The remaining soldiers trembled. Even Roland, who had kept his composure until now, felt deep fear. ’As expected. If he wanted me dead earlier, it would’ve been easy.’

Roland exhaled, resigned. "My end has come... but I’ll drag you all to hell with me."

He raised his sword, clashing with the enemies. Within seconds, the treasury became a bloodbath once more.

Most soldiers focused on Roland and Andrei, while the remaining Cold Sun Empire troops—already on their last legs—were swiftly exterminated.