FROST
Chapter 135: A Sword Forged in Shadows

Chapter 135: A Sword Forged in Shadows

On the far side of the clearing, West and Sebastian stood their ground amidst the fading light of a dying day, the Portal behind them swirling open like a rip in the air itself. Forty apprentices poured through the breach one after another, breathless and wide-eyed, as the oppressive presence in the forest crept ever closer.

It should have been a retreat—but it felt like a hunt.

Every second, every step toward safety was bought with strained muscles and burning magic. And it was becoming increasingly clear that the elf wasn’t trying to kill them outright.

He was playing with them.

The shadows thickened and crawled unnaturally across the forest floor. From their center emerged the elf—a tall, elegant silhouette with long dark hair, and skin pale as ivory. His face remained hidden beneath the folds of a dark hood, but the moment he moved, something else came with him.

Laughter.

Soft, high-pitched giggles echoed unnaturally around them, as if the trees themselves were mocking their struggle. He would vanish into a patch of shadow, and then—suddenly—appear behind them with a whisper of silk and smoke. He never struck immediately. Instead, he circled. Toyed. Watching Sebastian’s aura dim inch by inch with every light ward he cast.

Elves were known to be bound to nature just like Estes and Xavier—earth, wind, water, air—but this one was different. This one bent shadows as if they were thread in his fingers.

He sank into darkness as though it welcomed him. He could slip through it, travel between it, even reach out from it. Once, an apprentice at the back screamed as an arm emerged from their own shadow and yanked at their leg. Only Sebastian’s searing light drove it away.

Still, the elf laughed. Always the laugh. Childlike. Amused.

Sebastian stood firm in the center of a circle of light, arms raised, golden symbols spiraling around his forearms, illuminating the fleeing apprentices like a guardian sun. But sweat soaked through his collar, and his knees trembled beneath the weight of his sustained magic.

"He’s draining you on purpose," West muttered, eyes narrowed, standing at Sebastian’s flank. "He’s not in a rush."

"I know," Sebastian hissed, forcing out another burst of light as shadow arms slithered too close. "He’s waiting for me to run dry."

"Then we end this quickly."

West stepped forward, stretching out his arm.

With a sharp inhale, raw mana erupted from his palm, coalescing into a blade—no metal, no forge, just power given shape. The air around the conjured weapon shimmered, distorting like heat waves, and the blade itself pulsed with violetish-white energy.

It wasn’t a sword in the traditional sense—it was will incarnate, drawn from within. The very same weapon he drew to defeat Xavier.

The moment West’s weapon took form, the elf’s laughter paused. Then, it resumed—but sharper, with a gleam of interest.

The shadows stirred again, crawling up trees, pooling into corners. A flicker to the left—West lunged. His mana-forged blade sliced through the gloom with a hiss, cutting the approaching tendril before it could latch onto an apprentice’s foot. Another flicker behind them—West spun, blade flashing. The elf emerged for only a second, eyes glowing crimson beneath his hood before melting back into the dark.

Every movement from West left slashes of glowing light on the earth—his attacks not only damaging but disrupting the flow of shadow magic nearby.

Still, it wasn’t enough. The elf didn’t stay to fight. He only tested their defenses, danced around the edges, and with each pass, Sebastian’s light waned more.

"I can’t... keep this up," Sebastian admitted through gritted teeth, his arms trembling violently. The glow around the apprentices dimmed, flickering like candles in a storm. "Another few seconds, and I—"

"Then buy those seconds," West said coldly.

He planted his foot and drove his sword into the ground. Instantly, a wall of mana burst upward in a half-moon arc, halting the approaching shadow surge and giving the final apprentices the room they needed.

The Portal’s edges began to fray now, its magic unraveling. It had to close soon—either because it had done its job, or because the strain of keeping it open had reached its limit.

"Move!" West barked at the last group. "Through! Now!"

The final apprentice stumbled into the breach just as another clawed tendril shot toward her from below. West was faster—his blade flashed again, cleanly severing it.

Sebastian collapsed to one knee with a choked breath, his wards breaking with a final crackle of light. The elf’s giggle grew louder—as if he’d just won a game.

The two cloaked sorcerers who had been maintaining the Portal raised their hands, eyes locking with West and Sebastian for the briefest moment. They dipped their heads in wordless respect.

And then, the Portal vanished—snuffing out in a single breath of light and wind.

Silence fell.

Only the scorched remnants of Sebastian’s light spells remained—dim, flickering, quickly dying in the fading dusk.

