Chapter 144
Daniel went out with Melgil as she persisted that they go on a shopping and eat out , when they got an unexpected guest. As the crown prince Lashrael Cererindu and the eldest pricess Caerthynna Cererindu came un annouce as the two stood in front of the Rothchester main gate mansion under disguise , thinking of a reasonable explanation to their sudden visit, they were both standing at the gate with confused expression as they really cant get passed the idea that the gate had no guards . ,as the talked to each other on how to gain access to the place as their were no personnel to talk with, when Thalen Merrow and Ysil Thorne casually walked in front of the same gate , as they also came to see Daniel and Melgil ,wanting to know if the news they heard was true , the the two were not convince as they feel its just anther of Daniel formulated plan to hide who he was,
Connecting the Neatherborn and Daniel wasn't that hard, the got to personally witness what Daniel can and could do. They weren't that close, but its enough to see right through Daniel and Melgil's cover.the best part of being an ordinary cirizen of the kindom they have alot of time to observe and analyze the behavior of those around them, including Daniel and Melgil. The two students are fully convine Daniel was the Neatherborn and Melgil was the human form of the white death calamity.
Seeing two more people waiting at the gate was no something new, but these two looked like they were the same age as them, so Thalen Merrow asked it they were looking tosee Daniel or Melgil , the crown prince Lashrael Cererindu smiled and greeted them in an awkward way, Thalen Merrow shake hands with the young man who was wearing an old but still noticeable attire worn by a noble, Thalen Merrow was a bit rough onthe outside and frank but he was loyal and honest about it, his Broad-shouldered and square-jawed, his frame carried the weight of countless hours of discipline, his short chestnut hair cropped close in a soldier's cut.
A faint scar traced across his right cheek, looked like he was a forger than a student, his hand were rough and full of calluses. His skin was dry and bare signs of hardship from rigid and reckless training while the man e was shaking hands Lashrael Cererindu was a striking figure, even in disguise.
Standing just over six feet tall, his frame was lean but honed, the result of years of training in both swordplay and strategy. His dark chestnut hair fell just past his collar in careful disarray, soft enough to catch the sunlight, yet practical enough to stay out of his eyes during combat. His face was sharply defined, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline softened only by the depth of thought in his pale green eyes. There was a subtle grace to his movements, the kind of poise that suggested nobility without arrogance, and a quiet confidence that came not from birthright but from earned discipline.
Though he wore simple traveling garments to hide his identity, there was an elegance even in his discretion, a sense of order in the way his boots were polished and his cloak folded. Those who observed him closely might notice the faint scars along his forearms, tokens of duels and training, marks of a man who did not merely speak of justice but had tested it with his own blood.
Personality-wise,
Lashrael was as disciplined as he was compassionate. He carried himself with the bearing of someone who had been raised for power but had chosen to temper it with honor. Every decision he made was weighed carefully, and his words were deliberate, designed to build trust and inspire loyalty rather than fear. Yet there was a tension in him, an ever-present pull between duty and desire. He wanted to act freely, to be the sword of justice he had been trained to become, but the crown awaited him, binding his choices in ways that could never be fully escaped.
His mind was sharp, analytical, and patient. He read people as easily as tomes, perceiving intentions and hidden motives before they were spoken aloud. Though he bore the weight of his lineage, he carried it with humility rather than entitlement, aware that authority without wisdom was a sword with no edge.
Behaviorally, Lashrael often exuded calm under pressure. He listened more than he spoke, letting others reveal themselves before he acted. Yet when justice—or necessity—called, he moved with decisive swiftness, his swordsmanship precise, his strategic mind unyielding. Even when disguised, there was a nobility in his posture, a subtle aura that drew respect without demanding it, and a keen vigilance that reminded all who watched that this was no ordinary traveler.
Above all, Lashrael Cererindu was a man caught between worlds: the bloodline that demanded kingship and the heart that longed to wield justice for the people, not merely rule over them. In every measured glance, every controlled motion, he bore both the weight of expectation and the quiet fire of a sword waiting to be drawn.The other person grab Thalen Merrow and politely asked who he was to break the akward gesture ,when Ysil Thorne moved with the quick grace of someone who had never fully trusted the ground beneath her feet. Her slender frame greeted the young female as she gracefully introduce herself, her Long raven-black hair, tied back in a sharp braid, framed her silver eyes, captured Lashrael attention but Caerthynna gave his older brother an awkward gesture.
