Chapter 543: [Event] [Elven Utopian War] [82] Ambushed In The Sea

-BAM!

A loud crash jolted Alvara awake.

Her moment of rest—one she had reluctantly taken beside Bryelle—was shattered in an instant. The ship lurched violently, the impact rattling through the walls, and she immediately knew—they had been hit.

Her eyes snapped open, heart pounding, as she turned toward the small porthole in Bryelle’s room.

Ships.

One. Two. Three.

More emerged from the sea, their banners clearly emblazoned with the Utopian emblem.

"No…" Alvara clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms.

They had caught up to them.

And once more, she had no doubt—it was because of her.

For reasons she did not yet understand, they wanted her. And they would stop at nothing to get her.

"Elder Sister…?"

A soft, fearful voice pulled her from her thoughts. Bryelle was awake, staring at her with wide, anxious eyes.

Alvara forced a smile.

"It will be okay." She gently ruffled Bryelle’s hair before reaching for her new umbrella resting on her lap and giving it to Bryelle. "Stay here. Hide. Don’t make a sound. Understood?"

Bryelle’s lower lip trembled. "But Sister… where are you going?"

She already knew the answer. And that was what scared her the most.

Alvara knelt down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I’ll be back soon. I promise."

Before Bryelle could protest, she grabbed the sword she had brought with her and turned toward the door. She didn’t look back as she slipped into the corridor, closing it behind her.

This time, she wouldn’t drag Bryelle into her troubles.

This time, she would fight alone.

If she fell—then so be it.

They could take her.

But they would never have Bryelle.

Alvara’s footsteps echoed down the corridor. Reaching the cabin door leading to the deck, she took a slow, steady breath.

Then—she pushed it open.

The moment she stepped outside, she was met with the sight of James Raven, alone, against a swarm of Utopian Knights.

He stood amidst the carnage, blade in hand, his form wreathed in a swirling aura of blood mana.

They came at him in droves—dozens upon dozens of knights, clad in Utopian armor, flooding the deck. Yet James held his ground, his sword carving arcs of crimson through the night.

James Raven was not someone to be underestimated.

He may not have been a monster in combat, but he stood at the peak of the 8th Ascension, mere steps away from the 9th. If given time, he would reach it—perhaps in months, perhaps within the year. And obviously he had the experience of decades of fights.

But right now, time was not on their side.

More and more Utopian Knights leaped onto the deck from their surrounding ships.

And Alvara knew—if they didn’t do something soon, their escape would become impossible.

They had to move—fast.

Trapped, cornered, and outnumbered, they couldn’t be in any worse situation.

"Look! She’s here!"

"The Teraquin Princess!"

"Catch her!"

The Utopian Knights wasted no time. The moment they spotted Alvara, several of them broke away from the main force and charged straight for her. It was obvious—they needed her alive.

Alvara tightened her grip around her sword. She had no mana, but she didn’t need it. She was a prodigy with the sword.

The first knight swung at her. A wide, reckless arc.

Alvara ducked at the last possible moment, slipping past his strike, and in one swift motion, she slashed across his exposed back. His body jerked as a deep, crimson gash opened, and he crumpled to the deck, his blood pooling beneath him.

Three more knights lunged at her.

She twisted, sidestepping their attacks at hair’s breadth. A kick sent one stumbling backward. She weaved between their strikes, her blade flashed as she slashed at their weakest points—joints, tendons, arteries. Each cut was clean, and lethal. Since they were Elves they didn’t have much physical resistance thankfully and Alvara was still a peak 8 in Ascension.

They barely had a chance to react before they fell, one by one.

But she wasn’t invincible. No matter how skilled she was, she was walking a tightrope. One misstep—one moment of hesitation—and she’d be overwhelmed.

The ship suddenly lurched, violently shaking beneath them.

Another vessel had rammed into theirs.

Alvara managed to steady herself, but the moment she turned her gaze to the newly arrived ship, her expression darkened, as her gaze turned murderous.

Lykhor.

He stood on the enemy deck, bandages covering his mouth, but there was no mistaking him. His green eyes burned with a manic, twisted light as they locked onto Alvara.

More Utopian knights poured onto their deck, weapons drawn.

Then, something even worse struck her.

The ship was moving—but not toward Sancta Vedelia. It was heading somewhere else.

"We lost control of the boat!" She said turning toward James Raven, who was locked in combat against more than thirty knights at once.

He didn’t answer. He already knew. But with the continuous attacks coming at him, he had no time—no way to break away and regain control.

They were being led straight into enemy hands.

With every passing second, more Utopian knights flooded the deck.

Alvara’s movements grew sharper, moving more a instincts but even she couldn’t fight forever. As the numbers stacked against her, she found herself gradually stepping back.

