Chapter 67: Kareth’s End II

Fenric’s smirk stayed as he shut the tome, the last traces of dark energy fading into the night."Even Laxin’s skeleton tricks," he said flatly, "are nothing more than scraps. Real necromancy—the kind that bends death itself—comes only from Rahcmis’ Grimoire. When we get it, it won’t just be Laxin to use." His eyes shifted to Aria. "Your Death Soul Lord class is built for this. Necromancy will answer you just as easily as it will be for Laxin." Aria crossed her arms. "And while I’m gone chasing this... who’s going to protect you?" Fenric let out a low laugh and turned toward Laxin, who stood just outside the fire’s glow, silent and stiff. "My new butler," Fenric said. "Laxin." Laxin stiffened, his brows furrowing. "A butler?" "Yes," Fenric answered without a pause. "You’ll be the blade I trust and the shield I use—until you’re strong enough to stand beside me. Do you accept?" Laxin clicked his tongue, glaring at the ground. "Hmph. Call me what you want. When I get strong enough to take my revenge, that’s all that’ll matter." Aria shook her head and glanced at Fenric. "Don’t depend on him too much. He’s weighed down. Even if he wanted to protect you, he couldn’t." Fenric leaned back, eyes half-shut, calm as ever. "Then he’ll have to learn. If he’s broken, I’ll make him useful again." The fire popped, and the silence that followed carried Aria’s unspoken thoughts. She didn’t believe in Laxin, not yet—but she wasn’t completely dismissing him either. The night settled heavier with each passing hour, the silence between them growing like a fourth companion. The fire hissed and spat, throwing sparks into the dark, but Fenric’s face remained smooth and unreadable, as though even the flames bent quietly around him. Aria shifted again, the unease plain in her voice. "You say it so easily, as if walking into a graveyard of ghosts is the same as walking through a garden." Fenric’s eyes drifted toward her, steady and unblinking. "Fear comes from the unknown. Once it is known, it loses its teeth." Laxin gave a humorless scoff. "Spoken like a man who’s never been cornered by the dead." Fenric tilted his head slightly, almost amused. "And spoken like a man who underestimates what the living can do when they stop shaking long enough to act." His words were not sharp, but they carried a weight that silenced the sound of Laxin’s grinding blade. The boy looked back at him, his jaw set, but Fenric’s expression remained utterly calm—an ocean undisturbed by storm. Aria sighed, rubbing her temples. "Sometimes, Fenric, I wonder if you even feel fear at all." For the first time that night, a shadow of a smile touched his lips. "Of course I do. I simply don’t let it choose for me." The fire popped. His gaze returned to the flames, serene and unwavering. "Sleep," he said softly, almost like an order wrapped in kindness. "We all have work to do tomorrow," Fenric added, his voice low but steady. The others nodded and withdrew to their blankets, the firelight flickering across their tired faces. Fenric leaned back against the chair, his silver eyes half-lidded, watching the flames dance. His lips moved in a faint murmur, words meant only for himself. "Fear, huh? I’ve been living under fear ever since I arrived in this world... It doesn’t disturb me now." His tone carried no pride, no arrogance—just a quiet certainty. The kind of certainty that did not need to be defended. The night stretched deeper, shadows folding in at the edges of the clearing. Aria’s breathing soon steadied into sleep, Laxin’s blade lay still by his side. Fenric, too, returned to his chamber and finally allowed himself some rest. The Next Day Morning light filtered through the curtains when Fenric stirred awake. A servant entered quietly and bowed. "My lord, there is an envoy from the Imperial Capital," the servant reported, voice tense. "He says he bears news of... suspicion. The capital fears you may have been behind the recent assassination attempt. At the same time, he claims his mission is to deal with you if those suspicions are confirmed." Fenric’s silver eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression never shifted from its usual calm. "Keep him in the guest hall," he said evenly, adjusting his cloak. "I will meet him after I’ve had breakfast." The servant bowed again and withdrew, relieved by Fenric’s composure. Later, when Fenric finally entered the guest hall, his gaze met the envoy. She stood proudly, clad in polished knight’s armor that gleamed in the morning light. Silver hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing a face of striking, almost ethereal beauty—too sharp to be delicate, too