Eagle was walking through the castle halls, his footsteps echoing against the cold stone. Something felt wrong. The usual presence of guards, servants, and soldiers was gone. The air was empty, lifeless.
"Where is everybody…?" he muttered, his voice low but sharp.
He moved faster, pushing open doors, scanning every corridor. Nothing. No voices. No movement. His irritation slowly turned into anger. He reached the great hall—normally crowded, filled with strategy meetings and loud commands—but it stood completely abandoned.
His jaw tightened.
Then, as he walked down the long passage that branched into multiple chambers, something caught his eye.
The archive door was open.
His eyes widened.
That door was never left open. Never.
Rage surged through him instantly. His pride, his ego—those were the things he admired most about himself, and now they burned fiercely inside him. Whoever dared to enter the archive without permission deserved nothing but death.
Eagle stormed forward and entered the archive.
Inside, he saw Trail… and another man standing beside him. Someone unfamiliar. Someone whose presence felt heavy, menacing.
"TRAIL SMITH!!!" Eagle roared. "What have you done?! You deserve to die!"
Without waiting for a response, Eagle charged his blade. The air vibrated with energy as he rushed forward, eyes locked on Trail.
Trail and the unknown man—Luxorious—stood still.
Then, in an instant—
Eagle was slammed into the wall.
His body flipped violently through the air, crashing again and again, at least ten times before finally hitting the ground. The impact sent a sharp, crisp sound through the archive, loud enough to shake the pillars.
Everything went silent.
Eagle groaned, struggling to move. His head throbbed violently, but as seconds passed, the pain suddenly faded, as if something had forcibly erased it. He grabbed his head, breathing heavily, trying to understand what had just happened.
Trail finally spoke.
Luxorious straightened himself, returning calmly to his original stance, as if nothing had occurred.
"I think you're getting it wrong, Mr. Eagle," Trail said coldly. "There was an attack on the king. He is no longer alive."
Eagle froze.
"You were all being controlled by Grover," Trail continued. "And yet you still chose to attack me. Even though I respect you, that does not mean I will forgive you every time."
He stepped closer, his eyes cold and sharp.
"Next time… know your place."
Eagle's face drained of color.
"The ki… king is dead?" he whispered, fear creeping into his voice. "That means this city is already destroyed…"
His fear quickly turned into confusion, then anger.
"Then what are you doing here?!" he shouted.
Trail's expression didn't change.
"That's none of your business," he replied calmly. "And I'm not the commander anymore, so I don't have to answer your questions."
Eagle clenched his fists.
"This bastard…" he gritted his teeth. "He's forgotten his place. I'll make sure to teach him a lesson next time."
His gaze shifted to the man standing beside Trail.
"But aside from him… who is that guy?"
His eyes narrowed."Wait… that energy… that menacing presence…"Realization struck him like lightning."He must be Luxorious."
Eagle swallowed.
"So that's why he's so full of himself…"
Trail turned his face toward Luxorious.
"Let's go," he said. "Our job here is done. Next, we need to find where the kid is."
They walked past Eagle without another glance, leaving him kneeling on the cold stone floor, his pride shattered.
Meanwhile, Aron was sitting alone on a wooden bench.
The weather was gentle, almost comforting. A soft wind passed through, causing his hair to sway lightly. For a moment, everything felt peaceful—but his mind was far from calm.
Memories flooded back.
The days he was happy.
Kyle.
Maria.
Lilith.
Carlos.
His eyes shone faintly as he stared at the ground, his face broken and tired. He remembered the warmth of his mother's embrace, the steady presence of his father—Agarth.
It all felt like yesterday.
What a long journey it had been.
He stood up slowly, trying to clear his mind. By the time he realized it, dawn had already faded into night. His steps were uneven as he walked beneath the star-filled sky, his body struggling to keep balance.
He noticed two boys walking together in the distance.
His chest tightened.
All he wanted was to see Carlos's grave.
To see everyone again.
But deep down, he knew he wasn't ready to face the truth.
After a while, Aron returned and sat on a chair near the forge. He took out the swords Balrad had given him and began sharpening them. The scraping sound of metal against stone filled the room, steady and rhythmic.
Aron had perfected nearly everything in blacksmithing.
It took days of hard labor—blisters, exhaustion, sleepless nights—but he endured it all. Still, Balrad only allowed him to make shields, never swords.
The door creaked open.
"Oh, there you are, son," Balrad said warmly as he entered.
He sat beside Aron and placed a small pouch on the table. "These are the coins. And here's your food."
He tapped Aron gently on the shoulder.
"I'm looking forward to teaching you how to build swords now."
Aron looked up. "How many days did it take you to master blacksmithing?"
Balrad chuckled. "Around two or three years. I learned it from my father."
Aron nodded. "Balrad… I think I'm getting better and better."
Balrad's eyes widened slightly—but he quickly hid it.
"Yeah… it's good. It's good to hear," he said, forcing a smile. "If you continue like this, you'll only get better."
Aron hesitated.
"I want to tell you something," he said quietly. "It's important."
Balrad turned serious. "Yes, son. What is it?"
"Do you know about the Norm Kingdom? Agarth Braith?"
Balrad paused.
"Hm… yes," he said slowly. "Many weapons from that kingdom were sent to me for repairs and forging. But after the tragic annihilation of the kingdom… they're all dead."
Aron took a deep breath.
"I am the son of Agarth Braith," he said. "Aron Norm."
Balrad showed little reaction at first—but then realization struck him.So that's why…
That's why this child carried such pain.
"That explains a lot," Balrad thought silently. "This kid has been through hell."
"Do you have any siblings?" Balrad asked gently. "A brother? A sister?"
"I had," Aron replied. "They're all dead."
His voice cracked.
"Old man Bart…"
Balrad grabbed Aron's hand firmly.
"It's okay, son," he said softly. "You don't have to rewind the past. Let it stay there."
He stood up.
"Now rest. Tomorrow, we go to the market together."
The place was beautifully decorated.
Kyle and Leon sat at the edge of the ground, facing the sea. The moonlight reflected off the water, making it shine like silver.
Leon spoke quietly. "So… you guys are indeed from that man's bloodline."
Kyle looked at him.
"Do you know how powerful he was?" Leon continued. "They say a single whisper of his could melt a hundred ears. It's an old saying—but it shows his strength."
Kyle smiled faintly. "I don't know much… but he surely was powerful. Dad used to tell us stories."
He paused.
"He was attacked by his own little sister."
"Ah… Maria," Kyle said softly.
He stood up suddenly and began to chase Leon playfully.
Leon laughed, watching him, the locket around his neck glimmering under the moonlight.