Newfear

Aqua whispered, his voice trembling, as if the words escaped his lips against his will... like daggers slicing into his heart.

Aqua: "Why...?"

Nithor chuckled, a low, arrogant laugh, then spoke in an eerily calm tone, savoring the moment.

Nithor: "Hmm? then let me ask you... why did you kill those guards?... because they were in the way. Just like I did, she was just a nuisance. I had no need for her… All I want is you."

His words lashed against Aqua's soul, a whip of cruelty that deepened his torment. It meant that Barbara's existence had been nothing more than a fleeting step in his path. That Aqua was the true target of this tragedy.

Nithor Rakalion stood at the end of the corridor, his figure cast in shadow before the great doors of the throne hall. His sword was in his hand, held with absolute certainty, as though it was an extension of his body... an inseparable part of him. His eyes, shrouded in darkness, seemed to measure every detail with precision, as if they saw nothing but death itself.

Aqua watched him cautiously, his senses alight with every movement, every breath in the air. His heart pounded in his chest like war drums, but his gaze did not waver. Every detail of Nithor's stance, every shift in his footing was etched into Aqua's mind, as if preparing for an inevitable battle... a battle where the wounds would not only be physical, but deeply personal.

Nithor's voice sliced through the heavy silence, his tone calm yet carrying an undeniable weight of power.

Nithor: "Son of Lucas Nightover… Aqua."

His voice was cold, flat, each word carrying a history of enmity, as if the past between them had reached an inescapable turning point.

Aqua absorbed the weight of his words in silence, then moved slowly, gripping his sword tightly, as though it had become an anchor in his hands. He did not lift his gaze, but he fully understood the meaning behind Nithor's words. They were the prelude to what was coming... the preparation for the inevitable fight.

Nithor: "I apologize… I never had the chance to meet you on the battlefield."

He paused for a moment, as if anticipating Aqua's reaction. The air was thick with tension. Aqua knew that Nithor was waiting for the right moment, while he himself breathed slowly, every passing second only intensifying the weight of the confrontation that was about to erupt between them.

This moment was a defining one. Both of them knew that this war would not be fought with words. Their blades would be the only voices that mattered.

They locked eyes for a few seconds...

Then, in the same instant, they moved.

Aqua's steps were lethal. He surged forward, closing the distance between them with no hesitation. There was no room for retreat. But at that precise moment, three guards suddenly appeared behind him, their voices echoing through the corridors as they shouted.

"I found him! He's here!!"

Aqua turned sharply, his eyes burning with an inner fire. He hadn't expected them to arrive now, but it changed nothing. His movements were calculated, precise... as if time itself had frozen around him.

The First Guard had expected swift movement, so he charged with all his strength towards Aqua, attempting to stab him in the heart. But Aqua was not confused; he was quick to anticipate the movement. At the moment of the attack, he evaded the strike with a high-level technique, using his body as a flexible object to avoid the sword, then, in an unbelievable speed, he drew his sword in a reverse circular motion. He wasn't just aiming the sword, but utilizing the force of gravity in his strike. He embedded the sword into the right side of the chest, precisely near the heart, splitting it before the guard could utter a word.

Blood quickly fell to the ground, while the sword continued its movement, and the breath was abruptly cut off. The guard had collapsed, lifeless, without any resistance.

The Second Guard, witnessing what had happened, froze in fear for a moment, but then rushed forward quickly. This time, the intention was different: caution towards the opponent was in his heart. He attempted to attack Aqua from the side, but he miscalculated. The sword that Aqua held struck him directly without hesitation. Aqua used another swift circular movement, and once his sword plunged into the guard's body, he pushed him upward violently, leaving the corpse scattered on the ground in a horrific shattering. The guard couldn't even respond before he fell silently, in deadly quiet.

As for The Third Guard, he was the most afraid. He hesitated for a moment before coming closer, but he had no other choice. His first attempt was to attack, but before he could raise his sword, Aqua lunged forward quickly, using a knife in his hand instead of the sword. The creature twirled the knife in his hand with a quick motion to avoid any counteraction from the guard, then delivered a swift blow to his neck directly. The attack wasn't just a stab; it was a horrific cut.

