Liam stood in silence for several long seconds after Sylvathar's offer, his expression unreadable as always. But the stillness—the way his gaze settled, the exactness of his breathing—made Mabel worry. It was the kind of pause that made her believe, for just a moment, that he might actually be considering the deal.
But that belief shattered as soon as he spoke.
"Redeem myself?" Liam repeated, as if the words themselves were some abstract theory. "Is that supposed to mean something to me? Like it's a prize worth chasing?"
Sylvathar's smile waned slightly, a faint frown drawing across his lips. "Child," he said, voice cooling, "you won't get an opportunity again. I suggest you choose your words wisely."
"I already have," Liam replied calmly. "The problem is, you're trying to bargain with a ghost from a forgotten age. You think I'm like the dark magic wielders who came before me—those who lost everything and died clinging to their ideals. Maybe if you had offered this deal to them, they might've taken it. After all, saving the beloved princess of a kingdom that despises them? That sounds poetic."
He lowered his guard ever slightly, his eyes fixed on Sylvathar, unwavering. "But I'm not them. I don't care about respect. I don't care about honor. And I definitely don't care about redemption. Those things? They're just shackles pretending to be virtues."
The space fell silent. No wind, no movement—just the quiet weight of Liam's words settling in.
Sylvathar raised a brow. "So what you're saying… is that you would rather let this girl die than sacrifice yourself?"
Liam's lips curved into a faint, cold smirk. "Sacrifice?" he echoed. "You make it sound noble. But let's not pretend. This isn't some great gesture. It's a calculated suicide. And even if you kept your word—which I highly doubt—giving myself up while Amthar is on the brink of collapse would be the dumbest move I've ever made."
He glanced at the floating, unconscious Sheila. "You already sent Mourne after me back in Tynoon, didn't you? That was before I even mattered this much. So tell me, Sylvathar… what part of that tells me you'd let me live once you get what you want?"
He looked back at the demon lord, eyes narrowed now. "I'm not stupid."
Sylvathar's expression didn't so much as twitch. That faint, collected smile returned to his lips—but this time, it lacked even the trace of warmth. It was the expression of a ruler who had passed judgment. The cold resolution of a being who had already calculated the outcome.
"Hm," he murmured softly, tilting his head ever so slightly. "I had hoped this would be quick. I must admit, I underestimated the cognitive capabilities of your wretched kind."
He turned, almost lazily, until his back was half-turned to Liam and Mabel. Yet his voice still rang clearly across the lush and deceptive serenity of the sanctuary. "Initially, I did plan to slaughter you both on the spot. But then I considered the risk of damaging the ancient force you carry within you. Hence, the offer. Yet now... I see it was a pointless gesture."
He turned back to them with a look of hollow finality. "You mentioned Amthar is on the verge of collapse, didn't you? Well, let me affirm your observation. As we speak, one of your precious three kingdoms is being reduced to ash. My legions are already there—pouring into streets and alleyways like a tidal wave. The war has already begun."
His emerald eyes found theirs again. "So, you see... you two are isolated in this lovely concealed sanctuary of mine. And no one's coming. Even if they tried, the path here would take them ages—too long to be of any help."
He began pacing again, each step deliberate, the earth beneath him reverently parting. "So, child... I suggest you hand yourself over—peacefully. Before that beautiful woman beside you and the girl floating behind me both meet their end, all because of your selfish refusal."
There was a pause. A subtle change in Liam's posture—a faint hesitation that Mabel noticed. And before he could speak, she stepped forward, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.
"Sorry. But that's not happening," she said firmly, her stance unshaken. "He's under my protection. And if I have to die to make sure he survives and finds a way out of here, then so be it. So, in short—if you want him, you go through me."
Liam turned to glance at her, mildly surprised. Her words weren't just defiance—they were a declaration. She had just placed herself between him and a demon lord in the name of duty. It was almost absurd. Almost.
Was she insane? Or just that damn devoted?
Sylvathar gave a soft, amused exhale. "How touching," he said, eyes resting on Mabel now. "You're quite strong-willed. A rare find. You would've made a splendid general had I encountered you sooner... but alas."
He straightened, hands clasped behind his back once more. "Still, your spark—it's admirable. And quite convenient. You see, Morenelle here," he said, motioning toward the silent woman beside him, "has been aching for a worthy challenge for years now. Lucky her. You two... you'll do nicely."
Then he turned slightly toward Morenelle. "Morenelle. Enjoy yourself. You may do as you please. Just don't kill the boy. I need him alive. But if he ends up broken and bleeding on the edge of death... I'll allow it."
Morenelle gave a slight, elegant nod, her voice cool and composed. "Thank you, my lord."
"Now then," Sylvathar said as a swirling green portal opened behind him, "I have a kingdom to annihilate. You all... have fun."
With that, he stepped through the portal and vanished.
Even with Sylvathar gone, Liam and Mabel didn't relax—not even a little. Their eyes were fixed now on Morenelle. Despite her quiet elegance and calm demeanor, everything about her presence screamed power. Raw, ancient, and untamed.
Roots burst from the ground like living tendrils, coiling around Sheila's unconscious form, sealing her inside a cocoon of bark and vine, lifting her from the ground.
More roots and tendrils erupted near Morenelle herself, lashing and swaying like sentient whips, though she remained still and eerily composed.
Liam's stance shifted slightly, his grip tightening on his hybrid javelin. "This is going to be a long one," he muttered under his breath.
"Yeah," Mabel replied, her voice steady as her hand gripped the hilt of her sword. "But it doesn't really matter. After all... she's just a woman who's almost as powerful as Sylvathar."
Liam side-eyed her, blinking once. Did she really just say that? Just? The answer was clear—and somehow, it made him grin.
So she really was crazy. Just like him.
And without another word, they launched forward.