Chapter 42: A gift
{mass release 1/4}
{Title: Dark Saint}
{Description: A savior coated in black, a demonic masked man—whether he be a demon or a saint, it is unknown.}
Drake’s eyes flickered at the notifications before him as he read the description of the title. For a moment, he had thought his title would have brought him an ability of some sort. But looking at it now, it was just a simple name.
How glorious, he thought sarcastically, pushing off the ground with the little strength he had until he was sitting on the tiled floor, staring at the entire room.
From the pounding in his head, he could tell he was out of intelligence—or maybe almost out. So, in more ways than one, he had gotten lucky finishing the battle when he did. No... not lucky. His predictions had clicked in nicely.
From afar, he could see the Cohort still regaining their composure from the disarray and slowly starting to approach him, their eyes darting cautiously around the battlefield.
At that moment, Drake grew curious about something. Shifting slightly, he looked back up toward the throne, searching for any runes or inscriptions. He found none, apparently, but before the throne now stood a large blue swirling portal—clearly their way out of here.
Scanning around the throne room a bit more, Drake still found no signs of any inscriptions. It seemed the throne room was an exception to the markings.
Why? Drake questioned himself, doubting his already established theories about the runes and sigils he had seen earlier. Despite that, a bigger question loomed in his mind: if the other monsters had simply disappeared, why had the final monster stayed behind? And what was it protecting?
Out of curiosity, Drake forced himself to his feet. However, as soon as he stood up, his knees buckled, and he fell back down with a groan.
"Shit!" he gnashed his teeth in anger, pounding his fist against the ground. If this is how weak my body becomes after just a little battle, then I might as well be dead against a stronger enemy.
"Unknown, you did it!"
A familiar voice called out from behind, catching Drake’s attention. Breaking from the Cohort were Blake and Jessica, racing toward him.
Jessica, overcome with emotion, was in tears, while Blake’s eyes gleamed with appreciation.
As the two reached Drake, something unexpected happened.
Jessica dove in and wrapped her arms around him, giving him a warm embrace as she cried on his shoulder.
This single action stunned him. "Wh—what..." A whisper was the loudest sound that could escape his mouth at that moment.
Blake, too, was dazed by her actions but soon waved it off, smiling softly at the scene. "Thank you. And sorry we don’t have a healer, but thanks to you, we can go home together."
Saying the last part, his gaze strayed toward Callum’s lifeless body. He seemed to shiver with dread before locking eyes with Drake once more.
Drake took his time to process everything, turning to face the Cohort as they slowly approached. Yet, instead of appreciation or joy, their eyes held fear as they stared at him. The demonic mask truly had its effect now.
Then he spoke, "Blake, take all of them with you. I’ll follow right behind. I need to check something privately."
"Hmmm?" Blake exhaled, startled by Drake’s request. To think someone actually wanted to be left behind in a place like this—that was a thought no one dared entertain.
Even standing here while the way out stood just a flight of stairs away was hard enough for Blake, let alone staying back.
"Are you sure?" Blake wanted to confirm.
Drake nodded. "What I want to check... if the others saw it, they might be in grave danger—them, and everyone they care about."
Blake, hearing this, felt no need to pry further. After all, he had no idea who this masked man truly was. For all he knew, "Unknown" might well be an Original who came to investigate the crater, and anyone seeing what he was after could bring trouble to their entire faction.
So he backed off and softly grabbed Jessica’s arm, pulling her up from the ground. She stood, her face bright with an energetic grin as she spoke once more. "Thank you."
Soon enough, Blake met up with the rest of the Cohort and relayed what Drake had told him. One after the other, they began ascending the flight of stairs. As each of them entered the portal, they vanished from the crater.
Blake was the last to go. Taking one last look at the masked man, he thought, I don’t know who you are, but I hope you make it back. With that, he stepped into the portal and disappeared.
"Now that they’re gone..." Drake muttered, attempting once again to rise to his feet. This time, he managed to stand despite his shaky legs.
"Kyvern."
Answering his call, Kyvern materialized beside him—the great dragon leaning its neck low for Drake to climb onto.
He did so weakly, using his hands to pull himself up until he was lying across Kyvern’s neck. "The throne."
With a simple command, Kyvern took large steps toward the throne. In just four strides, it stood before it. Up close, Drake could study the throne’s structure more carefully.
It looked ordinary—just a simple seat fit for a king. However, any normal awakened would have believed that. Drake, on the other hand, could sense something hidden within it thanks to his dragon sense.
It’s vague and small... but still strange. Thinking back to how clingy the king had been, never leaving his seat even during battle, it made more sense now why he had protected it—or maybe, what it contained.
"Carefully," Drake ordered, and Kyvern obeyed, using its massive claws to tear into the soft velvet cushion of the throne.
It took a while since the dragon worked carefully, shredding through the layers until it reached the frame beneath. Then it stopped.
Glistening faintly with a yellow hue was a crystal-like rock, small enough to fit in one’s palm. But that wasn’t all—there was writing engraved on the golden frame below, still hidden beneath the remaining foam.
Take it off slowly, Drake ordered again, and Kyvern complied, running its claws against the cushion and pulling the foam away bit by bit, revealing what lay beneath.
Drake’s eyes widened as the last of the foam fell away. To his astonishment, the text on the frame was not written in any runic language or sigil—it was in the ALCRAN context.
And it read:
"A gift for our little Necromancer."