Blood exploded like a fountain, but the body fell without resistance, as if it had been devoid of life from the moment death emerged from it.

Aqua, who hadn't stopped for a moment, looked coldly at the bodies, with each step causing his blood to fall to the ground, as though it became part of this terrifying silence.

He stood still, every cell in his body taut, his glowing blue eyes, like ice, scanning every corner of the place. The air was thick, as if time itself had stopped for a moment. The blood dripping from his sword filled the space with a sound like faint whispers in an empty void, the scent of death creeping into the nose, and the sight of the scattered corpses on the ground seemed to embody the silence that precedes the storm.

Dreamcrown – In the Streets.

The carriage made its way through the cobbled streets of Dreamcrown, moving to the slow rhythm of the horses' hooves, while the sound of wooden wheels blended with the distant murmur of the city. Leon Cypher sat there, leaning lightly against the edge of the seat, his long coat swaying with the gentle breeze. His blue eyes were fixed on the sky, where the dim glow of the sun peeked through scattered clouds, casting fragmented shadows across his sharp features.

He took a deep breath, as if trying to capture an unseen scent, then whispered.

Leon: "It's close..."

His voice lingered in the air for a moment, as if the words themselves feared being spoken too loudly. He closed his eyes, took another breath, feeling the wind brush against his skin... but this was no ordinary breeze… There was something in the air, an invisible tension woven into the city's currents.

Slowly, he opened his eyes again, but this time, he was not looking at the sky. His gaze had shifted to the grand royal palace before him... the towering spires, the ancient windows, the walls that had witnessed centuries of secrets and schemes. His eyes did not gleam with desire or resentment but with quiet certainty, like a man who had finally sensed the approach of something long awaited.

Once more, he whispered, his voice barely audible yet charged with something deeper than mere words:

Leon: "I can feel it… Closer than ever before."

He did not smile. He showed no emotion. He merely sat there, still amidst a world in motion. This was no fleeting sensation... it pulsed through his veins, a truth that had begun to take shape.

The carriage continued down the road, while the city around him remained unaware that something had changed… or that the storm had already begun to draw near.

Royal Palace - In the Corridors

Nithor remained still, like a statue, his eyes locked on Aqua as if they did nothing but store the entire moment in his mind. There was no fear in his eyes, only a kind of waiting, filled with challenge, as if he did not see in front of him an ordinary person but a being beyond his comprehension. His hands were on the hilt of his sword, but he didn't move it, as if the sword itself reflected the hesitation filling the room.

Aqua, with eyes frozen in unmelting coldness, began to take a step toward Nithor. The steps were heavy, as if they weighed tons, while his face was devoid of expression, nothing but the glow of light falling on his eyes. In a single movement, as if the body itself spoke a deadly language, his eyes scanned his opponent in a chilling silence, letting the gap between them widen further.

The atmosphere itself was eerie, as if the place was trembling from within. Despite Nithor standing firm in place, Aqua could feel that the moment could be either legendary or doomed to failure. The tension between them was so palpable it almost touched the walls, each passing minute felt like an eternity. The blood staining Aqua's sword, the blood covering his clothes, represented a deeper internal struggle than just a fight in this place. There was awe in the surrounding space, as if the killings were not mere acts, but a sign of a deeper existential struggle.

And in this profound silence, Nithor waited.

At that moment, both rushed forward, as if they were part of time itself. The air around them ignited with tension, scattering as though it was breathing with them. The speed was lethal, the movement controlled with precision, as if the moment lived between their heartbeats, between each strike, each shot, each step.

The first strike was from Aqua, his sword cutting the air in a swift sideways motion, but Nithor was quicker to react. He deflected the sword with his own, using all his strength, creating a spark from the friction between steel and iron. Despite its force, Aqua had retreated in an instant, making the next attack more precise, but with a small gap in his defenses.

