The grand banquet hall of the Seraphim Palace was no longer a place for the living. It had become a graveyard of opulence, where the scent of expensive perfume was choked out by the metallic tang of fresh blood. Moonlight filtered through shattered stained-glass windows, casting jagged, kaleidoscopic shadows over the nobility. They lay scattered across the marble floor like discarded silk dolls.
Leornars moved through the carnage with predatory grace. His black slippers made no sound, gliding over the cooling corpse of an Earl without a second thought. His gaze swept the room, searching for a specific silhouette.
He found her near the buffet table.
Stacian was swaying, her cheeks flushed a deep, uncharacteristic crimson. In one hand, she clutched a cluster of half-eaten grapes; in the other, a silver goblet sloshing with wine. She was humming a tune that didn't quite exist.
Leornars let out a long, weary sigh that echoed in the hollow silence. "Somehow, I feel this is going to be a long night."
In a blur of displacement, he vanished. A heartbeat later, he reappeared directly in front of her. Before her drunken reflexes could fire, he caught her wrists, spun her around, and hoisted her onto his back in one fluid motion.
"Lord... Leornars...?" Stacian murmured, her head lolling against his shoulder. She let out a sharp hiccup. "Don't worry. I will... protect you... till the very end."
"First, try fighting your alcohol intolerance," Leornars retorted, adjusting his grip on her legs as he began the long walk toward the exit. "Then, and only then, can you worry about protecting me." He paused, his voice softening by a fraction. "But truly... I appreciate the sentiment."
Stacian giggled, the sound muffled by his dark cloak. "You really have grown up, haven't you?"
"Oh? How so?"
"You're more... sentimental," she whispered. "When we first met, you were cold. Extremely ruthless. Not that you aren't ruthless now, but you're... cheerable? It's refreshing."
Leornars stopped for a moment, staring at the silver-lit horizon through a jagged hole in the palace wall.
"I see. Even I had begun to think so," he mused. "I remember a man I once killed in Lurtra just for looking at me—I shoved an apple down his throat until he choked. And that scout on the Seraphim border? I tossed him off a cliff because his breathing was too loud."
Stacian let out a drunken, wheezing laugh. "Oh! I remember! And the look on Prince Edward's face after you manipulated him into killing his own father... and then you betrayed him anyway? That was classic." She kicked her feet playfully. "And the guy you shoved head-first into a troll's backside?"
A low, calm laugh escaped Leornars' throat. "Yes. Perhaps I have mellowed out."
Two Weeks Later: The Kingdom of Avangard
The journey home was marked by the rhythmic clack-clack of carriage wheels against stone. Julah, the newest addition to their inner circle, spent the trip with her face pressed against the glass like a curious kitten. As the massive iron-reinforced gates of Avangard swung open, she leaned out dangerously far.
"Careful," Stacian warned from the cushioned seat, her composure perfectly restored. "Or you'll be flung out and become a permanent part of the road."
As the carriage rolled into the capital, the atmosphere was electric. The silence of the dead was replaced by a deafening roar. Thousands of citizens lined the streets, their voices rising in a singular, thunderous chant.
"THE KING IS BACK!"
At the castle steps, the carriage door was pulled open. Leornars stepped out, his presence immediately commanding the air. Waiting in the grand foyer was the core of his power: Zaryter, Zhyelena, Bellian, Zhyier, Ayesha, and Salene. As one, they dropped to one knee—a synchronized display of absolute fealty.
Suddenly, a white-and-silver blur launched itself at him. Shullah leapt onto his shoulders, her small hands gripping his collar.
"Uncle Leornars! Welcome back!"
"Shullah," Leornars said, a rare, genuine ghost of a smile touching his lips. "It is good to see you haven't burned the palace down in my absence."
Zaryter, preening in his polished armor, walked over to Julah and puffed out his chest. "So, you're the newcomer? Welcome. I am Zaryter Daternmum, the First Retainer."
Julah blinked at him, then looked over at Stacian. "I thought she was the First Retainer?"
Zaryter's shoulders slumped instantly, his bravado popping like a pricked balloon. "Yes... she is," he muttered dejectedly.
The Kingdom of Elarian
Queen Selalyndra paced her private chambers, her silk gown hissing against the floor. Her face was a mask of sheer panic.
"He stopped the Pollium supply... and he killed Ziwah Zeldis?" she hissed to the empty room. "Impossible. The balance of power is shattered. I must seek help from the other races. The elves, the dwarves... anyone!"
Outside the heavy oak doors, her daughter watched through a narrow crack. Her eyes were cold, calculating, and entirely devoid of sympathy.
"Oh, Mother," the princess whispered to the shadows. "How low have you truly fallen? You seek allies among those who already fear the shadow he casts."
The Durmount Kingdom
In the war room of Durmount, Princess Selrose sat beside her brother, the newly crowned King. Maps of Lurtra were sprawled across the table, bleeding with the red ink of impending invasion.
"Have you dealt with the advisors?" Marielle Sullivana asked, leaning over the table. "The King mustn't know that Avangard is the one pulling the strings behind this annexation."
"He knows nothing," Selrose replied coldly. "My brother believes this is his own conquest. He doesn't even know the name Leornars."
"So, all that remains is his 'unfortunate' death on the battlefield," Marielle noted with a sharp smile. "And your ascension."
"For the greater good," Selrose said. "Leornars has agreed to let us keep eighty-nine percent of the territory. He only demands the Eastern Lake and the trade hub of Xinian."
Marielle frowned. "The ports? That's the heart of our trade. Isn't that reckless?"
"It is the price of freedom from a patriarchy of fools," Selrose snapped. "Now, go hunt down my mother. She is hiding in Xinian. Kill her. Lord Leornars warned that she is a greater threat than either of us."
Marielle laughed, a dry, hollow sound. "You trust his word that much?"
"Trust? No," Selrose said, her eyes narrowing. "But Leornars wants my father dead, and so do I. We have a 'basic understanding.' That is far more reliable than trust."
The Holy Kingdom
Deep within the Cathedral of Light, the Seven Clergymen sat in a semicircle, the air thick with incense and unspoken dread.
"The demon threat is rising," one noted. "Captain, your assessment?"
The Captain of the Holy Knights grunted. "Trolls and goblins. Pests. They lack leadership."
"Are we really going to ignore the actual problem?" a younger priest shouted, slamming his fist on the table. "The Southern Continent is in chaos! The 'White Plague' was in the Seraphim Kingdom with only three guards! We could have ended him! But you ordered a retreat because he was 'unarmed'?"
He leaned in, his face purple. "He killed the entire Seraphim nobility! He spared only the Empress!"
The senior clergymen looked at him with profound boredom. One even yawned.
"We have no concrete evidence linking him to the massacre," a senior official said smoothly.
"He killed them! Everyone knows it!"
The Captain stood up, his massive shadow looming over the trembling priest. "As I said: no one saw him do it. Do you have a problem with our judgment, Priest?"
The priest recoiled, his breath hitching. He turned and stumbled out of the chambers. As he reached the hallway, his fear curdled into a dark, poisonous rage.
"You'll regret humiliating me," he whispered to the cold stones. "When the world burns, I'll be the one holding the torch."