Two days later…
The wind that crossed the central Grasslands carried whispers sharper than arrows.
News of Leiwis's miserable death had spread faster than riders could gallop. By the time the sun rose twice, every tea stall, inn, and market square knew the story – the arrogant heir who fell to shame, the nameless boy who humbled him, and the blood that stained Rushway's stories.
But fame and hatred are born together.
The Leiwis's family, once one of the three great merchant pillars of the Eastern Province, found their prestige bleeding away. The imperial investigation, commanded directly from the capital, pried into their business routes, vaults, and ledgers. Every whisper of corruption drew eyes toward them.
For the first time in decades, their caravans stopped rolling. Their servants hesitated to wear the family crest. Their allies suddenly found business elsewhere.
The House of Leiwis's, built on arrogance and gold, began to rot from within.
–
In the outskirts of the Grasslands, the East Valley Wing Mercenaries rested in a temporary camp. Smoke curled from their fires; laughter and low talk blended with the soft whistle of wind.
Inside one of the tents, Kiaria sat cross-legged, a faint blue aura flowing around his body like calm water. Diala, who was polishing her short blade, glanced at him – his silence was too deep, his composure too certain.
Outside, rumors echoed even here. Merchants passing near the camp carried news:
"The Leiwis's name has fallen."
"His father, Lord Leinor, is furious."
"They say he's plotting revenge, but not openly."
By evening, the campfire circle grew quiet. Ferlin returned from a nearby town, throwing his gloves aside. "The whole Grassland is trembling," he said grimly. "Leiwis's father has gone mad. He's buying silence – and blood."
Staley frowned. "So it begins."
Leinor, the head of the fallen Leiwis family, sat in his marble hall surrounded by trembling servants and scheming advisors. His robe was unbuttoned at the neck; his eyes, sleepless and wild.
The family fortune, once flowing like rivers of gold, was frozen by royal decree. The name that once opened gates now closed doors. Leinor had begged the Council of Merchants for clemency – and they had looked away.
"Suppress the investigation," he hissed to his steward. "Find the complainants. Make them silent."
The steward bowed low. "Yes, my lord."
And so, in the following nights, blood quietly repainted the streets.
Witnesses vanished. Some were found hanging from trees near the outskirts; others drowned in shallow ponds. It was swift, methodical – not rage, but cold arithmetic.
Leinor knew the truth: if he could not cleanse the stain, he could drown it.
He summoned the heads of the Two Major Merchant Families, the Grayis and the Mirahs, for a "treaty of trust."
They came cautiously. The air in the meeting hall was thick with unspoken contempt. Leinor's voice trembled between pleading and power. "Help me," he said, "and I will share every route, every trade line, every imperial favor still open to me."
At first, both families refused – too risky, too public. But greed is a convincing negotiator. Leinor showed them royal seals from forgotten archives, a network of smuggling routes, and most of all, the promise of imperial silence.
By dawn, they had signed a pact.
Within two days, forged testimonies flooded the investigation board. The Leiwis's family's crimes were "found baseless." Royal attention shifted elsewhere, and the investigation was quietly sealed.
When news reached the mercenary camp, Diala's face turned pale with disbelief.
She stood near the campfire, gripping her blade tightly. "How can this be? Even the royal order failed? The investigation was personal, wasn't it? By the imperial army!"
Kiaria exhaled softly. His tone was calm, too calm for someone who had just watched justice crumble. "Dia," he said, "it's not surprising. I calculated this outcome long ago."
She turned to him, stunned. "You… what do you mean?"
"Leiwis's family is one of the empire's wealthiest foundations. You can crush arrogance, but you can't erase gold overnight. Royal power bends before its own hunger. Not only that, Leiwis was not just a son, he was prodigy who had proud bloodline of Leiwis. That name he had was meant to spread pride. But I smashed it."
His eyes, calm as water, glowed faintly violet in the firelight. "They've cleared their names on paper, yes. But from now on, they'll live with fear. They will not act without hesitation. That was my goal – not their death, but their silence."
Diala's anger melted into worry. "You're insane. You provoked people who buy kings and silence ministers. They will try to kill you, Kiaria. They always do. You may escape once, maybe twice, but luck isn't infinite."
Kiaria laughed softly – a sound too confident for his age. "I don't need luck, Dia. I have strength. And I promised you – I won't let anyone harm you."
He stood and stretched his arm toward the firelight. "They won't dare touch me. I'm not a nameless traveler. I'm a Saint-Soul Master. My realm has already reached the Immortal. They can send assassins by the dozen, but none beyond Saint realm will lower themselves to kill a child. Not without bearing a Servitude Totem."
