Re: Elf Prince—A Degenerate's Second Chance-Chapter 105. The Fall of Red Claw

105. The Fall of Red Claw

The night air crackled with tension as Eryndor stepped forward, his silver-white hair swaying with the weight of impending battle. His sharp blue eyes locked onto Red Claw, who stood bloodied yet defiant, his fangs bared in raw frustration. Merylin, clutching her wound, stood at his side, her breathing ragged but her resolve unshaken.

Red Claw twirled his dagger between his fingers and sneered. "You expect to win, boy? Without magic, without power? I have to admit your swordmanship is above average but it’s just that."

Eryndor’s expression remained unreadable. His muscles coiled like a panther ready to strike. "Power isn’t just magic. It’s skill, discipline, and knowing when to strike." Compared to the old elf he had gone up against many times this was nothing.

Red Claw lunged first. His dagger carved through the air like a streak of silver lightning, aiming straight for Eryndor’s throat. In an instant, Eryndor’s body moved—no hesitation, no wasted motion. He twisted just enough for the blade to graze past his shoulder, and before Red Claw could recover, he delivered a brutal elbow strike to the beastman’s sternum.

A sickening crack echoed.

Red Claw staggered, his breath hitching. But his reflexes were sharp. He retaliated with a sweeping kick aimed at Eryndor’s ribs.

Merylin intercepted from the side

Her figure blurred as she leaped in, her claws raking toward her father’s exposed flank. Red Claw barely twisted in time, the sharp nails grazing his ribs. Blood splattered across the dirt.

With a guttural snarl, Red Claw spun, his dagger flashing toward Merylin’s midsection.

But Eryndor was faster.

He hooked an arm around Merylin’s waist, yanking her out of danger just as the blade whistled past her stomach. Their movements were synchronized, seamless. Eryndor released Merylin, his footwork fluid as he danced around Red Claw’s defenses, slipping through the gaps like a shadow.

Then he struck.

A precise, devastating knee to Red Claw’s ribs.

Red Claw coughed blood. His eyes flickered with shock—this human fought with an efficiency that was oddly terrifying. He swung wildly, trying to catch Eryndor off guard. But each strike was either dodged by a hair’s breadth or deflected with a perfect parry.

Merylin wasn’t idle either.

As Eryndor occupied Red Claw’s front, she attacked from behind. Her nails extended, glowing with a faint amber light. She clawed deep into Red Claw’s back, tearing through sinew.

The beastman howled ferociously.

In fury, he spun and kicked Merylin away with great force, but Eryndor capitalized on the opening in an instant. His fist shot forward like a cannonball. A direct punch to the jaw.

The ground shook as Red Claw crashed down.

His body bounced off the wood floor and tumbled, his vision blurring for a few seconds. His instincts screamed at him to move, to fight, but—

Eryndor was already there.

The white-haired warrior stood over him, his stance composed yet menacing. He didn’t give Red Claw even a second to recover. His leg snapped up, and a vicious downward axe-kick drove Red Claw’s head into the ground with a thunderous impact.

The beastman coughed out blood and grit, his body convulsing. His arms shook as he tried to push himself up.

Merylin wiped blood from her mouth. "It’s over, Father. Stop this."

Red Claw wheezed. His vision swam, his chest burned, but his pride refused to surrender. "I... I am... your chief."

Eryndor tilted his head. "No. You’re just another tyrant who couldn’t accept change. I didn’t even have to use my sword art."

Red Claw roared and forced himself up with sheer willpower, his body battered but not yet broken. He lunged one final time, dagger in hand, all of his strength behind this desperate strike.

And then—

Eryndor stepped forward, one inch closer, his body shifting in perfect harmony.

Red Claw realized too late.

A single, flawless counter-punch.

The sound of knuckles meeting flesh reverberated through the bloody battlefield. Eryndor’s fist slammed into Red Claw’s gut with an impact so devastating it distorted the air around them.

Blood erupted from Red Claw’s mouth. His body arched from the sheer force, his consciousness flickering. The beastman’s body collapsed, motionless, save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Silence.