Aqua, in a new attempt, chose the right moment to move. He slid on the ground, surprising Nithor from below with his sword, but Nthor had anticipated the movement. He turned his body to the left, parrying the attack, his sword spinning in the air to deliver a sudden strike to Aqua's chest, causing a burning pain, though Aqua managed to partially deflect it with one hand.

The next strike was a deadly attempt from Nithor. His sword was raised in the air like a storm, aiming to strike Aqua at the upper side of his head. But Aqua, despite the fatigue beginning to show in his eyes, managed to move his body with unbelievable speed, dodging the strike, falling to the ground and driving his sword into Nithor's leg, creating deep wounds. Blood poured abundantly, but Nithor didn't retreat. Instead, he turned quickly and stabbed Aqua in his side, as Aqua's blood fell to the ground.

The fight spun in a whirlwind of calculated chaos. Aqua could feel his fatigue increasing, while Nithor remained steady, each of his strikes carrying fate. The agony was present in every moment, Aqua's sword soaring through the air in attempts to break through, while Nithor's hand was directed with caution, attempting to corner him into a tight space.

In a sudden moment, Aqua surged forward with all the remaining strength he had, as if his hand had a will independent from his exhausted body. His sword sliced through the air with unbelievable speed, surprising Nithor. Despite the fatigue beginning to show on him, the sword slipped into his body, sinking into his ribs, piercing the skin and flesh. But Nithor made no sound; instead, he gave a faint smile, annoyed. To him, Aqua had made his final mistake.

In a moment like the fire that ignites after it fades, Nithor shoved Aqua away, causing Aqua's body to jerk violently with excruciating pain. At the same time, Nithor drove his sword with full force into Aqua's chest. Blood exploded from the wound as gravity pulled his body to the ground, but despite the fatal blow, Aqua's eyes gleamed coldly, and the blood that flowed from him couldn't hide it.

In that moment of exhaustion, Aqua stood on the edge of collapse. Blood poured abundantly from his wound, but willpower overcame everything. His right hand on the sword's hilt felt as if it was part of him, the shards of pain merging with the sword in one motion. With both hands, he felt the weight of the sword, blood covering the palm of his hand, but it gave him greater strength.

With his utmost effort, he pressed his left hand on the hilt with all his might, yelling as the tension in his muscles reflected an internal battle between the will to survive and physical weakness. At that moment, he suddenly yanked the sword out with terrifying strength, in a quick movement. The blade slid out of his body, and suddenly passed by his face, cutting through the skin and flesh in a long, deep, and precise line. Aqua felt the sting of pain as blood exploded onto his face, the blade embedding itself in the lower part of his left eye, cutting a bloody line down his nose and forehead, a terrifying and long scar distorting his face, turning it into a mixture of fear and rage. Yet his blue eyes, despite the blood that stained his face, remained cold, as if the fire burning within him had never touched the surface.

At that pivotal moment, with the blood dripping from his hand, Aqua didn't care about the pain. He moved suddenly, like lightning, the sword blade moving like the wind, heading towards Nithor. The strike was fatal, decisive. The blade sped towards Nithor's right eye, piercing it mercilessly. Then the blade exited through the back of his head. Blood erupted like a fountain, splattering around Aqua as though completing the terrifying image. Nithor staggered for a moment, as if time had stopped, before he collapsed quietly, falling to the ground dead, his face distorted and his eyes half-closed.

As Aqua leaned against the wall, his body trembling under the pressure of Nythor's sword, the air was thick with the scent of blood and pain. Each passing moment only added weight to the wounds that spread across his body, but his determination remained fierce—there was no room for weakness in his heart now.

Aqua, gritting his teeth so hard he thought his jaw might break, lifted his head with difficulty, his eyes filled with anger that nearly erupted. Blood dripped from his face, covering part of his eyes, but it didn't stop him from glaring at Nythor with eyes blazing with fury.

Aqua, in a sharp voice, echoing through the palace corridors: "Enjoy your life, Nithor... As long as the ice has yet to break!!!"

Aqua's words were like bullets, carrying defiance and rejection of the reality he was living. These moments were full of darkness, where everything around them had turned into a hell of pain and battle, but nothing could break Aqua's will now.

