Bathed only in the faint, eerie glow of the bioluminescent fish, Simon spun around, his heart hammering against his ribs. The figure stepping out from the darkness made his eyes widen in sheer disbelief.
"Dean...?" he breathed out.
Dean emerged from the shadows, but his posture was strange—cold and menacing. In his hands, he wielded two gleaming, unsheathed swords.
"Dean... what are you doing here? Did you follow me?" Simon asked, his worry for his senior overriding his fear as he took a step forward. "It's too dangerous here. Please go back... before they find you—"
CLANG!
Before Simon could even finish his sentence, Dean ruthlessly threw one of the swords right at Simon's feet. The sharp metal bit into the dirt, causing Simon to freeze mid-step, his words dying in his throat. He stared down at the blade, then looked up at Dean, utterly bewildered.
"Dean... what is the meaning of this?"
"Pick it up." Dean's voice was deathly flat.
"Why...?"
"I said, pick it up."
"I don't... I don't understand. Why are you doing—"
Without warning, Dean lunged forward, thrusting his remaining sword directly at Simon with terrifying speed. Simon instinctively ducked to the side, stumbling backward in pure panic. His mind raced, caught in an agonizing deadlock between absolute terror and complete confusion.
"Why... why are you doing this? Are you playing a prank on me?" Simon asked, his voice trembling violently. Even now, he couldn't wrap his head around what was happening. He desperately clung to the hope that perhaps some malevolent entity had possessed Dean. But Dean offered no reply; he merely swung the sword again, forcing Simon to dodge frantically for his life.
"Blackburn!" Dean roared, his voice harsh and booming through the quiet forest.
Simon stared at him, his eyes wide with horror. Dean had never once called him by his family name. This was the absolute first time.
"If you don't want to die, pick up that sword!" Dean snarled, lunging forward once more. Driven by pure survival instinct, Simon rolled across the dirt and desperately grabbed the hilt of the discarded blade.
The sword felt impossibly heavy in his hands. Gripping it tightly with both of his trembling hands, he raised it in a defensive stance.
"Who... who are you?! What did you do to Dean? Where is he?!" Simon cried out, tears finally spilling over as he refused to believe that the mentor he trusted implicitly could ever look at him with such murderous intent.
Dean hesitated for a split second, staring down at the trembling Simon. But the momentary lapse vanished instantly. He swung his blade once more with ruthless intent, and as Simon raised his sword to block, the deafening screech of clashing metal echoed through the quiet forest like a sudden crack of thunder. Dean pressed his weight down, forcing the blades closer, while Simon's arms shook violently as he locked his muscles in a desperate struggle. The razor-sharp edge of his sword was now perilously close to his throat.
"I am Dean, Simon. The very Dean who has always been by your side," Dean said, his voice deathly calm as he stared straight into Simon's dark, shattered eyes. "And I am the one who lured you to this exact spot."
Simon could only stare back in absolute, heartbroken disbelief. But as the biting cold of the blade began to nick the skin of his neck, survival instinct kicked in. Summoning every ounce of strength left in his body, Simon gave a powerful, desperate shove. The sudden burst of force caught Dean off guard, sending him stumbling backward. Seizing the fleeting moment, Simon scrambled away, stepping backward hurriedly into defensive space.
Dean stared at Simon, his expression thoroughly cold. The dynamic between them had shifted into that of a predator and its prey, a cat and a mouse. Simon trembled violently like a withered leaf about to fall from a branch, while Dean stood perfectly still, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword.
"I... I don't understand. Why are you doing this to me?" Simon asked, his voice shaking. Dean kept his eyes locked on Simon before taking another slow, deliberate step forward.
"In the beginning, I had no intention of killing you like this. I wanted it to be a slow, agonizing process—a painful death through the curse, with no trails leading back to a culprit. But your clever little friend caught onto my plan. Because of that, I can no longer afford to take my time."
Dean spoke casually, using the same lighthearted tone he always used with Simon. Yet, it was completely different now; it was entirely devoid of warmth, echoing only with a chilling, murderous finality.
