Chương 53: Chapter 52: Dawn of a New Era

"Vionette!" Roswell shouted, his hand flying to his hilt as he drew his sword in a desperate reflex.

"What do you think you're doi—" He choked on his words, his gaze dropping to his hand as his heart skipped a beat. The blade he had just drawn to protect his wife had been caught barehanded. Before a second could pass, the steel fractured and shattered into a rain of silver shards. Noa had teleported beside him, looking down at Roswell with chilling indifference.

"Don't misunderstand, Livora Eryndor," Vionette said, staring at the broken sword. Her crimson eyes intensified until they seemed to burn in the fading light.

"We won this war on our own. We stood in the mud while you watched. What made you think we'll give you a piece of the cake?" The Royal Knights of Eryndor surged forward, only to instantly collapse to their knees. Elina had unleashed a wave of draconic pressure so suffocating it manifested as a physical weight, forcing them into unconsciousness before their weapons could even clear their scabbards. Lina stood beside the dragon-girl, unsheathing her own blade.

Recognizing the futility of their position, Roswell forced himself to breathe and lowered his broken hilt.

"Then, we won't oppose. Please put your sword down. Just don't hurt my wife."

"Y-yes. You can have it all," Livora stammered, sweat beading on her pale forehead.

"No. I was just correcting your greed," Vionette replied, her sword unyielding.

"What you actually misunderstood was the illusion that you were free. Aurelyth is no more; there is only Crimvane where it once stood. You are caught between our borders now, Roswell. Now, choose—" She pressed the edge a fraction closer, a cruel smirk blooming on her lips.

"Go to the underground with Aurelyth, or rule beneath me as part of a unified kingdom." Roswell stared at her in utter bewilderment. He had witnessed her protect her people; he believed there was a genuine bond for their allies.

"Why? We were allies. Why do this now?" At his words, Vionette slowly turned her head. Her crimson eyes were bereft of their usual dancing flames of amusement; instead, they smoldered with a deep-seated anger.

"Don't you dare think I would forget," she hissed.

"Don't think I forgot how your kingdom broke the treaty the moment Crimvane began its fall in the past. I am letting Eryndor live only because I have a fondness for Nymira's shop and your kingdom's technology." Roswell continued to stare, a heavier confusion anchoring itself in his chest as the realization sank in like lead. Eryndor staying wouldn't have stopped the collapse in the first place. I simply cut ties to prevent my kingdom from being dragged into the abyss alongside Crimvane.

His eyes narrowed, analyzing her past actions. But it seems... logic or reason is useless here. She's being completely unreasonable. To the rulers of Crimvane, there was no such thing as a 'strategic retreat'. There was only loyalty or treason. Beneath their unhinged power lay a jagged truth: they were still two teenagers who feared betrayal.

"... I understand," Roswell finally conceded, the weight of a future settling upon his chest.

"We will serve under the crown of Crimvane." Vionette offered a predatory smile, gracefully withdrawing her sword in one fluid motion. Hehe… didn't I tell you, Carvan? When everything finally settles, I alone will be the winner.

"Good choice," she said, stepping away from Livora.

"Though, I didn't expect you to agree so fast." Livora exhaled a trembling breath the moment the lethal tip left her throat. Her complexion was ashen, marred only by a faint crimson indent where the steel had kissed her skin. What other option did we have? To kill ourselves? Roswell wanted to shout, the words burning in his throat like swallowed acid, but he locked them away behind clenched teeth.

He stared at his broken sword—a bitter monument to his shattered sovereignty—and felt a hollow, echoing ache carve through his chest.

"Are we really going to go down like this?" Livora whispered to her husband, her eyes shimmering with a potent blend of terror and desperate sorrow for the people they were now handing over to a supposed 'monster.' Instead of answering, Roswell shifted his gaze toward Noa.