At that moment, Nithor smiled a cold smile, one filled with disdain and pride, as if Aqua's words were nothing more than an empty echo in his dark world.

But Aqua, with his face covered in blood and the wounds gathering on his features, stood firm. His breath was heavy, nearly suffocating with each exhale, coughing rapidly from his throat as he pressed on his chest wound. Blood seeped between his fingers, but he was not afraid. He didn't retreat. His blood-stained face and the wounds on his features didn't weaken him; instead, they made him a being who knew no mercy. He stood firm, every breath seeming to devour him like the fire that had ignited in his chest. His blue eyes, despite the pain, didn't lose their lethal gleam, filled with wild rage and endless hatred.

Silence began to seep into the moment, as if time itself had frozen in that deadly instant. The ground beneath his feet was soaked in blood, shimmering crimson, almost glowing... like the dawn of the world's end. The air carried no sound except for the ragged breaths tearing through his chest. It was as if the battle had drained him of everything... every vein, every fragment of strength... leaving his body frail, weighed down by pain. And with each passing second, the final moment drew closer, inescapable.

The path to the throne… was paved with corpses.

As Aqua stood there, facing his fate in the silence of spilled blood, events within the royal hall took a different turn.

Royal Palace - Inside the Throne Hall

The atmosphere inside the hall was thick with tension, an air of mystery and anticipation hanging over the gathering.

At that moment, Sir Darian sank into his thoughts, his memory dragging him back to the meeting that had taken place just hours earlier. There, he had stood face to face with Atris and Satheron, discussing the fate that awaited the kingdom.

Sir Darian Castro stood in one corner of the room, his fists clenched, his expression tense with anger and frustration. Across from him, Marchioness Atris Starkov held the torch, while in the center, Duke Satheron Blackmirth leaned on his cane, his daughter Silvia standing silently behind him, observing. The air was thick with tension, and the hushed whispers seeping from the nearby corridors only heightened their sense of looming danger.

Darian, through gritted teeth: "That bastard…! How dare he declare himself king in the absence of King Lucas and the former King Irvin?! In front of everyone!!"

Silvia, Her voice cold: "Blame those who built a system where decisions are made behind closed doors… That is what led us to this moment."

By the doorway, Atris stepped forward, her tone calm yet firm.

Atris: "Please… maintain your composure. We are the only ones who know the truth now, and any reckless move could cost us everything."

Satheron exhaled deeply, tapping his fingers against the handle of his cane, as if he could feel the kingdom slipping through his grasp.

Satheron, his voice low: "I was gone for one day… Just one day… and the kingdom fell into the hands of a bastard like Blatir Vanheim. Lucas Nightover was right when he said this council was finished."

Darian stared at Satheron for a moment before stepping forward, his tone sharpening.

Darian: "I don't care about the council! I don't care about any of this! I'll go right now and cut off that damned serpent's head!!"

Atris, cutting him off with deliberate coldness: "And the kingdom will fall into Konvirs's hands. Is that what you want?... I'll

I will rephrase what I said… we are the only ones who know. Who would dare stand with us and abandon the king's side? Even Sir Variss, despite knowing us well, might believe us… but Will he stand up to his king? An honorable man like him would rather die than break his oath and duty.

Darian froze, his eyes burning with fury, but he knew she was right.

Atris, pressing her words carefully: "Blatir Vanheim has been officially registered as the Twelfth King of Arcadia in the "Konvirs". Any attempt to assassinate or depose him now will bring the World Council upon us. And then… they will seize the opportunity to take full control of the throne and the monarchy. They will leave us nothing... no kingdom, no power… not even our lives."

Silence hung over them, the weight of her words sinking in.

Then, Satheron broke the tension with a sharp declaration.

Satheron: "My army is ready…"

Atris lifted her gaze to him, while Darian clenched his fists even tighter.

Satheron, his voice dangerously calm: "I don't care about damn Konvirs. I can gather fifteen thousand men and march to the royal court… or we can take the easier path."

