(Narrator POV)

Yuuta smiled.

It wasn't the smile of a hero who stood tall against despair, nor the grin of a warrior mocking death. It was clumsy, fragile, almost foolish. And yet—it was the same smile he had always given her.

Awkward, yes. But warm. Human.

Blood slid down his chin. His body trembled, too battered to even stand, and yet he forced that same familiar curve onto his lips. As if to say, even in ruin: "I'm okay. Don't grieve."

To others, it was idiotic Smile.

To Erza, it was everything.

Her breath caught in her throat. That smile—the one she had painted in her Kingdom during countless lonely nights, the one she longed for in silence—appeared before her again. But not in peace. Not in joy.

Now it came drenched in blood, weighed down by agony.

Her chest tightened until it hurt. Her aura, which had been raging like an uncontrollable storm, faltered for the first time.

And Elga saw it.

The beast-warrior turned, her predatory eyes narrowing as she caught sight of Erza clutching her temples, trembling under the weight of emotions she could no longer contain. A slow, vicious grin spread across Elga's lips.

"Special Commander," she growled, her voice low and guttural, heavy with pride. "This prey is mine."

The words rang across the chamber, sharp as steel. Soldiers and guards froze. To them, Erza's suffocating aura had not been grief or rage—it was hunger. They thought she, too, had been fighting the urge to claim the demon king contractor beneath Elga's fist. And now, seeing her shake with frustration, they mistook it for envy.

They believed she was not mourning. She was disappointed.

Disappointed she had not struck first Yuuta.

That poisonous thought spread through the chamber like fire, infecting every mind.

And Elga, feeding on that illusion, lifted her fist once more.

Her glare locked onto Yuuta's eyes. Not his broken body, not the blood dripping from his lips—only his eyes. Those eyes that unsettled her, that burned with something she could neither name nor crush. They made her chest quiver, not with respect, but with fear she could never admit.

To her, they were filth. A stain. An abomination.

But to Erza… they were her entire world.

Elga roared, and the sound shook the walls like thunder. Her fist descended, swift and merciless, like a falling star. Its target: Yuuta's swollen, bloodied eye—the one that refused to close, that still clung to life only so it could meet Erza's gaze.

The chamber shook.

A deafening boom split the air as Elga's fist came crashing down—but before it could meet Yuuta, the floor beneath them erupted. Stone split apart like paper. Dust and debris exploded upward, drowning the scene in a choking storm of smoke and shattered fragments.

Gasps filled the chamber. Soldiers staggered back, weapons raised in confusion.

"Wh–what was that?!" someone stammered.

They had all heard it—the terrible impact, the sound that should have been Yuuta's skull breaking under Elga's blow. But something was wrong. Something didn't match.

As the smoke thinned, shapes emerged. And then silence fell like a blade.

Elga was no longer crouched over her prey.

She was slumped against the far wall, her body mangled as though she had been struck by a charging Truck. Bones jutted at unnatural angles. Blood dripped from her lips. Her chest heaved with ragged, shallow gasps. She tried to rise, but her arms quivered uselessly, betraying her.

She didn't even understand what had happened. That was how fast it had been.

The soldiers' eyes darted to the center of the chamber—and froze.

There stood Erza.

Her aura swirled around her like a storm barely restrained, frost snaking across the broken ground. In her arms lay Yuuta, limp and bloodied, cradled as though he were a fragile treasure that the world had no right to touch.

Her lips brushed his ruined face, tenderly, almost desperately. She licked away the blood that stained his skin, as if she could erase the violence done to him with her own touch.

No one dared breathe. Their training urged them to raise weapons, but their instincts screamed at them to stay perfectly still.

Erza's face was unexpectedly gentle as she looked down at Yuuta, her eyes soft despite the chaos around them.

Yuuta's lips curved into a faint, relieved smile. She hasn't fallen into grief… she isn't the murderous queen yet. "I knew… I knew you'd overcome it, I am so Glad.." he murmured, his voice strained but full of warmth.

