Chapter 12
Dawn hadn't yet touched the sky. The Valerian estate lay quiet, its gardens wrapped in a silver-blue mist. Birds hadn't begun their morning song. All was still.
Head Butler Sebastian walked through the courtyard with his usual dignity. Even at this hour, his uniform was immaculate, his posture flawless. Order and discipline were the backbone of House Valerian—and he was their silent enforcer.
Then—
Footsteps. Fast. Desperate.
A guard burst into the courtyard, boots skidding across the stone path. His chest heaved with each breath, and his eyes—wild, bloodshot—locked onto Sebastian.
Sebastian stepped forward immediately.
"Why are you running like a madman? This is the Valerian estate, not a battlefield."
"Sir—Sir Sebastian!" the guard gasped. "I—I didn't know who else to go to—"
"Then breathe first. Stand straight."
Sebastian raised his hand and cast a quick freshness charm. A shimmer of cool mana passed over the guard, wiping away the sweat and calming his breath.
"Now," Sebastian said, eyes sharp, "speak."
The guard straightened, but his fists clenched. "There was an attack… in Enoire."
Sebastian's gaze hardened. "Where?"
"Baron Erion's estate… an assassin killed him."
"…What?" The word escaped Sebastian before he could stop it.
"And it wasn't just the Baron," the guard continued, voice shaking. "A mana bomb… they planted it in the central residential district."
Sebastian's eyes widened.
The guard looked down, struggling to say the next words.
"It exploded… and the district is gone. At least ten thousand people are dead."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Sebastian took one slow step back, lips slightly parted. "Ten thousand…?"
"It's hell down there, sir. I saw it. The Skyrail is in pieces, buildings are gone. People are screaming, pulling bodies from the rubble. Some of the guards are crying like children. I—"
"Enough," Sebastian interrupted, voice now cold and sharp. "You've done your part. Go and rest. If this is true… the Count must know."
"Yes, sir."
The guard turned and ran off again—quieter now, his rage replaced by grim exhaustion.
Sebastian stood in the courtyard for a long moment.
Baron Erion… killed in his own home?
A bomb in the city?
Ten thousand dead?
He clenched his jaw.
"This is no accident," he muttered. "This is a message."
Then he turned and strode toward the mansion doors.
——————
Count Alaric Valerian sat cross-legged in his meditation chamber. He didn't require sleep anymore—not in the traditional sense. At higher Ranks, physical rest alone could no longer push one toward advancement. Deep meditation, internal refinement of mana, and communion with the self—these were the only paths forward.
The room was silent, dimly lit by floating mana crystals. His aura was calm. Still. As if the world itself respected the presence of one who had walked through battlefields soaked in blood.
Knock. Knock.
A polite knock at the door pulled him out of his meditation. Alaric's eyes opened slowly—calm, composed.
"Enter," he said.
The door opened and Sebastian stepped in, bowing. "Good morning, my lord."
Alaric tilted his head slightly. "Sebastian, it's rare to see you first thing in the morning. What's so urgent?"
Sebastian hesitated. "My lord… I bring news from Enoire."
"Enoire?" Alaric raised a brow. "Baron Erion's territory. He was a decent man. What happened?"
Sebastian took a breath. "Baron Erion… was assassinated last night."
Alaric's eyes narrowed, but his expression didn't change much. "Hmm. Assassinated, you say? Not surprising. Nobles stepping on each other isn't exactly new."
"But… that's not all, my lord."
Alaric's gaze sharpened. "Speak."
"There was… a mana bomb. It was planted in the central residential district of Erion's city."
The room fell into dead silence.
Sebastian swallowed. "It detonated shortly after the assassination. At least ten thousand civilians are dead."
Alaric did not move for a moment.
Then—
BOOM.
A violent surge of mana exploded from his body like a storm. The air trembled. Pressure flooded the room with such force that Sebastian was flung to his knees.