He tilted his head slightly toward Silvia, who had remained silent all this time, her gaze cold but unwavering.

Atris, her expression tense: "An assassination…?"

The torchlight flickered, casting restless shadows on the walls.

Atris, continuing slowly: No… Blatir is not an easy target. I have no doubt about Silvia's skills... but, Blatir is a seasoned fighter, and… he is heavily guarded. We would need four of the strongest knights in the kingdom, and even then, our chances of success are slim…

She began pacing, voicing her thoughts aloud.

Atris, her eyes narrowing in deep thought: his sons will not remain idle. Raymond Vanheim alone could start a war... not just because of his name, but because he is different…"

She paused briefly before continuing in a lower voice, as if carefully weighing each word.

Atris: "Some may see him as nothing more than an heir who spent years away from politics, buried in a life of irrelevance… But he was the one who agreed to his position, and that means something. I don't think he is merely Blatir's puppet... he moves with his own will. The way he acts now… is not the same as before his mother's death. As if he is overturning something… or perhaps rearranging it according to his own vision.

Her voice dropped to a whisper as she mused aloud:

Atris: "He has a goal… But is he trying to ensure power doesn't fall into the wrong hands? Or is he protecting something else.

Darian turned his gaze aside, lost in thought for a moment, as if sifting through endless possibilities. Then, slowly, he looked back at Atris, his voice steady and deliberate.

Darian: "He has a daughter… Talia. I remember Lucas mentioning her once. He spoke of her in a way I've never heard him speak about anyone before. He said she was like a tree that remained green in the heart of a barren desert."

Atris: "She could be an ally… if luck is on our side. She knows her father could destroy the kingdom, but I doubt she would betray the throne so easily... especially when it is her own father who sits upon it.

As for the younger brother, Dion… to the public, he may seem like nothing more than a merchant, but in truth, he oversees an intelligence network that spreads across the entire kingdom. Any attempt to rally opposition among the noble families, or even the slightest miscalculated move, will reach his ears… I didn't believe it myself until I saw his reach firsthand."

She paused, then let out a slow breath.

Atris: "Blater didn't just build a family... he forged an empire of three sons, each a threat in his own right."

Silence fell.

Then, Darian shattered it with a voice as cold as steel, his rage barely contained.

Darian: "I am not afraid of a handful of street rats I could crush underfoot, and I will not stand by and kneel to that bastard who stole the throne as if nothing happened! If I have to choose, I'd rather those Konvirs bastards interfere in the kingdom's affairs than watch it crumble in his hands.

I'll go and kill him... whether you stand with me or not."

Satheron gave a faint smirk, glancing at Atris as if testing her resolve.

Satheron: "For once, I agree with this rhinoceros… I won't sit idly by. If we don't find a solution now, I'll march my army to the palace and cut down anyone who stands in my way.

Atris pressed a hand to her forehead, suppressing the headache clawing at her skull. Her mind raced through every possible outcome, knowing that one wrong move could mean the end of everything.

Then, she slowly lifted her head, her gaze firm with finality. Her voice was soft, but carried undeniable weight.

Atris: "I didn't want to say this… but there is a very real possibility that Blatir has already killed both Lucas and Irvin."

So… waiting for their return is pointless. I will move on my own. Tomorrow, I will meet Talia alone… and we can only hope that she makes the right decision.

A heavy silence settled over the room, as if even the air had frozen under the gravity of her words.

At that moment, Sir Darian was pulled back to reality. He blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the weight of his thoughts. The chaotic scene in the hall, the rising tension, and the people around him all brought him back to the immediate danger they were facing.

Blatir, seated on the throne, drew in a slow breath, as if time itself hesitated over his words. His gaze was enigmatic, his eyes filled with a cruel wisdom, as though he could read the fate of all present before it was even written.

He rose in silence, then lifted his hand, his fingers grazing the air as if he were surveying the entire assembly before speaking.

Blatir: "Esteemed guests..."

his deep voice carried the weight of wisdom, yet beneath it lurked a note of caution.

