Valen reclined in the grand yet cozy living room of the Ashbluff estate, his fingers absently swirling the remnants of golden tequila in his glass. The soft glow of enchanted sconces bathed the room in a warm light, reflecting off the polished mahogany furniture and the intricately woven tapestries adorning the walls. Beside him, Camila Ashbluff, his wife and Queen of the West, rested her head on his shoulder, her expression a delicate blend of concern and affection.
"Are you truly doing well, Valen?" she asked softly, her voice as soothing as the gentle hum of a distant harp.
Valen's lips curled into a faint smile, the kind that hinted at both reassurance and deflection. "Of course, Camila. The preparations are going perfectly."
Her eyes searched his face, the calm façade he always wore when he spoke of war and strategy. "Even so," she murmured, her brow furrowing slightly, "don't you think it might be too early?"
He shook his head, setting the empty glass down with a decisive clink. "No, Camila. It's precisely because of that kind of thinking that we've lingered in this cursed stalemate for so long. Fear has kept us shackled, even as our Radiant-rankers fell, one by one. We've been paralyzed, and in our hesitation, the cults and their accursed black mana species have only grown stronger."
Camila's gaze lowered, her fingers tightening slightly on his arm. "War is something to fear, Valen," she said, her voice quiet but firm.
"I know," he replied, his tone softening as he glanced down at her. "But fear is no excuse to avoid what must be done. Humanity cannot survive if we remain in this endless cycle of half-measures. The cults must be wiped out, every last one of them."
The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and inescapable. Camila stared into the distance, her face unreadable, though her silence spoke volumes. Valen poured himself another glass and took a measured sip, his mind clearly churning.
"I have the strength now," he continued, breaking the quiet. "Magnus Draykar proved it could be done when he slew the Ogre King and saved the Western continent."
"And yet he still died," Camila whispered, her tone a mix of sadness and frustration. "And that woman still roams this world."
Valen nodded grimly. "Alyssara Velcroix is different. She's not a foe you hope to defeat outright. No, Camila, I don't entertain such delusions. But there's another way. We can outmaneuver her—outlast her."
Camila didn't respond immediately. She traced a finger along the edge of her glass, her thoughts seemingly elsewhere. Then she asked, almost hesitantly, "And what about Rin?"
The mention of the name made Valen freeze for a moment, his usually composed face betraying a flicker of uncertainty.
"Rin..." he said slowly, as though tasting the weight of the name. "I don't know. She's grown stronger, even in isolation. Too strong. Soon, she'll reach the level where breaking free will no longer be a question of 'if,' but 'when.'"
"And then what?" Camila pressed, her voice trembling slightly. "What will we do, Valen? What will you do?"
Valen's jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists. When he spoke again, his words were as sharp and unyielding as the edge of a blade. "We'll kill her."
Camila gasped, recoiling as though she'd been struck. "No," she said, shaking her head vehemently. "No, Valen, I can't—I won't! I can't kill my own daughter!"
Valen's eyes narrowed, his voice hardening further. "What daughter, Camila?" he spat. "Rin stopped being our daughter the day she became a ticking time bomb. She's a danger to us, to Jin, to the entire Western continent. You're the Queen of the West. Your loyalty is to your people—not to a single girl who doesn't matter anymore."
"She does matter," Camila snapped, her voice rising for the first time. "She's our child, Valen! How can you say—"
"Because it's the truth!" Valen cut her off, his words slicing through the air like a sword. He stood abruptly, towering over her as he continued. "Jin is all we need. He's capable, loyal, and focused. Rin... Rin is a liability. If you let your emotions blind you, Camila, you'll doom us all."
Tears glistened in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She stood too, meeting his gaze with defiance. "And what will you say to Jin, then? When he finds out what you've done? What will you tell him about the sister you chose to discard like a broken tool?"
Valen hesitated, the strength of her words piercing through his resolve, if only momentarily. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he turned away, his expression shadowed.
"I'll tell him the truth," he said finally, his voice quieter now but no less resolute. "That it was necessary. That I did what I had to do to protect him. To protect us all."
