The silence that followed Marina's declaration was more terrifying than any haunting sound. It was a vacuum, a hollow space where the sanity of a hero was slowly being ground into dust. Reinhard didn't lower his hand, he didn't even blink. He stood there, the red star pulsing over his two fingers, ready for a target to cut.
"Me going home?" Reinhard repeated, his voice eerily light, almost melodic. He tilted his head, looking at Marina with a genuine sense of confusion that made the officers' blood run cold.
"But Marina... why would I go home when the work isn't finished? Ophelia still has so much to tell me. Don't you see? I'm perfectly fine. In fact, I've never felt more lucid."
Marina felt a shiver of pure dread. Through the mental link, she could feel the 'hum' of his Grace,it wasn't the rhythmic pulse of a Champion anymore، it was a discordant, screeching vibration that threatened to tear her own mind apart. He wasn't lying. That was the horror of it. In his fractured psyche, the bloodlust was logic, and the chaos was order.
Ophelia gripped her sword tighter, aid around here ready like a loaded gun. She could distort space but she could also see the atmospheric distortion starting to emanate from Reinhard himself, not as a calculated move, but as a byproduct of his collapsing mental state. The air was getting heavy, charged with a static that smelled of ozone and old blood.
"He's gone, Marina," Ophelia said, her voice devoid of its usual arrogance, replaced by a grim realization. "The man you're looking for isn't behind those eyes anymore. What's left is just a beast hungry for war... and it's hungry."
Without warning, the ground beneath Reinhard shattered. He didn't dash,he vanished, leaving only a red streak of light that cut through space like a hot knife through wax.
The Intelligence officers barely had time to raise their weapons before the first wave of his killing intent hit them like a physical wall.
Ophelia didn't hesitate; she knew that if Reinhard reached the officers in his current state, there would be nothing left to bury.
With a violent sweep of her blade, she cut through the very fabric of the air, manifesting The Veil Of Arachne as a shimmering barrier of distorted space between Reinhard's charge and the retreating Intelligence squad.
The reality between them buckled and warped, creating an impassable rift. Reinhard, however, saw the distortion coming mid-stride. With a jagged, predatory motion, he twisted his body in mid-air, his metallic boots skidding across the ground as he narrowly evaded the spatial tear.
He came to a halt, slowly turning his head toward Ophelia. His gaze was no longer just filled with bloodlust; it held a dark, simmering irritation. "You're becoming quite a nuisance with that Grace of yours," he muttered, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone.
Then, the posture of his hand changed. He folded his middle and ring fingers, leaving his index and pinky extended in a sharp, devilish silhouette. The red aura around his hand didn't just glow,it screamed. In an instant, the sky above them seemed to bleed. Thousands of jagged spears, forged from pure, lethal crimson lumen, began to rain down with blinding velocity. It wasn't a tactical strike; it was an execution.
The Intelligence officers scrambled, desperately trying to find cover where there was none. The spears tore through the air, piercing the ground and flesh alike. There was no sanctuary from the storm,only the sound of iron meeting bone and the cold, terrifying laughter of a man who thought he was doing the world a favor.
Through the cacophony of screaming steel and dying breath, a sharp, melodic whistle pierced the air. It was a sound so out of place, so vibrantly human, that it seemed to freeze time itself. Even the crimson spears hovering in the sky paused mid-air as Reinhard's attention snapped toward the source.
Standing at the edge of the clearing was a man who looked like he had stepped out of a royal portrait rather than a battlefield. He was strikingly handsome, with a distinct, elegant mole just beside his left eye. His coppery-auburn hair was meticulously braided into a single, long plait that draped elegantly over his shoulder, resting against the polished plates of his front armor. He exuded an air of effortless charm, even as he stood amidst the carnage.
"Oh, good heavens..." the man began, a magnetic, boyish grin spreading across his face. "Have you all started the party without me? Or could it be that Nadia told you not to invite me? Damn you, Nadia! This is all your fault... everything always has to be your doing!"