graceful to be ignored. At her hip rested a longsword inscribed with faint Imperial runes, a mark of distinction. But what set her apart most was not her beauty, nor her armor—it was the insignia on her breastplate. Fenric recognized it instantly: the emblem of the Numbered Imperial Knights, the elite chosen few who served directly under the Emperor’s banner. His gaze lingered on the mark. "Number Twelve," he murmured, his voice cool but steady. The silver-haired woman met his eyes with a knight’s unwavering resolve. "I am Seraphina Valeheart, Number Twelve of the Imperial Knights. Envoy of the Capital." The air grew heavy in the hall, tension lingering like a drawn blade. Seraphina, Number Twelve of the Imperial Knights, dropped to one knee with precision. Her silver hair fell like a banner as she bowed low. "Your Highness Fenric Vaelthorn Vareldis, Third Prince of the Empire," she greeted formally, her voice resonant in the quiet hall. Fenric nodded lightly, neither indulgent nor dismissive, simply accepting her courtesy. Rising, Seraphina’s expression sharpened, her knightly aura filling the space. "Tell me, who dared to stain the Vareldis bloodline with such an audacious assassination attempt?" Fenric waved his hand as if brushing aside the weight of the matter. "It has been dealt with. Their ambition ended the moment they crossed me." Her silver eyes gleamed, but she did not press further. Instead, her voice grew colder. "I was ordered here to aid you. Yet the one sent before me—Kareth—failed his duty. He stood idle in Lyria City while you faced death. He chose to watch rather than to protect. A betrayal of his station." Fenric’s gaze lingered on her as she spoke of Kareth. He let out a low hum, the corner of his mouth curving faintly. "Hm. That is why I asked you to come and take his badge from him—dead or alive. A knight who abandons his duty has no right to wear the crest of the Empire," he said, his voice quiet but final, like a verdict sealed. Seraphina—bowed her head in acknowledgment, though a flicker she vanished from the place as she left the words " I will be back with his head" she left those cold words adn vanished from the room. Fenric leaned back, as he just looked at the spot where she vanished from. A name stirred in his memory, one from the book he had read in his first life. "The Star Princess Seraphina... one of the greatest Star Aura users in the history of the Vareldis Empire." The title fit her as much as the silver armor she bore. His fingers tightened slightly on the armrest of his chair. He remembered her story all too clearly. She was known as a kind-hearted knight, the sort who rescued wounded animals on the roadside, who hated needless war and bloodshed. A gentle spirit wrapped in iron discipline. She had stood against cruelty wherever she found it—even when it meant clashing with her own commanders. And yet, in the capital’s chronicles... her death had been written in tragedy. When she fell, countless beasts she had once cared for had gathered at the city gates, howling in grief, as though nature itself mourned her loss. Fenric’s eyes softened for a fleeting moment as he regarded the woman before him. So this is where her path begins... and if I do nothing, I know where it ends. The air in Lyria’s lower district was heavy with the stink of ale and smoke. Drunken laughter and curses poured out of the tavern where Kareth lounged, boots tossed on the table, a cup in hand. Around him, a handful of thugs and mercenaries roared with laughter, clinging to every crude joke he spat. Then the tavern doors creaked open. The noise died in an instant as every head turned. A lone figure stepped into the dim light. Silver caught the lantern glow—Seraphina, her armor polished to a moonlit shine. A faint shimmer of Star Aura wrapped around her like a second skin, quiet yet oppressive, pressing down on every soul in the room. The mercenaries shifted uneasily, half-rising from their seats, their earlier bravado draining away in the face of her presence. Kareth blinked through his drunken haze, but his instincts screamed louder than the ale. His lips stumbled over the words as he paled."I–Imperial Knight... crest number twelve. The Star Princess." Seraphina’s silver eyes locked onto him, colder than winter steel. Her voice sliced through the silence like a blade."Kareth Liopen. You broke the sacred oath of a knight. You turned your back on duty. You stood by and let death come for the one you were sworn to protect. For that betrayal..." Her hand closed on her sword’s hilt, the Star Aura around her thickening like the weight of a storm about to break. "...the price is death."