The entire Duchy had gathered in the central square, now transformed into a solemn stage of mourning. The air was heavy with incense and ash, and the banners fluttered in silence, as if even the wind itself were paying its respects. Upon a raised platform adorned with black and gold standards lay the body of Sofía Douglas of Mondring, covered with a mantle embroidered with the symbols of the Duchy and the lineage of her family.
Lusian stood beside her, unmoving, his eyes red and his jaw clenched.
For an entire week he had not stopped training. He rose before dawn, striking the air and the training dummies with furious force until his body collapsed from exhaustion. Every day was an endless cycle: he trained, fell, stood again, and trained once more. His grief had turned into strength; his rage into discipline.
Emily remained nearby in silence, holding his cloak and his hands—often covered in dust and blood—barely daring to look at him.
Albert, captain of the guard, knelt before the coffin, tears carving paths through his weathered face. His voice, broken by emotion, rose among the crowd.
"My lady…" he whispered, his voice trembling. "I swear to protect Lusian, even if it costs me my life."
A few steps away, Queen Adelaine of the kingdom bowed with solemn dignity. Beside her stood Princess Elizabeth, her trembling hand resting gently on Lusian's shoulder—her secret love and her restrained grief hidden behind royal composure.
Adela suddenly fell to her knees before the coffin of her master, sobbing softly. Her promise escaped in a whisper barely audible.
"I promise… to protect my lord Lusian. I will not fail you, Master… even if it costs me my life."
The nobles of the Duchy, gathered in perfect rows, bowed in a gesture of honor and respect, each offering their tribute to the woman who had defended and guided their lands throughout her life. The gleam of their swords and medals reflected the dim light of the sun, as if the world itself acknowledged the magnitude of the loss.
The silence was absolute, broken only by the chants of the priests and the restrained sobs of the mourners. Every gesture, every glance, every tear seemed to measure the void Sofía left behind.
That day, while the nobles and citizens of the Duchy paid their respects with tears and reverence, the visiting heroes stood apart with a distant calm. Alejandro and Leonardo, for reasons only they understood, did not share the collective sorrow. There was even a faint glimmer of satisfaction in their eyes, as if Sofía's death had not wounded them in the slightest.
Only Kara among them truly felt the weight of the loss. She knelt before the coffin, lowering her head and offering her sincere condolences, a knot in her throat forcing her to hold back her tears.
At last, Sofía's body was carried to the ancestral tomb of the Douglas family. The rites concluded, the lamentations faded, and while the Duchy slowly began returning to normality, Lusian remained there, unmoving. Within him burned a vow of vengeance that no one could extinguish.
When he finally turned to leave the mausoleum, he saw him.
Leonardo, the Hero of Lightning, was speaking with Isabella.
But she was not listening to him.
Her gaze was fixed on Lusian, waiting for him as if the rest of the world had vanished.
Lusian approached.
Before he could say a word, Leonardo raised his voice in fury.
"Duke! Release Isabella at once!"
He never finished the sentence.
With a movement so fast it seemed to erase the air itself, Lusian drew his sword—infused with pure mana—and brought it straight to Leonardo's throat.
Had it not been for a priest from the Temple of the God of Electricity, whose duty was to protect the hero, Leonardo's head would have separated from his body in an instant.
It happened so quickly that Leonardo did not even have time to react.
The priest intervened, his voice tense and burning with anger.
"Duke! What is the meaning of this?"
Lusian looked at him with icy eyes, his voice steady and dangerous.
"Do you even know where you are?"
"In the Douglas Duchy!" the priest replied, trembling between indignation and fear.
"And you dare raise your voice to me in my territory?" Lusian answered, each word as sharp as the blade in his hand.
The air tightened.
Even the Star Cloud above seemed to hold its breath.
No one present doubted that Lusian was no longer the child who had wept for his mother. He was a duke, a warrior… and an enemy no one could ignore.
Isabella did not look away. Her eyes shone—not with fear, but with a mixture of pain and resolve.
She said nothing.
She simply waited, unwavering, like a silent lighthouse beside the man she had chosen.
Leonardo swallowed hard, unable to understand how everything had changed in an instant. His heroic arrogance, his confident smile, had vanished.
The duke he once knew no longer existed.
Before him stood a man whose grief had turned into pure wrath—and who now dictated the rules of the game.
"Duke!" Leonardo shouted, trying to reclaim his authority. "You can't do this… she is—"
Lusian's voice cut through the air like contained thunder.
"This is my territory. These are my people. And she—"
He lifted his gaze toward Isabella, who remained motionless.
"She is free to choose. No one gives me orders here."
Leonardo turned toward Isabella, desperation and arrogance clashing in his expression.
"You decide, Isabella! Come with me. I can protect you… I am the chosen of the God of Thunder!"
Isabella did not take her eyes off Lusian.
Her voice was calm, quiet, but filled with unwavering resolve.
"I will stay with my lord."
Leonardo's heart ignited with fury.
Ignoring every warning, he tried to seize her by force.
In an instant, hundreds of swords were drawn.
The nobles of the Duchy, together with the warriors standing at a distance, stepped forward in perfect formation, forming a wall of steel and mana. Each blade gleamed with the determination to protect not only Lusian—but Isabella's will.
The priest of the Temple of the God of Electricity raised his hands, his aura crackling with sparks as he tried to restrain Leonardo.
"Hero! Stop! This is not the place for violence!"
But Leonardo was blinded by rage and a sense of divine entitlement. His eyes scanned the rows of swords, calculating, searching for an opening…
Until the weight of silence and the resolve of everyone present struck him.
For the first time, he realized he was not facing mere mortals.
He was standing before a duke who had crossed a line—and a duchy that would never tolerate aggression against its ruler or its will.
Isabella remained firmly at Lusian's side, binding her destiny to his with a certainty that no hero or god could break.
"You don't understand," Lusian murmured, his sword still aimed at Leonardo's throat. "Here, we decide who protects whom… and who lives."
"And you, Hero of Thunder… have just stepped into my territory."
Leonardo swallowed.
His pride pushed him toward a fight, but the atmosphere—heavy with mana, grief, and fury—paralyzed him.
The priest continued holding him back, desperately trying to keep the spark of his anger from turning into an immediate tragedy.
Time seemed to freeze.
The entire Duchy, the fractured sky, even the wind itself appeared to watch.
Lusian, with Isabella at his side, had become the center of a power that no hero—not even the chosen of the God of Thunder—could challenge without mortal consequences.
"Listen carefully," Lusian said, each word like a hammer striking steel. "No one touches Isabella while I still stand."
"And if anyone tries…"
"They will regret it with their final breath."
The silence broke only with the heartbeat of unyielding determination.
Isabella did not move.
Leonardo lowered his gaze.
And in that moment, it became clear who held the true authority—even before those chosen by the gods.