A/N-
I am sorry to all the readers. Plenty of things happened, so I couldn't find neither time nor energy to write the chapters. Once again, thank you for your patience.
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PREVIOUSLY-
WHAM!
The blade blossomed a crater in the marble, and for the first time, surprise broke across Henry's face.
"You!" He jabbed a finger at his assailant, "Your weapon did not break!"
A smile cracked across his face as colour flushed his cheeks,
"I finally got a sturdy toy!"
Bartram's grip tightened,
"Is that so?" veins popped on his forehead as the knight swung his halberd again.
—X—
As the blade crashed to the ground again, blood and marble splattered alike.
"Fufu…" Henry slightly leaned to his left, crouching as his fist aimed for Bartram's liver,
"How about we also see the toughness of your armour?"
WHAM!
Bartram flew into a wall, forming a small alcove inside it. Even his armour moulded itself into the count's fist.
"Duskrane!" The Templar swung his weapon again, missing Henry's neck by inches but—
STEP!
SWISH!
Bartram turned, his left foot turning as his body rotated to a thrust. The base of the shaft moved for the white-haired opponent's heart.
"Huh?"
Henry's grin widened as the halberd pierced his chest,
"Magnificent! Random templar, my praise goes to you!"
Bartram tried to pull the halberd but Henry's muscles refused to let the weapon go.
"What?" He pulled again, yet neither Henry nor the weapon moved.
"Oh my," Henry calmly curled his fingers around the shaft, "It seems like your halberd likes me."
WHAM!
His leg shot up to Bartram's torso as the latter crashed to the floor.
"Blood."
Kaelan muttered as he crouched near a fallen templar,
"That man had painted the entire church in crimson, yet every templar is still breathing. Though a few may have to give up their limbs or live with disabilities."
He gently picked up the templar, taking him outside the room,
"Don't worry my brother. Sir Bartram will exact our revenge. And if he fails to do so…she will soon arrive."
Back inside the room, Bartram's eyes widened as he saw his own reflection in the blood pooled floor. His lips pursed into a thin line, his body shivered as he looked up to the count smirking at him.
"Oh Lord. It seems another trial for me has arrived. Please give the strength—"
THUD!
Henry's heel kissed Bartram's jaw before he could complete.
"Trial? Don't lie to your God! This is a calamity, just pray that you survive."
Henry chuckled, the halberd lazily resting on his shoulder.
Bartram slammed his fists on the floor,
"AAARGH!" he lunged, arms curled for a punch.
SWSIH!
Bartram stopped his advance at once. His throat lurched as a line bloomed on the wall behind him.
CRASH!
Ultimately cutting the wall in two.
"Smart boy." Henry threw the halberd towards Bartram, turning towards the door at the end of the room. "Practice your form more… And learn how to punch someone."
CLACK!
Bartram's frozen body melted to the floor. As if the closing of those humongous doors brought peace and relief to him.
"Haha," a tear escaped his eye, "Hahahahaha."
"That heretic dares to give me advice? It seems I have been comfortable…too comfortable."
WHAM!
The doors shot like a bullet, missing the cardinal by an inch.
Cardinal Anselm stood up; his expression horrified as his hands trembled. He looked up to see a smiling Henry walking towards him, a golden censer twirling like a flail in a mad jester's grip—its chains rattling, smoke trailing in serpentine coils behind him.
"Who- Who are you? How dare you barge in here!"
Anselm glanced around, fear painting his face as Henry drew closer,
"Guards!" he shrieked, but nothing happened.
Henry stopped before the cardinal, their body separated by a few inches. Henry glanced menacingly down at his bald head.
"Pft… Haha!" Henry laughed clutching his stomach.
Cardinal Anselm looked at the man in disbelief,
'Who is this crackhead?... wait, crackhead?'
Anselm looked at Henry once more. His eyes bulged, panic crashing into them like a wave.
"Henry Duskrane?" he asked softly.
Henry, still clutching his stomach, wiped a tear from his eye.
"Yes, old man, it's Henry Duskrane, himself!"
Anselm stumbled to the floor as his legs gave away. His lips quivered.
"Y-You, why are you here?"
"For you." Henry winked.
"STOP!" A knight interrupted him, behind him the templars had already gathered, their breathing heavy and dishevelled.
Henry looked at the Templars, then at the cardinal.
"It seems we have to go, cardinal."
Anselm, not understanding his words opened his mouth in protest.
WHAM!
THUD!
Henry kicked Anselm in the jaw, knocking him out. He grabbed him by the waist and flung him over his shoulder like a sack of flour, limbs dangling uselessly.
