Chapter 89: Burning Resolve

Chapter 89: Burning Resolve"NANCYYYYYYYY!!"

A tortured cry tore from Ash’s throat as his body jerked upright on the infirmary bed, soaked in sweat, his chest heaving as if the air itself had become too thick to breathe.

His eyes snapped open, wild and unfocused. He frantically scanned the sterile white walls around him.

Where am I...?

The clean sheets beneath him, the soft beeping of medical instruments, and the faint scent of disinfectant gave him the answer.

Infirmary...?

"It was a dream...?" he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, still clinging to the fragments of the nightmare—no, memory—that had just ripped him apart from the inside.

Wait. Elysia...?

His heart suddenly thudded with dread.

"Where is she?" he asked aloud, his voice strained as he threw the blanket off and stood up.

His legs wobbled, the sudden movement too much for his recovering body, but he caught himself and steadied his breath.

Just as he was about to open the door, it swung in on its own.

A woman in a white healer’s uniform stood in front of him, her hand still raised as if she had been about to knock.

"Oh! Student Ash, you’re awake—" she said, pleasantly surprised.

But Ash didn’t stop. He brushed past her as though she were invisible and continued walking down the hall.

Elizabeth, the head of the infirmary at the Academy, blinked.

She had been tasked with checking on each unconscious student after the demon attack.

Most had already regained consciousness, aside from the more seriously injured.

Frankly, she hadn’t expected much from Ash—he was ranked last, after all.

No one in their right mind would believe someone like him had fought against demons.

So when she saw him awake, she was relieved—at least her job would be easier now.

But then...

Did he just ignore me...?

Still, Elizabeth didn’t let her composure slip. A good healer never gets upset at a patient, no matter how rude they are.

"You should still be resting. Even if you didn’t fight in the battle, your condition—"

She stopped mid-sentence. Ash had turned back toward her.

His blue eyes were no longer distant or clouded. They were sharp. Cold. Burning with intensity.

And in that gaze, Elizabeth felt something she had never felt from a student before—killing intent.

"Where is Elysia?" he asked, his voice low and firm—no longer the fragile tone of someone barely standing a moment ago.

Elizabeth hesitated.

That girl... wasn’t she being healed by Saint Myra?

She recalled the strict orders.

No one was allowed near the room while the Saints were working on the girl.

The demonic energy in her body was unstable.

"You do not—"

"I asked, WHERE is SHE?" Ash’s voice cracked like thunder in the quiet corridor.

His presence flared, and for a moment, Elizabeth forgot she was the head healer. She forgot her pride, her position, her experience.

All she felt was the fear behind his words.

Still, she pursed her lips and masked her fear with a polite smile.

Hmph. You think you can treat me like that? Just you wait.

"Room No. 234," she said curtly. "That’s where she is."

Ash didn’t thank her. He didn’t even look back. He just continued walking—no, staggering—down the hallway, each step heavier than the last.

His body was damaged; there were no external wounds, but his cores were fractured.

If not for the Rune of Concealment constantly suppressing the chaotic, storm-like primordial aura surging within him, the entire infirmary could’ve been ripped apart by his aura alone.

His Aura became chaotic and Violent after his core was damaged

And still, through the pain, he moved forward.

Towards her.

Inside Room 234:

"How is it?" Nichole asked Saint Myra, who stood quietly by Elysia’s bedside, her hands glowing with a soft, divine light.

Myra’s expression was grim as she held her palm above the unconscious girl.

"The demonic energy is tightly wrapped around her life force," she said, voice low. "If we try to extract it by force, it could rupture her core... or even stop her heart. But if we leave it in, it might slowly eat away at her from the inside."

She glanced at the others in the room.

"In short, she’s living on borrowed time—six months. That’s the most she has. Maybe less."

The silence that followed wasn’t just quiet. It was suffocating. Like the room itself had been shackled by grief.

The Saints had gathered hoping to find a cure. Instead, they found a dead end.

"What about your nature magic?" Nichole asked, turning to Lydia.

Lydia shook her head slowly. "As I’ve said before... it’s beyond me. Unless—"

"—Unless we seek help from the Elves," Alice murmured, finishing the thought.

Myra nodded. "Their ancient Life Magic might be strong enough to separate it."

But then—

"We can’t do that," Lucas said sharply. "The Elves aren’t our allies. With demons attacking the world, they’ll demand more than gold. You all know how unreasonable they are."

"Then what, do we just do nothing?" Lydia snapped, irritation flaring.

"I’m saying we consider everything," Lucas replied, coldly. "If there’s no way to save her... then perhaps ending it painlessly is kinder than watching her suffer—"

BAAM!!

The door to Room 234 shattered.

"Who are you planning to kill!?"

A cold voice followed the bang.

Well...I didn’t expect him to barge in like this...

Lucas turned, watching the student who now stood before them.

All of them—every Saint in the room—had sensed someone eavesdropping outside. But since it was just a student, possibly a friend of the girl, they hadn’t intervened.

But they didn’t expect his reaction to come wrapped in rage and bloodlust.

