Chapter 18
Somewhere deep beneath Erion. In shadows even the sun had forgotten.
Darius stood alone at the edge of a crumbling ruin, its runes flickering as the last of the mana circuits died out. Behind him, the corpses of a dozen hired mercenaries burned—along with every trace of the plan that had just unraveled.
He had cleaned up everything.
Every ledger incinerated. Every rune-scarred beast core turned to dust. Every dark alchemy lab buried beneath collapsed caverns.
Only one thing remained—him.
And the man he had been waiting for.
A breeze whispered. Then the air twisted—a soundless ripple in reality.
A figure stepped out of it.
Tall. Robed in layers of pitch-black cloth that drank in the light. No face. No name. Just presence.
The black-robed man.
Darius lowered his head, respectfully. "Master."
The man didn't answer.
Instead, his veiled gaze seemed to pierce through Darius, through the broken world around them, and into the threads of fate itself.
Valerians.
He had sensed them the moment the domains had clashed. That boy, Kael. That girl, Elyra. And the third one… Arthur.
Their bloodline reeked of danger.
His hands clenched beneath the robe.
A little anger. They had interfered. The plan was flawless, and yet…
A little fear. He had seen domains before. But what that boy had unleashed wasn't just control. It was dominion—a step few ever reached.
And strangely… a flicker of admiration.
"Darius," he finally said, voice cold and metallic.
"Yes, Master?"
"I warned you not to draw attention. You failed."
Darius didn't flinch. "I have erased every trail. Not even the Valerians can follow now. The puppet barons are all gone. The cores destroyed. The alchemists silenced."
"Good."
A pause. The silence between them stretched. Then the robed man turned.
"We are leaving. ."
"Yes master"
He didn't answer.
With a flick of his fingers, space warped around them—and in the blink of an eye, the black-robed man and darius vanished
.........
Capital of valerian– Three Days Later
Central conference hall
Floating mana-lamps bathed the chamber in soft silver light, casting halos upon the gleaming stone floor. Holo-screens shimmered in the air above the gathered crowd, each crystal-clear projection displaying the sigil of the Valerian house—a sword piercing a crown. Dozens of reporters, alongside lesser nobles—barons and viscounts mostly—sat rigid in their levitating seats, crystal orbs in hand, ready to record every moment.
When Count Alaric Valerian finally stepped forward, the hall fell silent. Clad in gleaming dark coat with lining of gold.
The Blade of the North stood tall, every movement a study in poise and absolute authority.
"The Valerian House," Alaric began, voice calm and even, "has concluded its investigation into the incident in Erion."
"We found that Baron Jhon Erion son Roderick Erion and Eleka Erion were the one behind all this they collaborated with dark order to gain power from unholy source and killed thousands and also helped in assaination of their father"
Murmurs surged briefly, but a raised hand from Alaric stilled them.
A reporter, emboldened, stood. "Count Valerian, while the baron's sons have been named as collaborators of the Dark Order… surely two disgraced nobles couldn't have orchestrated this alone. Who backed them? Who is the true mastermind?"
Another voice joined in, sharper, hungrier. "Yes, who among the higher ranks of the Dark Order guided this operation? Are you hiding something?"
Alaric's expression did not change. Only a faint flicker crossed his gaze before he spoke.
"There was a third party. A far more dangerous one. A seven-star officer of the Dark Order. Rank Seven. He is controlling roderick and Eleka from behind they contact for several months that seven star officer said to be planed all this bombing in erion and baron assaination eleka and rodrick blinded by wealth and power helped him"
The room erupted. Gasps, quickened whispers, even the sound of chairs scraping against stone echoed as the weight of those words settled.
"A Seven-Star?" a viscount blurted out. "But that title is only given to their—"
"Their highest-ranking officers," Alaric finished, cutting him off without raising his voice. "This was no minor plot. The destruction was orchestrated by one of the most dangerous individuals known to the Order."
"But… who is he?" another noble demanded. "What's his name?"
Alaric's reply was as sharp as the edge of a blade. "We don't know yet. But we will."
