The return to the human realm was supposed to bring relief.

  Instead, the moment the Four Houses emerged from the realm border, the sky itself seemed to recoil from what waited ahead.

  Smoke rose in thick black columns.

  The stench of charred canvas, metal, and burned flesh clung to the wind.

  Ash drifted like black snow.

  The allied camp—once bustling with coordinated squads of hunters, medics, quartermasters, and knights—was now a burning graveyard.

  Tents were in flames.

  Collapsed wagons smoldered.

  Bodies—hunters of the Houses and knights of the Vatican both—lay sprawled across trampled dirt in unnatural positions.

  Some still burned.

  A few surviving hunters stumbled between the ruins, trying desperately to drag bodies away from the fires or tear apart collapsed tents to rescue those trapped beneath.

  When the Four Houses and their armies arrived, weary and battered from the Shadow Realm, the survivors barely registered their presence—until Theoren shouted:

  “Move! Assist them! Get every injured counted! Put out the fires! Now!”

  The House soldiers snapped into action.

  Even exhausted, bruised, and barely holding themselves upright, they surged forward—fetching water, lifting ruins, extinguishing flames, stabilizing injured comrades.

  The screams of pain, the harsh coughs, the shouts of command—all merged into a frantic chaos.

  It took hours before the camp was stabilized.

  The fires eventually died.

  A smaller temporary camp was erected nearby.

  Survivors were carried—some crying, some silent in shock—to makeshift tents where healing mages tended to them.

  The dead were moved to a separate section, their bodies lined in rows for identification.

  Some were too burned to even recognize.

  The storm had passed, but the silence after was heavier than the fire itself.

  Lady Mereth was the first to regain command structure.

  Even with her bandages freshly removed by Kevlar’s flame, her posture remained dignified and commanding.

  Her voice cut through the disarray like a blade.

  “You three—secure the supply tents. You two—document the fallen. Eslene, Varain, prepare messengers to request water, salve, and blankets from the nearest city. We will rebuild here.”

  Eslene bowed. “Yes, Mother.”

  Varain saluted. “On it.”

  Kazane and his Seven Swordsmen scattered into the perimeter, disappearing into the forest mist like wraiths, searching for any Vatican stragglers or spies.

  Theoren, Elric, and Seraphine moved toward the corpses of the enemy.

  When they approached the laid-out Vatican knights, Theoren’s expression darkened.

  “These men… they weren’t among the crusader force that entered the Shadow Realm with us. These were the guards stationed here, at the main camp.”

  Elric knelt, brushing ash from one of the knight’s armor plates.

  The insignia was unmistakable—Vatican Guard Sigil, 3rd Tier.

  Stationary only.

  “…so they attacked after we left,” Elric murmured.

  Theoren narrowed his eyes.

  “Could they have attacked when Zero revealed his betrayal? Or was this premeditated from the start?”

  Elric straightened, jaw tense.

  “If they planned this beforehand, then Zero’s betrayal only accelerated their plan. Whether he revealed the truth or not, they had no intention of letting us return.”

  Theoren’s fists clenched until they cracked.

  “Those damn heathens! What were they thinking!? Killing the Four Houses like cattle? It would plunge the entire human realm into anarchy!”

  He paced aggressively.

  “What did they think would happen to our territories?! Our people?! Our families?!”

  Elric’s voice dropped to a cold, grim whisper.

  “They planned to go in after us… purge our estates… then twist the narrative as a tragic battle against ancient evil. Add a few token Vatican casualties, call it a noble sacrifice.”

  Seraphine’s breath hitched.

  Elric continued, eyes sharp:

  “Humanity trusts their sermons and their ‘divine justice.’ If the Vatican came bearing blood-stained banners claiming the Houses fell fighting evil monsters, the masses would believe the story. Convenient lies are easier than inconvenient truths.”

  He looked down the row of burned Vatican corpses.

  “In doing so, the Vatican would have gained full control over the Four States. No noble line left to oppose them. No military structure capable of resisting. A unified human empire under their ‘holy dominion.’”

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  Seraphine whispered, horrified:

  “…that’s… that’s world domination.”

  Theoren froze.

  Then—

  “Those crazy bastards!”

  He shouted so loudly several survivors jumped.

  “I’m going to destroy them! I’ll rip their cathedral apart brick by—!”

  Elric grabbed his arm, holding him back.

  “Lord Theoren, if you charge now, they win. Your rage becomes their weapon.”

  Theoren’s jaw trembled with restrained fury, but he understood.

  He hated that he understood.

  Seraphine breathed in slowly.

  “Then Lord Elric… what do we do? Our forces are battered. Most of the hunters can barely stand. We’re in no position to march or fight.”

  Footsteps approached.

  Mereth.

  She stood tall despite the exhaustion, her silver hair shimmering faintly under the dying sun.

  “We retreat,” she said.

  “We return to my domain.”

  All three turned to her.

  “The Covenus estate will shelter us. We will recover, regroup, and plan our next move. Kevlar was right—we need time to gather strength and strategy.”

  She continued:

  “And do not forget: even if Kevlar holds influence with the vampire race, their loyalty is fragile. Should the Royal Ones choose to march into our realm now, it would become a two-front war.”

  Theoren nodded harshly.

  “Exactly. The rift has collapsed. If the Starved Ones begin roaming southward, the northern border will need immediate reinforcement. We cannot leave it exposed.”

  Seraphine bowed slightly.

  “Lady Mereth… we request one night’s rest. At sunrise, House Valencrest will march north to fortify the border. Once secured, we will rejoin you.”

  Mereth smiled softly.

  “Of course, child.”

  Then she turned to Theoren with a mischievous glint.

