Chapter 76: Zirel Covan Nottrakon (2)
The next few weeks were a blur in Zirels mind. He had only known his party members for such a brief period, the length of their sojourn togethersting less than a month. The Elite Guards had definitely intended to send a message, but they had not dared to even touch a hair on his head until now.
The dungeoneers that hadprised his party had neither rank nor status to shield them. The children of simple, ordinary folk from the countryside that had staked all they held familiar to set out in pursuit of their dreams, to seek power and one day attain ascension had found themselves ughtered at the sword of those they wished to be.
Why?
Why did they have to suffer for the internal disputes of the Nottrakon family?
The answer was as simple as it was bitter in the eyes of the Elite Guard, nameless vagrantscking even a shred of noble blood were a dime a dozen. Their disappearances would not even provoke an inquiry, for it wasmon for entire parties to get wiped in the Zelez Dungeon. Even if Zirel was to provide evidence for the crime that had urred, what did it matter when the Nottrakon family <em>was </em>thew?
In the eyes of his brother, those without status were worth less than the air they breathed. He did wish to send a message, yes. But he didnt want to antagonize him, didnt want to make a sworn enemy out of his own blood lineage not until he safely ascended to the throne.
It took Zirel three weeks to understand the nature of the emotions that coursed through his entire being.
During that time, the three Elite Guards had supnted themselves in the ce of his deceased party members. Not to aid Zirel, no. They didnt actually interfere in his battles, at least not directly.
They would move when the battle neared its conclusion and then steal his hard fought kills. Not all, but just enough to halve what his leveling speed ought to have been. It was a brazen humiliation unworthy of a prince, designed to either make him give up and return to the Nottrakon Family Estate, where the first prince could easily monitor his activities orsh out and attack the Elite Guards, the consequences of which would have been a severe reprimand from his father, the King,
He had been outmaneuvered.
Every move he made, his first brother had a counter ready for him.
Finally though, he had reached his limit.
Zirel had been angry before. He had been angry at the sheerck of emotion his father had disyed when his mother passed. Their marriage might have been a political one, but that stony face that seemed to be devoid of any emotion as he gazed upon mothers coffin filled him with anger each time he thought about it.
But this was different.
This was rage.<em></em>
Enough, he had said, as he stopped in the middle of his tracks.
He watched as the Elite guards that had been nking him in an inverted triangle formation perked up at his words.
Are you finally ready to go home, Prince Zirel? One of the Elite Guards, a tall mountain of a man that went by the name Rannok, asked.
No, Zirel had calmly replied. He had never killed anyone before, but the ease he felt at having firmed his resolve felt like. It felt deserving of the designation assigned to him by the Syrelore Kingdom.
<em>Prince. </em>
But I have reached a decision, Zirels tone had turned cold, his gaze sharp as he took a few steps back in rapid session to create distance between him and the Elite Guards.
Prince -, Anky man called out as he took a testing step forward. Comfortably shielded in elegantly crafted leather armor that was further reinforced with the inky-ck scales of a Netherite Beast, the crossbow wielding Elite Guard seemed unfazed at the idea of facing the fourth princes wrath.
Enough. You have done<em> enough</em>, Zirel had bellowed, the fury in his voice palpable. In his right hand, held in a reverse grip, was his umon ranked artifact, [de of Necrosis]. The Elite Guards were aware of its properties, as they were careful not to make eye contact with him directly.
But that didnt matter.
Even if they saw iting.
Come, Zirels words were spoken barely above a whisper. For a moment, there was no response. Then, a translucent, almost ghastly de flickered into existence, gradually gaining definition. In the end, a simple, unadorned white short-sword had phased into reality, with Zirels left hand firmly wrapped around his hilt.
Prince Zirel, Rannok intoned, his voiceden with a clear warning. Assaulting a member of the Family Guard is considered a serious crime.
Even after issuing the warning though, Rannok made no move to de-escte the situation. Instead, he assumed a defensive stance with his greatsword held before him, clearly weing Zirel to try and attack him.
Assaulting a member of the Family Guard was a serious crime and it was sure to destroy his reputation in the eyes of the King- exactly the response his first brother had been scheming for.
Yet Zirel charged anyway.
In a sh between an unassuming white short-sword and a greatsword artifact, the former seemed little more than the tantrum of an arrogant prince, the disparity such that the two other Elite Guards were content to watch the spectacle unfold.
<strong>[Phantom de] </strong>
When the two des collided, there was no resistance to be found.
Zirels de reverted to its phantom form as it swept past the greatsword held defensively before Rannok, continuing on its downward arc unfettered.
The greatsword, much like Rannoks right leg, remained unscathed as the phantom de passed through it.
There was no blood, no loud cry in abject pain and yet, Rannok copsed onto one knee nheless.
There was no hesitation in Zirels movements as his phantom de flicked across Rannoks neck, causing the intimidating man to fall backwards; his expression paling as he desperately gasped for air.
Then, Zirel plunged his [de of Necrosis] into the prone guards neck and this time, it was a gush of infected blood that spilled out.
The memory he had been reflecting upon finally snapped Zirel from his reverie.
The headache, he groaned, as the pain intensified. Then he realized that his hands were trembling, clearly shaken by the recollection.
<em>Why? </em>
He had beenpletely calm when he had ughtered all three of the guards, avenging his fallen party members. He had been unfazed when he had forgedmuniques to his brother in their name, using themunication artifact he had extracted from one of the guards corpses, to ensure that his beloved first brother remained gleefully aware that his n hadpletely fallen apart.
That all was as expected.
A sudden urge to look upon his Soul Card prodded at his mind, though he once again could not make sense of it.
He wanted to know more about a card that he had wielded his entire life?
Ignoring the why, Zirel ceded to his own request seeing no harm in sumbing to the odd craving.
Reaching inside his chest, his very soul, he received what he had sought.
<strong>[Card Name: The Spectre</strong>
<strong>Rank: Umon (Mezzanine)</strong>
<strong>Level: 12</strong>
<strong>Description:</strong>
<strong>Ability:</strong>
<strong>1. Eye of The Spectre: Allows the wielder to passively detect any malicious intent directed towards them in a thirty meter radius. Sessfully making eye contact with the target directing malice towards the wielder triggers [Eye of the Spectre], slowing the perception of time for the wielder and speeding it up for the target for the seeding 360 seconds.</strong>
<strong>SP Cost is triggered only when actively using Eye of the Spectre.</strong>
<strong>2.Phantom de: Manifest a Phantom de that exists in the metaphysical realm, allowing the wielders de to pass through any solid surfaces and inflict paralysis on any organic matter that its surfacees into contact with. Paralysis inflicted by the Phantom dests for 15 hours. </strong>
<strong>SP Cost is Variable.]</strong>