Cracks raced along the stone walls. Mana crystals shattered. The ground trembled as if struck by an earthquake.
Across the estate, windows shattered and servants screamed. The guards were instantly on edge.
"What the hell is happening?!"
"It's the Count… he's furious!"
"Who the hell dared to make Count Valerian angry?!"
Back in the chamber, Sebastian struggled to breathe. Sweat poured down his forehead. He couldn't even lift his head—his body felt like it was being crushed under a mountain.
Alaric's voice cut through the air, cold and furious.
"Sebastian. Is this true?"
Sebastian clenched his teeth. "Th-the report came from a new recruit… someone recently assigned to the Intelligence Division. He saw the aftermath himself and rushed to the estate."
Alaric didn't respond. He stood there, eyes staring through the wall, hands clenched behind his back.
"…Sir?"
Alaric closed his eyes.
"Summon the Head of Intelligence," Alaric said. "Tell him I want answers. And if we don't have any… then we'll start dragging them out of people's mouths."
"Yes, my lord."
————————
The war room within Valerian Estate was deathly silent. Moonlight filtered through the tall windows, painting silver lines on the cold stone floor. Count Alaric Valerian sat still on his throne-like chair—his expression cold, composed, and unreadable. The aftermath of his earlier fury lingered in the cracks of the shattered glass at his feet.
Before him stood a man in a black robe, marked with the sigil of a sword piercing a crown. Below it, in subtle silver embroidery, were the letters VIU—Valerian Intelligence Unit—surrounded by six small swords.
"My lord," said Armin, bowing his head low.
"How did this happen?" Alaric asked, his voice calm—too calm.
"We believe the assassination of Baron Erion… was only the final act of a much longer scheme."
Alaric's gaze sharpened. "Speak clearly."
"They fed him false intelligence," Armin explained, tone heavy with frustration. "Six weeks ago, he began receiving anonymous threats—coded letters, magical projections—warning him of assassination attempts. He took it seriously. Tripled his personal security. Pulled back his investigative patrols from the outer districts and assigned more to protect himself and his manor."
Alaric frowned. "So they wanted him to focus inward."
"Exactly. With his attention locked on his own safety, he stopped supervising the rest of his county. His knights no longer patrolled the storage yards, and the merchant shipments went unchecked."
"And in that gap…"
"They moved the cores in—thousands of them. Hidden in small containers, disguised as enchanted crystals or training materials. Legally imported, but untraceable after distribution. Everything looked normal on paper."
"And then they killed him."
Armin's jaw tightened. "Once he was no longer needed, they struck him down. Cleanly. We suspect one of his personal knights betrayed him. No witnesses."
"No security spells?"
"None active. He'd deactivated most alarms near his quarters to avoid 'false triggers' during the threat phase. Classic manipulation."
Alaric's hands curled into fists, but his voice remained ice.
"So they used fear to blind him, lies to isolate him, and betrayal to silence him. And while everyone stared at the assassination—ten thousand people were standing on top of a bomb."
Armin nodded grimly. "We only discovered the truth by going back through five months of shipment logs. And the cores… they weren't just ordinary."
"Modified?"
"Yes. Fierce beast cores, carefully drained and re-infused with volatile mana. Individually harmless. But they'd been etched with an ancient convergence formation. Once the central trigger rune activated, it created a mana chain reaction."
"Whoever did this knew their alchemy—and their psychology," Alaric said slowly. "They turned Erion into both the shield… and the fuse."
Silence fell.
Armin's voice lowered. "We believe it was the work of the Dark Order. But we still don't know how they're operating inside the empire… or who their collaborators are."
Alaric's gaze fell to the cold floor.
In his mind, voices of the dead echoed—unheard by anyone but him.
Ten thousand lives.
He stood slowly, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow.
"Armin," he said softly, "bring me the names of everyone who entered Erion in the last six months. Merchant, noble, scholar, or rat—I want to know what they ate, where they slept, and who paid them."
