Chapter 158
Dust and silence lingered in the crater where Grisval once stood. Daniel exhaled slowly, lowering his shoulders and letting his presence dim as though the strain had finally caught up to him. His expression softened into weariness, a faint sweat touching his brow. He turned to Mary Kaye, his voice steady but tinged with feigned exhaustion.
"Mary… if you don't mind, I'll rest for a while," he said. Then, almost imperceptibly, he cut the flow of his mana. Those attuned to energy felt the shift immediately. The blazing current that had burned so brightly around him only moments before dimmed to a hushed whisper. To the three hundred gathered guild members, it was proof of his fatigue. Whispers spread—some in worry, some in relief. He had shown them the impossible. Now, at least, he seemed human again.
Far away, in the polished marble halls of Duchess Elleena Laeanna Rothchester's mansion, the scene unfolded within a great enchanter's receiver mirror. Its surface rippled like a pond, projecting Daniel's every move in real time. Melgil Veara Gehinnom stood with her arms folded, eyes narrowed not in doubt, but in thought. Unlike the rest of the Duchess's staff, who marveled at the raw display, Melgil looked deeper. She could see it in Daniel's posture, in his timing, in the way he had shifted his mana flow: he had everything under control. Even his fatigue was calculated.
Melgil spoke at last, her tone low, purposeful."Duchess… you see it too, don't you? Daniel won't always be surrounded by guilds ready to shield him. And as he climbs higher, the Tower will only grow crueler. If he is to endure… he will need more than awe and admiration. He will need people loyal to him, not the nobles, not the guilds, but to him alone."
Elleena's gaze lingered on the mirror, studying the boy below as though she might peel away the carefully woven veil of composure he wore. His calm, his effortless control,it was a façade, she knew, one that hid something far greater simmering beneath. For a long moment, silence ruled the chamber, broken only by the faint hum of the enchanter receiver. Her gloved fingers traced the filigree carved into the armrest, thoughtful, patient. Then, almost imperceptibly, her lips curved into a measured smile.
"You are speaking of a retinue," the Duchess said at last, her voice soft, yet edged with deliberation. "But not mercenaries who vanish when coin runs thin. Not servants tethered by contracts that can be burned away. You mean something else. You are thinking of an order—bound not by law or payment, but by conviction. You speak of giving Daniel what he lacks: a clan of his own."
Melgil's crimson eyes gleamed with restrained intensity. "The ones serving him at Lúthien are reliable… but only as long as the contracts hold. If those threads are ever broken, if the bindings are severed, then most would vanish. What remains would not be enough. And the thousands temporarily living within his void space
" she shook her head slowly, " their loyalty is conditional, not absolute. They follow out of necessity, not belief."
Elleena inclined her head slightly. "And his familiars?"
Melgil hesitated. Her voice lowered, almost reverent. "They are different. Their bond is chosen, not forced. They are evolving too quickly, too unpredictably, but their loyalty is resolute. They remind me of myself, independent, willful, yet bound by something deeper than command." Her tone hardened. "But three alone cannot carry him against what lies ahead. If Daniel relies only on them, he will falter the moment he faces an enemy of equal or greater will."
The Duchess leaned forward, eyes narrowing with quiet calculation. "And you are right to fear that. This is only the first floor. The Tower holds realms stacked upon realms—worlds where gods themselves were broken and cast down. You know better than most. You know, because you are not merely a spectator in history… you are one of its scars."
Melgil's lips pressed into a thin line. "…One of the Four Calamities," she admitted.
"Yes," Elleena said without flinching. "And Daniel will face the others, one by one. The four million sleeping undead. The Fallen Seraph. The remnants of wars written in prophecy. If you truly want him to survive that future, then do not gather him tools. Gather him people. Do not simply fetch warriors, forge a house. A banner. A name that will stand even when he stumbles. Something that will not vanish when the void breaks or when gold runs dry. Something that binds by choice, not compulsion."
Melgil blinked, startled. "A noble house?"
Elleena's smile deepened, her tone almost conspiratorial. "Not merely noble. A clan. A home for the disinherited, the forgotten, the forsaken. A sanctuary for those with no banner left to carry. A place where loyalty is not demanded but given freely, because it is earned.
You, Melgil Veara Gehinnom, last of your line, have the blood-right to raise such a house. If you reclaim your name and breathe purpose into it, you can rally not mercenaries, not thralls, but free souls who choose to stand beside Daniel. That kind of loyalty cannot be broken."
Melgil's breath caught, the fire in her chest igniting. "The Gehinnom name… though fallen, still carries weight. If I invoke it, if I reshape it, I can gather those who understand duty, sacrifice, those who seek belonging. Not slaves. Not opportunists. But people who will fight because they believe in him."
