On the thirtieth day of the eighth month of 2035, after a long journey, Ereon finally sighted the walls of the marquisate. The sun rose on the horizon, pouring its golden light over the ancient stones. But there was no longer glory there — only silent ruins, witnesses of a territory devastated in the west.
Then, Ereon began to walk through the destroyed streets of the marquisate. Bodies scattered, houses burned, the metallic smell of blood still ingrained in the air. On the walls, strange marks left by the count's men scratched the stone like deep scars. Ereon headed toward the central district, and the sight did not change — from the first wall to the heart of the territory, everything was death and ashes.
Ereon moved forward among the rubble until he noticed an old woman leaning against a burned wall. Her legs had been torn off, and she could barely hold herself up. Her cloudy eyes were fixed on the void, reflecting the horrible memory she carried: the son dead at her feet and the daughter being taken, dragged by the destroyers of the marquisate.
With each word, she seemed to lose a little more of the life she still had:
"my... son... died... believing that... the gods... protected the righteous... I... I... die... knowing that... they only... enjoy themselves...And everything... everything we built... burned... destroyed... by the same who say they protect us..."
She sighed and added, with difficulty:
"You... who still walk... take care not to become... just one more of them..."
The memory of Nika's voice echoed in Ereon's mind: "For some, death is not the end, but relief. The greatest act of mercy."
Ereon approached the woman and, with a whisper, spoke:
"I know... Totsuka no Tsurugi."
His eyes remained fixed on the woman, as if each word were shared with the sword and also with the life that was about to extinguish.
The stroke was quick. The woman accepted death with a fragile smile, and life left her gently. Ereon remained silent for an instant, carrying the weight of that act, before moving on through the ruins of the marquisate.
Ereon approached the marquis's castle, and some of the count's knights stood out against the light of dawn. He whispered to the sword:
"Totsuka no Tsurugi."
Like a cold morning breeze, he advanced — silent, almost imperceptible. None of the knights noticed that their lives had already been sealed. Ereon entered the castle and, compared to the outside, the scene was shocking: outside, destruction and death; inside here, everything seemed intact, as if the world had frozen in time.
In the corridors, Ereon's presence finally drew attention. A group of knights shouted:
"Who are you?!"
He walked slowly, the katana dripping the blood of the five who had already fallen outside. When the first attacked, each of his blows found its target with mortal precision. One knight fell with his throat cut; another collapsed in half, unable to react. Each blow appeared and disappeared in an instant, a deadly blur that reduced any resistance to dust. No scream, no movement could save them. The air vibrated with the sound of the blade cutting space, and the metallic shock of the weapons hitting the floor echoed down the corridor.
The corridor — which before housed twenty knights at the ready — turned into a silent field of corpses. The smell of iron and fresh blood impregnated the air, mixed with the cold damp of the castle that seeped into the bones. Muffled moans of the wounded mixed with the sound of the constant dripping of blood, composing a macabre symphony.
None of them had time to scream. Some curled up against the wall, eyes wide, breath trapped, while death passed through them without warning. Ereon continued advancing, cold and inexorable, like a spirit of death traversing the castle. With each step, terror and disbelief were stamped on the few survivors who dared to face him, while the corridor became a passage marked only by destruction and deadly silence.
Finally, after eight years, they would see each other again. Ereon pushed open the doors of the hall, revealing a wide, silent space. The marble floor reflected the soft light of the stones embedded in the walls, which emitted a constant and ethereal glow. The heavy tapestries told stories of past conquests, their deep colors contrasting with the gloom of the room.
In the center, sitting in an imposing chair, was a man of overwhelming presence. The right eye was red and piercing, while the left remained closed, marked by a huge scar. His reddish hair, combed back, matched the well-trimmed beard, and the dark attire, adorned with golden embroideries, chains and medallions, reflected wealth and prestige. The high collar, lined with black furs, reinforced the authority of the man, whose erect posture conveyed discipline, control and a silent threat.
The knights present did not move. They were at the ready, in rows on both sides, forming a corridor to the man seated in the center. He raised his gaze to the boy entering the hall and, with an authoritative voice, spoke:
"If you have come this far, I imagine you were part of the vanguard. But all those who were sent first served as a sacrifice. So, who are you? And how did you get here? I do not believe you came to congratulate me, since your katana tasted the blood of my knights."
Ereon walked slowly to the center of the hall. The guards had already placed their hands on the hilts of their swords, ready to attack. But, with a simple gesture of his hand, the man ordered them to return to their formations.