Simon's world spun violently, his eyes widening in complete, structural horror.
"Then... Jack... Jack..."
"Yes, I attacked Jack. To correct my answer to your question from this morning... Yes, Jack got hurt because of you. He was investigating the curse that causes your chest pain, and that's how he stumbled upon my plan!"
Simon began to tremble uncontrollably, his grip loosening to the point where he could barely hold the heavy sword in his hands.
"Why... why would you do this? If you hate me, then just hurt me directly! Why bring anyone else into this? Why... why?! I trusted you with everything. You were like a protective older brother to me. Why did you do that to me!?"
"Because of your damn father!!" Dean roared, the sheer volume of his voice vibrating through the dark canopy of the forest. Simon could only stare at him, frozen.
"Your father brutally murdered my parents!! He slaughtered them and ripped their powers away! The only reason he couldn't take my power too was because my older sister gave her own life to shield me! This scar on my forehead—I got it because of your father! Simon Blackburn! Your father is an absolute monster!!"
Simon stared at Dean, his heart sinking into an abyss as he stared at the revealed scar on Dean's forehead. He had always known his father was a bad man, a figure tied to dark forces. But learning the horrific depth of what his father had done—destroying a family and leaving a child scarred and traumatized made Simon recoil in disgust. He felt a deep loathing for his father, and an even deeper, sickening revulsion toward his own body, which carried the very blood of that monster.
"I didn't want to kill you at first, Simon," Dean said, dragging his sword along the dirt as he took slow, deliberate steps forward. The metallic screech echoed ominously through the quiet forest.
"To be perfectly blunt, I knew what your father did had nothing to do with you. But..."
He stopped right in front of Simon, his eyes flashing with raw, unchecked malice.
"...the moment I accidentally overheard you and Master Valandor talking... the moment I realized how deeply your father actually loves you... my plans changed."
Dean raised his sword, pointing the cold, sharp tip directly at Simon's trembling chin. A sick, twisted smile spread across his face.
"I am going to cut off your head and deliver it straight to him. To see the son he tried so hard to protect die without ever getting to properly see him again... he will feel the exact same agonizing torment I felt when I lost my family. That is the revenge I crave, Simon!"
Simon instinctively tried to scramble backward, but Dean lunged, raising his blade into a striking stance, giving the boy no room to breathe.
"So, fight me now! I don't want to kill you like a defenseless coward, Simon!"
CLANG! CLANG!
Simon desperately parried the relentless downpour of Dean's strikes. Irony bit deeper than the blades; every parry, every defensive tilt Simon used was a technique Dean had painstakingly taught him for the Exigros Tournament. Yet, Simon refused to launch a single counterattack. Even now, he couldn't bring himself to slash at the person he once viewed as an older brother, and deep down, he knew he stood no chance of winning a real duel against someone of Dean's caliber.
"Fight, Simon! Turn around and actually fight me!!" Dean roared in sheer frustration, delivering a brutal kick straight into Simon's torso.
The force sent Simon stumbling backward, nearly crashing to the dirt. Dean lunged instantly, driving his sword downward, but Simon managed to raise his blade just in time to block it from the ground. Dean locked their blades, leaning his entire weight into the press to pin Simon down.
Then, with a sickening grin, Dean's free hand blurred toward his waist. In the blink of an eye, he whipped out a hidden dagger and plunged it ruthlessly right into Simon's chest before leaping backward to safety.
It was the very dagger Dean had stolen from Jack—the one saturated with dark, agonizing Cursing Magic.
The agonizing pain forced Simon to let go of his heavy sword, his trembling fingers flying instinctively toward the dagger embedded in his chest. Because it had struck his right side, it missed his heart, but it hurt—it hurt badly enough to kill. Worse, he could feel the insidious Cursing Magic spreading through his veins, tearing at his insides as if eroding him from within. Simon's legs buckled completely. He collapsed into a sitting position, slumping against a nearby tree as he looked up at Dean through a blur of tears.
