Chapter 579: Let’s go home.
The air between Albert and Dutch seemed to grow heavier by the second. Byako still vibrated with residual energy, the blade emitting a faint hum that echoed across the silent field.
The white glow in Albert’s eyes didn’t dim even a bit as he took a single step forward, forcing Dutch to shift his weight onto his heel.
“You leave now,” Albert said, each word laced with a tone that wasn’t a request—it was an order.
He raised his sword slowly, the glow reflecting off Dutch’s scarred face. “It’s the only chance I’ll give you.”
A muscle in Dutch’s jaw twitched. He didn’t flinch, nor did he blink.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly, as if assessing the enemy ahead. The white fire still dancing on his sword concentrated into a tighter beam, as if preparing for his next move.
“You think you can intimidate me just because you have a spirit sword?”
His voice was thick with taunting and wounded pride. “Albert… just because I don’t have one doesn’t mean I couldn’t beat you.”
The silence that followed wasn’t typical. It was a silence of judgment, of disbelief.
Samira, still with her arms crossed, raised an eyebrow as if she’d just heard a lame joke. Strax, on the other hand, sighed, shaking his head.
Everyone’s eyes turned to Dutch, not as if they were about to acknowledge his courage, but as if watching someone sinking alone into a hole too deep to climb out of.
It was Strax who broke the moment: “You can’t beat me and Samira…” he said, his voice thick with sarcasm, “let alone that sicko over there.”
He jerked his thumb at his own father, who remained motionless and watching.
The silence returned, this time thicker.
Albert didn’t respond. Samira didn’t even blink. Dutch just narrowed his eyes.
It was then that an unexpected sound shattered the atmosphere—a burst of laughter.
Tall, strong, almost musical.
From where she’d fallen, a few feet away, Scathach began to stir.
Her laughter echoed across the battlefield, a strangely lively note amid the suffocating tension.
“Ah…” her voice came between laughs, “so that’s what was happening.”
She placed a hand on her neck, massaging it calmly.
“I was too focused on protecting my son… I ended up losing all my strength during the fight with you, Albert.” Her gaze met his for a brief moment, and there was a flicker there that hadn’t been there before—not hostility, but calculation.
Slowly, she stood. Her movements lacked the speed and fluidity of before, but there was a sureness to them. Each step seemed to restore a bit of her natural authority.
When she stood fully erect, she waved her hand toward Dutch.
The white fire around him trembled as if struck by an invisible gust of wind. The next instant, it simply vanished—like a candle blown out.
“Restraint rune,” she said, her voice firm, but with an almost playful tone. “Game over.”
She clapped her hands once, the dry sound echoing through the empty space.
“My dear son is unharmed.” Her gaze fell on Strax, and for a brief moment the rigidity vanished, replaced by a quiet affection. “Unfortunately, the fight is over. And that’s all.”
She turned partly to Albert, then to Dutch, and finally to Samira. “We can leave now.”
The smile that followed wasn’t exactly friendly—but it wasn’t threatening either. It was the smile of someone who, despite everything, still had control of the situation.
Albert didn’t immediately lower his sword. He held Scathach’s gaze for a few seconds, as if to make sure she was truly in control of her body again.
Dutch looked down at his hands, now devoid of the flame that had enveloped them seconds ago, and clenched his fists tightly, his knuckles turning white.
He said nothing, but the tension in his shoulders told him every muscle was screaming for him to react.
Samira remained silent, but her eyes took in everything—Dutch’s posture, Scathach’s sudden calm, the way Albert held Byako, more relaxed but still ready to cut at any moment.
Strax, for his part, simply raised his hands in an almost theatrical gesture of “so it’s really over?” He looked at Scathach, then at Albert, and gave a half-smile. “You could have resolved this half an hour ago and spared everyone the drama.”
Scathach merely chuckled this time, shaking her head as if she’d expected no less.
The wind ripped across the open field, carrying the fine dust still rising from the marks left by the previous blows.
The distant sound of waves—perhaps from a nearby river or sea—mingled with the faint crackle of lingering energy.
Albert finally lowered Byako.
The sword’s glow dimmed until it was gone, leaving only the polished steel.
He didn’t take his eyes off Dutch, but he didn’t say anything.
Dutch took a deep breath, his eyes darting from Scathach to Strax, and then to Samira.
His jaw still trembled, but something in his shoulders relaxed—perhaps not from accepting defeat, but from knowing that, at that moment, advancing would be futile.
Scathach took one last step forward, almost between the two men. “That’s enough,” she said, her tone final and non-negotiable. “If there’s anything to resolve, it won’t be here. And it won’t be now.”
Scathach walked slowly over to where Strax stood.
Her gaze had lost its former hardness; now it held a softer, almost possessive glow. When she stopped in front of him, she reached out and gripped her son’s arm firmly, as if to make sure he was in one piece.
“You’re okay…” she murmured, her voice thick with relief, but also with something bordering on quiet pride.
Strax gave a half smile, relaxing slightly.
But before he could say anything, Samira stepped closer, her gaze narrow and assessing. Without asking permission, she also grabbed Strax’s other arm, tightly enough that it was impossible to ignore.
“He’s fine because I was here,” Samira said, her tone thick with defiance as her eyes met Scathach’s.
For a moment, the tension between them seemed as palpable as the one that had filled the field minutes before. It wasn’t the kind of hostility that exploded into violence—it was sharper, quieter, like hidden blades ready to be drawn.
Strax looked from one to the other, arching an eyebrow as if she knew exactly what was going on but preferred not to interfere.
Scathach gave a slight smile, pulling Strax a few steps aside.
Samira didn’t let go.
The two faced each other again. This time, they spoke together, almost in unison, though in very different tones:
“Let’s go home.”