Chapter 75: Rumors
The morning sun rose over Blackthorn, casting long golden shadows across the scarred stone walls. The fortress hummed with an energy it hadn’t known in days.
Soldiers walked with renewed purpose, and even the servants no longer whispered in fear. Instead... they whispered in excitement.
As Malrik crossed the lower courtyard, a lively discussion near the old stone well caught his attention.
"My brother was with the scouting party."
"They found hundreds of Morveth corpses scattered throughout the forest." "They said it looked like an entire battlefield."
A young maid gasped. "Hundreds?...That’s only what they managed to count."
The servant lowered his voice dramatically. "They think there were even more."
Another servant quickly spoke up.
"My cousin was one of the guards on the eastern wall." "He said none of them knew who that man was."
"All they saw was a black cloak... a silver mask... and a giant black scythe."
He lowered his voice.
"The soldiers who saw him started calling him...the Black Reaper."
The name alone was enough to send a shiver through the crowd.
"It suits him."
Another servant folded his arms.
"They say wherever the Black Reaper appears...death follows."
A maid eagerly added,
"My aunt says the Morveth never even knew where he came from."
"One moment they were fighting...the next, hundreds of them were dead."
"Nonsense."
"My cousin swears the Black Reaper can disappear into shadows."
"And I heard arrows pass straight through him."
"No."
Another servant shook his head confidently. "I heard ordinary weapons can’t even touch him."
Someone standing at the back suddenly spoke up.
"Didn’t you hear?" "Some people are saying the Black Reaper is an ancient Supreme who finally came out of seclusion to protect Blackthorn."
"An ancient Supreme?" The old servant burst into laughter. "Don’t be ridiculous."
"If he were truly Supreme, he would’ve wiped out the entire Morveth horde with a flick of his finger."
He crossed his arms with absolute confidence.
"From what I’ve heard...he’s at least a Saint."
Several people immediately nodded as if that made perfect sense, and the rumors grew more absurd with every passing sentence.
One of the younger maids suddenly sighed dreamily.
"I wonder what he looks like beneath that mask." Her friend covered a laugh. "I hope he’s handsome."
Malrik nearly stumbled.
...Seriously?
In less than a single night, a mysterious man whom only a handful of guards had glimpsed from afar had somehow become an immortal Saint.
Rumors...were far more terrifying than reality.
He turned a corner and nearly collided with a servant carrying a stack of freshly folded linens. The woman’s eyes widened the moment she recognized him, and she hurriedly stepped aside before lowering her head.
"My Lord! Please forgive me."
Malrik simply waved a hand.
"There’s nothing to forgive."
The servant bowed once more before quickly continuing on her way.
As he walked deeper into the fortress, more servants and guards crossed his path. Each of them stopped what they were doing and respectfully lowered their heads.
"Good morning, Young Lord."
"My Lord."
"Young Lord Vesperion."
Malrik acknowledged each greeting with a slight nod before continuing toward the command hall.
The atmosphere throughout Blackthorn had changed completely.
Only yesterday, the fortress had been drowning beneath the weight of fear and uncertainty. Today, however, the air was filled with determination. Blacksmiths worked tirelessly, soldiers trained with renewed vigor, and messengers hurried through the corridors carrying orders from one post to another.
Hope...had returned to Blackthorn.
The moment Malrik stepped into the command hall, he noticed the difference.
The heavy silence that had dominated the room during the previous days was gone. Maps still covered the massive table, but now they were surrounded by fresh reports, revised battle plans, and newly drawn defensive positions.
Ronan was the first to notice him.
A broad grin immediately spread across his face. "There you are."
He pushed himself away from the wall and walked over. "Have you heard about our mysterious hero?"
Malrik raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean The Black Reaper."
Ronan laughed.
"Apparently, he wiped out hundreds of Morveth by himself, scared the rest half to death, and vanished before anyone could thank him."
Ronan scratched the back of his head with a helpless sigh. "I have to admit... I’m a little jealous."
Malrik glanced at him with a faint smile. "Jealous?"
Ronan nodded dramatically.
"The Black Reaper."
"Now that’s a title."