A reporter in sleek blue robes stood up sharply. "Count Valerian, if I may—what proof do you have that the baron's sons were guilty? These are serious accusations."
Count Alaric Valerian didn't flinch. He offered no words.
Instead, he lifted one hand.
Just then, a video began to play.
The footage showed Kael in battle—his movements sharp and overwhelming, lightning crackling with every strike. Then came Elyra, her blades dancing as she faced multiple opponents, her control and precision undeniable.
The scene shifted.
Eleka and Roderick appeared in the frame, their faces grim. Their voices played clearly over the recording.
"We met a man," Eleka said, "who promised us everything—power, position, influence—if we just followed his plan."
"We gave in," Roderick added, bitterness in his tone. "Out of greed… we agreed."
The video continued to play, showing more of the tense moments between Eleka and Roderick as they spoke.
"We didn't know what he truly wanted," Eleka's voice rang out in the footage. "But he made it sound like the only path to power, the only way to rise. He promised us everything we ever desired."
Roderick's voice joined in, filled with regret. "He made us believe we could surpass everyone… even our father. He promised us a future where we wouldn't have to rely on anyone. And we were foolish enough to trust him."
The camera zoomed in on their faces, their eyes filled with guilt and anger as they admitted to their involvement.
"We killed to cover up our mistakes, and all for that man," Eleka confessed in the video, her tone filled with pain. "For power. For a position we thought we could control."
Arthur, Kael, and Elyra's faces briefly flashed across the video, the trio standing together—unshaken, even in the face of betrayal.
The recording ended, leaving the room heavy with silence.
The recording faded to black, leaving the high-tech chamber suspended in silence. Only the hum of floating mana-lamps and the soft flicker of holo-screens dared to move.
Then came a voice—steady, resolute.
Count Alaric Valerian stepped forward.
"To those still questioning the guilt of Cedric and Roderick," he said, his tone cold and unshakable, "I believe the evidence speaks for itself. But for those who want more…"
With a flick of his wrist, a second glyph activated. A 3D projection shimmered into existence above the dais. The air rippled as the illusion took shape: the stern, battle-worn face of a man.
Many in the crowd leaned forward, squinting. It was a face some recognized all too well.
Alaric spoke, eyes sharp. "This man once served as Knight-Captain of the Erion estate. He introduced himself as Vhal Lorran."
A wave of gasps rippled through the crowd.
"He is the true mastermind. A high-ranking officer within the Dark Order—designated by their own ranks as a Seven-Star."
Stunned silence followed.
Alaric continued. "He planted himself within Erion, deceived the estate, manipulated the baron's sons, and orchestrated the fall of an innocent man—Sir Tiber Carrow. The evidence used to frame Carrow was falsified. We have already confirmed it."
A reporter's voice cut through the hush. "Sir… what steps are you taking to find him?"
Alaric's expression didn't change. "We've traced some of his actions and uncovered hints of collaboration with powerful nobles. Their identities remain unknown for now. But from this moment forward, the Valerian Intelligence Unit (VIU) and the Central Investigation Bureau (CIB) will begin a full-scale operation to uncover any trace of his network—wherever it may be in this world."
Another reporter asked, almost breathless, "Do you believe he's still in Erion?"
"No," Alaric said quietly. "By the time we uncovered the truth, he had already vanished—erased every trace. But we know he's out there."
He gave a final nod to the press.
"With that, this conference concludes."
The projection faded. And the Blade of the North turned and walked away, his cloak trailing behind him like the weight of judgment.
As Count Alaric Valerian exited the Central Hall, the crystal orbs hovering above dimmed, and the ambient lights resumed their gentle glow.
The crowd—reporters, nobles, and agents—remained frozen for a breath.
Then, the eruption.
Reporters scrambled to draft headlines. Holo-screens lit up with instant news flashes:
"Seven-Star Dark Order Officer Unmasked: Valerian Knights Strike Down Coup"
"Erion's Betrayal: Baron's Sons Exposed—Valerians Clear Carrow's Name"
Public opinion was a storm.
Within minutes, forums across the mage-net flared with reactions.
"That girl—Elyra? She took down an elite traitor like it was nothing."
