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Blood flowed
Blood flowed from the gaps of the giant oak doors of the Altar Hall, seeping out like a small, viscous crimson river. Outside those doors, Sir Baldr stood frozen. His aged nose, which had endured hundreds of battles, caught the sickening scent before his ears ever caught the screams. There were no wedding bells ringing; there was only the harmony of death. "Treachery..." Baldr muttered, his eyes widening in shock. The veins in his neck and arms bulged instantly. With a single kick reinforced by pure, ice-blue Mana, the old knight shattered the ten-centimeter-thick oak door into splinters. CRACK! The sight inside made Baldr’s heart stop. The holy hall had become a slaughterhouse. Lord Isolde and Lady Ameera lay lifeless. And upon the altar... his young master, Alaric Hildebrand, had just collapsed, a silver dagger buried in his chest by the hand of the woman who was supposed to be his bride. "YOUNG MASTEERRR!!!" Sir Baldr’s roar shook the stone pillars of Vaelcryss. The air aroun
The Day'2
Alaric’s world shattered, collapsing along with the fallen body of the North’s hero. Upon the sacred altar that was meant to witness his vow of love, Alaric instead witnessed hell. His ruby eyes widened, recording every brutal second. His father, Lord Isolde, the undefeated lion who had conquered mountain beasts, now lay in a pool of blood with a hole through his chest. And his mother… Lady Ameera, who only minutes ago had lovingly adjusted his collar, now lay lifeless, her head severed by a Southern blade. Alaric’s heart did not merely break. It felt crushed, ripped from his chest, and trampled. Pain, suffocation, and nausea struck him at once. His knees weakened. The metallic stench of fresh blood flooded his senses, soaking into the once-white carpet. Mother… Father… He was not even given time to grieve. A blade flashed toward his face. Survival instinct took over. Alaric drew his sword, parried the strike with a shower of sparks, and in one lethal motion severed the soldier’s
XIII: The Day'1
That morning, Vaelcryss was not as usual. The stone walls, once cold and grim, were now adorned with the grand banners of House Hildebrand and House Caelthrone, fluttering side by side. In his dressing chamber, Alaric stood before a full-length mirror. He wore a white silk tunic layered with a black leather vest embroidered in silver thread. Draped over his shoulders was an Arctic wolf-fur mantle, the symbol of Northern power. He looked formidable, a war prince ready to become a husband. “Brother looks so handsome... hiks.” A soft sob broke his thoughts. Elodie stood at the doorway, eyes swollen, nose red. The little girl looked lovely in her pale blue dress, yet her expression was as if she were attending a funeral. “You should just marry Elodie. I don’t want you taken by someone else,” she whimpered. Alaric chuckled softly, his nervousness easing a little. He walked over and lightly flicked the top of her head. “Don’t cry, El. Your makeup will smudge. You will look like a pand
XII: Night under the snow
Night fell over Vaelcryss, bringing heavier snow than usual. Tomorrow was the great day. The day when two regions would unite, and sacred vows would be spoken before the Northern Gods.In his spacious chamber, Alaric stood gazing out the window. His mind churned, yet for the first time in days, his heart felt light. Theodore, the threat, had been identified. He felt in control. He believed that tomorrow he would not only save his people through this alliance, but also rescue a poor girl from the grip of her cruel brother.Alaric had just been about to snuff out the candle when a soft knock sounded at his door.Tok. Tok.Alaric frowned. Who would dare disturb a groom on the sacred night before the wedding. There should be no unfinished business.He opened the heavy wooden door. There stood a figure that shattered all his vigilance in an instant.“Hi,” Rosieta greeted with an adorable wide grin.She stood in the dim corridor, wearing a long nightgown layered with a thick shawl, yet stil
XI: Day 5
The atmosphere in Alaric’s study was so silent that even the sound of a heartbeat seemed audible. Pascale stood straight, yet a shadow of fear flickered in his usually expressionless eyes. “My lord… about your suspicion of who is evil and who is the victim…” Pascale swallowed, his voice slightly trembling. “You were right.” Alaric leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping the wooden desk in a slow rhythm. “Continue. Tell me everything.” Pascale took a deep breath, letting his memory return to the western wing corridor of the castle a few hours earlier. “When I infiltrated as a laundry servant to inspect Lord Theodore’s new chamber, the smell was still there,” Pascale began. “The scent of Golden Musk mixed with the odor of corrosive iron. It tightened my lungs, so I had to hold my breath each time I passed that door. Lord Theodore still appeared very ill. He rarely left his bed.” Pascale paused, his eyes distant. “Then I saw Lady Rosieta arrive. She carried the exact same bouq
X: Second assumption
The silence in Lord Isolde’s study felt heavier than a suit of iron armor. Only the crackle of burning wood in the fireplace filled the pauses between the father and son’s conversation. Isolde slid a thick parchment scroll toward Alaric. “Look, my son,” Isolde’s voice was deep, authoritative, yet laced with fatigue. “This is the logistics list sent from Eldenval this morning. Even before the marriage is made official.” Alaric glanced at the list. His eyes widened slightly. Thousands of sacks of grain, dried meat, barrels of wine, and chests filled with thick wool clothing. The amount was enough to feed all of Vaelcryss for two winters. “Our food crisis is postponed, Alaric,” Isolde continued, staring at his son with his single sharp eye. “The people will not starve this year. And all of it is thanks to the ‘goodwill’ of House Caelthrone.” Alaric fell silent. His jaw tightened. He understood the implication behind that paper. This was not merely aid. It was checkmate. If he refuse
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