Blatir: "Life is not a canvas of blooming flowers or dreamy nightlights. The truth, as bitter as it is, is that the world we live in is not ruled by justice, but by those who wield power. Those who believe that justice is forged by the sword or dictated by the law are merely indulging in a delusion. The reality is simple... he who holds power dictates order, and those who do not… are swept away like dust in the wind."

He paused for a moment, his words settling into the room like a heavy weight. Then, his voice dropped, tinged with an unspoken fury.

Blatir: "I have learned that the chasm between justice and reality can only be bridged by war. The more we seek justice, the more we realize it exists only in our own fantasies. I do not speak to you of mere political battles or wars over land... I speak of a war against the very nature of this world. Against those wretches who see the weak as nothing but tools."

His piercing gaze swept over the crowd, his hand pressing against the table before him.

Blatir: "Now, I declare war against the Kingdom of Eclade!"

The words thundered through the hall, not merely as a declaration of battle, but as an act of defiance against the past itself... a breaking of chains, a reopening of wounds that would not heal easily.

A wave of unease washed over the audience. Some raised their brows in disbelief; others cast their eyes downward, troubled. It was clear that the announcement had caught them off guard. A war against Eclade was not just a struggle over land... it was a battle of legacies and honor.

One voice whispered anxiously:

"Are we ready for what is to come?"

And then, just as the weight of uncertainty thickened, the doors burst open with a resounding crash. All heads turned at once.

The king lifted his gaze, sensing something… unnatural. Like a stone shattering the surface of a still lake. The very air within the hall trembled, and an unexpected wave of cold swept through the space. Every breath taken in that moment echoed, unsettling in its presence. Shoulders tensed, eyes widened... something heavy pressed upon the chamber.

A faint light pooled at the threshold, revealing a lone figure... Aqua Nightover.

He stood at the entrance, his body battered, yet in his eyes burned an unyielding determination. Blood seeped from the deep wound in his chest, staining his garments, while rivulets of crimson traced slow paths down his skin. Deep gashes marred his face, each wound telling a silent tale of battle, their trails converging into lines of blood across his cheeks and forehead. Every scratch, every cut, was a mark of a fight long fought, and as the droplets trickled from his wounds to the cold marble floor, they fell with a solemn finality.

The blood dripping from his face had reached the corners of his lips, painting dark streaks beneath his eyes and across his brow. A jagged wound ran from just below his left eye, across the bridge of his nose, and up to his forehead. The gash that crossed his lower eyelid seemed like the imprint of a blade's cruel edge, leaving behind scars that turned his face into a living testament of suffering.

But what made the scene truly chilling was Aqua's unwavering stance.

Despite the agony tearing through him, despite the cold winds biting at his skin, he stood like a monument... unyielding. His piercing blue eyes flickered with a silent fire. The pain in his chest was unbearable, each breath pressing against the open wound, yet he clutched it with his hands, refusing to let it weaken him. Blood soaked his clothes, but it was nothing more than a fragile thread tethering him to the brutal reality he lived in.

When the gathered nobles looked at him, it was not merely the sight of his wounds that sent a shiver through them. It was something far greater.

Something in his gaze.

In his silence.

In the sheer force of will that made every movement he took radiate a quiet, lethal intensity. His eyes swept over the hall, measuring each person as if he were watching them in the final moments before their downfall.

A dreadful presence had settled over the room, wrapping around its occupants like an unspoken fate.

Despite the wounds covering his body, he showed no signs of weakness. Instead, he imposed an eerie stillness over the hall. It was clear that he had lost much in the battle, yet his resilience and impending demise intertwined before them in an inexplicable way.

The attendees in the hall seemed frozen in an extended moment of time, their eyes shifting between Aqua and the king, their gazes filled with a mixture of shock and unease.

And then…

He took a step forward.

The sound of his footfall echoed through the vast chamber, a haunting reverberation that sent an invisible weight pressing down on the hall. With each step, the air grew heavier, pulling the gathered nobles deeper into unease, their breath catching in their throats.

A storm had arrived.