The golden censer began twirling again, spinning like a carriage wheel loosed from its axle—wild, relentless.
"Time to go!" Henry chirped cheerfully, walking towards the army of templars.
A FEW MOMENTS LATER-
CRASH!
The huge doors of the church broke down as Henry valiantly stepped out from the other entrance, the cardinal slung on his shoulder.
A man in black suit appeared,
"Sir Henry," he glanced at the inside- men laying on floor knocked out cold, blood flooded the stone. Bodies hung like clothes on the stairs, their faces dripping with blood. "It looks like a butcher's shop." The man remarked.
Henry looked behind briefly. Then with a casual wave of his hand, "Aye, at least there are no casualties- not more than five at least."
A soft snicker escaped him as he extended his hand, revealing a parchment folded with meticulous care, its edges sharp, its purpose unclear.
"Hmm, so Vaelgory…" Henry hummed as he opened the parchment.
"It's Vaelgoryn, SIR." Vaelgoryn replied.
"Okay Vaelgoryn, is my son really doing this?" he pointed towards the parchment.
"Yes," Vaelgoryn sighed.
Henry looked up at the sky. 'Orianne…'
He turned to Vaelgoryn, but the dragon had vanished into thin air.
"Haa…" Henry sighed as he jerked the cardinal on his shoulder, "Its time I visit my brother-in-law."
SOMEWHERE BETWEEN TIGRANCLAW AND ARDELIA KINGDOM-
Lightning split the sky like a jagged blade. The Velgorath River surged below, swollen and furious, smashing against the jagged stone banks as if some ancient beast struggled to break free from its chains. Rain lashed down in sheets, muffling the distant rumble of thunder.
A battalion of soldiers clad in silver armour marched in steady formation across the old stone bridge, its weathered arches standing strong against the relentless current beneath. The air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth and the tension of unsaid words.
Edward rode at the front, his gaze focused ahead, though his mind wandered like the storm. Beside him, Kalem, ever the stoic, kept a close watch on the path ahead. Edward's hand tightened around the reins.
"Sir Kalem, any word from Theodore?" Edward asked, breaking the silence.
Kalem hesitated, as though the message weighed heavy on him.
"Yes, my lord." He shifted the piece of parchment in his gloved hands, clearly uncomfortable with the news.
"It seems the duchess has sent a squad to Duskrane."
Edward's jaw clenched, a flicker of concern passing through his eyes.
"I knew she would do something… a good decision..." He trailed off, his mind racing. "Any news about Raphael?"
"It seems so, my lord," Kalem replied, his voice betraying the weight of the situation.
"Also… Young Master Raphael has safely arrived at the fortress. It seems that the elders are quite doting on him"
Edward's breath caught in his throat. He coughed, trying to mask his shock.
"What…? The deranged elders in Tigris fortress?"
Kalem rolled the parchment tighter, his expression unreadable.
"Indeed, my lord. It seems life truly is unpredictable."
Edward's mind raced, his thoughts colliding with the implications.
"Tell Theodore to join us…And where does this leave us?" Edward muttered, eyes narrowing against the storm.
Kalem glanced briefly at his lord. "Where we've always been, my lord... between a tempest and the deep.
The Ardellia Kingdom sat nestled between emerald hills and vast stretches of fertile plains, known for its deep-rooted traditions and its long-standing loyalty to the empire. Its royal palace was an imposing structure, the heart of a proud and ancient dynasty.
Built from pale stone that shimmered in the light of both dawn and dusk, the palace towered above the city, visible for miles in every direction. Its high spires seemed to scrape the sky, while its grand walls were adorned with intricate carvings and statues, representing the kingdom's storied history and their veneration of the gods.
At the palace's heart was the Throne Hall, a vast chamber with high vaulted ceilings, supported by columns of white marble. Massive tapestries depicting the kingdom's earliest rulers draped the walls, the colours bold and vibrant.
The floor beneath was paved with checkerboard tiles, each piece meticulously set to create a feeling of balance and order. Stained glass windows cast a kaleidoscope of light across the room, where noblemen and courtiers often gathered in whispered conversation. The scent of incense, a mix of jasmine and cedar, lingered in the air, heightening the atmosphere of both grandeur and tension.
But beyond the grandeur, the palace was a fortress. The outer walls, thicker than most fortifications, were designed not just for aesthetics but for defence. Behind the ornate gates and defensive towers stood a series of hidden passageways and secret chambers, known only to the royal family and trusted servants.
The palace had weathered centuries of political intrigue, the shadows of assassins and scheming nobles hanging just as heavily as the weight of its history.
