Eternal Undying Chronicles

Alicarde stood in the dimly lit clearing, the silhouette of the mansion visible in the distance. However, he couldn't reach it—not until he got past the beautiful, red-haired werewolf who was out for his blood.

She was striking, her features framed by wild red hair, and her piercing amber eyes reflected the moonlight. The light glinted off her long, deadly claws, a testament to her werewolf heritage.

'It's times like this that Carrisa's lessons come in handy,' he thought, knowing there was no talking his way out of this one.

"Who are you, and why are you after me?" Alicarde asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

She looked at his sword, her amber eyes narrowing as she frowned. "I'm the one who's going to kill you," she said coldly.

The tension in the air was almost tangible. Alicarde gripped the hilt of his sword, a black blade with a red edge that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. He had trained for moments like this, but the reality of facing a werewolf intent on killing added a layer of gravity he hadn't fully anticipated. And the bigger question still was—why?

"You've led me on quite the chase," she continued, her voice smooth and menacing. Her gaze lingered on his sword, and her fury only seemed to deepen.

"Who are you?" Alicarde demanded, trying to buy time and gauge his opponent's next move.

She smirked, revealing a hint of fangs.

"I'm Argint. You took something from me, and I'm here to collect."

Without another word, Argint lunged forward with supernatural speed, her claws aimed straight for Alicarde's chest. He barely managed to parry the blow, the force of the impact sending vibrations up his arms and pushing him back several meters into a tree. The clash of steel against claws echoed through the clearing.

Alicarde scrambled to his feet, barely avoiding another blow that eviscerated the tree, leaving it as a pile of wooden splinters. Argint moved with fluidity and ferocity, her attacks relentless and precise.

Each strike was aimed to incapacitate, and Alicarde could barely keep up, his weeks of training evident in the way he deflected and dodged her attacks.

But he could feel her strength pushing him to his limits. His training was not enough—not against her.

As they fought, Argint's eyes glowed with a cold intensity. She leapt into the air, her transformation partially triggered, claws extending further.

Alicarde rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding her slash and delivering a swift counterattack, slicing through the air where she had just been.

Argint landed gracefully, unharmed.

"You're weaker than I expected," she growled, a hint of doubt in her voice.

"But you can't keep this up forever." She referred to his healing ability, not his lackluster skills.

"Regeneration has its limits. Once I land a fatal hit, I win."

"Tch. I'm a lot harder to kill than I look," Alicarde replied, taking in a deep breath, covered in his own blood.

Alicarde knew she was right. He needed to buy more time. Summoning all his focus, he advanced with a series of rapid strikes, pushing Argint back.

His blade flashed, a dance of steel and desperate focus. But Argint was not easily subdued. She retaliated with a vicious swipe, her claws grazing his side and drawing more blood.

He felt the warmth as the blood gushed out, the pain of her claws digging into his flesh.

The pain sharpened Alicarde's resolve. He feinted left, then spun right, delivering a powerful kick to Argint's midsection. She blocked it effortlessly and seized the opportunity, slashing at him with a precise, controlled strike. Her claws cut through his defenses, leaving a deep gash on his chest.

Alicarde howled in pain. She lunged again, this time with wild, uncontrolled rage. Alicarde braced himself, deflecting her attacks and looking for an opening. Finally, he saw it—a moment of overextension in her fury.

With a swift, decisive movement, Alicarde attempted to land a fatal blow, but Argint was quicker. Her claws struck his chest, and she held them to his throat, her breath heavy, eyes locked onto his.

"Die," she commanded, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her. Crushing his throat, she threw him to the side.

Alicarde stayed still, refusing to move. He was smart enough to know there was no point in getting up—he would lose all over again. The best course of action would be to wait until Carrisa came to back him up.

The mansion's gates creaked open behind her, and Argint turned, ready to face her next adversary. But she knew one thing for certain, the night was far from over. This was just the beginning—she would kill the man who killed her brother, and then she would deal with Carrisa.

"Have you come to dishonor Beowulf even more, Argint?" Carrisa asked, her voice carrying the weight of authority and cold indifference.

"Dishonor my brother? Hah. I came to avenge him and reclaim his honor by killing his treacherous liege," Argint gritted her teeth, ready for her second and final battle. Carrisa would not fall easily, and neither would the maid standing silently behind her.

"Argint Beowulf, we have not met before, but your brother spoke of you often. It is a shame to see you dishonor his final wish in this manner. Your actions will only serve to make him a traitor," Carrisa said in a measured tone, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Shut up! My brother would never betray anyone—he was an honorable warrior of the War Wolf clan!" snapped Argint, her voice trembling with rage and sorrow.

"Indeed, he would not. Not of his own volition," Carrisa replied, her tone calm and deliberate.

"However, he did so for you."

"What are you implying?" Argint roared, her fury rising.