The echo of his footsteps overpowered every whisper, as if time itself had frozen for a moment. Every onlooker tried to ignore the blood staining his body, yet none could escape the gaze emanating from his icy eyes... a gaze that was more than just a challenge; it was a declaration no one dared to believe.

The hall was filled with scattered murmurs and an atmosphere of tension. As Aqua stepped forward, each individual present reacted differently to his terrifying presence.

Raymond Vanheim, who stood silently to the left of King Blatir, felt something strange seep into his heart, as if time had stopped for a moment. His eyes widened in overwhelming astonishment, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing before him. He was staring at Aqua Nightover... the broken body, the blood staining his clothes, his face marred with wounds that revealed his tense and exhausted features. He was not just an injured man; he was a being from another world, delivering a message that could not be ignored.

Duke Satheron Blackmirth, leaning on his cane, raised an eyebrow in astonishment. His gaze deepened as he observed Aqua, attempting to decipher what lay behind those cold eyes.

Viscountess Silvia Blackmirth stood silently, her eyes shifting between Aqua and Blatir, as if she were watching the moment with an air of indifference. Yet within her, there was a veil of mystery... a storm of thoughts concealed behind her stoic expression.

Sir Darian Castro stood frozen, unable to take a step. His hands trembled, unsure of what to do. Though he saw what was unfolding before him, he felt that intervening would be an act of madness. He stole a glance at Blatir, then stepped back slightly in hesitation. He could sense Aqua's pain, yet he remained a distant observer.

Sir Variss, standing to the right of King Blatir, found his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword, though he did not draw it. Tension was evident in his stance, as if he were ready to act but uncertain of how. His sharp eyes followed Aqua's every step.

Marchioness Atris Starkov stared at Aqua with a gaze of confusion and skepticism, as if she were trying to grasp the full weight of the moment. But the situation was far too overwhelming to comprehend easily.

Count Julian Hartley narrowed his eyes in shock, struggling to believe what was unfolding before him. A flicker of hesitation and fear danced in his gaze, despite his attempts to mask it.

Viscount Cassius Morlan, holding a glass of wine, smirked slightly, as though the entire scene was nothing more than a theatrical performance. Yet his smile was unsettling, as if he were testing the limits of madness. Beside him, Baroness Ilara Kilatris observed with mild interest, but even in her smile, there was an undeniable sense of enigma.

Sir Elliot Valeros stood with a face filled with pain and regret, his eyes locked onto Aqua as though he saw a reflection of his own suffering in him, as if he understood something of Aqua's torment and bore the weight of guilt.

Aqua, with his unwavering determination, took another two steps forward. All eyes were fixated on him, anticipation thick in the air. They knew... this moment was the beginning of something far greater.

His face was dark, as if the shadows of sorrow and vengeance had converged to obscure every feature. His steps were heavy, each one seeming to shake the ground beneath him. He advanced further, now standing face to face with the two guards stationed in the center of the hall, forming a barrier between him and King Blatir. Their eyes were tense, poised to strike at any moment.

But before the guards could move, Aqua lunged forward with unexpected speed, despite the exhaustion etched onto his face and the blood covering his body. His body ached from deep wounds, yet his resolve was stronger than his pain.

He attacked the guards with lethal precision. They attempted to counter, but Aqua, with a masterful feint, evaded the first strike and swung his sword in a sharp, swift arc. The blade, almost dancing in his blood-stained hands, pierced the heart of one guard before the other could react.

In a moment of brutal efficiency, Aqua gave them no chance to retaliate. He swiftly turned, delivering a sudden strike that severed the second guard's throat in a deadly motion. Blood splattered, staining Aqua's face... so much so that droplets clung to his lashes and rolled down his face, forming a crimson trail along his forehead. The sight of blood splattering around him was inescapable, a macabre display of destruction.

As his body became drenched in crimson, exhaustion deepened on Aqua's face. His wounds weighed him down, slowing him, yet he did not stop. It was as if he could not retreat... as if every bloodied fiber of his being urged him forward. He plunged deeper into the chaos, his gaze resolute, utterly devoid of mercy.