"Even if we somehow gathered all our knights," he murmured, his voice hollowed by defeat, "do you think we could ever win against that dragon and that man?" Livora looked at the dark-haired man, then toward Elina, whose slit, draconic pupils still radiated a predatory heat.

"... I don't think so." She bowed her head, surrendering the final embers of her hope to reign as a Queen who controlled her own destiny.

"To resist means the slaughter of another kingdom."

"And..." Roswell's gaze drifted from Noa back to Vionette. He observed her for a long, quiet moment, noting how she carried the weight of her declarations to the bitter end of this war. He saw the miraculous truth of that 'zero casualties' report still reflecting in the awestruck eyes of the Crimvane soldiers.

"... Maybe this will be better than we think." He curved his lips upward into a faint, bittersweet smile.

"Hey, big sis," Lina called out, walking over and peering up at Vionette.

"Is that also part of the strategy?" Vionette glanced down at the younger girl. The cold demeanor she had directed at Roswell dissolved in an instant, washing away to reveal a soft, almost maternal warmth. She rested her hand gently atop Lina's head, ruffling her hair in a slow, rhythmic motion.

"It's a different kind of strategy." Vionette smiled, an expression that was as breathtaking as it was terrifying in its implications.

"Oooohhhh..." Lina mouthed the word, nodding sagely as though she had just been handed the secrets of the universe. Unlike Elina—whose thoughts were often as vast and empty as a cloudless sky—Lina grasped Vionette's unspoken intentions with an alarming ease. She had been able to read people since birth—the same perception that had allowed her to notice Noa's loneliness four years ago. She was a child who could watch Noa's sword teachings and learn the rhythm of death at a pace that made even veterans uncomfortable.

Beneath the innocent, rounded features of the girl, a combination of a mastermind and a monster was being quietly forged. With every passing second in Mythara, a new story was being created, ready to overrun the old world like a rising tide. Off to the side, Elina observed the exchange in silence, her mind a serene void. She blinked slowly. Her draconic instincts were satisfied by the slaughter and victory, yet her intellect lagged far behind the intricate political gymnastics.

Truthfully, she only cared about when the food would arrive. <Lucien, > Vionette called out through the mental link. <Yes, Lady Vionette? > The reply snapped back instantly. <I am giving you full authority to manage the aristocrats of the two kingdoms. Deploy knights to Aurelyth's territory and announce their defeat. Then, tell the citizens of all three lands to gather in Eryndor's capital. We're having a festival. > This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. <A festival...?

> Lucien's mental voice practically bounded with glee.

In the heart of Aurelyth's capital, civilians flooded the central plazas, their collective murmurs forming a low, anxious hum that mirrored a restless hive. They waited to behold the glorious return of their King's heralds, expecting them to parade the severed heads of the Crimvane upstarts. In their arrogant minds, there was simply no reality where the armored might of Aurelyth could ever fall to the smaller forces of Crimvane. Then, a voice shattered the peace.

"EVERYONE, GATHER UP!" The shout roared down the cobblestone streets, echoing off the high stone walls of the capital. The citizens turned as one, their faces painted with bright expectancy. But as their eyes landed on the armored figure standing in the center of the avenue, their hopeful expressions curdled into confusion. The knight—and the small retinue flanking her—bore no traces of Aurelyth's gold and white.

Instead, her breast plate bore a sigil that looked like a drop of blood carved into the shape of a flower—a crimson rose. A woman stared at the sigil, her eyes narrowing as a bead of sweat traced the line of her jaw.

"That insignia is... Crimvane?"

"What?! Why are Crimvane knights standing here?" the man beside her shouted, panic lacing his tone.

"Where are our men?"

"Nonsense! It must be a trick, or perhaps a captured scout forced to read a script," another scoffed, shoving the woman aside as he took a bold step toward the vanguard. Exchanging uneasy glances, the surrounding townsfolk offered uncertain nods, desperately shielding their fraying nerves with baseless gossip and hollow laughter.

