Theresis glanced around the subterranean vault, only to find himself completely encircled by a handful of elite Rhodes Island operators—most of whom were Babel veterans once loyal to his sister.
These were warriors who had survived the bloody Kazdel civil war. Looking into their eyes, Theresis could see raw fury and deep-seated grudges: an unyielding desire to exact vengeance for their fallen comrades.
Had this been earlier, when he was still flanked by a legion of disciplined soldiers, he wouldn't have spared a second thought for a handful of elite combatants. No matter how powerful individual operators were, they could never stand against a structured, heavy military formation.
Yet now, he stood alone. Even the fiercest tiger stood no chance against a pack of starving wolves—especially when that tiger was severely battered and completely drained of energy.
Furthermore, these operators were far more dangerous than simple hungry beasts. While Theresis felt confident he could overpower any single one of them in a duel, their tactical coordination made them exponential forces on the field.
Facing their flawless joint assault, even Theresis—who knew every spell, weapon, and combat style in their arsenal—found himself stripped of counterplay.
Under their relentless assault, even his iron resilience was breaking down. Multiple deep, bloody slashes marred his body, silent testaments to the sheer brutality of the battle.
Of course, his opponents hadn't escaped unscathed either. Pitted armor on the operators and jagged, cracked craters across Mon3tr's crystalline chassis proved just how lethally the cornered Regent had clawed back.
"Are you still refusing to surrender?" Kal'tsit's eyes remained locked on the stubborn Sarkaz before her. "I see no plausible path to victory for you under these conditions. My recommendation is that we stop wasting time. Ending this now cleanly saves everyone unnecessary effort—wouldn't you agree?"
If possible, Kal'tsit preferred not to drag this clash out any longer. If pushed into an absolute corner, a warrior of Theresis's caliber could easily drag one or two of her operators to the grave with him.
Sacrificing precious personnel for a defeated man was a trade she refused to make. If it came down to that, she would put him down herself to ensure the safety of her squad.
"Hahaha..." Theresis looked around at the circle of weapons pointed at his heart and let out a bitter, tragic laugh. It seemed his time on the stage had finally come to an end.
His last loyal Confessarius had already been subdued by his own sister nearby; he was now truly, utterly alone.
If only he had stationed an emergency detachment outside... If only he had kept Manfred by his side instead of leaving him to guard the rear, perhaps things would have gone smoother. If he had managed to lead out even a small force of his own soldiers, the final outcome of this battle might... still not have changed at all!
He finally understood why he had lost. He had severely underestimated a single enemy, foolishly assuming that removing her trump card guaranteed his triumph. That fundamental error had led to his disastrous ruin—yet the underlying assumption that drove him to make that fatal miscalculation was the most lethal trap of all...
"The sole reason for your defeat," Kal'tsit began, her cold, analytical voice cutting through his thoughts, "is that you relied on two hundred years of military experience to evaluate a person's strength. In almost any other scenario, that experience would grant you overwhelming victory. What you failed to account for was our collaborator... She operates entirely outside the boundaries of common sense."
Kal'tsit read the realization in his eyes and laid bare the root cause of his downfall, her tone laced with a faint sense of relief.
This was nothing to boast about; Kal'tsit was simply relieved that she had managed to secure such an extraordinary ally back then. Without her, none of what they had achieved today would have been possible.
"You are right... I allowed my accumulated years of experience to blind my eyes," Theresis sighed, dropping his gaze. "If I had gathered more intelligence on that girl—no matter how difficult it was—perhaps things wouldn't have ended this way."
Theresis loosened his grip, letting his heavy broadsword clatter to the stone floor. Blood still dripped steadily from his slashed wrists; without emergency field treatment, he would have bled out minutes ago.
Seeing the Regent disarm himself, the surrounding operators let out a collective breath of relief, though none lowered their weapons.
His sword lay mere inches from his feet, and Theresis was a warrior capable of slaughtering a room of men with a simple butter knife—relying on a dropped weapon to feel safe would be sheer idiocy.