"I just hope that one day I’ll earn a title worthy of being remembered... something like the Duke’s, or even half as imposing."
Malrik chuckled. "You’ll get one eventually."
Kael ignored the banter entirely, his attention still fixed on the map spread across the table.
"The rumors may have grown beyond reason," he said calmly, "but the results are real."
He pointed toward several new markings deep within the forest.
"Our scouts returned an hour ago. The Morveth have withdrawn several kilometers from Blackthorn and abandoned the forward positions they occupied yesterday."
"They’re moving far more cautiously now. The assault we expected this morning never came."
Malrik silently studied the map before him.
Just as he had expected, The damage itself hadn’t forced the Morveth to retreat.
Fear had.
Ronan folded his arms, his curiosity finally getting the better of him. "So... do you know anything about this Black Reaper?"
He tilted his head. "Did the duke secretly send someone to help us?"
Malrik calmly shook his head. "If Father dispatched reinforcements, no one informed me."
He paused briefly before adding, "And I haven’t seen anyone matching that description."
Ronan shrugged. "Whoever he is, he bought us some time."
Kael nodded in agreement.
"And that’s exactly why we can’t afford to waste it. The Morveth aren’t retreating because they’re afraid forever—they’re regrouping. The next time they attack, they’ll come prepared."
Malrik rested a hand on the edge of the table, his gaze sweeping across every defensive position marked on the map.
"Then we’ll make sure Blackthorn is prepared as well."
"We’re making progress." Kael said.
"Good," Malrik said. "Keep pushing. We can’t afford to stop."
Malrik made his way toward the northern wall.
The morning breeze carried the faint scent of smoke drifting from the distant forest. Beyond the walls, countless blackened trees still stood as silent reminders of the battle fought only hours earlier.
He rested both hands upon the cold stone battlements.
Two hundred thousand lives.
The weight of that number never truly left his mind.
Behind him, soft footsteps echoed across the wall.
Lilith stopped beside him, following his gaze toward the endless forest stretching beyond Blackthorn.
"...What are you thinking about?" Her voice was unusually calm.
Malrik remained silent for a few moments before answering.
"If I fail...two hundred thousand people die because of me." Lilith didn’t interrupt.
His eyes slowly drifted toward the weathered walls surrounding Blackthorn.
His gaze lingered on the thousands of soldiers moving below the walls before settling on the weathered stone beneath his hands.
"these walls...won’t survive forever."
A gentle breeze lifted Lilith’s violet hair.
"They’re old, weak. And they’re far too easy to climb."
Malrik nodded.
"If Blackthorn is going to survive...those walls need to become something the Morveth can’t simply overwhelm."
Silence settled between them once more. Then Malrik glanced sideways at her.
"Yesterday."
"You never used your Law."
Lilith blinked. Then an amused smile slowly spread across her face.
"My Law?" She let out a quiet laugh. "I wasn’t fighting enemies worthy of using it."
"Why would I reveal one of my greatest trump cards...just to deal with a few insects?"
Malrik looked at her without saying a word.
Lilith sighed dramatically before folding her arms. "You really aren’t going to let this go, are you?"
"No, I need to know what you’re capable of."
"If we’re going to keep fighting together...I can’t afford to be ignorant."
Lilith held his gaze for several long seconds.
Finally...She smiled.
"Very well, I’ll show you instead."
Without another word, she slowly raised her hand.
Dark violet demonic mana spilled from Lilith’s fingertips, filling the air with an oppressive aura.
The mana coiled around itself before condensing into a magnificent throne carved from pitch-black obsidian, its surface engraved with ancient crimson runes that pulsed like a living heartbeat.
As Lilith gracefully sat upon the throne, the demonic mana gathered once more above her head, weaving itself into an exquisite black crown that settled naturally upon her violet hair, as though it had always belonged there.
For a brief moment...She no longer resembled a High Demon.
She looked like a queen seated upon the throne of an ancient empire.
Her crimson eyes met Malrik’s.
A faint smile slowly spread across her lips as she rested one elbow against the armrest, every movement carrying the effortless dignity of a queen upon her throne.
"My Law...is the Law of Manifestation."