From Deadbeat noble to Top Rank Swordsman-Chapter 93: The Eighth Seal

They stood at the edge of the mirror.

A sky laid bare—wide and fractured—where time bled like ink through cracks too old to seal. The ash beneath their boots had stilled. The ghosts had vanished. Yet their presence lingered in the quiet that followed. Every breath felt thinner now. Not from lack of air. But from the pressure.

Leon stepped forward.

The mirror rippled.

He saw himself—not young nor old—but worn.

Tired. A sword in one hand. A child’s hand in the other. He blinked. The image vanished.

Behind him, Elena’s fire rose, bright as dawn. Her gaze fixed not on the sky, but the figures now forming in the distance.

They began to descend.

Ten shapes. Towering. Shifting. Robed in flame and power. They were not gods. Neither were they men. But something that once stood in between. They bore no weapons. No faces. Only crowns of broken metal, and on each chest, a seal. Seven burned gold.

The eighth—a hollow brand, pulsing faint.

"They are the Vowed," Elena whispered.

Leon nodded once. "Guardians?" freewёbnoνel.com

"Yes."

The closest of the ten raised a hand. And the mirror beneath them shattered.

Below was no longer a battlefield. It was a throne room—half-built, half-ruined. Walls formed mid-breath, etched with runes not yet written. Pillars rose like memory. And at its centre, a pedestal of dark stone.

Floating above it—a flame.

Pure. Quiet. Still.

Callen collapsed to one knee. Tomas fell with him, gasping.

Elena’s hand found Leon’s. She didn’t flinch from the heat now.

A voice—deep, resonant—filled the space. Not from the guardrains. But from the flame itself.

"What drives you?"

Leon stepped forward. His voice did not tremble.

"Grief."

The flame pulsed once.

"And you?"

Elena’s voice was calm. "Remembrance."

One by one, the others spoke.

Tomas: "Regret." Mira: "Guilt." Callen: "Names." Alden: "Hope."

The flame brightened.

The eighth seal was not a lock. No. It was a mirror.

And in that flame, each of them saw not a vision— but a choice.

What they had to leave behind. What they had to become.

The guardians stepped back.

The flame lowered.

And without command, without call— Elena stepped forward first.

She reached.

The flame did not resist.

It entered her willingly.

And the eighth seal—

—broke.

The air rippled.

As the flame entered Elena, the chamber twisted. Not violently. Just... deeply. Like the mountain itself inhaled. The runes on the walls flared once—then vanished. The throne room bent backward into shadow, then forward into light, then again, folding space into something tighter, smaller, truer.

Elena remained still.

Her feet no longer touched the ground.

The flame burned beneath her ribs now, Her eyes turned white. Everything she was—grief, pride, fear—burned away. And what remained?

A single word.

"Protector."

It didn’t come from her lips, but from the flame.

Leon took a step forward, his sword still drawn, but the fire around her repelled him—not violently, Just enough to say Not yet.

Elena’s voice returned, but layered—like her own thoughts echoed behind her words. "It’s not done."

The flame pulsed through her veins, and from her back, wings of light unfurled—not angelic, Just fire made shape. And with them, her breath changed. Like the air belonged to her now. Like the mountain listened only to her heartbeat.

Then she turned—to them.

To all of them.

And the chamber shuddered.

Tomas backed away. Mira dropped her dagger.

"Elena—?" Callen started.

She raised a hand.

The flame had not chosen her alone.

"You have to control it," she said. "Or we lose."

Leon frowned. "Control what?"

Her eyes met his.

"The power of the seals."

The flame twisted again, spiralling outward in lines—paths of light that struck the far corners of the chamber. The room began to dissolve, bit by bit, as the light carved through it—revealing not another chamber, but another time.

An empty field.

A falling castle.

Children running.

Cities drowning.

Each vision not of what might come—

—but of what was already happening.

"The seals," Alden whispered. "They weren’t warnings. They were delays. They delayed this destruction."

Leon looked again at the guardians, who now knelt as one.

"They weren’t guarding something," he realised. "They were holding this back."

Elena nodded.

"The fire... wasn’t meant to destroy. It was meant to stall. To give the world a chance to fight."

Callen staggered to his feet. "And if we can’t ?"

She didn’t answer.

But the flame behind her shifted again—pulling back the final veil.

And there—

Beyond the pedestal—

A figure stood.

A boy.

Alone.

Hands bound by gold thread.

Eyes wide with sorrow.

The same face Callen had seen in the stars.

Leon stepped toward him.

The boy didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

But when Leon reached him, the boy spoke—without moving his lips.

"You broke the eighth seal. Now break me free."

And behind him, for just a breath—

—the ninth seal flickered into view.

The ninth seal shimmered—thin as breath, bright as judgment.

The boy’s voice echoed again, but it was inside them now. Not spoken. They Felt it.

"Break me... or I break everything."

Leon didn’t respond at first. His grip on his blade tightened, but his stance faltered. The boy wasn’t older than twelve. Pale. Barefoot. The gold thread binding his hands was etched with marks that glowed faintly, twitching with every heartbeat—as if they fed on the silence.

Behind him, Elena stepped to Leon’s side. Her wings were gone now. The fire had quieted, but not left her. She said nothing, only looked at the boy, then at Leon, then down—at the faint reflection forming beneath their feet.

The pedestal had changed.

It was no longer stone.

It was Glass.

And beneath the glass—another world.

And it wasReal.

Cities choked in black vines. Oceans recoiling from shores. Great beasts moving through forests made of bone. A sun that flickered like candlelight.

"It’s already destroying through everything ,"

"What happens if we break it, the ninth seal I mean?" Tomas asked. He looked to Elena. To Leon. To anyone.

Elena’s voice was soft. "We pay the cost."

"And if we don’t?" Mira whispered.

Leon turned back to the boy.

The gold thread had begun to crack.

Just slightly.

"You’ve seen the memories of the past," the boy said. "You’ve seen the mirrors. But none of them were mine."

He looked up then. Right at Leon.

"You think I’m a weapon. But I was never meant to be. I was a seal before I was a soul."

The boy stepped forward.

The thread dragged behind him like a trail of bloodless fire.

"I’ve held it back for a thousand years. I’ve suffered in silence. But now—"

His voice cracked.

"I don’t want to be sealed anymore."

The chamber shook.

The guardians did not move. Not one. They were Still kneeling. Still watching. They acted as Witnesses, not judges.

Then Elena stepped forward again. Her hand outstretched.

"Tell us your name."

The boy blinked. Once. Twice.

Then whispered, "I have no name."

Leon moved beside her.

"You have one now," he said. "You endured."

The boy closed his eyes.

And the seal behind him—

—pulsed once, gold and black.

Waiting.

And far above them, cracks formed in the world they had left behind.

And beneath their feet, the glass shimmered—then shifted.

A deep, humming sound, like something alive had began to wake and stir.

The boy’s hands—still bound—lifted gently.

Leon stepped closer. "Can we save you?"

"No," the boy said. "But you can choose what comes after."

The gold thread caught fire.

A Choice.

And slowly, the ninth seal began to open.

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