The other apprentices tried offering help, but were not acknowledge. An enemy like this is someone they shouldn’t meet yet. Their magics are still too young for a mission like this.

West’s blade dissipated into mist as he stood over Sebastian protectively. The clearing was dark again, swallowed by shadows.

Somewhere deeper in the trees, the giggles returned.

But this time, they sounded different.

"Ahh~ so can we finally become serious now?"

The voice no longer echoed like a disembodied taunt—it rang clear, solid, and deliberate, cutting through the forest like a blade.

A patch of darkness rippled across the forest floor like spilled ink. From it rose the shadow elf—his movements unhurried, fluid, like he had all the time in the world. As he stepped fully into view, he drew back his hood with a lazy flick, revealing long, obsidian hair that shimmered with faint violet highlights. His pointed ears peeked from beneath the strands, and his skin—so pale it was nearly translucent—reflected the dying light like polished marble.

But it was his eyes that held power. No longer glowing or hidden—they were now black, pure and absolute, void of mercy. And beneath them, a smug smile curled on his lips.

"I thought it wouldn’t be fun with those pests around," he said, casting a casual glance at the now-vanished Portal. "You couldn’t focus on our fight with so many distractions, right?"

His voice dripped with amusement as his gaze slid from West to Sebastian, who was still on one knee, chest heaving.

Then the elf tilted his head in mock thought. "Should you send your friend away too? Or..." His smile widened as he took a slow step forward, "...should I just kill him right there?"

Sebastian let out a weak groan, managing a dry, "Ouch," as he wiped the sweat from his brow. His light magic was gone, and what remained was just grit—and barely that.

West didn’t answer.

But his mana pulsed.

A low hum resonated in the air as his hand tightened around the hilt of his conjured blade. The energy of it shimmered again—less refined now, more feral, like the sword itself hungered. It hissed like ice dropped on fire, glowing brighter with each breath.

The elf grinned wider, delighted.

"You must be West... West Crystalvein, the Autumn Apprentice." He clasped his hands together, as though pleased to meet an old friend. "I pictured you to be more... lively-looking. Full of color and probably flower petal confettis. Just like your master."

West’s brow twitched slightly, a single betrayal of emotion.

The elf laughed, genuinely this time—sharp and silver-edged.

"Did that bother you? I thought so. Your master—he had a flair for the melodramas. You, though..." He circled slowly, his boots never making a sound. "You carry death in your silence. A man with no sword who makes his own? How poetic."

Then it happened.

The ground beneath the elf’s feet darkened—not from lack of light, but from an unnatural gathering of magic. His shadow no longer behaved like something bound to him. It stretched outward in deliberate motion, rippling with a hunger of its own, forming spirals and coils like smoke underwater.

The elf slowly raised his hand, palm upward.

And the shadow responded.

It surged up his arm, climbing like ivy—but it was no longer shapeless. It twisted and constricted along his forearm, concentrating into a dense, precise form. Darkness condensed, layer by layer, humming with unstable power. Then—like ink frozen in midair—the formless shadow locked into shape.

A sword.

Forged not of steel, nor obsidian—but of shadow magic so thick and pure it absorbed the sound around it. The blade pulsed with an unsettling hum, the edges jagged but refined, as though it had been pulled from another dimension and not shaped by any physical forge. The elf gave it a few graceful swings. It cut the air with a hiss, distorting space in its wake.

It was forged like West’s blade. But where West’s sword blazed with soul-forged mana, this one fed on darkness.

The elf chuckled, watching West’s eyes narrow in recognition.

"I thought it would only be polite," the elf murmured, a crooked smile curving his lips as he tilted his head, his blade pulsing with eerie darkness, "to match your craftsmanship."

He giggled once again. "Before I cross swords with you," he said, spinning his shadow blade once with balletic grace, "it’s customary for me to introduce myself to my opponent."

He stepped forward lightly, the mist recoiling at his presence. "My name is Wrenalthor Elarithil," he declared. "Of the Ilphelkiir clan."

Behind West, Sebastian finally caught a breath, though his voice came out dry. "Ilphelkiir?" he rasped. "You mean—from Estes and Xavier’s bloodline?"

Wrenalthor’s smile shifted into something softer—almost sincere, almost proud. "Exactly," he said, as though the name alone was worth reverence.

West’s expression changed in an instant. The faint breath of thought vanished from his eyes, replaced by something steel-cold. Still. Flat.

"I see," he said quietly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Then I believe I must kill you right now."