He began to pace in a state of comical chaos, muttering to himself and gesturing wildly at the sky as if arguing with an invisible ghost. For a moment, the terrifying pressure of Reinhard's Grace seemed to waver, replaced by the sheer, absurd brilliance of this newcomer's presence.
Reinhard's hand finally relaxed, his fingers returning to their normal position as the oppressive red aura dimmed . His face remained a dark, unreadable mask, the shadows under his brow deepening as he turned to face the newcomer. "Manolis..." he uttered, his voice heavy with a mixture of recognition and cold irritation. "What are you doing here?"
Manolis instantly stopped his frantic cursing of the invisible Nadia, his childish antics vanishing as if they were never there. He stood tall, his coppery braid catching the faint light as he looked at Reinhard with an expression that was half-pity, half-mockery.
"It seems you're in the throes of a rejection shock, my friend Reinhard," Manolis said, his charming smile returning, though it didn't reach his eyes this time. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his gaze sweeping over the wreckage and the trembling officers. "Tell me... who was it that broke your heart so badly that you decided to paint the mountains red?"
The tension in the air didn't dissipate; it transformed. It was no longer the explosive pressure of a madman, but the sharp, vibrating friction between two titans who knew each other far too well. Manolis's presence acted like a lid on a boiling pot ,everything felt calmer on the surface, but the pressure underneath was reaching a breaking point.
__________
In one of the Royal Palace's secluded courtyards, where the meticulously trimmed hedges failed to soften the growing cold, Vandal stood with Arons Vanguard and Hilda. The grandeur of the surroundings felt hollow against the weight of the news he carried. Vandal's face was grim, his eyes reflecting a deep-seated frustration.
"The Authority is being suffocated," Aarons began, his voice low but sharp. "The Parliament is no longer just questioning our intentions ,they are actively belittling us. With the integration of the two kingdoms looming, they're moving like vultures to strip us of our jurisdiction. They want to shrink our missions and neuter our power before we even cross the threshold of the new union."
He paused, looking toward the high spires of the palace. "The Parliament's goal is clear: they want the Authority to be nothing more than a ceremonial guard, a shadow of what we once were. We are at a deadlock. If the King decides not to bow to the Parliament's wing, if he refuses to let us be swallowed by their bureaucracy... it won't just be a political disagreement. It will be chaos. The kind of chaos that tears nations apart from the inside out."
Hilda remained silent, her gaze fixed on the horizon, while Aarons tightened his grip on his coat. The realization hung in the air like a storm cloud: the war wasn't just coming from the mountains or the enemies abroad,it was brewing right here, in the heart of the capital.
The trio departed from the palace grounds, the heavy silence between them a testament to the looming storm. Hilda headed toward her home, her mind likely racing with the geopolitical implications, while Vanguard excused himself, mentioning urgent meetings with Authority members regarding the Parliamentary Intelligence's latest movements.
Vandal was left alone, walking through the cooling twilight of the city. But the solitude didn't last. Out of the deepening shadows, the Chief of Parliamentary Intelligence emerged. His eyes were dark, lacking any warmth, looking like voids that had seen too many secrets. He didn't move to attack; he simply stood there, an omen in a suit.
"Hello, Vandal Brunn," the Chief began, his voice a dry rasp. "I'll be honest،neither I nor my men have the stomach to face you in a direct confrontation. And those who actually could... well, they are in a mess at the moment." A thin, chilling smile touched his lips. "But you should be more careful, Vandal. The Radiant Eyes in the darkness... they see you. They are watching your every move."
Without another word, the Chief turned and vanished into the crowd, leaving his words to hang in the air like a curse. Vandal stood frozen for a moment, the weight of the statement sinking in. 'The Radiant Eyes.' It was another layer of mystery, another problem added to an already overflowing pile.
The hunter was now the one being hunted by sight.