The hall erupted into turmoil. Murmurs turned to screams, tension shattered into raw panic. It was as if every moment of peace had been torn apart, replaced by a living nightmare.

Aqua, showing no sign of compassion, raised his sword high, pointing it directly at King Blatir. The blade gleamed in the dim light, reflecting a wound far deeper than any physical injury... a scar upon his soul.

Blatir met his gaze with unwavering eyes, clenching his teeth as if calculating his next move. Yet he did not step back, despite the carnage unfolding around him.

Raymond, standing in absolute silence on the sidelines, cast a nervous glance at his father before looking back at Aqua. Then, his gaze returned to his father once more. In his eyes, there was a flicker of realization, as if he was finally beginning to understand the reason behind everything Aqua had done.

Aqua: "Why…"

His voice cut through the silence of the hall like a blade. Blood dripped from the corners of his mouth, tracing scarlet lines across his exhausted, pain-stricken face. Yet his eyes still burned with the fire of vengeance.

In that moment, time seemed to freeze. The air grew thick with tension. Silence suffocated the room, as all eyes turned toward Aqua, standing amid the wreckage of bodies and blood, droplets still falling from his wounded form onto the cold marble floor.

Then he continued, as if forcing the words from his lips, each syllable tightening the grip on everyone present.

Aqua: "Why!... Why!! Why did you kill him!!?...

Why did you kill my father, Blatir!!!

The crowd's eyes widened in utter disbelief. Whispers surged like a storm. Everyone was thrown into a state of shock and confusion.

Talia Vanheim, who had been holding a glass in her hand, suddenly let it slip, shattering it as she trembled in terror. Her gaze locked onto her father, seated on the throne, as if seeking an explanation.

Dion, standing in the corner of the hall, could not suppress his own shock. His face bore the unmistakable mark of disbelief, his wide eyes fixed on his father.

As for Raymond, standing to Blatir's right, he remained motionless, his gaze averted, as if the words had yet to reach him. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, struggling to suppress the storm of emotions raging within him.

Blatir did not move.

He sat there on his golden throne, his hand resting against his chin, his sharp eyes locked onto Aqua without a trace of surprise. His silence was heavier than any words, as if he did not deem an answer necessary.

The audience held their breath, waiting, as if hoping for a miracle.

But Aqua did not want silence. He did not want hints. He wanted the truth... he wanted to hear it from Blatir's own mouth.

Despite the agony consuming his body, he stepped forward once more. Blood dripped from his lips, but he did not care. His eyes blazed... not just with rage, but with something deeper… something on the verge of collapse, or madness.

Aqua, his voice rough, strained by pain yet growing more feral: "Say it... Say it in front of everyone! Admit it, Blatir!! Say that you killed him!!"

At that moment, Raymond moved. His gaze darted between his father and Aqua, as if seeing an unfinished picture finally taking shape. He wanted to speak... to deny it... but no words left his lips. Something inside him refused to let him.

Blatir finally moved his lips. But instead of speaking, he let out a short, quiet chuckle... one filled with a chilling mockery. Then, with an eerie calm, he lifted his gaze to Aqua, as if nothing had happened.

Blatir, in a voice sharp as a blade: "Why do you act as if you didn't already know the answer?"

That was enough.

The deadly silence that covered the hall was like a storm without sound.

Talia covered her mouth with her hand, her body trembling uncontrollably. Dion was about to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. Marchioness Atress stared at Blatir as if seeing a face she had never known before. Viscount Cassius Morlan, who had been standing lazily, stopped smiling, as if the matter had become more dangerous than he had imagined. Even Sir Elliot Valeros, who had been trying to maintain a composed expression, couldn't hide the look of regret in his eyes.

As for Aqua, he stood there. For a moment, he didn't move. He just looked at Blatier, as if trying to comprehend that this was not a dream... but a long-awaited nightmare.

Then...

Aqua moved.

He slowly raised his sword, droplets of blood dripping from its blade, splattering onto the marble floor. His gaze locked onto Blatir's eyes... eyes of a man who now had only one choice left.