"Yes, my lord."
——————
In the Elydrion Empire, power is layered—earned through lineage, sealed by the Emperor, and maintained through fear, duty, and iron discipline.
Only nobles of the rank of Count and above hold permanent titles; their positions are secured by imperial decree. Ranks below—Barons, Viscounts, and Knights—serve at the Emperor's pleasure, and can be stripped of their title for failure or corruption.
To ensure justice, the Emperor has assigned imperial-appointed Governors to monitor the actions of lower-ranked nobles. These Governors don't interfere in daily rule but act as watchdogs—reporting misconduct directly to the crown.
......…..
The crisp breeze of early morning swept across the courtyard, rustling the leaves of the ancient silverwood trees. Arthur walked in silence, his expression grim. The news of the Erion massacre had shaken the entire North, but for him, it struck a deeper nerve. Ten thousand lives—snuffed out in a blink. Not by sword, not by war, but by a cruel, calculated explosion.
"Back on Earth, terrorists planted bombs. But even then, the death toll never reached this scale… This world isn't just brutal—it's monstrous," he thought.
He paused before the ornate black doors of his father's office, his fingers tightening into fists. He raised his hand and knocked twice.
"Come in," came the deep voice from within.
As Arthur entered, he was greeted by a dimly lit war chamber with a large floating 3D map illuminating the center. A complex, detailed projection of Erion's region shimmered above a stone pedestal. Roads, sectors, outposts—everything was marked.
His father, Count Alaric Valerian, stood tall with his back facing him, arms folded. Beside the map stood a man in a sleek black robe, the sigil of a sword piercing a crown on his chest, surrounded by six silver swords—the mark of the highest-ranking officers of the Valerian Intelligence Unit.
"You called for me, Father?"
Alaric turned slightly. "Arthur, meet Armin."
Arthur bowed slightly. "Sir. I've heard of your feats. Thank you for protecting our county from threats in the shadows."
Armin nodded, smiling faintly. "And you must be the youngest master. Your reputation precedes you. I've heard your swordsmanship is… exceptional for your age."
Alaric cut in, voice cold. "Enough chatter. Let's focus."
He motioned for Arthur to approach. The map zoomed in on key sectors in Erion—places where the mana cores had detonated.
"Arthur," Alaric began, "you already know the severity of what happened. The Governor of Erion is back… but his explanation raises more questions than answers. Armin?"
The intelligence officer stepped forward, tapping a crystal that shifted the map to show blue and red dots.
"We've traced the shipment of over 10,000 fierce beast cores into Erion over the past five months. The supplier? A merchant chain tied to Earthworld Empire. Officially legal—but suspicious in timing."
Arthur's brows furrowed. "And no one noticed? Not even the Governor?"
Armin gave a rueful smile. "That's the strange part. Governor Tiber Carrow claims he was away for his daughter's marriage in Earthworld. For over a month. During which, most of the placement occurred."
Alaric's gaze sharpened. "A marriage between a human noble and an Earthworld baron's family. How convenient. And while he was gone, someone gave the green light for this operation."
Armin nodded. "That's not all. We've identified three primary suspects… within the Baron's own house."
The map shifted again. Three images emerged.
"First, Baron Erion's eldest son Roderick Erion—Rank 4 awakened warrior. Recently caught trading fierce beast cores through shell companies. He's been furious since his father announced his younger brother would inherit the title."
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "A grudge strong enough to look the other way… or help."
"Second," Armin continued, "the Baron's younger brother Darius. Former noble, imprisoned for fifty years. Official reason: dark crime against the Empire's Code. Real reason?" His voice dropped. "Connections to the Dark Order."
"And third?" Arthur asked.
"The Governor himself," Alaric answered coldly. "Who leaves their province for months for a wedding in another empire during a time of rising unrest? Either he's lying, or he's a fool."
