Deep in the Shadowland, Lucius marched toward an unknown destination, a host of thirty vampires and werewolves trailing in his wake. These were not ordinary soldiers — they were his most loyal and most powerful followers. Among them stood two towering figures: his mother, Lecia Dimont, and the werewolf king, Ed Wilson. Both were legends, feared and respected across the lands, their strength measured as S1 rank. Behind them came others of A rank, such as William Dassler, Juanes Rosa, and more — each a predator among predators.
Their destination was a city buried deep within the Shadowland, a place where Lucius believed he could finally awaken the full potential of his power.
As they moved through the endless night, Lecia suddenly halted. For the briefest of moments, a flicker of emotion crossed her otherwise cold, flawless face. Then it was gone.
"What is it, Mother?" Lucius asked, his blue eyes narrowing.
Her voice was calm. "Your brother… he is dead."
Lucius blinked. Surprise, yes — but grief? None. His lips curved into something between a sneer and a smile. "That idiot. He couldn't even handle one task. Does this mean she is free now?"
"I do not know," Lecia replied, her gaze fixed forward. "But I know this much — she lives. Likely, the others have all perished."
A low, guttural growl rumbled from William's chest, and he looked ready to unleash a furious howl. But before the sound could tear free, Ed Wilson placed a firm hand on his shoulder, silencing him. For William, the news struck differently. If Carl had fallen, then his brother Dorin was likely gone as well — and unlike the cold-hearted vampires, he had truly cared for him.
Lucius was silent for a moment, thinking. Then his voice cut through the heavy air, sharp and unyielding. "We continue."
It was the only choice. Or rather — the only choice that should be made.
…
Leo stood over Dorin, watching the werewolf's body writhe under Luciana's spell. His expression wasn't triumphant — it was torn, a strange mix of anger and sorrow tightening his features.
"Don't trouble yourself," Luciana said smoothly, her eyes glowing with cruel delight. "He was a formidable opponent. You did well to weaken him enough that I can tear into his mind so easily."
Leo's gaze snapped to her, his voice edged with disgust. "That's not what I'm thinking. I'm sad because now we're stuck working alongside a lunatic like you."
Luciana's face twisted in mock offense before curling into a pout. "Tch. You're not cute at all."
"Good."
One by one, the others regrouped around them, their exhaustion and injuries still written across their faces. Briva lingered at Leo's side, her head bowed, guilt clouding her eyes.
"Sorry… I wasn't much help," she whispered.
Leo's expression softened, and his lips curved into a genuine smile. "You wounded an A2 rank. That's more than useful. That's incredible."
Before Briva could respond, Luciana's attention sharpened, her voice cutting through the air. "What about my brother? What happened to him?"
Arthur stepped forward, his face calm but his words like stone. "I killed him."
Luciana's eyes lingered on Arthur for a long, unblinking moment. Then, slowly, a wicked smile curled across her face. "That's very good news. Remind me to buy you a drink later."
Arthur lifted a hand dismissively. "I'd rather not."
Her smile didn't falter. She simply turned her attention back to Leo, her gaze glinting with amusement. "Not only do you surprise me with your… rapid growth, but you've also dragged along the Pope's son." Her tongue flicked across her lips. "You're full of surprises."
Before Leo could reply, Elna suddenly stepped in and pressed her lips against his. For a moment, Leo froze — then realization struck. It wasn't just affection, it was a claim. She was marking her territory.
Luciana's grin only widened. "Don't worry, little one. I don't mind a love triangle."
Both Leo and Elna recoiled, their expressions twisting into disgust.
Arthur clapped his hands sharply, breaking the mood. "Enough. We saved your life. Now, it's your turn — where is your brother?"
Luciana tilted her head, feigning innocence. "And then what? You plan to kill them? There are three S1 in that group. Marching straight in is suicide."
Arthur's jaw tightened. "You have a better plan?"
Her grin shifted into something colder, sharper. "Of course. We seek out Count Errenor Daradia. He's been waiting for a chance to put my dear brother in the ground."
"Where is he?" Leo asked.
"He usually keeps to the capital."
"That's far east," Arthur muttered.