"Yes... the banners of Aurelyth must be just behind them." The knight waited until the swelling crowd fell into a silence, her icy blue eyes sweeping over them with indifference. When she finally spoke, her voice crashed over the plaza with the weight of a collapsing mountain.

"Citizens of Aurelyth, I stand before you as a messenger direct from the crown of Crimvane." A tide of whispers rippled through the masses. How could a royal knight of the enemy kingdom waltz into their capital, unbothered and bold? The only logical explanation was a living nightmare they were unprepared to face.

"Aurelyth has lost the war. King Kahen is dead, and your armies have been purged. From this moment onward, this land is under the control of Crimvane." Eyes widened until they threatened to tear. The denial they had clung to was crushed beneath the undeniable reality of the messenger standing on their streets. The kingdom they had believed to be eternal had been erased in the span of an afternoon.

"Aurelyth... lost?"

"... How?! We had overwhelming numbers... we had Caldris..." A terror took root and spread like venom. In the wake of a lost war, historical precedent was always painted in ash and chains. They envisioned the choking smoke of burning homes, the bite of iron shackles, and the merciless edge of a conqueror's blade. The civilians subconsciously staggered backward, eyeing the 'Crimson Rose' knights as if the soldiers might draw their steel and slaughter them at any second.

"So from now on," the knight continued, her tone completely devoid of pity.

"Aurelyth, now defeated, and Eryndor, having agreed to serve, will unite with Crimvane. From this day forward, the three kingdoms shall become one, united under the name Crimvane." The decree swept through the plaza like a raging wildfire, incinerating the last dregs of their hope. But the heaviest anchor—the revelation that truly snapped their spirits in half—was the fate of Crimvane's own allies.

"Eryndor... surrendered?" The woman turned to the man beside her in disbelief. The man remained frozen, his face drained of all color as he stared at the knight.

"Why? Weren't they working together to destroy us?" The conclusion was terrifyingly simple: Crimvane had not just won a battle; they had devoured two kingdoms at once. The messenger from Crimvane wasn't just a herald of defeat; she was the herald of a new world order. The blue-eyed knight stepped back, allowing another to take her place. When he spoke, his voice carried a strange lilt that contrasted the grim atmosphere.

"People of the united kingdom! Listen well! Princess Vionette extends an invitation to all of you. A festival will be held to celebrate our newly forged realm! This gathering is meant to welcome every citizen into our fold and to honor the bravery of those who fought on the fields. Attend in peace—for Her Highness has decreed that not a single soul who comes shall be harmed." With their queen's message delivered, the knights turned on their heels, abandoning the paralyzed crowd to their shock.

Their iron boots struck the cobblestone with a metallic finality as they marched for the heart of the capital: Aurelyth's royal castle. They were going to scrub the halls of the old King's lingering stench, preparing the fortress for the arrival of its new masters.

The vanguard of Crimvane soon stood before the towering double doors of the Aurelyth Castle. At their center walked a woman with flowing dark-blue hair and eyes cold enough to rival winter frost. One of her subordinates stepped forward and shoved the doors open. The moment the hinges groaned, a maid sprinted toward the exit. A scream tore from her lungs, her eyes brimming with tears. Yet, the instant the tip of her shoe crossed the threshold, the blue-haired knight unsheathed her blade in a blinding silver arc.

The maid's headless body crumpled to the polished stone, her severed head rolling below the knight's feet. The handful of servants and guards who had been right behind the maid froze in their tracks. Sweat broke out across their pale faces as they subconsciously took slow, trembling steps backward into the castle's shadows. Gesturing for a detachment of her men to secure the perimeter, the knight entered the grand foyer, flanked by two loyal knights. Mmm... they seem to already be aware of the situation. How?

The civilians in the plaza couldn't have spread the news this quickly, she pondered, tracing a line of blood off her blade. She leveled a glacial stare at the trembling survivors. With a careless flick of her iron-clad boot, she kicked the severed head forward, sending it skidding to a halt right at their feet.