The Duchess's smile widened, though a shadow of wistfulness lingered in her gaze. "You think as I once did. A clan may be born of blood, but blood is fragile. Purpose, however, binds even the faithless. If you are to rebuild Gehinnom, then give it a purpose the world cannot ignore."
Melgil's crimson eyes sharpened. "And what purpose do you suggest?"
Elleena's gaze fell once more to Daniel's reflection in the mirror. Her voice, though quiet, carried the steel of command."Make the Gehinnom his shield and sword. A clan not for land, nor wealth, nor legacy, but for him. Every warrior who joins must know: they are not serving their own ambitions, but a man who may yet rewrite the laws of the Tower. Do this, and you will not merely restore your clan—you will make it eternal."
Melgil bowed her head, resolve burning bright and dangerous. "Then it will be so. I will gather them, those strong enough to endure, and loyal enough to choose him freely. If Daniel Rothchester is to rise, then the Gehinnom will rise with him, not as his servants… but as his foundation."
Melgil straightened, crimson eyes steady, the Duchess's words ringing in her mind like an oath. For the first time in centuries, the name of Gehinnom no longer felt like a tombstone—it felt like a seed. A chance to reshape what was lost.
But a clan could not be built on declarations alone. It needed strength, skill, and structure. Daniel did not need throngs of bodies to throw into war—he already commanded legions sealed within his void. What he lacked were anchors: individuals of power, wisdom, and specialized craft who could not be easily replaced.
Her mind moved like a blade, cutting through possibilities.
First, she thought, a shield-bearer. Not merely a knight, but someone whose will could stand against storms, whose presence could hold a battlefield together when chaos broke loose. Daniel fought like a calamity, his magic overwhelming, reality-bending—but that very nature left him exposed in the moments between. He needed a guardian, someone who could take the brunt of a world's fury and still remain standing.
Second, a tactician. Daniel's instincts were sharp, but instinct was not the same as strategy. The Tower was filled with entities who played wars like games of chess, pulling strings that spanned nations and centuries. To face them, he needed a mind that could see patterns in chaos, anticipate moves five steps ahead, and weave battle into victory before a sword was even drawn.
Third, a healer—not the kind who mended wounds with prayers and light, but one versed in the old arts, in curses and venoms, in stitching together body and soul when even death clawed close. Daniel's battles would not end with clean cuts. They would shatter men, twist mana, burn lifeforce. Without a healer who understood both flesh and spirit, even his strongest allies would wither away before the climb truly began.
Her lips curved slightly, as the path formed more clearly.
And beyond them… specialists. A scout who could move unseen even in a god's shadow. An artificer, capable of forging weapons to match Daniel's impossible mana constructs. Perhaps even a chronicler, someone who could record his rise—not for glory, but to remind future generations of why they fought.
She looked up at the Duchess, her voice steadier now. "I will not build him an army. He has no need for slaves or nameless blades. What he requires are pillars. People who choose him. A vanguard strong enough that when he falters, they will not abandon him—but carry him forward."
Elleena's eyes gleamed, approval hidden within her composure. "Then you already see it. Choose carefully, Melgil. A single wrong bond can corrode a house from within. But the right ones? They can turn a name into a legend."
Melgil bowed her head in acknowledgment, but her thoughts were already elsewhere—flashing through half-forgotten maps, whispered rumors, and the lingering networks of her fallen clan. She knew where the scattered embers lay: the deserters who fought for honor, the survivors of fallen guilds, the outcasts who wielded rare gifts but lacked a place to stand. They would be her quarry.
And one by one, she would bind them. Not with chains. Not with contracts. But with purpose.
The rebirth of Gehinnom had begun.
The night was quiet in the Duchess's estate, the garden bathed in silver from a waning moon. Melgil sat alone on the marble bench, the cool air brushing across her crimson eyes as she stared into the still fountain waters. She had spoken boldly before Elleena, filled with fire and certainty—but now, in the solitude of the open garden, doubt crept into her like a slow poison.
She had declared she would gather loyal warriors, a clan that could stand unshaken at Daniel's side. Yet the more she unraveled the thought, the more the flaws revealed themselves. How did one forge true loyalty? Fear was the first answer that came to her mind—it had worked for the ancients, for the Four Calamities, for herself in another life. Fear could bind men, make them obedient. But it also broke them. It hollowed their resolve until the first chance of escape. She had seen it countless times in the ashes of her old clan.
Force? Contracts? The very tools Daniel rejected? No. That path led only to betrayal, to crumbling foundations. The kind of loyalty she wanted for him could not be carved with shackles. It had to be chosen. And that was the puzzle she could not solve.
Her fists clenched in her lap, knuckles pale. "I spoke as though I understood," she whispered, her voice bitter. "But I do not. I am still… short. I am not him."