Among the royal princesses, Caerthynna stood apartnot merely in birthright, but in demeanor. She was slender, yet wiry, a body honed by years of combat training that belied her delicate features. Her hair, the color of dark honey streaked with sunlight, fell in carefully braided plaits that framed a face at once sharp and graceful.
Her eyes, a steely gray tinged with green, held a restless fire that rarely dulled; they seemed to measure the world not with the frivolity of courtly decorum, but with the keen focus of a strategist assessing the battlefield. Her lips, often pressed into a thin, contemplative line, curved only rarely into smiles and then only when the smile bore the weight of knowing victory or clever mischief.
Caerthynna's posture and movements were precise, even when she sought to appear casual. She had learned long ago that the slightest misstep in court could cost a reputation, or worse, a future she wished to seize for herself. And seize it she would. Despite the gilded cage of palace life, she carried within her a hunger for freedom, an unquenchable desire to leave the walls of the merchant kingdom behind and test herself against the wider world. She longed to ride into quests, to confront dangers first-hand, to earn rank and respect through merit rather than inheritance.
Yet, beneath her composed exterior simmered frustration. Every day she endured drills, swordplay, archery, and the endless study of tactics, knowing all of it might be rendered useless the moment her hand was promised in marriage. The thought that her training, her skills, her ambitions could be dismissed by the rigid expectations of courtly life filled her with quiet rebellion. She had no interest in idle ornamentation or superficial diplomacy; she wanted the thrill of strategy and combat, the sharp taste of challenge, and the recognition that came from surviving and excelling in it.
Her personality was a balance of caution and boldness. Caerthynna could charm with the practiced grace of a princess when the situation demanded it, yet she moved through the court with the air of one who quietly observed, cataloging every nuance, every weakness, every opportunity.
She was ambitious, but not reckless; patient, but not complacent. And now, hiding her identity under the guise of a traveling noblewoman, she sought to meet her cousin Daniel in person. She wanted to gauge his strength, his mind, and his ambitions, not as family alone, but as a fellow warrior who might understand the yearning that gnawed at her for freedom, rank, and self-determination.
Her mind was restless, always turning, always plotting. Where others saw walls and rules, she saw boundaries to test, challenges to overcome, and lessons to master. And though the palace sought to mold her into a decorative pawn, Caerthynna moved with quiet determination, resolved to carve her own path, even if it meant defying the expectations of an entire kingdom.
The smaller secondary gate of the Rothchester mansion swung open, its iron hinges barely making a sound against the hum of the bustling courtyard. Merchants and laborers moved past with carts of supplies, indifferent to the presence of royalty or rumors alike, and through this throng, Daniel and Melgil walked side by side, casual in both posture and demeanor. Melgil's white hair caught the sunlight, glinting almost silver, and she looped her arm through Daniel's as they strolled with the easy confidence of those unbothered by whispers or expectation.
From the shadow of the gate, two figures observed with wide eyes. Caerthynna, the eldest of the royal princesses, hid her face partially beneath the hood of a traveling cloak, her sharp gray-green eyes studying the pair intently. Beside her, Crown Prince Lashrael of Cererindu's royal house shifted nervously, struggling to maintain composure as he watched Melgil move.
The rumors of Daniel's indifference to his lineage, how he walked freely, unconcerned with pomp or protocol made both royals blink in disbelief. He carried himself with none of the rigid deference expected of a scion of Rothchester, yet every step was measured, deliberate, and commanding even in its casualness.
Caerthynna's lips pressed into a thin line. She had longed for freedom beyond palace walls, and here she saw it mirrored in her cousin. But there was a wariness too—something unusual, something carefully calculated, beneath his ease. Lashrael's hand twitched toward his collar as he swallowed, taken off guard by both Melgil's quiet radiance and the familiarity with which she linked herself to Daniel.
As if sensing attention, Daniel's friends emerged from the crowd. Thalen Merrow, broad-shouldered and confident; Ysil Thorne, calm and almost unnervingly composed; and the others waved cheerfully. "Daniel! Melgil!" Thalen called, his voice carrying over the bustle. "Over here!"