At that moment Lykhor landed on the deck.

A smirk stretched beneath the bandages covering his mouth, his gaze drinking in the sight of Alvara. Despite being vastly outnumbered, she was still dodging, still cutting down foes—but it was getting harder. He could see it.

Then, suddenly—

A massive mana circle ignited beneath their feet, glowing a deep crimson.

Lykhor’s smirk vanished. His eyes flickered with realization.

James Raven.

Without hesitation, Lykhor kicked off the deck, launching himself into the air just as a mix of flames and blood exploded outward.

The Utopian knights barely had time to react before they were engulfed. The moment the fire and searing crimson liquid touched their skin, screams filled the air. Desperate, they threw themselves overboard in the sea.

Alvara sighed, feeling a brief moment of relief—

But it was short-lived.

Lykhor simply raised his hand, and within seconds, another wave of a hundred knights swarmed onto the deck.

Alvara clenched her teeth, her gaze shifting toward the control board.

The Utopians had taken complete control.

Their ship was now being steered straight toward the Utopian Capital.

James knew. She knew. But neither of them had the time—or the means—to stop it.

And soon enough, Alvara found herself completely surrounded.

She braced herself, gripping her sword tighter—

Then, without warning, the deck shifted.

Shadows rippled unnaturally across the wood, dark and murky, like something slithering just beneath the surface. Then—they emerged.

Figures crawled out of the darkness, moving in strange, mechanical jerks. Their movements were stiff, unnatural—like puppets controlled by unseen strings.

They wielded swords. Their eyes glowed with an eerie, lifeless gleam.

The Utopian knights froze.

Some instinctively stepped back, their gazes darting around in confusion. This…wasn’t Alvara’s doing.

Alvara, too, froze. Then, slowly, she turned her head.

There.

Standing just behind here was a stunning blonde beauty, watching the battlefield with a composed gaze.

The puppets were obviously hers.

One by one, over a hundred of them materialized, moving toward the knights. Physically, they weren’t strong—but sheer numbers made up for it. The Utopians found themselves overwhelmed, forced onto the defensive as the puppet army swarmed them.

This was Amael’s doing.

He had stealthily sent Annabelle to ensure Alvara’s protection.

Celeste was no longer in danger—she had already grown strong enough to handle even powerful foes.

But Alvara’s case was different.

Amael wanted to make sure she didn’t stray down the wrong path. Moreover she was in a weakened state so just in case he asked Annabelle to keep an eye on her and he had been right.

Alvara’s eyes widened slightly as she recognized Annabelle.

She had seen her before—once, when Amael had first brought her to the academy. But how the hell had she appeared out of nowhere?

There was only one explanation: Amael had sent her.

James, too, recognized her, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He had often noticed Annabelle watching from the sidelines as he trained with Amael. But just as that thought crossed his mind—

A chill shot down his spine.

Instinct kicked in. James swung his sword up—

A streak of silver light slammed into him.

"Ugh—!"

The sheer force sent him flying backward, his sword nearly torn from his grasp. He barely managed to deflect the blow, but the impact was so strong that it hurled him toward the edge of the ship—

Toward the sea.

And then—

A silver streak rushed past them, cutting through the sky.

James gritted his teeth, recognizing that man.

Durathiel.

His heterochromia eyes were locked onto James as he rushed toward him. Continue your journey on NovelBin.Côm

Annabelle’s fingers curled into fists.

"Hurry up, Edward…"

She muttered under her breath.

"Bryelle!!"

But at that time, Alvara’s shout rang out.

Annabelle’s head snapped around.

Her heart dropped.

Across the deck, a Utopian knight had seized Bryelle, gripping the handles of her wheelchair as he dragged her out of the cabin.

And then—Lykhor joined him.

A twisted chuckle escaped from behind the bandages covering his mouth as he walked toward Bryelle.

Without hesitation, he reached out—and grabbed a fistful of her hair.

"Ah—!"

Bryelle let out a painful cry, her frail body crumpling the moment she was yanked out of her wheelchair. Her weak legs gave out beneath her.

"L–Leave her!!"

Alvara lunged forward, her entire being screaming to reach Bryelle—

But it was too late.

Lykhor turned his gaze toward Alvara. His smirk stretched wider, his eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement as he lifted his sword—

Alvara’s face drained of color.

"NO—!"

Her hand shot out—

-Spurt

The world seemed to freeze around.

Bryelle’s body jerked.

Her eyes, once vivid green, widened in shock as a sword pierced straight through her chest.

Blood bloomed across her dress, the deep red spreading.

"A–Ah…" Her lips parted, but no words came out. Only a faint, shuddering breath.

Her fingers, which had been desperately clutching Lykhor’s arm, lost their strength—

And then, they fell limply to her sides.