Dean advanced slowly, his sword raised and ready to sever Simon's head. Yet, Simon could only stare back, paralyzed.
"Your father ruined my entire life, Simon. I... I grew up in the clutches of people who tortured me like an animal! They forced me to train my powers until blood poured from my eyes and my nose! I have a normal, quiet life only in Willowgate... Do you have any idea how wretched and miserable my existence was?!!"
Tears welled up in Dean's eyes, heavy with the weight of the hell he had survived. Simon looked at his senior, and finally, he burst into heavy, choked sobs. It wasn't because of the physical wound or the burning curse in his flesh. It was the crushing ache inside his soul, as if his very heart was being ripped to shreds. The reality that the person he loved and looked up to like an older brother had his life systematically destroyed by Simon's own father was too much to bear.
"I'm sorry... I... I'm so sorry... ah... I'm sorry..." Simon wept, trembling violently as he curled inward. At the end of the day, he was still just a child caught in a generational nightmare. He was just a kid broken by sins that weren't his own.
Dean stood frozen, the sword heavy in his grip as he stared down at the boy. Before him, Simon wept uncontrollably, like a frightened child. And that's exactly what he was—a mere twelve-year-old boy caught in a generational nightmare he had no part in creating.
As Dean watched him, his hands began to tremble violently. He could swing the blade right now. He could exact his long-awaited revenge and fulfill his dark vendetta. But the bond they had forged over the past months—the absolute, pure trust this boy had placed in him as an older brother struck a heavy blow to his resolve.
Was it truly fair for an innocent twelve-year-old child to pay the ultimate price for his father's sins? Blighted by consuming hatred, Dean had completely lost sight of the very principles of justice he once held dear. Looking at the sobbing boy, a cold wave of realization washed over him. He was wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong.
Dean let his sword clatter to the ground and rushed toward Simon, reaching out to pull the dagger from the boy's chest. But before his fingers could even brush the hilt, a blur of motion slammed into him, pinning him ruthlessly to the dirt.
It was Vukasin—his Exigros Captain, and his longtime brother-in-arms from their days at Willowgate Academy. Vukasin expertly wrenched Dean's arms behind his back, securing them with one hand while driving his knee firmly into Dean's spine, forcing his face against the cold earth.
"Don't move, Dean," Vukasin commanded, his voice tight.
Figures emerged from the shadows of the forest. Kai was at the forefront, clutching a map tightly in his hand.
"Simon! Simon!!" Kai screamed and lunged toward his friend. Behind him followed Lucas, the Headmistress, Master Valandor, and Master Marrick.
Master Valandor knelt immediately beside the boy. With a steady hand, he carefully slid the cursed dagger out of Simon's chest, tore a piece of his own robe, and pressed it firmly against the bleeding wound.
"Master Marrick, get him to Madam Celavan immediately!"
Marrick nodded, carefully lifting the fragile, broken boy into his arms. Kai and Lucas followed close on his heels, refusing to leave Simon's side. Simon's face was a pale, heartbreaking mess of tears and dirt, his tiny frame completely drained of energy as his consciousness began to slip away.
Back by the glowing lake, Master Valandor picked up the cursed dagger, handing it to the Headmistress before looking down at the pinned student with profound sorrow. He had never wanted to believe that a boy as brilliant and disciplined as Dean could harbor such darkness.
The Headmistress examined the weapon, her eyes heavy with a mixture of disappointment and pity as she looked down at the boy on the ground.
"You have ruined your own life, Dean Vexlay. Why couldn't you see that your hatred was only consuming you?" she spoke softly.
Upon hearing those words, Dean's entire body began to shake violently. The terrifying pride and agonizing resentment that had frozen his heart inside this forest completely shattered, melted away by the pure, tearful apologies of Simon and the heavy truth of the Headmistress's pity.
Finally, Dean broke. He wept into the dirt, sobbing heavily. He wasn't crying because he had been caught—he was crying because the hollow pursuit of revenge had turned him into the very monster he hated, nearly costing the life of an innocent child who looked up to him as a brother.
He had become just like the man who destroyed his family.