Ysil stepped forward, his features sharp and refined, and even Lashrael could not help but notice a subtle grace in the man's movements. A brief flush rose to his cheeks, but he quickly realized that Melgil, standing beside Daniel with her arm resting comfortably on his, commanded a claim of closeness that left little room for misinterpretation.
Caerthynna finally drew a breath, stepping forward with her hood lowered just enough to reveal her face. She offered a polite, formal bow. "Cousin Daniel, Lady Melgil… I am Princess Caerthynna."
Lashrael followed with a similarly careful bow, introducing himself with measured reverence. "And I am Crown Prince Lashrael of Cererindu. It is an honor"
Daniel raised a hand before either could finish. His gaze swept the group calmly but firmly, and in that moment his presence drew all focus to him. "Thalen Merrow, Ysil Thorne," he said evenly,
"let me introduce, the crown prince Lashrael Cererindu and the eldest among the princess Lady Caerthynna Cererindu ."
Thalen's grin widened as he stepped forward, offering a firm, respectful bow, while Ysil inclined his head with precise courtesy. "Princess Caerthynna, Crown Prince Lashrael," he said smoothly, his voice calm and assured, "it is an honor to meet you."
The formalities fell into place with a rhythm Daniel had orchestrated, his friends performing their parts flawlessly. Caerthynna's eyes narrowed slightly, curious and cautious, as she noted the ease with which Daniel navigated both his companions and the expectations of royalty. Lashrael, meanwhile, struggled to maintain composure; seeing Melgil so close, so unguarded, he felt a strange mixture of awe and unease, swallowed quickly as he tried to force his mind to attention.
Daniel, ever in control of the moment, allowed a faint smile to touch his lips.
The casual walk, the whispered coordination with his friends, the careful deflection of introductions, it all projected an image of authority without arrogance, of freedom without recklessness.
For the royals and their entourage, it was a performance that blended charm with quiet power, and they could not help but watch, intrigued and unsettled, as Daniel Rothchester moved with the air of one entirely his own master.
The tension that had gripped the courtyard began to dissolve as Daniel guided the group forward, his stride casual yet precise, like a conductor leading an orchestra. Melgil matched his pace, arm still looped through his, her pale eyes flicking between the royals and his companions with quiet amusement. Caerthynna's sharp gaze remained alert, scanning every movement, every micro-expression, while Lashrael shifted nervously, attempting to appear composed despite the subtle blush that rose each time his eyes lingered on Melgil's serene countenance.
Daniel's lips curved into a faint smile. "It seems our little excursion has drawn more attention than I anticipated," he said lightly, looking at Caerthynna and Lashrael. "I hope you don't mind walking with… uncommon company."
Caerthynna's brows rose, though she allowed herself a small smirk. "Uncommon, indeed. Your friends appear less… restrained than one might expect in the presence of royalty."
Thalen Merrow, ever unabashed, grinned and gave a small bow. "We do try to behave, Princess, but Daniel tends to make normality a little… difficult."
Ysil Thorne's lips twitched in what might have been amusement, though his posture remained perfectly composed. "Difficult, yes—but in a way that makes ordinary courtesies seem almost… tedious."
Melgil chuckled softly, her voice carrying lightly across the group. "You're all too serious. If one cannot laugh a little when walking past courtiers and their whispering tongues, what's the point of the exercise?"
Lashrael glanced at Melgil, then Daniel, and swallowed hard. "Exercise? I am beginning to wonder if this is some form of royal test or… something else entirely."
Daniel glanced at him, tilting his head with the faintest teasing spark in his heterochromatic eyes. "Tests are boring, Prince. Observation is far more instructive. I want to see how people behave when they think no one is judging." He gestured subtly toward Thalen and Ysil.
"And sometimes, you discover far more about someone when they forget to behave like they should."
Caerthynna laughed softly, a musical sound that cut through the warm afternoon air.
"Then I suppose I am glad we stumbled into this… experiment, though I confess your methods are unorthodox, cousin."
Daniel's smile widened just enough to be charming, without losing control of the group's pace. "Unorthodox, perhaps. But practical. You will find that life beyond palace walls is rarely kind to convention."
Thalen, clearly enjoying the interaction, elbowed Ysil lightly. "See? Even royalty can loosen up a little when they realize that not every sword at their side is there to stab them—or lecture them endlessly on etiquette."
