The Alpha's Regret: Return Of The Betrayed Luna - Chapter 333

Chapter 333: Chapter 333 Fighting The Ogres 5
Every second was a battle to stay conscious, to endure without collapsing.

Now, Shura’s healing was at work, knitting his torn flesh and mending what he could. All Zion had to do now was hold on, just a little longer, until Shura restored his body enough for him to rise again and continue the fight.

But the ogres weren’t about to give Zion any chance to recover. Their heads snapped toward him, fury blazing in their eyes; if looks could kill, Zion would have died a hundred times over.

Seeing their fallen brothers writhing in pain only fueled their rage. The first and third ogre locked onto Zion with murderous intent and, without hesitation, charged straight at him.

Addison’s heart clenched. She could no longer stay calm; she knew a decision had to be made. The warriors around Zion felt the same; their instincts screamed at them not to let an Alpha fall, even if he was not of their pack.

An Alpha was still an Alpha, a leader of wolves, and protecting him was their duty, even at the cost of their lives.

Warriors were meant to die with dignity and pride in battle, not cower behind their Alpha. With that unshakable resolve, they stepped forward as one, forming a protective wall in front of Zion.

Seeing this, Addison realized that if she didn’t act, everyone would die. The warriors stood bravely before Zion, but with the ogres’ sheer momentum, they could be crushed in an instant, and Zion would fall with them, as he was currently helpless and immobile.

Their sacrifice would mean nothing.

Without a second thought, Addison burst from her hiding place. She gripped the dagger between her index and middle fingers, her thumb steadying the hilt. With a flick of her wrist, the blade snapped forward like a whip, slicing through the air before sinking into the second ogre’s eye socket.

The beast roared in agony, thrashing as Addison yanked the dagger free. The first and third ogres faltered at the sound, but before they could even shift their gaze, Addison was already upon the wounded one.

The second ogre swung its arm to grab her, but its body refused to obey. Instead, it lurched forward, jaws gaping wide, trying to bite her down whole.

But as the ogre leaned closer, it only brought its massive head within Addison’s reach. Seizing the opening, she swiftly shoved the rope and dagger back into her magic bag. In the very next heartbeat—

Gush…

Splatter…

Thud…

What followed was silence, though inside, Addison was reeling, barely able to process what she had just done.

All she knew was that she had thrown herself forward, skidding to a stop before the second ogre. She had struck only to force another roar of pain from it, gambling that the sound would halt the two charging ogres before they could reach Zion.

Reckless as it was, she hoped it would buy him even a few precious moments to heal.

Once she steadied herself in front of the towering creature, she shoved the rope and dagger back into her magic bag. Instead, she drew the weapon Silas had once handed her with a smirk, teasingly calling it the “Slayer Sword.”

She had never dared use it until now. The weapon itself was too conspicuous—its design unmistakably one used by paladins of the Sacred Land.

To wield it openly risked being accused of flaunting the temple’s name for her own vanity, something she refused to do. The Sacred Land carried too much weight, and she could not ride on its authority so lightly.

Besides, Addison had always doubted Silas’s gift.

A Paladin’s sword was no mere weapon; it was a divine armament bestowed upon the Holy Knights who served the temple, a symbol of the gods’ power and the vow to protect both the Sacred Land and the Saintess who bore their blessing.

Could Silas truly have given her something so sacred?

Addison doubted it, but just to be sure, she never brought it out.

But what Silas never told Addison, and the reason she had only ever called it the “Slayer Sword” in jest, was that its name was no exaggeration.

The weapon was indeed a sword made to slay. Though it came from the Sacred Land, it was no paladin’s blade. Long ago, thousands of years in the past, this very sword had been branded a cursed weapon.

It had once belonged to a valiant elf prince, a hero who led armies to defend the Divine Tree from invaders.

He was noble, fearless, and victorious. But the longer he wielded the sword, the more blood it drank, which came from human, monster, and beast alike.

The endless carnage awakened something within the blade, and the weapon began to form a consciousness of its own. It whispered into its wielder’s mind, corrupting him, twisting valor into madness, until he turned his strength upon friend and foe alike.

The Sacred Land was forced to act.

They dispatched their Holy Knight captain along with the finest warriors of their order to stop him. The battle that followed was catastrophic as an entire division of elite knights was slaughtered by the very hero the elves had once revered.

In the end, only the captain survived, and even he barely managed to bring the cursed sword back to the Sacred Land.

Since then, the “Slayer Sword” had been sealed away as a reminder of how even a normal weapon could be corrupted into something monstrous.

In the end, even the Holy Knight Captain barely survived, left with only one arm and one eye. But he had no choice.

The cursed blade had to be brought back to the Sacred Land. If left to wander the world, it would only bring more slaughter and might even ascend into becoming a true demon sword, one capable of summoning creatures from the abyss.

That outcome would have been far worse than the tragedy it already brought.

So the knights were sacrificed.

They brought the weapon back in chains, and the Saintess herself was called upon to perform the cleansing ritual. Yet the task was far from simple. The blade was saturated with the cries of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of souls who had perished by its blade.

The resentment and agony clung to the metal like tar. Purging it was not a matter of days or years, but centuries.

Only now, after ages of painstaking rites, was the last trace of its corruption finally burned away. The “Slayer Sword” had been transformed into a divine weapon, no longer a curse upon the world but a symbol of redemption.

Why, then, did Silas entrust such a weapon to Addison?

The answer was actually very simple.

Silas saw her as a sister, someone worth protecting. She knew Addison’s path would not be an easy one, and since Addison could not always rely on her wolf, she needed another way to defend herself.

So Silas had placed the sword in her hands, not as a burden, but as a gift, a shield, and a promise.

Of course, Silas could never openly share the true history of the “Slayer Sword” with Addison. She knew all too well that if Addison learned of its past, she would have rejected it outright.