The world did not celebrate vengeance.
It feared it.
Across Nophilis, from the frost-lined ports of the northern continents to the sun-cracked trade cities of the south, a single name began to spread—quietly at first, then like rot through damp wood.
Aldrich Yagurah.
Not spoken with admiration.
Not spoken with honor.
Spoken as a warning.
In cities Aldrich had never seen, men in black coats nailed parchment to stone walls. At crossroads, at tavern entrances, at guild halls and training yards, the same image appeared again and again.
A charcoal sketch.
Sharp eyes.
Black hair.
A blade resting at his side.
Under it, written in firm, official lettering:
WANTED — ALDRICH YAGURAH
Charges:
— Mass slaughter of the Saelari Clan
— Annihilation of the Varkonn bloodline
— Destruction of sovereign clan territory
— Unlawful warfare
Status: EXTREME THREAT
Capture alive if possible.
Kill authorized.
The seal beneath the writing bore the mark of Civil Law.
An organization older than most kingdoms.
Civil Law did not belong to kings.
Kings feared it.
It was a transcontinental authority formed after centuries of endless clan wars—an organization meant to control warriors, not rule them. Its enforcers were trained to subdue peak-human combatants, assassins, commanders, and clan elites. They hunted fugitives who could not be imprisoned by ordinary armies.
In theory, they were justice.
In reality—
They were bought.
The truth was known by merchants, whispered by warriors, understood by anyone who had survived long enough: Civil Law enforced order only where profit allowed it.
The Yagurah massacre had been witnessed.
By traders passing through nearby roads.
By mercenaries hired as auxiliary forces.
By neutral clans who chose silence over principle.
The Varkonn and Saelari paid for that silence.
Gold.
Land.
Future military cooperation.
Civil Law accepted it all.
The case of the Yagurah clan was marked closed before the blood dried.
Now, Aldrich was paying for what the world refused to punish.
Aldrich stood at the edge of Hollowdene Forest, looking down toward distant roads where messengers traveled and rumors grew.
He did not look surprised.
He had expected this.
"They hunt you," Eldran said quietly, standing beside him. His cane rested against his leg. His one hand clasped behind his back. "Across multiple continents now."
Aldrich nodded. "Of course they do."
"You wiped out two ruling clans by yourself. The world doesn't forgive that."
"It forgave the murder of my family," Aldrich replied calmly.
Eldran said nothing.
That silence was agreement.
Aldrich continued, voice steady, almost detached. "I don't have influence. No allies. No wealth. No banner behind me. I'm not a clan—I'm a remnant."
He turned slightly, eyes dark.
"And a remnant has no rights."
Eldran exhaled slowly. "That is the truth of Nophilis."
Aldrich clenched his fist once, then relaxed it. Fury no longer spilled from him recklessly. It lived contained, like a blade kept sharp but sheathed.
"I can't challenge Civil Law," Aldrich said. "Not yet. I represent my clan alone. Every action I take is judged as the Yagurah's will."
Eldran smiled faintly. "Then you carry that weight well."
Aldrich turned to him fully. "Elder… you should do what you want now. Be happy. Live quietly."
Eldran raised an eyebrow.
"When I rebuild the clan," Aldrich continued, "I'll come back for you. I'll take you to see it. The halls. The training grounds. The banners."
Eldran's gaze softened.
"That," he said slowly, "is my one and only wish."
He chuckled, low and rough. "To see the Yagurah name rise again. Stronger. Wiser. More prosperous than before."
His voice grew firm. "And I know you will do it, Aldrich."
Aldrich studied him. "You don't doubt me?"
"I understand fury," Eldran replied. "But I also understand conviction. And power. You possess all three."
Aldrich did not leave Hollowdene immediately.
He stayed.
Two more years passed.
During that time, he vanished from rumor. Civil Law scouts entered the forest and never returned. Bounties grew higher. The wanted posters changed from capture to elimination priority.
Aldrich moved deeper.
Far deeper.
He trained alone.
Not guided.
Not watched.
Not corrected.
Only tested.
He returned to the deepest region of Hollowdene—the place Eldran had warned him against since childhood.
The place where the dragon slept.
Aldrich did not challenge it.
Not yet.
But he trained within its territory, under the weight of its presence. Every movement measured. Every breath controlled. Every strike sharpened under the knowledge that a single mistake meant death.
He fought monsters that hunted in packs.
Creatures that broke bones with impact alone.
Beasts whose hides resisted steel.
He adapted.
Improvised.
Survived.
Fury did not drive him wildly anymore—it fueled endurance. It taught restraint. It gave him clarity when exhaustion screamed for surrender.
Eldran watched from afar when he could, never interfering.
The boy had become a man.
On the final night, Aldrich stood at the boundary between the forest paths and the deep wild.
The air was heavy.
Old.
Alive.
He reached for his katana.
Slowly, deliberately, he unsheathed it.
The steel whispered.
Aldrich closed his eyes.
"The power of fury," he said quietly, "is the source of my determination."
The forest listened.
"It is proof that I lost something I could not protect—whether I had the strength or not."
His grip tightened.
"But that loss taught me fury."
His eyes opened.
"And now… nothing will stand in the way of my goals."
The blade reflected the faint moonlight.
"I will not rest," Aldrich whispered, voice iron-clad, "even in death… until I have fulfilled my promises."
He stepped forward.
Deeper into the forest.
Toward the dragon's domain.
Toward a future that would shake Nophilis itself.