Diala looked at him silently. She wanted to argue, but his conviction made her heart tighten instead.
"Besides," he continued softly, "I'm not just anyone. I'm the Chief Disciple of the Empire, heir of the Saint Wolf,son of the Grand Preceptor. If they wish to move against me, they'll need to burn the empire itself first."
In the mansion far across the plains, Leinor received the same message – and he understood. His informant whispered, "The boy's identity… untouchable."
Leinor's trembling hand paused above the wine cup. A dry laugh escaped him. "The son of the Grand Preceptor… so that's the wolf that devoured my cub." He crushed the cup in his hand. Blood trickled between his fingers, but he didn't feel it.
He turned to his advisor. "No action. Not yet. If we move now, we die. Prepare patience instead. I'll rebuild quietly. Then we'll see who kills whom."
The advisor bowed. "Yes, my lord."
Leinor gazed at the distant lights of the capital through his window. "For now," he murmured, "we crawl. But even a crippled wolf still remembers how to bite."
Five days later
The Grasslands returned to rhythm, though every tavern still whispered about Rushway.
In the East Valley Wing camp, laughter once again echoed through the tents. Smoke curled skyward; horses stamped the ground impatiently.
Chief Staley sat with Ellein and Ferlin, looking toward Kiaria and Diala's tent. "Five days," he said, "and the kids haven't smiled once. We owe them something."
Ferlin grinned. "You mean we're taking them to the Grand Auction of Four Kingdoms, right?"
Ellein leaned back on a crate. "Aye. Let's surprise them. The auction opens in three days. Let's find them something special – a gift from their brothers."
Staley nodded solemnly. "They saved us more than once. Protected us when I couldn't. Even though we first followed them for our own benefit…" He paused, looking at the horizon. "Now, they've become our family."
Ferlin chuckled. "Wrong, old man. It's not that they became one of us. It's that we became one of them."
For a moment, all three laughed together, a rare, genuine sound. The wind carried it through the grass like an old melody.
Then Staley turned. "Good. Then it's settled. We prepare tomorrow. Look–our little ones are here."
Kiaria and Diala approached the fire. Kiaria tilted his head. "Brothers, we've stayed here a week. Why not go out for some fun? You haven't even introduced us to your families yet."
The laughter stopped. An uneasy quiet settled.
Kiaria frowned slightly. "What's wrong? Did I say something strange?"
Ellein's grin faded. His eyes shifted toward Staley. "That's… not an easy story."
Diala looked between them. "What do you mean?"
Ferlin sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "There's no family to meet, little sister."
"What?"
"Our families," Staley said quietly, "no longer exist."
The campfire cracked sharply. Kiaria's expression darkened, but he didn't interrupt.
"It was fifteen years ago," Staley continued, his voice carrying the weight of every scar on his hands. "Back then, I was a rising star in the Imperial Battalion. Some corrupt ministers and scholars fabricated a rebellion – to cover their own crimes. They blamed our village, forged evidence, called us traitors."
He stared into the fire, eyes reflecting its light like old glass. "I was ordered to oversee the purge. I didn't know it was false… until too late. When I discovered the truth, they tried to kill me – pushed me off a cliff to silence me. I survived. My wife, my son, our whole village didn't."
He paused. The wind whispered through the camp, carrying the sound of quiet sobs.
"Ferlin and Ellein were children then," he said. "I found them among the ruins. Took them with me. Since that day, we've been mercenaries – not because we wanted to, but because the empire left us no place else."
Kiaria's eyes softened, and even Diala, who rarely showed her heart, looked away.
"Chief…" Kiaria said softly. "You've carried this for too long."
Staley smiled faintly. "We've carried it together. And meeting you two – maybe that was the first good twist fate gave us in years."
He rose and clapped his hands once, shaking off the mood. "Enough of the past! Tomorrow, we ride for the Grand Auction. Let's show the world that the East Valley Wing still walks proud!"
Ferlin grinned. "Aye, Chief!"
Ellein laughed, pulling Kiaria into a playful headlock. "And maybe our little brother can help us win something shiny for once!"
Kiaria chuckled softly. "We'll see who ends up shining, Brother Ellein."
The campfire blazed brighter. Laughter returned, washing away the heaviness.
In that small clearing on the edge of the Grasslands, beneath a sky scattered with stars, for one brief night – hatred, grief, and revenge all fell silent.
And the wind that crossed the plains no longer carried whispers of misery, but the faint rhythm of hope.