Camila stared at her husband's back, her heart still churning with a mixture of anger, sorrow, and fear. She knew Valen Ashbluff too well to think she could sway his resolve once his mind was set. Yet, in her heart, a fragile flicker of hope remained—hope that Rin's fate wouldn't be sealed in blood.
But then, Valen stiffened, his gaze snapping to the grand windows of the Ashbluff estate. The faint evening light cast long shadows across his face, but his eyes burned with sudden intensity.
"Someone strong is coming," he murmured, almost to himself.
Camila frowned, stepping closer. "Strong? Do you mean the Axe King? Is he moving against us already?"
"No," Valen said, his voice low and taut with energy. The faint hum of mana began coursing through his body, crackling just beneath the surface like a storm waiting to be unleashed. "Stronger than him."
Camila's breath hitched. Stronger than the Axe King? The leader of the Savage Communion, one of the five Cult Leaders, was infamous for his brutality and monstrous power. Few could claim to match him, let alone surpass him.
"Then… could it be Archmage Charlotte?" she ventured, her voice wavering slightly. "Or… Alyssara?"
At the mention of Alyssara, her words faltered, and she hugged herself instinctively, as if the name alone could summon the woman who embodied terror itself.
Valen shook his head. "No," he said, his voice steady despite the faint tremor in the air. "I can't detect Alyssara unless she chooses to let herself be known. And this isn't Charlotte."
He paused, the corners of his lips curling upward into a faint, almost wistful smile. His mind drifted to a memory—years ago, when a young boy had stood before him. Black-haired, blue-eyed, and absurdly stubborn, the boy had almost endured Valen's test, lacking even the foundational strength of Sword Resonance.
"Arthur Nightingale," Valen said softly, almost reverently. "You've grown... so much."
Camila's head whipped toward him, her expression incredulous. "Arthur? You mean the Arthur Nightingale? Guild Grandmaster? Jin's friend?"
"Yes," Valen replied, his smile widening as the presence grew nearer. The sheer weight of it bore down on the estate, suffocating yet dazzling in its intensity.
Finally, Camila felt it too. Her breath caught in her throat, and she instinctively gripped Valen's arm for support as the pressure built. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before—radiant and commanding, like a roaring storm contained within a single person.
"This boy…" she whispered, her voice trembling as she processed the sheer power surging toward them. "He's in the same generation as Jin?"
Valen glanced at her, his smile never faltering. "He is. Hard to believe, isn't it?"
Camila's face paled as she stared out the window, the air thick with expectation. No, not hard to believe. Impossible. How could someone so young carry such overwhelming strength? How could someone who should still be growing, still learning, project an aura that could make even the Axe King feel small?
A faint shimmer appeared on the horizon. It wasn't the blazing grandeur of a teleportation spell, nor the ominous crackle of a destructive magic storm. It was something quieter yet infinitely more dangerous—the calm arrival of someone who knew their power was absolute.
And then, in a single heartbeat, he was there.
Arthur Nightingale stepped onto the stone path leading to the Ashbluff estate. He moved with a deliberate grace, his figure cloaked in a faint aura that shimmered with eleven elemental hues. The blade at his side radiated quiet menace, but it was his gaze that stole the breath from Camila's lungs—sharp, calculating, and impossibly calm.
Valen pushed the door open, stepping outside to meet him. "Arthur," he called out, his voice carrying both warmth and respect. "Welcome back."
Arthur's lips twitched into a faint smile as he ascended the steps. "Valen," he replied simply. His voice was steady, carrying no boast, no arrogance—only a quiet confidence that spoke louder than words.
Camila stepped closer, still processing the sheer presence of the young man before her. "You've… grown," she murmured, the words escaping before she could stop them.
Arthur turned his gaze to her, his blue eyes softening slightly. "Lady Ashbluff," he said with a slight nod. "It's been a long time."
Her breath caught again. The boy she had met years ago was gone. Before her stood a man—one who could reshape the world if he chose to. And for the first time, she truly understood why Valen had smiled.
Because Arthur Nightingale was no longer a rising star.
He was a sun, blazing at its peak.