Daniel's face rose unbidden in her mind—calm even after obliterating a city, steady as he guided guild members who once feared him. He did not force. He showed, he taught, and in doing so, he drew others willingly into his orbit. His power was not only in his spells, but in the way people looked at him—awed, terrified, yet unable to turn away.
Melgil's chest tightened. She missed him. The garden felt too still without his presence. Every fiber of her being urged her to cast aside this pretense of waiting, to abandon the Duchess's halls and run to him, to fight by his side as she always wished. But the Tower was watching. She knew it—its cold, unblinking gaze lingered on Daniel as if weighing him against some unknown scale. If she appeared beside him too openly, an anomaly joining another anomaly, the system would not stay silent. It would brand him unfit, deny him the gateway to the second floor. And then his climb—the climb the world had waited centuries for—would shatter before it began.
Her nails dug into her palms until blood welled. The ache of restraint was worse than any wound.
"I cannot ruin him," she breathed, trembling. "Not now, not when the path is opening."
Yet the question gnawed at her: How then? Who? By what means can I gather those who will not betray him? She had declared herself ready to resurrect Gehinnom, but the weight of reality pressed down. Words were easy in a hall of polished mirrors. Here, under the bare truth of the moon, she saw how frail her vision was.
She wanted to be like Daniel, to inspire by strength and clarity. But sitting there in the garden, Melgil felt the old shadow of herself, a remnant of a fallen clan, grasping at fragments, reaching but never grasping.
The fountain rippled faintly in the night breeze. She stared at her reflection, the crimson eyes staring back at her, and whispered to the empty garden:
"Then I must learn. If he can turn fear into trust, if he can turn strangers into believers, then I too must walk that path. No shortcuts. No chains. Only choice. But … I do not yet know how."
The faint crunch of footsteps on gravel broke the silence of the garden. Melgil stiffened, wiping the blood from her palm against her skirt before lifting her gaze. The Duchess approached, her silhouette framed by the pale glow of lantern light spilling from the veranda.
Elleena said nothing at first. She simply stood by the fountain, her gloved hands folded, her gaze tracing the ripples of water as though she too were staring at hidden truths. Finally, her voice cut through the quiet, low and precise.
"You wear your doubt plainly, Melgil. It is unbecoming of one who wishes to found a clan."
Melgil lowered her eyes. "I spoke as though I understood loyalty. As though I could give Daniel what he needs. But I cannot see the path. Fear and force—those are the only ways I know. And they are the very chains he rejects."
The Duchess tilted her head, studying her. "And so you sit here, paralyzed between intent and ignorance."
Melgil flinched at the sharpness, but did not argue.
Elleena's gaze softened, just a fraction. "That is not failure, Melgil. It is the beginning of understanding. You have named the chains you must break within yourself. That is more than most achieve in a lifetime."
The words struck her like a gentle blow. She looked up, crimson eyes reflecting the lantern glow. "But what should I do? Where do I begin?"
The Duchess turned, her cloak whispering against the stone path as she gestured toward the far side of the garden. Beyond the wrought-iron gates, faint figures lingered—shapes tall, broad-shouldered, armored in leather and steel, their eyes glinting beneath the torchlight of the estate's perimeter.
"That," Elleena murmured, "is where you begin."
Melgil's brows furrowed. "Who are they?"
"War-daughters of the North," Elleena replied, her voice edged with subtle weight. "They call themselves the Veyrra. A people who bow to no lord, no coin, no law. They crave war the way others crave bread or wine. Yet they do not follow blindly. They serve only one they deem worthy—a true sovereign of power, skill, wisdom, and judgment. For decades they have wandered, offering blades to no one, for no one has met their standard."
Melgil's eyes sharpened. "And you want me to recruit them?"
The Duchess shook her head. "I want you to face them. These women are loyal beyond measure once their oath is given, but their loyalty cannot be bought, nor demanded. They will test you. They will weigh you. If you cannot convince them that what you offer is more than survival or coin, then you are not yet ready to call yourself Gehinnom reborn."
Melgil felt her chest tighten at the thought. The Veyrra were not like mercenaries she could intimidate, nor like servants she could bind by contract. They sought something higher, something few in history had embodied. Her instincts screamed to command, to posture, to show strength through dominance. But Daniel's face rose again in her thoughts—calm, steady, teaching guild members not through fear but through wisdom. If he could reach others through patience and clarity… perhaps she could too.
She rose from the bench, her crimson eyes fixed on the torchlit figures beyond the gates. Her heart pounded—not with fear of the warriors themselves, but with fear of falling short of their measure, of failing the standard Daniel had set without ever knowing.
"Very well," she said softly, more to herself than the Duchess. "If they seek a king among kings, then let them judge me. And through me… him."
And with that, she stepped forward into the garden path, toward her first true test.