"Kael… the captain of Valerian knights? The way he fought that shadow-cloaked monster—insane."
"Arthur Valerian… didn't think much of him before, but damn, that was some strategy."
"So Tiber Carrow was framed? The man almost lost everything…"
Even the more cynical voices fell silent in the wake of the footage. The weight of truth had crushed denial.
..........
Valerian Estate – Quiet Chamber Overlooking the Frosted Garden
The soft glow of magi-lamps bathed the room in a warm, golden hue. Beyond the glass windows, snowflakes drifted lazily under a moonlit sky, dusting the high spires and crystalline rooftops of the Valerian manor. Inside, Arthur sat on a cushioned bench while his mother gently massaged his temples with practiced fingers, using a faint soothing magic laced in her touch.
His mind was restless, however.
"Mother," Arthur asked, eyes still closed, "why did Father reveal Darius's face at the end of the conference? He can just change it again… that's his Unique Skill, isn't it?"
A soft chuckle escaped Lady Selene Valerian's lips. "You're thinking too literally, my son."
Arthur opened one eye, puzzled. "So?"
"Unique Skills," she began, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear, "are divine in origin, yes—but not divine in perfection."
Arthur frowned. "I don't follow."
"There are only two ways a human can receive a Unique Skill," she continued. "They're either born with it, a divine imprint from the moment of breath—or they gain it through sacrifice, service, or recognition by higher powers. But here's the secret most forget: every Unique Skill has a flaw."
Arthur sat up straighter. "A flaw?"
"Of course." She smiled and tapped his forehead gently. "Even your Appraisal has its limits, doesn't it?"
Arthur nodded slowly. "Right. I can't see beyond a certain level or through divine concealment."
Exactly. Even the gods do not hand out perfection freely. That's the balance of the world, Arthur. A skill might sound powerful, but how useful it is depends entirely on how and when it's applied."
She stood and walked to a crystal decanter, pouring herself a cup of warm herbal wine. Her voice was thoughtful now, almost nostalgic.
"Imagine a man born with the power to vanish from sight. If he's a baker, it's useless. If he's a thief, it's divine. But he's still bound by limitations—mana cost, time of use, magical detection. No power is absolute."
Arthur's eyes narrowed. "So you think Darius's face-changing skill has limits?"
She looked back at him, eyes shimmering under the glow of the mana-crystal chandelier. "Your father believes it does. He's fought men who thought themselves gods before. He says no matter how clever they are, they all bleed red when cut right."
Arthur stood up, pacing. "If Darius's skill has limits… maybe he only has a few faces he can store or switch between. Maybe revealing even one disrupts his plans."
Selene nodded. "Or maybe there's a cost each time he changes. A memory forgotten, a scar left behind, a soul fracture."
Arthur's eyes lit up. "If that's true… then the face he used as Darius Erion… and the one as Knight-Captain Vhal Lorran… he may not be able to use either again."
"You're learning to think like your father," she said with a knowing smile.
Arthur looked down, chuckling softly. "Is that how you fell for him?"
Rubina took a sip of her wine, gaze drifting to the frost-covered garden. "Your father's mind is as sharp as his blade. That's rare in this world, Arthur. In men, even rarer. I didn't fall in love with just the warrior… I fell for the man who sees ten moves ahead and never boasts about it."
Rubina grinned. "Well, well… your sword's finally ready. throne's calling for you."
Arthur blinked. "throne? Can't it just send a message like everyone else?"
She laughed. "Apparently not. The man insists on delivering it himself. Says it's some ancient tradition—'The sword must be handed to a worthy man by the hand of royalty' and all that."
Arthur groaned. "What is he, a walking drama script? Fine, I'll go tomorrow. But he better not expect me to kneel."
Rubina smirked. "No promises. He might throw in a speech too."
Arthur sighed. "Great. Can't wait for the ceremonial awkwardness."
Rubina chuckled, turning back to her workbench. "Just don't trip on the red carpet. I hear it's cursed."
As Arthur left the room, the mana lamps dimmed slightly, casting long shadows behind him. Outside, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and violet.