Invincible Blood Sorceror

Chapter 44: You killed your brother?!

Just as the human circle began to tighten, Par’shan arrived like a force of nature.

His axes swept in deadly arcs, each stroke accompanied by crackling bolts of lightning that reduced armour to slag and flesh to ash. The tempest warrior’s battle cry shook the very foundations of the turtle isle as he carved through the enemy formation.

”Get behind me, young lords!” He bellowed, his weapons already seeking new targets. ”I’ll clear us a path out of here.”

Then, suddenly, a loud blaring noise reverberated throughout the area.

It was the cannon beam, a straight line of energy, a type of attack.

The cannon blast came without warning.

A beam of pure destructive energy, wide as a building and bright as a newborn star, lanced down from the flagship above.

It struck the section of the platform where Sigora was fighting, vaporizing a dozen human soldiers and elves too instantly and sending shockwaves rippling through the surface.

ARGGURRR!!

A loud groaning noise shook their surroundings, and the ground trembled for a second.

Sigora, caught completely off guard by the indiscriminate fire from what she had assumed were allied vessels, was hurled backward by the blast wave.

Her eight-foot frame tumbled through the air like a broken doll, her protective barriers shattered, her graceful form reduced to deadweight by the overwhelming force.

”AUNTIE!” Jorghan’s scream cut through the battlefield as he saw her falling.

Despite his shattered ribs, despite the blood streaming from his wounds, despite the agony that accompanied every movement, Jorghan launched himself forward.

He pushed himself further, and without him knowing, there was a change occurring inside his body.

[Mana at 98%]

[Healing Initiated]

He caught Sigora just before she would have crashed into the jagged crystal formations, his smaller frame somehow managing to cushion her fall even as the impact drove fresh spikes of pain through his already battered body.

She was unconscious, her brown skin pale and waxy, blood trickling from her ears and nose.

But she was breathing.

Barely.

The battlefield had fallen into an eerie silence, all combatants stopping to stare at a vessel, which was medium-sized but with a sleek design, that was slowly descending toward them.

It was different from the others—larger, more ornate, its hull decorated with golden symbols that seemed to writhe and shift when looked at directly.

It had a big insignia of the empire carved on its left side.

As it moved towards them and stopped at a distance, a boarding ramp extended from its belly like a metallic tongue.

Figures began to emerge—honor guards in pristine armor, banner bearers carrying standards that fluttered without any wind, and finally...

A man stepped into view at the ship’s prow, his silhouette backlit by the vessel’s internal lighting. He was tall and imposing, dressed in the finest robes that money and power could buy. His face was weathered but strong, marked by the kind of confidence that came from years of absolute authority.

He was a man in his thirties, handsome and charming.

Jorghan’s face went white as bone.

He knew that face.

He never forgot that face in the last six years; he never would.

”Hawkin,” he whispered, the name falling from his lips like a curse.

Sigora stirred in his arms, her eyes fluttering open just enough to focus on the figure above them. She woke up as though she heard the name. Her reaction was immediate—shock, disbelief, and something deeper.

Something that looked almost like grief.

”Well, well, well,” Hawkin called down, his voice carrying easily across the silent battlefield.

”What do we have here?”

He descended the ramp with leisurely confidence, each step measured and deliberate.

Behind him came his retinue—officers, advisors, and personal guards whose loyalty had been bought with blood and gold.

”A lovely time to have a family reunion.”

”Imagine my surprise,” Hawkin continued, his eyes fixed on Jorghan with the intensity of a beast studying prey, ”when I saw you in our camp, roaming around like you owned the place. My dear nephew, alive and well after all these years.”

Yvonne and Radulff appeared at his flanks, both bowing deeply despite their wounds.

Radulff still favored his shattered leg, but his face showed only reverence for the man before him.

”My Lord,” Yvonne said, her voice thick with respect and barely contained excitement.

They were confused as to their lord speaking with such familiarity with that boy. But they didn’t dare mention it.

Jorghan’s mind reeled, trying to process what he was seeing.

This couldn’t be real.

It had to be some kind of illusion, some trick of the enemy to break his spirit.

That bastard—his father’s own brother—couldn’t be leading the force that was destroying his adopted home.

But Hawkin’s next words shattered any hope of denial.

”Sister Sigora,” he said, his tone carrying mock warmth as he gazed down at the injured elf woman.

”I thought you had abandoned your dear brother Ser’gu when things became... unpleasant. Who knew that you would end up saving his son instead?”

Sigora struggled to sit up, her brown skin ashen but her eyes blazing with defiance.

”Hawkin... you ungrateful bastard, you joined those spineless worms of empire?”

”By betraying our family.”

Hawkin’s laugh was like broken glass.

”Our family? Dear sister, I think you’re confused about which family I belong to now.”

The truth hit Jorghan like a physical blow.

After Ser’gu’s father’s death, Hawkin had left their tribal lands.

He had sought power elsewhere, pledging his loyalty to the Radiant All-Father Emperor of the Holy Empire. Through cunning, ruthlessness, and sheer determination, he had climbed the ranks until he commanded fleets and armies.

And then, when he was strong enough, when he had the backing of an empire behind him...

He had returned to kill Ser’gu.

The memory came flooding back—Jorghan’s father dying, the boy’s first berserker rage, the world dissolving into blood and fire.

Hawkin had assumed the child had died in that conflagration, consumed by his own unleashed power.

He had been wrong.

”You killed him,” Jorghan whispered, his voice barely audible but carrying clearly in the unnatural silence.

”You killed your own brother.”

Hawkin’s expression didn’t change. ”I eliminated a threat to the natural order. Ser’gu was too proud and too stubborn to see that our people’s time was ending. He would have led you all to extinction through his arrogance.”

”So you decided to do it yourself,” Sigora spat, struggling to her feet with Jorghan’s help.

Even injured, she towered over the human soldiers around them, her eight-foot frame radiating barely contained fury.

The elves were having a field day today, standing there, watching them.

Swana held onto Sik’ra, his breathing becoming shallow by the second.

”I chose evolution over extinction,” Hawkin replied calmly.

”I chose to serve a power that could actually win, rather than cling to the corpse of a dying civilization.”