  “And Theo, do not push your daughter with too much duty. She still needs to marry while looking young and beautiful.”

  Theoren groaned.

  “Haaahh… she takes after her mother. I only guide her—she chooses to work herself to death.”

  Seraphine blinked.

  Theo? She calls him Theo? Were they always this close? Father never mentioned…

  As they walked away from the corpses, Seraphine subtly drew closer to Mereth.

  “…Lady Mereth. Did you… have a history with my father?”

  Mereth paused—then smiled warmly.

  “When we were young, yes. Your father, Elric, Kazane, Armia, and I formed a hunting party as part of a joint familial expedition. We traveled together for nearly two years.”

  Seraphine’s eyes widened.

  She never once heard this from her father.

  Mereth chuckled.

  “Oh, we were quite the group. Serious on the outside, but foolish together. Shared hardships make bonds stronger.”

  Then she leaned in, whispering:

  “And yes… your father had a crush on me. We even dated briefly.”

  Seraphine slapped her own mouth shut, blush rushing to her cheeks.

  “But,” Mereth sighed, nostalgia softening her voice, “duty bound us elsewhere. Our parents already arranged our futures. We parted ways when the expedition ended.”

  “…I see,” Seraphine whispered, a bit melancholic.

  Mereth placed a gentle hand on her cheek.

  “I treasure those memories. But I have my own family now—and meeting you as a child was a blessing. I always viewed you as one of my own.”

  Seraphine’s eyes shimmered.

  “So do not be sad. Instead, promise me something.”

  Seraphine nodded silently.

  “Promise me you will not let fate make your choices. Do not repeat our mistake.”

  Seraphine inhaled deeply.

  “…I promise.”

  They walked back, Seraphine’s posture subtly different—more certain, more grounded.

  Theoren immediately questioned, “What were you two whispering about?”

  Seraphine clicked her tongue.

  “Woman’s secrets. You don’t need to know.”

  Theoren made a face like he swallowed a lemon.

  Elric sighed into his hand.

  At sunrise, the camp stirred with new energy.

  The Valencrest army, fully rested, prepared their northern march.

  Seraphine adjusted her armor, determination etched across her features.

  Theoren checked the spears and frost imbued glaives of his knights.

  Mereth, Eslene, and Varain bid them farewell.

  “Guard the border well,” Mereth said.

  “And you protect the House heads in our stead,” Seraphine replied.

  The northerners marched off.

  Meanwhile, Kazane approached Mereth with his ever-unreadable expression.

  “No hostile presence in the area. The Vatican has fully withdrawn.”

  Mereth nodded.

  “Then you will return east?”

  “Yes,” Kazane replied.

  “Our homeland must be informed. Our Elders will decide our next course of action.”

  Mereth gazed behind him at the Seven Swordsmen—silent, hooded, terrifyingly composed.

  “A pity,” she said with a teasing smile, “I did wish to see your Seven Swordsmen in proper action.”

  The seven bowed politely.

  Kazane’s eye twitched.

  “I ordered them not to engage unless the threat was critical.”

  Eslene raised an eyebrow.

  “Was the battle in the Shadow Realm not critical enough?”

  Before Kazane could answer, his son—Arame—responded calmly:

  “Our ‘critical’ definition requires life-or-death scenarios. The earlier battle did not qualify.”

  Eslene stared.

  “…you people are insane.”

  Kazane folded his arms.

  “The fight showed us something important. The Vatican is prepared.”

  He glanced toward the distant cathedral in the west.

  “And we are not.”

  He stepped back.

  “Until next time, Lady Mereth.”

  By midday, only House Callus remained.

  Elric stood at the citadel balcony of Covenus territory, staring toward the Shadow Realm’s distant scars.

  Mereth approached quietly.

  “Thinking of him?”

  Elric’s reply was soft, rare vulnerability exposed:

  “Yes… more often lately.”

  Mereth exhaled.

  “Elric, I won’t say I agreed with how you treated Kevlar seven years ago.”

  She looked at him directly.

  “But I understood.”

  Elric’s breath hitched.

  “You always shoulder everything alone. Even when we were young, you ordered yourself to bear every burden. You thought leading us meant protecting us from everything—including your own feelings.”

  She placed a hand on the railing.

  “But in doing so, you hurt those closest to you.”

  Elric’s eyes glistened faintly.

  “With Kevlar,” Mereth continued softly, “you loved him so fiercely that you feared your love would cloud your judgment as patriarch. So you chose distance instead of honesty.”

  She shook her head.

  “That was the mistake.”

  Elric closed his eyes, ashamed.

  “But do not blame yourself endlessly,” Mereth said.

  “Because Kevlar does not. He matured. He grew beyond the need to resent you. Even if he stayed in your estate, or left it… his fate would have taken him to the same path. He is meant for more than any family could contain.”

  Elric trembled.

  “…thank you… Mereth.”

  He inhaled deeply.

  “Now I know what I must do.”

  They stood silently, watching the city below.

  Then, unexpectedly, Elric said:

  “…Lucien seems to fancy your daughter.”

  Mereth didn’t miss a beat.

  “I know.”

  Elric blinked.

  “You… don’t object?”

  Mereth smiled gently.

  “Elric, we suffered under tradition. We obeyed our parents’ decisions. I do not want my daughter to be bound the same way.”

  She turned toward him.

  “If she loves him… and he loves her… I will not stand in their way.”

  Elric nodded, touched.

  “A wise sentiment.”

  Mereth looked down at the plaza.

  Lucien and Eslene were walking together—close, talking softly, unaware they were being watched.

  Mereth smirked.

  “I suppose we will see what becomes of them soon enough.”

  Elric whispered, almost too softly to hear:

  “Then… it is up to you now, my son.”