Arthur took a step forward, studying the map. His voice was calm but steady. "So what's the plan?"
Alaric's expression didn't change, but there was a glint of approval in his eyes.
"Phase One," Armin said. "We don't expose them. We let them believe they're still hidden. We increase surveillance, draw out communication lines, and track subtle movements. We plant misinformation. A bait."
Arthur nodded slowly. "Force them to act. Make them nervous. If they know we're looking, they'll hide. But if they think they've won…"
"They'll slip," Alaric finished.
The map faded into darkness. A heavy silence followed.
"We'll capture the Governor soon," Alaric added. "But for now, we let him squirm. His lies will unravel. One thread at a time."
Arthur turned to leave, but paused at the door. "Rein told me first," he thought. "When I heard it… I wanted to tear down the Dark Order with my own hands."
But he is too weak to confront them.
As he stepped out, Alaric looked at Armin. "Prepare the agents. The council meeting is approaching, and the Emperor will attend himself."
"Yes, my lord."
Alaric's voice dropped into a whisper, unheard by anyone.
"I will avenge them… every single soul."
...…
The city of Enoire mourned in silence. Black flags fluttered in the wind, and the scent of ash clung to the air like a ghost. Survivors walked through the ruins of bombed streets, searching for meaning in the wreckage.
Inside a quiet chamber of the Valerian estate, a magi-tech crystal screen flickered to life. Arthur sat cross-legged on the edge of his bed, eyes fixed on the shimmering image. He was alone—his room dim, save for the bluish glow from the floating crystal.
Across the screen, the massive square of Erion City was revealed. A stage stood in the heart of the devastated plaza. On it stood Roderick Erion, wearing his late father's cloak, his eyes like steel.
Reporters and citizens packed the ruins. Magi-cams floated in the air, their enchanted lenses broadcasting live across the empire.
"Citizens of Elydrion," Roderick's voice rang out, calm yet thunderous, enhanced by sound-runes. "I stand before you not as a grieving son… but as a soldier of the truth."
Arthur narrowed his eyes.
"In the wake of our barony's tragedy," Roderick continued, "many ask—how could this happen? How did the Dark Order strike so boldly and face no resistance?"
In another room of the estate, Count Alaric, Lady Rubina, Armin, and several senior officers watched in solemn silence.
"The answer," Roderick said, pacing slowly, "is betrayal."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Roderick lifted a crystal orb glowing with a deep red light.
"This orb," he said, holding it high, "contains recordings from our communication array. Witness them now."
The screen shifted. Projected above the plaza was a floating image—a magi-recording. Clear voices echoed.
:: "Let them handle it. Do not send troops. We have other priorities." ::
:: "But sir, if the Baron falls—" ::
:: "Then let him fall. Better him than raising suspicion from the Council." ::
The crowd went silent. The voice was unmistakable: Governor Tiber Carrow.
Back in Arthur's room, he sat up straighter, expression darkening.
In the Valerian war room, Count Alaric's face was carved in stone. Rubina's fingers clenched around her wineglass.
"Traitor," Armin whispered.
The image returned to Roderick.
"This," Roderick said, "is the voice of the man who left Erion to die. Governor Carrow—sworn protector of our region—chose to do nothing while our people burned."
Reporters surged forward, shouting questions. The crowd roared with fury.
Roderick raised a hand, quieting them.
"I don't care if he's backed by noble factions or shielded by political games. From this moment forward, Erion will not bow to the corrupt. We will not be silent."
Another figure stepped forward—Darius Erion, the younger brother. His eyes were sharp, focused.
"I, Eleka Erion, support my brother's words. From this day, we begin a new age. One where justice will not wait for permission from the Capital."
The brothers stood united as the crowd erupted into chants.
"Justice for Erion! Justice for Erion!"
Arthur leaned back in his chair, a chill creeping through him. This was no mere act of grief.
This… was war in the making.