The Invincible Young Master-Chapter 204 - The Ember of Life [2]

In the era of the Human Emperor, when the might of mortals could shake the heavens, there was a legend across the realms, a tale of a treasure that defied even death itself.

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The Ember of Life.

Said to have fallen from the Immortal world, it was a relic of unimaginable power, a fragment of divinity that could grant life to the lifeless.

Some claimed it could weave shattered souls back into broken bodies, even pulling the dead from the abyss. Yet, for all its supposed might, there was one undeniable truth, no one had ever seen it in action.

It remained a phantom of history, a mystery lost to time.

Some claimed it had vanished with the passing of the Human Emperor, while others swore he had taken it to his grave.

There were rumors that the emperor had never truly died, that he had used the Ember to return, walking the world under a new guise.

Ascendants and treasure seekers alike scoured old ruins, convinced that it lay buried beneath the remnants of a forgotten age.

But these were just stories. Rumors. Fantasies.

At least, that’s what the world believed.

"Lord, you’re saying that thing is real?"

For the first time, doubt crept into the robust man’s voice. His hands, trained to wield steel without hesitation, clenched at his sides.

He had seen countless impossible things in his lifetime, but, this was something beyond even the wildest of legends.

"It is." The red-robed man did not hesitate. "And our lord needs it to make his rebirth whole."

Rebirth.

A word that should have remained confined to myth. A concept even the most revered ascendants had never truly grasped. And yet, the red-robed man spoke of it with certainty, as if it had already begun.

The robust man swallowed. "Yes, my lord. We will do everything-"

His words died.

Not because he faltered. Not because fear stole his voice.

But because something else did.

A presence.

Something that had not been there before.

The warrior’s sharp instincts screamed too late. His eyes, which had been locked on the red-robed man, were suddenly drawn elsewhere, toward the balcony’s edge.

A silhouette stood against the vast night sky.

A woman.

Her form was bathed in the pale glow of the moon, her long, dark hair drifting ever so slightly in the wind.

She did not speak, nor did she move. She simply stood there, watching.

Her eyes, deep, luminous red, held no warmth. No hesitation.

A glint of silver streaked through the air.

The last thing he saw.

A flash. A sharp pain. Then, nothing.

No scream. No chance to react. The moment between life and death lasted less than a breath.

One by one, the cloaked figures collapsed, their bodies lifeless before they even understood what had happened.

A single, precise hole pierced the center of each forehead.

The wind howled softly, carrying away the scent of blood before it could linger.

And in the silence that followed, the woman finally moved.

Slowly, her crimson gaze settled upon the red-robed man, the only one left standing.

The red-robed man’s breath caught in his throat.

His gaze locked onto the figure standing before him, his mind racing to process the impossible.

"It’s you!"

He took an instinctive step back, crimson robes billowing around him as a flicker of disbelief crossed his otherwise composed face.

"The guardian of the Saintess." His voice wavered, just barely.

Memories surged through his mind like a rushing tide.

"I saw you die."

That night had been burned into his memory. The ambush, the blood, the very moment the woman before him had drawn her last breath, or so he thought.

Yet here she stood, her long hair flowing in the wind, eyes as crimson as freshly spilled blood, expression colder than the night itself.

She should not exist.

And yet.

The red-robed man’s lips curled into a smirk, though tension still stiffened his frame.

"I see..." he murmured, "You must have used that treasure."

He chuckled, though it sounded hollow. There was no denying the truth now.

The Ember of Life was real.

The space around him shimmered as his form wavered, his edges dissolving into something intangible.

"I won’t fight you." His smirk deepened, though his eyes never left hers. "I know I alone am no match."

The distortion around him deepened, his figure becoming a mere outline against the night sky. Yet his voice remained, whispering like a curse.

"But it doesn’t matter."

His laughter echoed, fading as his presence thinned like smoke.

"I will return… And soon, that treasure will be for our lord to take."

And then, he was gone.

Silence settled over the balcony once more.

Pooella remained still, her crimson gaze lingering on the space he had just vanished from.

Her fingers twitched at her side.

Fwoosh!

Without a sound, flames erupted across the balcony floor. They spread unnaturally fast, devouring the lifeless bodies lying around her.

Flesh, bone, garments, nothing remained. Not even ash.

"These relentless hounds."

They never stopped.

Since the very first assassination attempt on Alice, they had come like waves crashing against a shore, lurking in shadows, hiding among the empire’s people, waiting, watching.

She had thought there was more time before they found Alice again.

But it was clear now, they all knew.

Alice’s presence in the Human Empire was no longer a secret.

Pooella’s fingers clenched slightly.

It was no longer safe to remain.

…

"Grandma Poo, look! I made another flower!"

The soft, cheerful voice pulled Pooella from her thoughts.

She turned, her gaze softening as she watched Alice.

In the little girl’s outstretched palm, a delicate lotus, formed entirely of shimmering magic, floated just above her fingertips.

Pooella knelt beside her, watching the magical bloom pulse softly.

"Yes, Little Miss. It’s beautiful."

Alice beamed, cradling the glowing flower carefully, as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

Pooella studied her, not just the magic in her hands but the innocence in her eyes, the purity in her smile.

She was not here only to protect Alice.

She had another purpose.

To observe.

To see if this side of Alice’s family, her father’s bloodline, was worthy of her.

Most importantly, she was here to determine one thing.

Was Alice’s father truly fit to be called one?

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