Luciana shrugged. "Then east it is. Unless you'd rather wander into the Shadowlands and get slaughtered."
Arthur went quiet, weighing the choice, before letting out a weary sigh. "Fine. We go east."
One by one, the others nodded in agreement.
Before setting off on their new journey, the group chose to rest in Reistara Village. They were all drained from the battle, and a small tavern at the edge of the settlement offered a brief sanctuary.
Inside, while the others disappeared into their rooms, Arthur lingered in the common hall. His eyes fixed on Luciana, who had already cornered a villager, her lips brushing his neck as she drank.
"If you kill anyone here," Arthur said, his tone sharp as steel, "I'll kill you."
Luciana froze for a heartbeat, then turned her head with a wicked smile. "You don't make things easy for a girl, do you?"
Arthur didn't flinch. "I warned you." With that, he turned and strode toward the stairs, leaving her grinning into the shadows.
After the recent chaos — and with Leo and Elna now openly together — the room arrangements had shifted. Leo shared a chamber with Elna, while Arthur found himself paired with Briva.
Before heading to his room, Arthur stopped in front of Leo and Elna's door. He knocked lightly, and the door opened to reveal Leo standing in the door way.
"Can I talk to you for a second?" Arthur asked.
Leo nodded, stepping outside while Elna remained inside, watching them silently.
"You told me you were going to use that crystal to summon your domain," Arthur began, his voice steady but filled with curiosity. "But I heard the Creator's bells again, and then I... transformed. How is that possible?"
Leo had expected this question, but Arthur's transformation caught him off guard. "You transformed? That's... interesting," Leo replied, his brow furrowing. He sighed before continuing, trying to make sense of it all. "It seems my domain is connected to the Creator's. When I attempted to summon it, the Creator granted me a bit of his power, which must have triggered something in you as well."
As Leo, the Creator's vessel, spoke with a quiet certainty, Arthur could see the confirmation in his eyes. Nodding slowly, Arthur took the answer in, then made his way back to his room, his mind racing with the new revelations.
When he entered, Briva was seated at the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped, her expression weighed down with sadness.
"Why the long face?" Arthur asked, setting his gear against the wall.
Her voice was small. "I couldn't help much today. I was… useless."
Arthur moved closer, standing in front of her. "Do you want to become stronger?"
She blinked at him. "Shouldn't you say something like… 'no you are wrong, you were useful'?"
"Do you want me to say that?"
Briva hesitated, then shook her head. A moment later, her eyes hardened. "No. I want to become more powerful."
Arthur nodded once, firm and certain. "Then I'll train you."
Her brow furrowed. "But… you're not a druid. And besides, we've been training together."
Arthur shook his head. "Not like this. I'm a warrior—I can train you in what I know. And when I say train, I mean the kind that will push you to your limits."
The sadness in her expression melted away, replaced by a flicker of hope. Slowly, she smiled — a bright, genuine smile.
…
The next day, they found the fastest carriage they could and with the shortcuts that Luciana knew, they reached Grenmarr, the capital of the kingdom of the north in a few days.
On the way, they exchanged what information they could—most of it centered on Lucius. Leo pressed Luciana for details, but she offered little. Likely, she was holding back for her own safety; after all, her value to the group lay in what she knew.
Grenmarr, the city before them rose from the frozen valley like a vision carved from ice and stone. It sprawled vast and endless, its streets and districts woven tightly together, pressed against the foothills and stretching far along the river's edge. Thousands of homes, their rooftops heavy with snow, clustered around one another, forming dense neighborhoods that seemed to cling for warmth against the biting wind. From simple stone cottages with smoking chimneys to tall, narrow houses built one atop another, the city bore the marks of generations of growth, its people determined to thrive even in the unforgiving cold.
Above them all loomed the heart of the city, a colossal citadel crowned with towers so tall they pierced the pale sky. Its spires glittered faintly beneath the weak winter sun, resembling frozen lances of silver and glass. The fortress was not just a seat of power—it was a monument to endurance, rising proudly despite the eternal snows that surrounded it. The lower walls were thick and impenetrable, while higher levels grew ever more graceful, narrowing into elegant peaks that gave the citadel an almost otherworldly majesty.