"And you might be?" Mark asked, his tone layered with authority.

But Ash didn’t answer. He ignored Mark completely.

His gaze burned with such intensity that even the Saints raised an eyebrow in interest.

He walked toward her with slow, deliberate steps.

Just focus and fury in equal measure.

He reached her bedside and stopped.

His eyes softened.

Her face, peaceful even in sleep, was pale—but still beautiful.

Not again. I won’t lose you again. Not to fate. Not to demons. Not to their mercy.

He held her hand gently, almost reverently, and began transferring mana into her.

The Saints didn’t stop him.

They just watched.

Even Mark stayed quiet, watching the scene unfold with curiosity.

After all, it wasn’t every day that a 12-year-old openly ignored them.

A few seconds passed.

Ash removed his hand from hers and gently placed it on her forehead.

Elves, huh...

He muttered the thought, quietly, before bending to lift her—

A hand stopped him mid-motion.

He turned.

And when he did, the air grew heavier.

His killing intent poured out like a stormfront—though none of them were affected by it.

He did not use the Aura of the primordial core in his killing intent, because he knew the core was cracked and it’s power was chaotic, he might not able to control it, and harm Elysia, and there was also the thought of not showing everything he has to the possible enemy.

"What do you think you’re doing?" Myra asked, hand still on his shoulder.

"I’m doing the thing none of you have the spine to do," Ash said, his voice razor-sharp. "Now move your hand."

"There may be a misunderstanding here," Maelis interjected. "You might not realize who you’re speaking to—"

"I know exactly who I’m speaking to," Ash snapped. "The Seven Saints of Humanity, shining beacons of hope, guardians of the realm... what a fucking joke."

Lucas narrowed his eyes. "Then you know better than to be this disrespectful—"

But Ash didn’t let him finish.

"Disrespectful? You think this is disrespect?" he said, voice rising with each word. "You call standing here and begging for her life ’disrespect’? Let me tell you something, you piece of shit—if it were your daughter in this bed, you wouldn’t be talking about painless deaths. If it was Melissia instead of Elysia, you’d already have sent armies marching toward the demons and Elves!"

"You think I don’t see it? You think I don’t know?"

He stepped forward, tone shifting from rage to something far more dangerous—cold conviction.

"You hide behind titles. Behind words like ’logic’ and ’sacrifice.’ But the truth is simple—you just don’t care. Because she’s not yours."

"Don’t you dare act like you’re being rational. You’re being convenient."

"And I’m not mad at you. Hell, I understand it. That’s what makes this worse—I understand it too well."

"If it wasn’t her lying there... I wouldn’t be here either."

"I don’t hate you, this is just human nature." Ash said, almost calmly now. "I’m not even surprised.

"I’m not disappointed—you’ve only confirmed what I already believed."

He turned again toward Elysia, preparing to lift her.

"But if any of you try to stop me..."

Before he could finish, Lucas released a thread of his Aura toward Ash. It wasn’t overwhelming—just a sliver, meant to humble the boy and make him kneel for his insolence.

"...it won’t be well for any of you in the future."

None of the Saints moved to stop him. Instead, they watched, amused, waiting for the brat to collapse.

But what happened next left them wide-eyed.

The moment the Aura neared Ash—it vanished, devoured completely.

And Ash didn’t even notice a thing.

What was that...?

Lucas frowned, confused. He released more pressure—yet the result was the same. The Aura disappeared the instant it neared Ash.

Driven by disbelief, Lucas unleashed his full Aura on the boy.

But nothing changed.

Ash remained steady, lifting Elysia into his arms as if carrying a feather, as if the world around him hadn’t shifted.

The other Saints watched in growing shock. If that much pressure had been directed at any other child, they’d be dead by now.

What the hell is this kid? the thought echoed in their minds.

Meanwhile, inside Ash, the cracked Primordial Core pulsed faintly.

Each time a Saint’s Aura touched him, it was consumed, absorbed into the cracks, transforming into energy that slowly healed his damaged core.

Lucas, unable to accept it, used telepathy to ask the others:

Some hesitated—but when they looked at Ash, standing there unbothered, they gave in to curiosity.

And so, they unleashed their divine pressure.

BOOM.

The air trembled without a sound. A pressure heavier than mountains filled the chamber—controlled, condensed, yet suffocating in presence.

Yet not a single thing in the room was damaged. Even Elysia, still unconscious in Ash’s arms, remained untouched.

But the Saints... were now sweating.

Staring at the boy who stood beneath the weight of their combined presence—and didn’t even flinch.

Not once.

What... the hell is he?

As Ash was about to leave the room, Nichole finally spoke.

"Wait, Ash!"

Ash stopped and turned slowly. His eyes—cold, sharp, filled with bloodlust—met Nichole’s.

The principal held his gaze and sighed.

"Where are you taking her? If you’re heading to the Elves... you don’t know how unreasonable they are to outsiders. They might take her as a hostage. You could end up putting her in more danger."

He stepped forward slightly, voice firm but not unkind.

"Just stay here. As the Principal of this academy... I’ll take responsibility and negotiate with them myself."