Then a sharp exhale.

Eryndor lowered his fist. His breathing was controlled, his muscles relaxed.

The battle was over.

Merylin fell to her knees, clutching her wound. Relief mixed with exhaustion in her amber eyes. "You... you really did it."

Eryndor glanced at Red Claw’s broken form. "No, we did."

Erina, who had remained conscious despite her injuries, forced herself to her feet, her fox ears twitching. Her gaze lingered on her fallen husband—on the man who had once been her mate, her equal. She said nothing.

The village chief, battered but alive, finally spoke. "Red Claw’s reign ends today."

Eryndor turned his back to the unconscious beastman and exhaled. "Don’t mess with things you can’t control."

Ash clapped his hand as he came forward. "Yeah, nobody messaged with my brother right here." He looked everywhere more bloody than Eryndor did. It made him wonder just how ferocious he was in a battle.

In the aftermath of the battle, Eryndor Sylvaren, Ash Velarion and Elise were praised as heroes for their deed. Elise healed those who could still be healed but for shivered limbs they remained severed. Eryndor and Ash spent their time there well, after recieving a well deserved apology from the he village chief Eryndor stayed behind to learn beast sword style battle art while the three became closed companions.

Merylin and her family took their time recovering from the betrayal of her father.

The days following Red Claw’s fall were filled with quiet rebuilding. The village, once weighed down by his unseen tyranny, slowly found its rhythm again. Fires burned not with destruction, but with warmth. The air no longer carried the scent of blood, but of renewal.

Eryndor stood at the outskirts, watching as Merylin helped her mother, Erina, distribute spoils of the hunt among the villagers. Her amber eyes, though shadowed with loss, held a newfound clarity. The burden of her father’s legacy no longer shackled her.

Ash nudged Eryndor with his elbow. "You’re staring."

Eryndor sighed, shaking his head. "Just making sure she’s okay."

Ash smirked. "Right. And I’m a saint."

Elise, sitting on a nearby rock, smirked as well. "You could at least tell her you care, you know. She’s been through a lot."

Eryndor didn’t respond immediately. He wasn’t the type to say things out loud. Actions spoke louder, and right now, his actions were staying in this village longer than he had planned. He had come here as a sort of explorer, but now, he was something more—a protector, an ally. Perhaps even a friend.

Merylin approached, wiping her hands on a cloth. "You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?"

Eryndor studied her, then exhaled. "Yeah. Ash and I... we have other places to be."

Merylin’s lips pressed together, but she nodded. "I thought so." A small, almost sad smile touched her face. "Still, thank you. For everything."

Eryndor hesitated. Then, in a rare display, he reached out, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You don’t need to thank me. You’ve got a home to rebuild. A life to live."

Her fingers curled around his wrist for the briefest moment before she pulled away. "Then at least let me give you something to remember us by."

She gestured to a cloth-wrapped bundle. Inside was a curved beastman blade, its hilt adorned with intricate carvings. The weapon was light in his hand, yet sturdy— a testament to the strength of its makers.

Eryndor ran a thumb over the engraving. "This is..."

"A gift," she said simply. "You might not have beast blood, but you fight like one of us."

Ash whistled. "Damn, you’re getting sentimental."

Merylin shot him a glare before turning back to Eryndor. "Take it, and don’t forget—next time we meet, I expect you to have mastered the style."

Eryndor smirked. "I’ll hold you to that."

As dawn broke the next day, Eryndor, Ash, and Elise stood at the village outskirts, ready to depart. The villagers gathered, not with sorrow, but with gratitude. Merylin and her mother stood at the forefront, their eyes speaking the words their lips did not.

With one last glance at the home they had helped save, Eryndor turned and walked away, the weight of the beastman blade on his back a reminder that not all battles are won with swords alone.

Some are won with the bonds we forge along the way.

A/N: Due to the low success of the work I will be ending it here. Possibility of doing a series is not assured. If you have read the work so far then thank you.