From a distance, everyone watched the scene in stunned silence.Betrayal. How could Erza lift Demon king master with such care, holding him as if he were part of her own body, while her aura still radiated danger? Shock and disbelief rippled through the crowd—no one could reconcile this gentle act with the destructive force they had feared.

" My que...Special Commander…!" Sara's voice finally cut through, sharp but shaking. Her blade trembled in her grip as she leveled it toward Erza. "What is the meaning of this? Explain yourself!"

But Erza did not glance her way. Not even once.

Her entire being—her aura, her heartbeat, her trembling breath—was fixed only on the broken man in her arms.

Sara grit her teeth, trying to steady her voice, when another voice came from the side.

"Chief… don't…" Erika's voice trembled, barely above a whisper. Her hands fidgeted at her sides, betraying the weight of the secret she carried. "He… he's Erza's younger brother."

Sara froze. Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, all sound seemed to vanish. She turned sharply to Erika, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Younger brother?" she repeated, her voice rising despite herself. "That's… impossible! Erza has a younger brother? No—this is absurd! It can't be real!"

Erika's expression remained calm, almost matter-of-fact. "Chief… it is true," she said quietly, her gaze steady.

Sara's eyes narrowed, disbelief and frustration warring inside her. "Don't be stupid! How… how could he be beaten like that if he's her brother? He should be—" Her words faltered, swallowed by the confusion twisting in her mind.

Erika's gaze held firm. There was no hesitation, no flicker of uncertainty. "It's true," she said simply.

Sara's mind raced. Erika might not have known Erza's full nature, but Sara did. Erza wasn't just a dragon—she was a Royal Dragon, a direct descendant of the Primal Dragon. If Yuuta was truly her brother, then he wasn't human. He was a Royal Dragon too… someone who should be unstoppable, someone who could have obliterated Elga without a scratch.

Yet here he was—beaten, bleeding, human in every visible way. The contradiction twisted Sara's thoughts, sending a chill down her spine, Because she too sense dragon scent on him.

Her lips parted, a thousand questions threatening to spill out, but no words came.

Yuuta lay in her arms, broken and bleeding, his body trembling with exhaustion. Erza pressed her lips to his, tongue brushing his in a careful, deliberate rhythm. The moment their mouths met, a soft glow spread across him, like a sunrise over a storm-tossed sea. Her mana flowed into him, weaving through torn flesh and shattered bones, knitting him whole.

Relief washed over Yuuta as the agony ebbed from his body. "Sleep, my mortal," Erza whispered, her voice steady and gentle. "You'll be healed."

Yuuta's lips moved, forming words so faint they barely stirred the air between them. Even Sara and the others, straining to catch a single syllable, could not make sense of it. Not even the heavens—or the author of this story—knew what he whispered into Erza's ear.

Her eyes widened for an instant, then softened. She gave a small, resolute nod, as if sealing a silent pact only the two of them would ever share.

Yuuta's eyelids fluttered, heavy with exhaustion. The sharp, tearing pain that had wracked his body moments ago ebbed away, swallowed by a gentle warmth. It was as though light itself cradled him. With a faint smile, he let go of his struggle and drifted into the quiet embrace of sleep.

Erza watched him, her eyes softening for just a heartbeat. Then, with precise control, she raised her leg and summoned a shield of ice. It enveloped him, crystalline and unyielding, a barrier that would protect him from anything. The shield shimmered like a Cocoon, making sure nothing in the room could harm him while he slept peacefully.

Her attention shifted to the chaos around her. The guards, the agents, even Elga—they all froze under her gaze. There was no mercy in her expression, no hesitation. Only the cold, unflinching aura of a warrior ready to strike.

Sara felt it immediately. That look—the infamous, merciless calm that could unnerve the strongest kingdom—made her blood run cold.

"Everyone… leave this room!" Sara shouted, trying to force the fear from her voice, but her words trembled.

Erza didn't move her gaze from the intruders. Her sword lifted, the legendary blade gleaming in her hand. It was a weapon that had tasted the blood of countless enemies, a weapon that demanded respect and fear.

