Another man shook his head firmly. "No, last night's matter must leave no lingering trace. For the young master's sake, we must utterly destroy House's corpse! Wait and see—by midday, the storm will lessen."
The leading retainer sneered with disdain. "Fools, the rain does not hinder fire from consuming a corpse. Watch me!" He drew his long blade and began digging into the steep embankment.
As he dug, he said with a smug tone, "Do you see? We carve a narrow cavern here, then burn House's body within. Once it is reduced to ash… hmph, we collapse the cave. Even if the gods themselves descend, they shall never uncover his remains!"
The others slapped their foreheads in chagrin, mocking their own stupidity for overlooking such a simple solution, and quickly unsheathed their blades to dig as well.
Soon, they hollowed out a cavern just large enough for the body, set the corpse aflame, and flames licked at House's flesh.
The rain poured harder, drenching them to the bone, their patience fraying. The leader, seeing the body charred beyond recognition, grinned. "That's enough. Brothers, let's trample the cave shut and return for our reward!"
…
With a thunderous crash, the small cave collapsed beneath their feet. Their figures vanished into the storm-drenched wilderness. Torrents of mud coursed down the barren slopes, burying the body of Aidi House, the most brilliant student of Aemiseir Academy, within the earth.
But then—the long-faded white lightning reappeared across the heavens. Circling the desolate mountain, it suddenly struck with unerring force!
With a deafening roar, the mound that entombed House's body burst apart, earth and stone flying skyward. His charred corpse was hurled from the mountain's depths.
The lightning circled the remains twice, as if in scrutiny. At length, it seemed satisfied. With a blaze of radiant light, it coiled about House's corpse and vanished into the endless curtain of rain.
…
Robert arrived at the academy, rain streaming from his cloak. Dean Donald awaited him in the training hall, beaming as he handed him a token of entry to the Yalan Selection Tournament.
Robert glanced at the captain's insignia on the badge, tilting his head at Donald in suspicion. "I am the captain of this year's team?" At last he understood why Aidi House had struck at him in the dead of night—it was Donald's handiwork!
Donald chuckled smugly. "Nephew, say nothing, no thanks are needed. All you must do is take this token, lead your peers, and bring glory to the academy—and to your uncle. That alone shall be thanks enough."
To hell with your thanks! House, forgive me. Lay your hatred at the feet of this conniving old fox, Donald!
Though guilt gnawed at him, Robert could only yield. He pocketed the token, shrugged, and said, "Very well, Uncle. I'll spare you flowery words… Oh, by the way, Senna asked me to pass along a message—there's been some trouble at his family home. He left urgently last night, and may not return for half a month."
"Senna gone home? Damnation! He too is a team member—he should be training with his fellows… Never mind, half a month is still enough time."
Donald grumbled but quickly dismissed the matter. Fixing Robert with a fervent gaze, he declared, "Robert, your holiday ends now! Within half a month, I shall forge you into one who commands divine forcefields—the strongest third-rank Yalan Squire among all students!"
"Donald, Robert's training must be halted for a time."
Michel strode heavily into the hall, his face dark as stormclouds, a dossier clenched tightly in his grasp, as though its contents had enraged him beyond measure.
He hurled the file onto the table with a sharp crack, his voice cold. "At dawn, lightning reappeared in the Xingluo Mountains. Cloaked by night, it struck our encampment. Fifty thousand troops—annihilated."
A dizzy roar filled Robert's skull; it was as if thunder exploded within his mind. He staggered forward, seizing the dossier. "My father—what of my father!?"
"When the lightning struck, Lord Luo was surveying Deadwater Lake, deep within the Xingluo range. He had no chance to escape. Lightning pierced his chest… As for his remains—I can only tell you his body fell into the lake."
Michel's tone was detached, recounting the annihilation of fifty thousand souls as though reciting meaningless numbers.
The file slipped from Robert's grasp. Tears welled, yet he clenched his lips, stifling the sobs.
His father's words echoed: A man does not weep.
Michel studied his resilience, then softened, handing him a small bundle. "These are Lord Luo's relics. Keep them well. I grant you ten days' leave to tend his funeral. Be strong. In two and a half months, I expect to see you radiant upon the tournament field—crushing every foe. Do you understand?"
Robert's hands trembled as he received the bundle. He bowed his head. "But my father's body… Without it, how can I hold a funeral?"
"I told you—Lord Luo's corpse was lost to Deadwater Lake."
"You mean… his bones are gone, nothing remains?"
Robert lunged forward, gripping Michel's shoulder with his right hand—the hand most swift and accustomed. "Why was the body not recovered? Did they all watch the Lord of Moonwatch City left to rot, unclaimed!?"
"Robert, mind your tongue with Lord Michel!" Donald barked in alarm.
"I understand his grief," Michel said, pushing Robert gently away. "It is not that the church refused to recover a hero's body. None of the fifty thousand left intact remains. The mountains swarm with peril. Collecting the dead cannot be done lightly—it requires careful planning. You must wait."
"Nothing left… nothing left…" Robert murmured in despair. Then suddenly, he threw back his head and howled into the storm:
"Damnation!"