"If you truly want me to surrender... then step closer, Kal'tsit!" Theresis stared directly at the Feline standing safely out of range, a sharp, mocking smirk gracing his lips. "I still have plenty of questions I wish to put to you, dear Duchess!"
Despite the open provocation, Kal'tsit paused for a second before stepping forward, walking straight toward her lifelong enemy.
Her action drew immediate, anxious protests from the surrounding team.
"Doctor Kal'tsit, don't!"
They knew full well that Kal'tsit's primary combat capability relied heavily on Mon3tr. Approaching Theresis unarmed put her at immense risk; a warrior of his speed could sever her neck before Mon3tr could even react.
"Rest easy. I know what I am doing," Kal'tsit replied calmly to her team, continuing her steady advance until she stood just steps away from the Regent.
"You actually dare walk up to me?" Theresis watched her intently, making no immediate move to strike. "Is there nothing... you wish to say to me, or to the Sarkaz?"
"If you are referring to the war two hundred years ago," Kal'tsit met his gaze unflinchingly, "I admit my actions back then were extreme. However, as I have stated before, my choices were not driven by simple hatred for the Sarkaz. As for the fake apology you might be hoping to hear... I have no intention of wasting breath on meaningless platitudes."
The two spoke in hushed tones, while the operators above kept their weapons locked onto Theresis. Outcast rested her finger against the trigger of her heavy firearm, ready to put a bullet through the Regent's head the split-second he made a hostile move.
"What an arrogant response..."
"I do not mind that assessment."
"I am curious," Theresis continued quietly. "How did you trick my sister into standing so resolutely by your side, chasing such unrealistic, childish dreams?"
"It was quite simple," Kal'tsit answered smoothly. "I laid out everything I knew—my reasons, my goals, and the terrible threats we must ultimately face. I shared it all with her openly. I will admit, your sister is truly unique among the Lord of Fiends throughout history. Any other monarch would likely have rejected this path."
Kal'tsit spoke with a casual familiarity that implied she had met every Lord of Fiends across the ages. Coming from anyone else, it would sound like wild delusion, but Theresis knew better.
"I cannot understand you, nor can I comprehend your vision of the future," Theresis shook his head slowly. "All I know is that the raging spirits of the Sarkaz will never find rest. I needed to lead them..."
Theresis trailed off, his voice catching in his throat.
He suddenly remembered that just moments ago, he had used a portion of those very ancestral spirits as a weapon—only to see them consumed by dark flames and reduced to piles of ash.
When even those vengeful ancestral souls had burned away seeking their own release, what right did he have left to claim he represented them?
"Aggregating ancient souls cannot build a future for the Sarkaz," Kal'tsit stated flatly. "They are nothing more than echoes of long-dead grievances. If the Sarkaz remain forever shackled to the past, there will be no future to speak of."
"Hearing such words from your mouth is nothing short of hilarious," Theresis sneered bitterly. He didn't necessarily disagree with the core truth of her words—he simply refused to accept it coming from her.
"We have spoken enough. Are you going to surrender peacefully?" Kal'tsit asked, her patience running thin. "Or are you still holding out hope that your so-called allies will swoop in to rescue a man who has outlived his usefulness?"
Seeing Theresis remain motionless, Kal'tsit took a step back.
"Then tell Theresa... to watch closely over the future she so desperately wants for Kazdel!"
With a sudden, fluid motion, Theresis drew a hidden dagger from his belt—not to attack Kal'tsit, but to drive the blade straight into his own neck!
Even in defeat, the former Regent of Kazdel refused to be dragged back to his homeland in chains. His pride as a sovereign would not allow such humiliation.
Yet before the cold steel could pierce his throat, a sharp, sudden prick stung his arm, followed immediately by a rushing wave of numbness that paralyzed his entire body. His fingers lost all strength, and the dagger slipped uselessly from his grasp.
"You..." Theresis gasped, his vision blurring as his body collapsed to the floor.
"I must admit," Kal'tsit said smoothly, stowing a heavy syringe gun back into her coat, "while I frequently criticize Warfarin for her erratic conduct, the chemical sedatives she formulates are remarkably effective."