In that instant, she was no longer just Erza. She was the merciless blade of Atlantis, a storm personified, a force that could tear anyone apart who dared oppose her. Every inch of her radiated power. Every heartbeat screamed warning.

The chamber fell into silence, broken only by the faint hum of the ice shield around Yuuta. Captians and agents froze, knowing instinctively that one wrong move could be their last.

Sara's eyes widened, fear surging through her chest. She finally understood why Erza had been called the Merciless Blade of Atlantis. That title wasn't just a name—it was earned, bestowed only upon those who had achieved something so dreadful, so absolute, that even lower Gods whispered their deeds with caution.

The title itself was proof. Proof that Erza wasn't merely powerful, but a lord-class threat—an existence beyond anything Sara could hope to confront.

And standing there now, watching the faint tremor in the air around Erza, Sara knew one truth with chilling clarity: she couldn't deal with her at all.

The chamber had grown unnaturally still. The cold wasn't the simple bite of winter air—it was suffocating, heavy, the kind that crawled beneath the skin and froze the blood from within. Every breath burned like needles scraping through the lungs.

And at the center of it stood Erza.

Her heel pressed softly against the floor. The sound was delicate, almost too faint to notice—yet the world answered as though struck by a hammer.

A wave of frost exploded outward.

It moved like a living thing, racing across the stone in a furious tide, swallowing everything in its path. Walls paled, weapons froze brittle, and the very air shimmered with ice crystals. The guards barely had time to scream before the cold devoured them whole. Their bodies froze mid-motion, trapped in gleaming prisons of ice, their eyes wide with horror.

Even the captains—Sara's handpicked elites—were helpless. Their training, their strength, none of it mattered. They were alive inside the ice, yet powerless to move, their frozen expressions forever twisted in terror.

Only Sara and Allen, caught at the far edge, were spared from being completely consumed. Even so, frost coiled at their boots and fingertips, a warning that they stood only a breath away from sharing the others' fate.

The sound of cracking ice echoed like bones breaking. The chamber itself seemed to groan under the weight of Erza's fury.

And through it all, she remained calm.

Her sword glimmered faintly in the dim light, the edge sharp enough to cut the silence itself. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady—too steady. Cold, unshakable, and merciless.

"Anyone who stands between me and her," Erza said, her words cutting like a blade across stone, "will die by my hand. Elga wounded what is mine. And she will repay it."

The declaration hung heavy in the air. It wasn't a warning. It wasn't a threat. It was absolute.

The words were not a threat. They were a decree. A final law that none dared to test.

No one spoke. No one even breathed too loudly. They all understood the truth: the ice was not just ice—it was a prison with teeth. Struggle against it, and the cracks would spread, tearing through flesh and bone alike. To fight was to die in agony. That was the cruelty of her power. That was why she had earned her name—the merciless blade who gave no second chance.

To resist her was not bravery. It was suicide.

Sara, who had always met violence with venom, felt something unfamiliar coil in her chest—fear.

Erza began to walk. Slowly. Each step pressed into the glacier, and the sound echoed like a death knell. She didn't rush, didn't falter. There was no doubt in her stride, only inevitability.

And there, sprawled on the frozen floor, was Elga.

Elga dragged herself up from the floor, her limbs trembling, her body cracked and battered from Erza's fist. Every breath rattled through her broken ribs, but her pride—fierce, stubborn, lion-like—refused to bow. Blood spilled from her mouth, yet her eyes still burned with defiance.

Her roar split the silence. It was raw, guttural, like a beast cornered yet unwilling to submit.

"Have you forgotten the laws of this Agency?" she spat, her voice thick with rage and pain. "No one dares steal another's prey, not even you Erza!"

The chamber trembled with her cry. But Erza did not flinch.

She stood still, her blade gleaming faintly, her presence colder than the glacier underfoot. When her lips parted, her voice carried no anger, only certainty.

"That is not your prey," she said, each word sharp enough to cut. Her gaze never wavered. "That man… is my husband."

The room froze, more than it already was.