"For having eliminated those out there and having reached here, I can grant you one wish," said the man, with a tone of challenge and indulgence. "After all, it is not every day that a promising young man comes to me. Prostrate yourself before me, and I may even forget the sin you committed here."
Ereon, in a low voice, stared fixedly at the count and replied:
"From now on, remember: I will be your judge, your advocate... and your executioner. Your trial begins here, and begins now."
The count slightly furrowed his brow. That phrase echoed in his mind like an old whisper he had heard before — words of Nika, memories of Diana. At the time, they had no power over him; now, spoken by the boy before his eyes, they carried a weight he could no longer ignore.
He smiled briefly and, with a simple flick of his finger, ordered his guards to advance against Ereon. But, before they could reach him, a ray of light crossed the hall — Isabela appeared, moving with supernatural speed, eliminating the knights approaching in an instant.
"Circle of Judgment!" shouted Isabela. A circle of flames formed around her and Ereon, burning with supernatural intensity. "For the massacre you committed... as Valkyrie of the West... I will kill you here."
Count Caeté remained seated, raising his chin with an air of disdain. His gaze swept the hall, heavy and piercing, full of authority.
"There is nothing more that you can protect," he said, his voice firm, while a slight gesture of the hand indicated the space of the hall. "From now on, from the county to the south to the marquisate to the west, everything belongs to me. This is the law."
He leaned forward slightly, fingers interlaced on his lap, and completed:
"That means you also belong to me now. Choose: serve me... or die here."
Isabela narrowed her eyes, containing the fury burning in her chest. Her voice came out firm, but laden with melancholy:
"You abandoned your humanity long ago, Count Caeté. Remember: you are not a god to judge them."
The count let out a low laugh, which ran through the hall like a warning. His half-closed eye stared at her, full of contempt.
"God?" he said, tilting himself just enough. "If the gods were indeed just, they would not have massacred humanity."
He leaned back, cold:
"Remember: justice is equality — and an illusion of the weak. At the dawn of extinction, humanity traded its morality for its own survival. Today, what remains is the law of the strong. From the West to the East, from the North to the Three Kings, even to the emperor himself. When everything falls, one god will remain... and that god will have my image."
If the law of the strong prevails, then it is simple: I must remain above all.
Isabela's melancholic gaze carried reproach and pain:
"To achieve your glory, what sacrifices will you make? You will not hesitate to continue this carnage until only the emperor's crown remains? What else is left for you to take? They had already given up everything, living with the little simplicity that remained. But you, the guardians, betrayed them, killed them, and even stole their lives to feed your own ambition."
The count gave a slight smile, resting back in the chair, as one who contemplates the inevitability of the world:
"This is the law that was created when democracy ceased to exist."
Then he raised his right hand, slowly pointing to the hall, remaining seated, and spoke in a cutting voice:
"It is simple. If you are weak, accept the destiny that the strong impose on you. But it is no different from democracy, since even before the fall, the most disadvantaged suffered. If you want to curse someone, curse your god... Anhanguçu. We have wasted too much time with words. Kill them."
Suddenly, a creature emerged from a circle of energy forming in front of the count's seat. Its eyes fixed on Ereon with silent recognition.
"I cannot touch the boy. My oath is older than our pact," said the creature, addressing the count firmly. "But if you force me, Count, know that the price will be your life. If you are willing to pay it, I will continue."
Before Caeté could answer, an invisible blade tore the air with a vertical cut, and the castle ceiling split with a deafening crash. No one knew the direction of the attack — only Anhanguçu, who gave a brief smile, eyes shining with anticipation:
"Where were you hiding that person?" he asked, leaning forward slightly, his voice loaded with authority and threat.
The count recoiled in his chair, eyes narrowed, confused:
"What are you talking about?" he stammered, trying to understand what had just happened.
Anhanguçu Then remained motionless, but the aura around him seemed to intensify, his voice cold and relentless.
The he replied:
"Count... I think it will be difficult for you to continue. When two primordial gods decide to get involved, you will have to kill the boy with your own hands. As for that..."— a pause, his gaze fixed on the count— "I will take care of our unwanted guests."
[Observation: Abilities of Isabella Brynhildr]
The Circle of Judgment of Isabella Brynhildr is not merely a weapon, but a tribunal in itself. Its blue flames, of spiritual nature, do not burn flesh or stone, but the soul, responding only to the command of its bearer. When raised, the circle serves both as shield and as sentence: an impenetrable protection for allies and inevitable condemnation for enemies. It is not a common fire, but an obedient spirit that punishes only the guilty, making Isabella not only a warrior, but judge and executioner of those who dare to defy her justice.