Ysil inclined his head, his expression a blend of amusement and acknowledgment. "I might say that one learns more from observing the disciple than from the master sometimes."
Melgil leaned closer to Daniel, whispering just enough for him to hear, "It seems the royals have more questions than they know how to ask."
Daniel's response was equally quiet, yet tinged with humor. "Then we shall give them a conversation they can chase after."
By now, they had reached the edge of the city where the streets widened into a smaller market lane, and Daniel paused, looking back at the group.
"Why don't we move to somewhere more… comfortable?" he suggested. "There's a local tavern not far from here that serves the best roasted game and sweet breads in the Merchant shopping District. We can talk, eat, and perhaps allow everyone to relax their courtly facades."
Caerthynna's gray-green eyes sparkled with curiosity. "A tavern? So soon after witnessing you fend off rumors, you invite royalty into public quarters? You certainly enjoy toying with expectations, Daniel."
Daniel chuckled lightly. "Only because expectations are so easily predictable. Besides," he added, casting a glance at Lashrael, "it is easier to gauge character when people are at ease—and hunger is the perfect equalizer."
Lashrael gave a hesitant laugh, though it was tinged with awe. "I have never… eaten in such casual company with nobility and… other figures of power. It is most… unusual."
Thalen Merrow leaned forward with a wide grin. "Then you are in for a treat, Prince. Daniel ensures the meal is as memorable as the company."
Ysil's lips curved in a faint smile. "And more instructive than you might suspect. Every detail—the arrangement, the timing, the conversation it all speaks of the man who leads them."
As they walked, Daniel allowed Melgil to take the lead on minor courtesies, stepping aside for merchants and exchanging brief nods, and then turned to the group with a playful glint in his eyes.
"Tell me, Princess, Prince, how do you find our little troupe? Does the disciple meet the expectations of the stories you've heard?"
Caerthynna tilted her head thoughtfully. "He does, in part. But the reality is… far more fascinating than rumor and far less predictable."
Lashrael, finally managing to compose himself, added with a small bow of his head, "And perhaps more unnerving. A man who walks freely in his own confidence is… rare among royalty."
Daniel smiled faintly, eyes briefly meeting Melgil's before returning to the group.
"Then we shall continue this discussion over food. You can judge us further and perhaps see if our actions match the tales you have heard."
The small party moved on, weaving through the marketplace with the ease of those who belonged everywhere yet nowhere, Daniel's careful orchestration keeping both royals intrigued, his companions performing naturally, and Melgil's quiet confidence anchoring the group. Every glance, every gesture, and every word was deliberate, yet natural enough to disarm any suspicion.
By the time the tavern's warm, inviting sign came into view, the royals and warriors alike were laughing, exchanging quiet observations, and slowly beginning to understand that the man before them Daniel Rothchester, was far beyond what rumor or title could define.
The tavern's wooden tables were crowded with plates of roasted venison, thick loaves of bread, and bowls of fragrant stew. Daniel, Melgil, Caerthynna, Lashrael, Thalen, and Ysil gathered close, the warmth of the hearth mingling with the rich scent of food, creating a comfort that contrasted sharply with the tensions of court and rumor outside. Daniel poured a small cup of ale for each of them, his movements smooth, measured, yet unpretentious, a quiet command of the moment that drew eyes without demanding attention.
"So," Caerthynna began, cutting into a thick slice of bread with a deft hand, "the tales of Netherborn… they speak in riddles and warnings. I must ask, Daniel, how much of your association is… choice, and how much is obligation?" Her gray-green eyes studied him carefully, curiosity sharp but tempered with caution. "If one were bound to such power, one might lose oneself entirely."
Daniel smiled faintly, taking a bite of venison before answering.
"Choice, entirely," he said, savoring the meat, then letting his gaze sweep the table, landing on each of them in turn. "Obligation is what others assume I have, because they cannot understand my goals. The Netherborn's power is vast, yes, but it has never dictated my actions. It promised freedom, and I intend to honor that promise. The rest… is up to me."
Lashrael leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. "Freedom… from what? From duty? From expectation? You walk through halls and courts as though none of your heritage matters. Yet the stories rumors, claim your name carries weight, even terror."