Elga let out a bitter, broken laugh, the sound echoing off the chamber walls. Pain twisted through her body, but her pride—fierce and stubborn—refused to yield. "What nonsense," she rasped, voice shaking. "You're going to go up against the entire Agency for a weak man? One who can't even defend himself? You'd risk everything for him?"

Erza's gaze was steady, unblinking. Her voice dropped, calm yet cutting like a honed blade. "Do you understand what he means to me?" she said slowly, each word deliberate, heavy with unshakable certainty. "He is the man I would burn the world for. I would stand against gods themselves for him. To everyone else, he may seem weak—but to me, he is the strongest thing that exists. That is how precious he is."

She stepped closer, the air between them thick with the weight of her presence. Her violet eyes glimmered with a deadly calm, polished and unyielding. "And you… you touched him as if he were nothing." The words were soft, almost intimate, yet each syllable carried the promise of utter destruction.

Every nerve in the room seemed to tense. Even the frozen guards could feel the weight of her declaration—the undeniable force of a woman who would destroy anything that dared threaten what she loved.

A ripple of shock ran through the soldiers and captains trapped in ice. None of them had known. None had even imagined their Special Commander—the infamous Merciless Blade of Libeus Agency—had a husband. And worse, that he was this human which they had beaten him brutally.

Sara's breath caught. The truth clicked together—the faint dragon scent clinging to Yuuta, the strange aura that felt earlier familiar. He hadn't been cursed. He hadn't been marked. He was bound. He was Erza's mate along.

And among dragons, a mate was not mere affection. It was sacred. To harm them was to defy destiny itself.

Elga watched Erza walk toward her like the shadow of death incarnate, each measured step folding the distance into inevitability. In the hollow between heartbeats, a memory crawled up from the dark—Yuuta's voice, ragged and defiant the last time she'd silenced him. "If you kill me, you will regret."

At the time she'd laughed in rage—how could she not? He had been a broken, trembling thing then: a human, small and fragile. What threat could he possibly pose to her? She had written his words off as the bravado of the desperate.

Now, watching Erza approach, the truth carved itself into her bones.

Panic rose like acid in Elga's throat. She felt the lie of her own certainty peel away, exposing the cold, awful fact: she was not the hunter here. She was prey. And the hunter coming for her wore frost and steel and the patience of an executioner.

Elga's body trembled, yet a broken laugh escaped her. Whether it was madness or pride, no one could tell.

Elga's lips quivered, though she tried to twist them into a smile. Her chest tightened with fear, but pride forced her to stand straight. She lifted her hand, trembling yet defiant, and forced out words that carried more desperation than courage.

"What a good opportunity, Erza," she said, her tone wavering as though she were trying to convince herself. "Today… I'll fight you with this hand of mine."

Erza's gaze never shifted, calm and unreadable. She tilted her head slightly, her crimson eyes catching the faint light. The silence between them stretched, heavy and suffocating, until Erza finally spoke.

"What hand?"

Her voice was quiet, but the chill it carried was enough to make Elga's world tremble.

Confused, Elga opened her mouth to answer—but before she could even react, Erza vanished into thin air. The speed was impossible; it was as if the world itself had paused for a heartbeat.

A sudden, searing pain erupted in Elga's body. She looked down—and froze. Her hand was gone. Horror slammed into her like a hammer. "Ahhhhhhh!" Her scream tore through the chamber, echoing off the walls. Blood spurted like a fountain, staining the floor as agony consumed her.

Collapsed on the ground, she tried to turn, and then she saw Erza. Her hands held Elga's severed limb in one, a sword in the other, blood glistening on both.

"It's been so long…" Erza said, her tone icy, almost casual, "…since I've smelled blood."

The chamber fell silent.

Tears spilled from Elga's eyes, streaking her face as agony and fear overwhelmed her. She hadn't even seen the strike. She hadn't understood. Only now did the truth sink into her bones.

She had never been Erza's equal. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

And when she met Erza's gaze, her pride shattered. Those merciless eyes allowed no plea, no forgiveness. They belonged to the woman that her world called—

The Merciless Blade of Atlantis.

And mercy was something she had never promised.

To be continued.

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