Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 454: Collateral Damage

Chapter 454: Collateral Damage

"I must thank you for leading me straight to the iron meteorites by the way," Jean continued cheerfully. "Without your assistance, it would be nigh impossible for me to sneak into the mines to get my fair share."

"Fair share?" Atticus echoed with a snort of disbelief. "You’ve stolen from the mines before setting the rest on fire. I would hardly count that as ’fair share’."

Jean Nott merely laughed at Atticus’s reply, shaking his head as he did. "Same difference," he said. "I would say that it’s the same for you, is it not, Your Majesty? You enjoy taking what doesn’t belong to you. First your wife, now..."

He glanced around at Xahan, and as he did, so did Atticus. The city was turned into rubble and ash. What was once the prosperous nation that thrived under King Calarian’s rule had been decimated all in one night by Jean Nott’s hands. He didn’t even need any aid― just one man alone was enough for such destruction.

"You’re targeting something even bigger than just yourself, aren’t you?"

Atticus’s blood went cold at Jean Nott’s words. He slowly turned his head back to look at the thieving mongrel, his eyes narrowing as he watched Jean Nott’s grin grow. His ice blades were dangerously close to Sirona’s neck― just one mishap and her life could be in danger.

"Stunned?" Jean Nott asked, reveling in Atticus’s silence. "Darling little Daphne might not have guessed it yet but I have." His smile stretched and pulled, growing highly akin to the crescent moon hanging in the night sky. "That’s no good, King Atticus. You have no right to choose for the world whether or not they deserve to―"

Atticus had heard enough. He surged forward, his ring glowing with power as it sent him rocketing toward Jean Nott and Sirona.

Jean Nott cut himself short, his smile still maintaining on his face. With Atticus’s actions, he merely tutted before he moved his hands. The blades in his hands made a slicing sound as a dash of red spilled into the air and onto the ice platform. Sirona, who was in Jean Nott’s hands, collapsed with a sharp gasp of shock.

"No!"

She didn’t manage to hit the floor, however. Jonah was just as quick, bolting straight for Sirona before she could land in a mess of dirt and blood. However, he didn’t know if it was even of use.

Atticus went straight for Jean Nott, his hands quickly wrapping around the latter’s neck in a flash. When they collided, there was a brilliant flash of icy blue and indigo violet, the colors clashing and creating an explosion of frosty chill.

Jonah had to use his body to shield Sirona from further damage― his own clothes quickly frosted over with a thin layer of ice, causing him to shiver. Thankfully, there weren’t any sharp icicles thrown out, if not, he would’ve been done for.

By the time he turned back to look at Atticus, the two were gone, their bodies colliding against another pile of buildings as they began to brawl.

He couldn’t be bothered to care. Atticus could hold his own. Sirona, on the other hand, needed immediate medical attention― if she was even still alive.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath, adjusting his position so that he could have a look at Sirona, who was lying in his arms. "Sirona, Sirona!"

"I’m not dead, relax," she croaked, her voice hoarse but strong. She coughed a few times, wincing in pain as her hands shakily rose to touch her neck. Scarlet tainted her fingers― that was her blood for sure, there was no mistaking that. The pain in her neck was enough proof.

"How..."

"Thank the heavens Atticus can multitask," she murmured. "He cast a shield right between Jean Nott’s blade and my neck. It couldn’t completely push back the ice, but it did weaken the blow by a lot. I just got nicked. It’s a superficial wound; I’ll be fine."

Returning her hand to her neck, her own magic began to pulse. A softer shade of purple — as compared to Atticus’s violently dark one — emanated from her hands. Slowly, her wound began to stitch itself back. It was indeed a light injury, one that she could easily fix on the spot with her magic. Otherwise, that would’ve been troublesome.

"We need to get you back to the palace," Jonah said. "It’s not safe for you here."

"We discussed this before," Sirona snapped. With Jonah’s help, she got back onto her feet, wiping her bloodied hands on her skirts. "There’s no time and no way. Bring me around. We might be able to find some survivors and bring them to safety."

"Survivors?" Jonah echoed. "But―"

"Those are innocent lives, Jonah," Sirona chided. "Besides, we owe King Calarian as much."

"Atticus wasn’t the one that blew up his ore reserve," Jonah said.

"No," replied Sirona. "But I would reckon that those two will not be keeping their fights in the desert."

Jonah’s eyes widened, and just as they did, a loud explosion rang through the night. He turned his attention to the direction where the sound came from, just in time to see a building collapse, a cloud of smoke rising as a result. There was a flash of purple, then blue, then purple again, a sign of Atticus and Jean Nott’s ongoing battle.

"We need to get going," Sirona said. "By the looks of it, there might be even more casualties if we dally."

"Good gods..." Jonah murmured, watching as a second building fell into ruin. "He’s not going to stop, is he?"

Sirona didn’t need to ask who it was that Jonah meant by ’he’. It didn’t matter; neither of them would back down in this fight until at least one of them was dead.

"They both won’t," she solemnly said. "And knowing Atticus, he won’t relent until Jean Nott’s head has been wrung free from his neck. As long as it means that that man is put down, Atticus wouldn’t care even if the entire kingdom of Xahan had to be buried with Jean Nott."

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