Daniel's heterochromatic eyes flickered toward him, amused. "Perception and reality are rarely aligned. I walk as I choose, and people interpret my steps according to their fears or hopes. That is all. But tell me, Prince, what would you do if offered such freedom? If the choice was yours alone, unshaped by rank, bloodline, or obligation?"
Lashrael hesitated, fingers tapping lightly on the table. "I… I suppose I would do what I have never dared. Seek challenges outside the palace walls, test myself, and find meaning beyond what is prescribed." His eyes met Daniel's, the truth in his voice sincere, almost vulnerable.
Caerthynna leaned forward, lowering her voice slightly, a mischievous glint lighting her eyes. "And what about you, cousin? You claim freedom, yet you wield power others fear. How do you measure yourself? By what you can conquer, or by what you can learn? I've spent years training to test myself in quests, beyond palace walls, in real danger. Tell me, have you ever sought such trials?"
Daniel set down his cup, considering her carefully.
"Every action I take is a test," he said slowly. "Every decision, every alliance, every path chosen… I treat it as a challenge, a lesson. The Netherborn may grant me strength, but the path, my paths are carved by my choices, not power alone. And yes, I do intend to take on trials beyond these lands. Perhaps… ones that will interest someone like you."
As the crown prince Lashrael Cererindu leaned back, chuckling, but it seems he was happy hearing this from Daniel,
"That sounds dangerously enticing. But also… rare. Few meet power with curiosity rather than fear or envy."
Ysil inclined her head, voice smooth and measured. "And yet, the Netherborn's influence cannot be ignored. Even a disciple must reckon with its presence. How you balance freedom with that shadow… that will define you more than your victories."
Melgil reached over, her hand brushing Daniel's for a brief moment. "He has weighed it. Carefully. The Netherborn is another being not bound by any rule here, "
"yes the Netherborn is powerful, but beyond that nothing more.the fact we have no idea what it plans."
"so the choice remains his. That is why we can walk freely, eat together here, speak openly."
Caerthynna's eyes sparkled, leaning back with a wry smile.
"So, you are truly your own master. I will admit… I came here partly to test the rumors, partly to see if you were… worth the tales, and perhaps to see if a man who walks freely could understand what it means to seek freedom without chains."
Thalen spoke as he was eating, "So all the times when we were getting beaten by you in the training grounds… that was just to test us?"
"Or was it to teach us?" Daniel countered, his tone unreadable as he took a bite of the meat he had ordered. Without answering immediately, he turned slightly toward Melgil, offering his fork with a piece of the dish skewered on it.
"Try this," Daniel said casually, as though their heavy conversation were nothing more than background noise. His eyes flicked back to Thalen, finally answering, "Sometimes the lesson is hidden in the pain. Sometimes it's just pain. The difference depends on what you take from it."
Daniel's smile deepened, acknowledging her unspoken challenge. "Then you will find me willing to discuss ambition, loyalty, and freedom, if you are willing to do the same. And Prince, I suspect you are already learning that the world is not as simple as lineage or law. Ambition often lies in understanding others as much as oneself."
Lashrael's shoulders relaxed slightly, the first true ease since the group had gathered. "You are… unsettlingly perceptive," he admitted. "But perhaps that is why it is important to meet you to know whether the man behind the rumors… matches what people say."
Daniel's gaze lingered on both of them, measuring, assessing, not only their words but the intent behind them. "Then this meal will serve us well. Conversation is the first step in understanding, and understanding is the first step toward… alliance, or challenge, depending on what we choose."
The conversation continued, winding from local rumors to distant quests, from personal ambition to the subtle influence of Netherborn. Each person at the table revealed themselves in careful doses: Caerthynna's sharp intellect and yearning for real challenges, Lashrael's analytical caution tempered by sincere curiosity,
Thalen and Ysil's measured levity, Melgil's grounding clarity, and Daniel's quiet orchestration of every glance and word. By the time the tavern had emptied of most locals, the dialogue had laid the groundwork for future trust, and, perhaps, the subtle shaping of alliances that could ripple far beyond the warmth of this modest room.
the crown prince Lashrael Cererindu asked Daniel if he was willing to spar with him and asses his fighting his, Daniel wanted to refuse as he saw how the crown prince defended his parents, but as the crown prince pleaded and explain he was lucky that the infernal demon that attacked them were low lever un like the infernal demons he faced, prince Lashrael wasn't really accepting the news that came out but he knew certain information must be kept hidden, so he just gave a reasonable request ,
"I want to test my limit, cousin, so please, can you help me?"