"Well, I suppose you would not know. You were, after all, the unwitting hostage. For your sake, he raised his blade against me, his liege. A shame, really—he was caught between honor and love, so he took the third option, the path of self-sacrifice, saving you and preserving his honor." Carrisa sighed deeply, a rare expression of emotion as she thought about her former subordinate.

Argint's legs went weak for a moment before she continued, "I do not believe you."

"You need not," Carrisa replied, aloof as always. "But regardless, follow me."

"Alicarde, please cease your dramatics and rise. I believe I have cleared the air sufficiently," Carrisa said, glancing at Alicarde, who was still shamelessly playing dead on the ground.

Alicarde got up, and as he did, Argint's eyes widened. "No way... I killed you... wait, are you—" She looked back at Carrisa, her voice trembling.

"Is he an Undying... did you create an Undying?" she asked again, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Carrisa nodded. "Indeed, I did. But that is a secret for now, so I trust you will keep it to yourself," she said, her tone calm and unwavering.

Alicarde walked up to Carrisa's side, holding his sword and glancing at Argint cautiously. Her claws were painful, and even though he could heal, he was not immune to pain. Having his throat crushed was not a pleasant experience.

As they walked back toward the mansion, Carrisa gestured for Argint to follow. The werewolf girl hesitated, her gaze lingering on the black sword Alicarde was holding.

Her expression darkened with sadness, but she followed them, her steps cautious, as if expecting a trap.

"How did you learn of your brother's death and Alicarde's involvement?" Carrisa asked, her tone curious but detached.

"Words Through The Grapevine," Argint replied, her voice tinged with bitterness as she looked at Carrisa.

Alicarde, slightly unnerved, spoke nonetheless. "Words Through The Grapevine? So you came to kill me based on rumors and hearsay?"

"Not rumors and hearsay. Words Through The Grapevine is an information agency. They sell information for a price. The organization's full name is Words Through The Grapevine, but it is more commonly referred to as the Grapevine," Amena explained, breaking her silence.

Alicarde didn't fully understand but nodded all the same. The more he looked at the werewolf girl, the more uneasy he felt. She had said he killed her brother. He remembered the werewolf from the night he died, but he had never really thought of him as a person... just a monster he killed.

After a few minutes, they stopped in a small patch of forest on the mansion grounds. There, Alicarde saw a tombstone with the name "Aiden Beowulf" written legibly. His legs felt weak, but it was even worse for Argint, whose only brother had died.

Her eyes dimmed as she looked at the tombstone. She staggered forward and fell to her knees, her face a lifeless mask of despair.

"Why did this happen?" she muttered to no one in particular.

"Why... why did this happen?"

"Wh... why ... why did you kill my brother?" she whispered.

As she did, Alicarde was consumed by a terrible feeling of regret. His hands trembled a bit, and his face became despondent with a look of utter guilt. He lowered his head, unsure how to answer the question.

Carrisa's reply came as soon as she asked, "It seems one of my siblings targeted me and used you as a hostage."

Carrisa then proceeded to recount the entire sequence of events that led to Beowulf's death, detailing the circumstances that forced his hand.

She spoke of Beowulf's final will, how he had left everything to Alicarde—his honor, his lady, and his sword—trusting that Alicarde would uphold them in his stead.

As Carrisa finished, Argint turned her head to look at the now forlorn Alicarde, then back to the tombstone. Clenching her teeth, she tried her best not to cry, but it was pointless. Silent tears fell as she bowed her head in grief.

Carrisa turned away, taking Amena with her. As she left, she glanced back at Alicarde, who stood motionless behind Argint in the darkness of the night.

Argint's sobs turned into whimpers before she cried even louder, unable to contain the pain. Alicarde remained still, his heart crushed under the monstrous realization that he had murdered someone's brother. All he could do was watch as his victim's family cried over the tombstone.

He still couldn't answer her question.

He felt horrible but couldn't bring himself to say anything—not even an apology. He knew that no apology could undo what he had done or bring her brother back.

Time flew by as the two of them remained—the victim and the guilty party. Argint eventually stood up, her eyes filled with fresh tears. She walked up to Alicarde, grabbed his hand, but he didn't dare look at her.

"You... you're weak. Someone like you should never have been qualified to kill my brother," her voice was hoarse.

"So you have to be stronger. You... have to be strong enough not to let down the name of Aiden Beowulf. Promise me that, promise!" she screamed through her tears.

"I promise," he replied, his voice low and despondent. But nevertheless, he made the promise, not knowing what else to say or do.

"Good. I'll make sure that you are strong, and I swear I will get my revenge. I'll kill the bastards... the bast... bastards who did this," she swore as she hiccuped.

She continued to cry, her hand remaining on his. Her legs must have felt weak, or perhaps she saw him as a kindred spirit, she leaned her head on him and continued to cry, soon falling to her knees. Alicarde remained standing, her tears digging deep holes in his heart, leaving him with only the realization that he was now a murderer.