Encircling the castle, the city's grand avenues radiated outward like spokes of a wheel, though many had long since been buried beneath layers of frost. Markets, plazas, and public halls could be glimpsed between the crowded homes, their roofs arched high enough to resist the weight of winter. Bridges of stone connected districts divided by the frozen waterways, while aqueduct-like structures carried what little fresh water still flowed beneath the ice.
The great bridge leading into the city was a marvel itself—arched and monumental, spanning the abyss between two mountainsides. Its gates, fortified and watchful, stood ready to welcome traders, travelers, and armies alike, though the snow-choked roads suggested that only the most determined could reach such a city.
Behind it all, the mountains loomed like eternal guardians. Their jagged peaks were shrouded in mists and glaciers, cradling the city in both protection and peril. It was a place of grandeur and survival, where every stone and spire told the story of a people who had wrestled civilization from the jaws of an endless winter.
They traveled to the western edge of the city, where a sprawling mansion rose high on the mountainside. The estate was isolated, its wide stone road winding up the slope with no other homes nearby. The closer they drew, the more obvious the changes became—new watchtowers along the road, walls lined with torches, and guards stationed in tighter intervals.
As the carriage neared the iron gates, the armored sentries reacted instantly, opening them the moment they recognized Luciana's face.
"The number of guards has increased a lot," Luciana remarked, her blue eyes narrowing as she watched them through the window.
"The prince is trying to kill the count," Arthur replied coolly. "This kind of security is the only sensible response."
Luciana had been in chains too long to follow recent events. The others had explained pieces of the story along the way, but she still filled the gaps with guesses.
"I had hoped Errenor would send Ulfrik's son to aid us," she mused. "But from what you've told me, it seems he needs him here far more."
"Ulfrik's son?" Elna asked.
"Osvald Hemingsson," Luciana said, her tone casual but sharp. "An S-rank conjurer—and a warrior besides. Last I heard, he was heading into the southern dark forests, searching for druids."
Briva's eyes lit with excitement. "Druids? I want to meet him!"
The carriage pulled to a stop before the mansion's massive front steps. A butler in immaculate black livery approached at once, bowing as he ushered them inside. The halls were patrolled heavily, armored soldiers stood like statues, and robed mages tracked their movements with cold, appraising eyes. Even the air felt heavy with discipline and suspicion.
At last, they reached a tall pair of double doors. The butler knocked lightly, and when a deep voice granted permission, he swung them open.
Inside, Count Errenor sat behind a vast oaken desk carved with ancient runes. His figure was broad-shouldered and commanding, his very stillness radiating authority. At his side loomed his head guard, a giant of a man whose sheer presence felt like a wall.
Errenor gestured toward the sofas with a calm hand. "Please, sit." His voice was steady, controlled, carrying the weight of someone long accustomed to command. Only once they were seated did he continue. "Now—tell me how I can be of service."
"You're far too formal to greet an old friend," Luciana said with her usual mocking lilt.
"I'm sorry if I'm not throwing a feast for a murderer," Errenor replied flatly.
"But we were long-time friends, Mr. King."
Arthur and Leo both stiffened at the title.
Luciana smirked and pointed toward Arthur. "Oh, and since we're sharing names, thanks to Mr. Immortal, you must already know this man is the Pope's son, Mr. Light."
She tilted her head at Arthur with mock sweetness. "And as for me? I'm Ms. Eye."
Arthur's jaw tightened, rage flickering behind his eyes. The air thickened with tension until Errenor finally exhaled, the sound more like a warning than relief.
"Luciana," he said with a weary authority, "I've told you before—if you wish to live longer, you'd best learn restraint."
Leo leaned forward, seizing the pause. "Count Errenor, we've come to—"
Errenor raised his hand, silencing him without effort.
"I already know why you're here," he said. "You want my help against the vampires in the Shadowlands."
Leo blinked, caught off guard. "How did you—"
"You were seen in the west days ago. News of Carl Dimont's death reached me swiftly. That leaves little doubt about your intentions."
Leo smiled inwardly. Sharp as ever. This was the man they called Mr. King.
Errenor leaned back in his chair, studying them all in silence for a long moment. "But unfortunately… there is little I can do for you."