Chapter 64: One Day, Lydia.
Dust and ash still hung heavy over Warstone. Inside the grand council hall of the royal palace, the air sat thick and suffocating. Deep scorch marks scarred the stone pillars, and through the shattered glass of the vaulted windows, the distant sound of clearing rubble echoed without pause.
King Thema, Princess Elestar, the hero Cael, and Head Guard Namor sat around a massive oak table, maps of the capital spread before them, red ink marking the devastation Heaven’s Spear had left behind.
Namor cleared his throat, breaking the silence, his expression grim. "The eastern district took the worst of it. The commercial plaza’s completely gone, two inner castle spires collapsed during the barrage. Civilian casualties are high, though Sir Cael and the S-rank adventurers intercepting the larger fragments kept it from becoming a full catastrophe."
King Thema sat motionless at the head of the table, arms folded, eyes cold on the red-marked parchment. "And the attackers?"
"Vanished without a trace, Your Majesty," Namor admitted, head dropping. "The spatial mana signature faded the instant they disappeared. We have mages combing the perimeter, but they’re clean out of the territory."
Cael leaned forward, hands clasped tight over the table, sweat and soot still staining his tunic, exhaustion plain from the effort of shattering falling spires. "This wasn’t a random raid, Your Majesty. They called themselves the Sinners. They coordinated their entry, neutralized our defenses, and unleashed a kingdom-level spell purely to make a statement."
Namor rubbed his temples, letting out a weary breath. "If word of this spreads, the neighboring realms will read us as vulnerable — a single group breached the capital and dismantled our defenses in seconds. I’d strongly advise containing this internally. Admitting weakness to foreign courts only invites opportunistic aggression."
"And leave them completely blind to the threat?" Cael snapped, conviction sharpening his voice. "You saw what they were capable of! Three of them — a spatial user, a dragonkin, and someone bending gravity with a snap of her fingers. If all three carry that level of destructive force, no single kingdom stands a chance alone. Protecting our pride at the cost of the whole continent is foolish."
Elestar sat quietly beside her father, fingers laced tight in her lap, gaze fixed on the table as a storm of doubt she couldn’t voice churned beneath the surface.
King Thema raised a hand, silencing the debate outright. He turned to Namor, voice dropping into something stern and absolute. "Cael’s right. Pride won’t protect our borders if those monsters return. Draft warnings to every neighboring kingdom, effective immediately. Alert them to this group calling themselves the Sinners."
"As you command, Sire," Namor said, bowing his head in resignation.
The king leaned back into his throne, sharp eyes narrowing as his focus shifted to the most unsettling part of the whole affair. "Now — the leader. The man behind the mask. He showed the crowd Aurelian’s face. Who was he?"
"It can’t be Aurelian," Namor said firmly. "I witnessed his execution myself, six months past. Confirmed his death before the body was disposed of. Whoever this is, they’re using dark magic or a high-tier disguise artifact to mock us."
Across the table, Princess Elestar swallowed hard, her chest tightening.
*It was him.* The thought struck with enough force to catch her breath in her throat. *He’s on the move, and I have no idea what comes next. Worse — how strong he’s already become. I need to train harder if I’m going to stop him, but I could—*
She opened her mouth, the words rising, then caught in her throat before they escaped. She had no proof. Admitting she suspected a dead criminal had crawled back from the grave would only spark panic — make her sound unhinged. She bit down on her lip and stayed silent.
"I have a lead," Cael said suddenly, drawing every eye in the room.
King Thema’s gaze snapped to him. "Speak."
"Before the attack, during my investigation at the pyramid, I crossed paths with a young man — Niel," Cael said, brow furrowed in concentration. "He carried Aurelian’s blade. The exact weapon that vanished after the execution. At the time he claimed an old man had passed it to him, and I chose to believe it. Looking back now, it doesn’t hold up. He knew far too much about the kingdom’s secrets, and he disappeared right before the chaos broke out in the arena."
Namor’s eyes widened slightly. "Niel? The adventurer the Church sent after the dragon?"
"The same," Cael confirmed grimly. "I can’t prove he’s the man behind the mask, but the connection to Aurelian’s blade is too precise to be coincidence. He’s our only real thread back to the Sinners."
King Thema rose from his chair, presence filling the entire room. "Namor. Drop every minor investigation. Put full effort into tracking this Niel. Every guild, every border pass, every black market — if he’s alive, bring him before me."
"Understood, Your Majesty. I’ll begin the search immediately," Namor said, bowing deep before turning on his heel and striding out to rally his knights.
Cael watched him go, then dropped his gaze back to the scorched map spread across the table. *Whoever you are — I will find the truth.*
---
Far from the capital, deep within the mountain’s jagged peaks, silence reigned.
A lone figure stepped out of a dark, yawning cave mouth. Valak stretched his arms, the cool mountain wind snapping his dark robes around his slender frame. He dragged a hand through his messy white hair, squinting against the sudden sunlight as he took in the desolate, rocky slopes.
"Where the hell did they go?" he muttered, irritation lacing every word.
He crossed to the cliff’s edge, looking down over the barren valley. Nearly two days spent combing the cavernous underground labyrinth, following the exact coordinates Dreece and Lambadack had provided after their failed attempt.
"This was definitely the place," Valak grumbled, kicking a loose stone over the edge. "The description checked out. The throne was here, Lydia’s things were tucked away in one of the side chambers — clearly a woman’s belongings. They were here."
He paused, hands settling on his hips as he turned the problem over. "Did they relocate just because Dreece and Lambadack showed up? Tsk. Cautious bastards."
He let out a long breath, shifting his weight, gaze drifting up toward the passing clouds. A faint, dark smile crept across his face, something unhinged and patient gleaming behind his eyes.
"Running around like rats," Valak murmured into the quiet mountain air, expression hardening as his thoughts settled on the black-haired assassin who’d slipped past him for far too long.
He brushed off his sleeves, turned his back on the cave, and started his long descent down the mountain trail.
"One day, Lydia," he muttered to the wind, voice dropping into a cold, patient promise. "One day."