Daniel's eyes were intense, unwavering.
"Fighting me is different from sparring with the kingdom's knights," he pressed on, his voice carrying a weight of certainty. "I will push you to your breaking point."
He stepped forward, fists tightening at his sides. "I wouldn't ask if I wasn't sure. No holding back!"
Melgil just let out a deep, tired sigh, dragging his hand down his face before finally speaking.
"Why do men keep doing this thing?" she muttered, shaking her head. "Is it pride? Male ego? Some strange need to prove who's stronger? I've seen it a hundred times in taverns, in training yards, even on battlefields."
Daniel responded " One man throws down a challenge, and the other, no matter how sensible, feels compelled to accept. "
"You chase pain as if it were honor. You chase exhaustion as if it were proof of your worth. Tell me, cousin, why is it never enough to simply be strong? "
"Why must strength always be tested, measured, paraded in contests that leave nothing but bruises and broken ribs?"
Melgil's gaze softened, but the weight of exasperation lingered.
"Sometimes, I think this isn't bravery at all, it's just fear. Fear of being thought weak. Fear of being forgotten. Fear of admitting there's more to life than winning a fight."
While an light banter stirred in one part of the world, far away within a different plain of space the shattered dominion of the first Demon Abyss realm , a different drama unfolded. The air was thick with smoke and charred bone, the ground split open by claw marks and scorched by fire that no longer burned. The silence of the wasteland was unsettling , for it was the silence of death.
Thousands of Infernal Demons lay broken and scattered across the black earth, their twisted forms piled like discarded weapons. The stench of ash and blood clung to the winds.
The one sent to investigate knelt among the corpses, his black armor reflecting the faint glow of the abyssal fire pits. His voice was low, quivering, yet urgent.
"My lord Thrakir… the Twisted One… beings from the other realm forced open a rift." He swallowed hard, his clawed hand trembling as he gestured at the devastation. "They came with strength I have not seen in centuries. Our forces resisted, but they were slaughtered. Thousands of our kin… gone in mere moments."
From the shadows rose a figure that made even hardened demons shudder. Towering, jagged, with a body that seemed to bend unnaturally at every angle, Thrakir stepped into the ruin. His horns curved like broken spears, and his molten eyes glowed with restrained fury.
He said nothing at first, merely surveying the endless stretch of corpses. His talons traced over the scorched marks in the ground , the signs of unnatural power. When he finally spoke, his voice cracked the silence like a blade across stone.
"So…" he hissed, each syllable dripping with venom, "the mortals dare to reach into our realm. They spill the blood of my legions, as if we were insects to be crushed."
He crouched low, one hand digging into the ash until it crumbled in his palm. His twisted form leaned closer to the trembling commander.
"Find me the source of this rift. Find me the name of the one who dares cross realms. And when you do…" His grin spread too wide, tearing the skin at his cheek until black blood dripped. "I will show them why the Abyss fears me more than they fear death."
The commander bowed so low his horns scraped the dirt. "Y-Yes, my lord Thrakir!"
The wasteland groaned as if answering his command.
As Melgil finished his exasperated tirade about pride and bravado, Daniel opened his mouth to answer, but the air in the tavern trembled. A faint, unnatural chill seeped through the floorboards, making the mugs rattle on the table.
Caerthynna frowned. "Did you feel that?"
Ysil Thorne grab Thalen Merrow arm and squeeze it as he felt that lingering dread,
Lashrael's sharp eyes narrowed toward the window. "That was no quake. Something stirred in the rift-lines…"
Far across the world, Thrakir's molten gaze burned as he declared vengeance over the corpses of his demons. At that very moment, the faintest ripple of his will seeped into the mortal realm, brushing against Daniel's soul. He froze, shuddering, a flicker of red fire glinting in his eyes.
Melgil noticed and straightened. "Daniel… what in the gods' names was that?"
Daniel exhaled slowly, his determination sharper than ever. "That," he whispered, fists clenched, "is why I must push myself beyond my limits. Something is coming. Something that will break us if I'm not ready."