"Only the dead are permitted to leave this castle."

"What do we do now?!" A fist slammed against the polished table, the panicked shout echoing off the walls of the secluded office. Five figures, draped in the luxurious silks and furs of high nobility, were huddled around a square map table. Their faces were twisted into ugly masks of terror, stripping away their usual aristocratic poise and replacing it with the frantic desperation of cornered rats.

"The priests from the Church of Juailen haven't arrived yet, right?" one of the noblewomen asked, her eyes darting between the terrified faces of her peers.

"Let's load the carriages and flee to the sanctuary. We can use the priests as an escort to cross the borders into an allied nation!"

"But the enemy might have already anticipated that move," another objected. He snapped his head around, looking over his shoulder toward the shadows of the room.

"Alena, what do you recommend?" Alena was slumped in a chair near the wall, her body seized by tremors as her mind vividly replayed the apocalyptic crimson lotus that had nearly incinerated her on the battlefield. She slowly lifted her hollow gaze to meet the lord's eyes.

"Father... that Queen of Crimvane is far too dangerous. We must first—" A deafening crash severed her sentence. The oak doors of the office were kicked off their hinges, splintering inward. Two armored knights stepped through the ruined threshold. The nobles flinched, their horrified gazes dropping to the drawn broadswords in the intruders' hands—blades that were already weeping with fresh crimson blood. As the knights secured the flanks, a woman strode elegantly into the room behind them.

Her piercing blue eyes completely ignored the aristocrats, locking directly onto the trembling form of Alena. Ah, so she is the rat who spread the news ahead of time, the knight mused, her gaze raking over Alena's scorched and ruined mage robes. She must have fled the battlefield the moment she saw the tides turn, scurrying back here in the final moments. Alena craned her neck upward as the woman closed the distance, those glacial blue eyes staring down at her like a hawk judging a crippled hare.

The high lords and ladies scrambled backward around the table as the woman approached, their trembling legs threatening to give out beneath them. As they made a pathetic dash toward the ruined doorway, the two subordinate knights smoothly shifted their stances, raising their bloodied swords to form an impassable barricade. The nobles were effectively corralled, trapped like sheep before the slaughter.

"Y-you are... Crimvane's knight?" Alena mumbled, her voice cracking as her eyes locked onto the crimson rose etched into the intruder's breastplate, her mind on the brink of insanity.

"You're... you can't be, right?" The blue-haired knight stared down at her in silence, her gaze steeped in a blend of mocking pity and indifference. Finally, her lips parted.

"On the ground."

"H-huh?" Alena twitched, unable to process the command.

"On... the grou—!" In a blinding flash, a blade wreathed in flames cleaved through the air. The searing steel sheared Alena's left hand clean off her arm, cauterizing the flesh instantly to seal the wound and stop the bleeding.

"I said: on the ground," the knight repeated coldly, casually driving the tip of her smoking sword into the wooden floorboards. Alena stared into those merciless blue eyes, her own expanding in terror as she slipped from the chair and collapsed onto the floor, clutching her cauterized stump. Her hand trembled as she reached upward, grasping blindly at the knight's boots. Her once-proud face was twisted into an ugly mask.

"Please... please have mercy—khuck!" An iron boot met her jaw with a sickening crunch. The kick sent Alena sprawling backward, her face slamming against the polished wood as fresh blood poured from her broken nose.

"Have mercy on you? On the same vermin who were so desperate to trample over our kingdom?" As Alena groaned, struggling to lift her bloody face from the floor, the knight spat on her in disgust.

"You must be out of your mind." Smoothly bypassing the whimpering woman, the knight lowered herself into the plush chair. She crossed her armored legs and rested her interlaced fingers elegantly upon her lap. As her aura expanded, she cast a gaze over the paralyzed nobles trapped before her.

"Alright. Now, all of you are going to tell me everything you know about Aurelyth—from the dirt to the crown."