The royal gardens outside were vast and meticulously manicured, designed in geometric patterns with perfectly trimmed hedges, fountains, and statues. A small maze of hedges led to a serene pond where the royal family had spent countless hours in contemplation.
Above it all, the palace loomed like a symbol of both strength and vulnerability—the seat of power, yet constantly under the scrutiny of those who would seek to dethrone it.
BAM!
Edward kicked open the door with a force that rattled the windows. The King of Ardellia, a stout man with a weathered face, sat behind his ornate desk, his quill poised mid-air. The room was dim, lit only by flickering candles, and the air was thick with the scent of incense and aged wood.
The King's expression shifted from mild surprise to a frown. His guards, who had been standing at attention, quickly moved to draw their weapons, but the sight of Edward—his armour still gleaming from his recent travels—made them pause, their gazes flicking nervously to their King.
"Edward," the King said, his voice calm but laced with an unmistakable edge. "I wasn't expecting a visit from you."
Edward strode forward, his boots clicking sharply against the floor. Without a word, he slammed his hand down on the desk, sending papers scattering into the air. The King's eyes narrowed, his patience clearly wearing thin.
"You've been meeting with foreign powers," Edward said, his voice low and dangerous.
"You've been moving your military forces and importing weapons—preparing for war. And now, the Fafnir Empire is getting word of it."
The King sighed, his gaze flicking to the scattered parchment before him. He folded his hands over his belly, seemingly unfazed by Edward's fury.
"You don't understand, Edward. This kingdom is protected by the Empire, but the Empire is too slow. Too distant."
Edward's fists clenched at his sides. "So, you've taken matters into your own hands? Do you think that will end well for you?"
The King's lips curled into a faint smile, though there was no humour in it. "The Empire is crumbling. We need to prepare, Edward. You've seen it yourself—the emperor is weak, his influence waning. I have no choice but to secure Ardellia's future, even if that means forging alliances that might be... unpopular with the Empire."
Edward's mind raced, the weight of the situation heavy on his shoulders. The King of Ardellia, once a loyal subject, now seemed to be playing a dangerous game.
"So, you've decided to act behind the Empire's back?" Edward's voice was icy. "Do you think the emperor won't find out? That he won't take action?"
The King leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the wooden surface.
"And what will he do? Send you to stop us? You've been sent here to investigate, but the truth is, Edward, you are just a pawn in this game. You're in too deep now, and there's no going back."
Edward's gaze hardened. "You've miscalculated." His voice was steady, but there was a steel edge to it.
"I won't let you drag the entire kingdom into chaos. You've made your alliances, but I'll make sure you face the consequences."
The King's face tightened. "You underestimate the power of choice, Edward. And that's where you've gone wrong. There's more at stake here than just loyalty to the Empire. Much more."
Edward stepped back, his gaze fixed on the king.
"Then I'll expose you for what you are—a traitor to the Empire. I'll make sure everyone knows the truth."
As Edward turned to leave, the King's voice echoed in the silence. "Do what you must, Edward. But remember—this is no longer just about you. And once you've crossed that line, there's no coming back."
Edward paused at the door, his hand resting on the handle. He glanced over his shoulder. "Then I'll make sure I'm the one who gets to decide how it ends."
With that, he left, his cloak billowing behind him as the doors swung closed.
CLANG! STEP! STEP! CLANG!
As soon as Edward stepped out of the room, hordes of knights closed in, steel encircling him and his retinue. Sir Kalem turned to Edward, but instead of fear, laughter flashed across his face.
"HAHAHA!" both men burst out laughing.
"It seems I won the bet, Kalem," Edward said with a wink.
"Your insight is boundless, my lord," Kalem smirked.
CLANG! CRANG!
Tigranclaw soldiers unsheathed their spears. Short swords slid loose from their belts as their eyes locked onto the encroaching foes.
STEP. STEP.
A towering figure emerged from the ranks—Donald Welsh, the Swordmaster of Ardellia. His boots echoed against the stone as he strode forward.
CLANG!
He drew his greatsword in one fluid motion.
"Edward Tigranclaw," he growled, "let's duel."
WHAM!
The king burst from the study, his laughter cold as he stopped beside Donald, resting a hand on his shoulder. His gaze settled on Edward.
Edward's laughter slowed to a sly chuckle.
"King Ardellia… has your palace opened a farm recently?" he tilted his head toward Donald.
"Because I could've sworn, I heard a pig squeal."
"You bastard!" Donald snarled, his nostrils flaring.
WHAM!
Donald lunged. His blade howled through the air.
VSHOOM!
But Edward was gone—vanishing just before the steel could taste blood, wind whipping in his wake.