Realm Lord
Chapter 111: The Final Push

Chapter 111: The Final Push

Grief was a living thing that had taken residence within Lara’s chest, coiling around her heart like a serpent made of thorns and regret. It pulsed with every heartbeat, whispered accusations with every breath, and painted Jake’s final moments across the backs of her eyelids each time she blinked. The loss was so profound it threatened to hollow her out completely, leaving nothing but an empty shell decorated with silky black hair and blood-stained clothes.

But Lara was no stranger to death’s cruel arithmetic. Years of experience as a chosen had taught her alot—that in this profession, loss was not an exception but an inevitability. She had watched comrades fall before, had closed the eyes of friends whose names she carried like weights in her memory. The grief was familiar territory, even if it never grew easier to navigate.

The key to survival lay not in conquering the grief—that was impossible—but in transmuting it into something useful. Something with teeth and claws. Something that could carve through enemies and clear a path forward.

Revenge. The word tasted like copper and smoke on her tongue, bitter yet somehow nourishing. She would take revenge on this cursed castle by destroying its spell and butchering every artificial guardian that stood between her and freedom. The sheepmen would pay for Jake’s death, for Jonas’s sacrifice, for every moment of terror they had endured within these blood-soaked walls.

This singular focus would become her anchor, the one thought permitted to occupy her consciousness. There would be no room for despair when every mental pathway led toward a single, crystalline objective: kill the remaining sheepmen and escape this nightmare. Grief could wait. Mourning could wait. Everything could wait until after she had carved her vengeance from the castle’s very foundations.

The awkward silence that followed her declaration stretched like a taut wire ready to snap. Kay shifted uncomfortably, his weathered face creased with obvious concern as he studied his transformed companion. After several moments of internal debate, he approached her with the cautious steps of someone navigating a minefield.

"Lara," he began quietly, positioning himself just close enough to speak privately but far enough to avoid triggering any violent reactions. "Maybe we should—"

"No." The word emerged flat and final, cutting through his attempted intervention like a blade through silk. "We go today. We end this today."

Kay tried again, his voice taking on the gentle tone one might use with a wounded animal. "I understand you’re hurting, but rushing into—"

"I said no." This time her voice carried an edge that made even Kay take an involuntary step backward. Her eyes remained fixed on the wooden door leading from the dungeon, as if she could will it to reveal the path to their enemies through sheer force of determination.

Recognizing the futility of further argument, Kay abandoned his diplomatic approach. The fragile mental state was obvious to anyone with eyes—Lara had transformed her grief into a weapon, yes, but weapons could be unpredictable in inexperienced hands. Still, he knew better than to push someone balanced on such a precarious emotional edge.

The group managed to negotiate a brief respite for basic necessities—food, water, and momentary rest. They gathered around their makeshift camp in the dungeon’s main chamber, consuming their meager rations with the mechanical efficiency of soldiers preparing for battle. The conversation naturally turned toward tactical considerations regarding their remaining adversaries.

"The final two are located in a library and a large bedroom," Kay explained between bites of stale bread. "It’s safe to assume that, as mere mindless dolls created by the same spell in the same armor with the same weapons, they will fight exactly like the last two."

He paused to take a long drink from his water skin before continuing. "Us four should have no problem taking them down, but we’ve all seen what happens when you let your guard down around them, so stay focused."

Kay’s lecture extended well beyond basic tactical information, encompassing detailed discussions of positioning, backup strategies, and contingency plans for various scenarios. His words painted comprehensive pictures of potential battles, analyzing weaknesses they had observed in previous encounters and theorizing about optimal approaches for different combat situations.

Throughout this extensive strategic discussion, Lara remained conspicuously disengaged. Her attention focused entirely on the twin soul blades resting across her knees, her hands working methodically along their edges with a whetstone that produced no discernible effect. Soul weapons, by their very nature, never dulled—their supernatural composition rendered such maintenance utterly unnecessary. Yet she continued the repetitive motion with meditative intensity, as if the familiar rhythm provided some measure of internal stability.

Perhaps she simply needed something to occupy her hands while her mind churned through darker preparations. The constant scraping sound—steel against stone, steel against stone—created a hypnotic backdrop to Kay’s tactical monologue, a steady percussion that seemed to mark time until violence could commence.

Arthur and Aziel occasionally contributed observations or questions to the discussion, but their comments felt perfunctory, going through the motions of planning when they all knew the outcome would likely depend more on split-second decisions than careful preparation. The castle had already demonstrated its contempt for their plans on multiple occasions.

Hours passed in this fashion—Kay talking, Lara sharpening, Arthur and Aziel listening with varying degrees of attention.

Finally, as if responding to some internal chronometer that only she could hear, Lara stood with swift, decisive movement. Her knuckles wrapped around the hilts of her dual blades with white-knuckled intensity, the weapons seeming to vibrate with barely contained energy in her grasp. Her gaze locked onto the wooden door leading from their temporary sanctuary, and when she spoke, her voice carried a gravity that seemed to physically alter the chamber’s atmosphere.

"It’s time."

The simple declaration sent involuntary chills racing down spines, carrying weight far beyond the literal meaning of the words. This wasn’t merely an announcement of departure—it was a promise, a threat, a declaration of war against the castle itself.

Kay responded to her summons with a heavy sigh that seemed to originate from the depths of his massive frame. He rose slowly, joints protesting the transition from rest to readiness, and retrieved his war hammer from where it had been leaning against the stone wall. The weapon’s head caught the torchlight as he moved to Lara’s side, its polished surface reflecting fragments of flame like captured lightning.

Arthur and Aziel exchanged a meaningful look. After a moment of silent consideration, Aziel’s lips curved into something that might generously be called a smile, though it carried more grim determination than humor. Both nodded simultaneously, a gesture that confirmed their readiness to follow this path wherever it might lead.

They joined Kay and Lara at the threshold, forming a loose line before the wooden door that had contained them for hours. Four figures united by loss, bound by necessity, and driven by the desperate hope of freedom.

The castle waited beyond that door, patient as a predator, its remaining guardians standing vigil in library and bedroom, unaware that death approached with matted black hair and burning eyes.

It was time for the final push. One way or another, their ordeal would end today—either in victory and escape, or in the kind of glorious failure that at least offered reunion with fallen friends. The wooden door stood before them like the last barrier between their current hell and whatever lay beyond.

Time to kick it down.

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