CHAPTER 94

  THE LEGEND MEETS THE MASTER

  Far to the east, in the heart of Clandor, the capital pulsed with its usual rhythm of order and elegance—but within the palace walls, a truth light by Arat had begun to burn things.

  Three days after the events at the border, a sealed report had arrived in Reina’s hands. The Queen of Clandor, now the guardian of an uneasy peace, sat alone in her courtroom, the original documents unfurled across her desk. There were no courtiers to distract her. No whispers from nobles to veil the truth. Only ink and paper—and the weight of what they revealed.

  It was a ledger of transactions.

  Slave trades.

  And they bore the unmistakable seal of her husband’s family.

  Behind her, the doors creaked open. And through them, King Eleanor entered. The moment his eyes fell on the document, his expression hardened.

  “Reina, you don’t honestly believe this?” he said, his voice taut with disbelief. “This came from Parv. You know what they’re like. They—”

  “Parvians are many things, Eleanor,” Reina cut in, her voice calm but edged with steel. “But they are not liars. You’ve to respect that.”

  Her gaze remained fixed on the page, though her heart burned. She knew the Highborn were capable of dark deeds—most nobles were—but to see it laid bare, linked to her own blood by marriage, was another matter.

  And what Arat asked in return is much more significant. An establishment of diplomatic house in Clandorian soil. Giving them permanent access to her land. It was much more useful to Parv than holding onto this information and shaking up the Elven kingdom.

  Reina explained and Eleanor looked away, jaw clenched. His family had long served the elven throne with loyalty. He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to be the one who shattered the illusion.

  But Reina? She was queen first—and daughter-in-law second.

  If her people suffered while she ruled, and she remained blind to it, then the guilt was hers.

  She closed the scroll and rose to her feet. Her voice was resolute as she activated the small crystal beside her—its core glowing with blue light— a communication orb.

  “Summon the Elites,” she commanded.

  Moments later, the great doors of the throne hall swung open. Six figures strode in, cloaked in polished blue armour that shimmered with layered runes. They moved in unison, silent and disciplined.

  At their head was a woman not yet thirty, her hair tightly bound, her presence sharp as tempered steel. She stepped forward and bowed.

  “Your orders, Your Majesty?”

  Reina met her gaze. “This mission is to remain entirely discreet. You are to investigate the western borders—especially the people the Highborns claim to have ‘rescued.’ I’ve received intelligence of an unregistered mining operation hidden there. If it exists, then someone is profiting off illegal labour, paying no taxes, and operating outside the law. Local lords may be involved. Others, too—possibly powerful ones. You are authorised to punish them at your discretion.”

  Her voice dropped lower, she hesitated.

  “If any among the Highborns are involved…” she turned slightly to glance at Eleanor, “…then bury everyone connected to them. Erase the trail before it reaches too high.”

  The room fell into silence. The Elites gave a single nod, then turned to obey.

  Reina turned to her husband.

  “And now, dear husband,” she said softly, “Will you summon your father, please?”

  Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. “Reina—”

  “No,” she said, sharper now. “Don’t give him reasons. Don’t warn him. This mess must be faced—not covered. I won’t allow innocent blood to be silenced for the sake of noble reputation. If he’s clean, he has nothing to fear.”

  “And if he isn’t…”

  She didn’t need to finish the thought.

  “He needs to be stopped. The crown would not be tainted—not under her rule.”

  Two days later, the elite captain returned —alone.

  Reina listened, eyes narrowed, as the reports unfurled before her—five mines liberated in under a day, their overlords disabled with ruthless precision. An illegitimate child of House Highborn, a woman, left maimed and stripped of her house seal.

  “And who is responsible for that?” She asked, naming the culprit—the so-called liberator.

  The elite captain hesitated. She still was having a hard time believing the words she heard. When she reached the last mine that supposedly was liberated. She witnessed the people—the slaves bearing a horrendous interrogation by none other than strong mercenaries of the Elven realm.

  And the very victims, singing the praise, unafraid as they’d witnessed the god himself. They spoke of a brilliance so pure, so blinding, it purified the soul itself.

  “A boy.” She answered, Reina. “Scarcely more than a child—He calls himself Theodred.”

  Reina’s gaze flicked sideways to where two others stood — her husband, Eleanor, and Aredhel, her old friend and sister to the man she married. She had come to visit her daughter, apprenticing within Clandor’s palace. Now she stood frozen, colour drained from her cheeks.

  The name struck deep, especially for Aredhel.

  Reina, who was ever cold and composed, watched Aredhel’s stoic mask crack.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  As Aredhel moved to step forward, Reina caught her by the shoulders. “You’ll remain here,” she said firmly. “I won’t have another Highborn tangled in this mess. Not you, nor Eleanor.”

  Aredhel began to protest. “But—”

  “No buts. You are in my country. You follow my law.” Reina’s tone softened only to twist into a smirk. The name in prophecy discovered by Aredhel, a clairvoyant. It carried weight.

  Then Reina moved.

  “I will see him myself.”

  The silence that followed sliced through the court like a dagger through silk.

  The Queen of Clandor—who had not crossed her own gates after the end of the civil war—would transport herself using a magic circle, led by her elites.

  A legend was rising beyond her borders.

  And Reina meant to meet it face to face.

  Afar from the fifth mine where the elites had already subdued the mercenaries, Reina and her elite captain manifested under the watch of Hans, whose mana-less body in human form gave him perfect camouflage.

  “So they are finally here—Load Elven Codex.”

  As the pain of transformation gripped him, aura surged through his veins, shattering the illusion. Bones shifted. Muscles coiled. Light pulsed beneath his skin. He emerged as Theodred again.

  “Let’s get this shit rolling.” With a deadly speed, he appeared at the gates, the mine subdued by elites.

  “Who are you people?” He demanded, his bright sword at their levels giving them hesitation.

  “A sword made out of aura—it’s impossible.” The youngest elite murmured while the rest four shared the sentiments. The technique was unheard of, unlike the boy’s name, which was famous from Reina’s prophecy and Aredhel’s mad search.

  But they had to confirm that someone was not using the name for their mischief and pleasure.

  “A light aura—this is hitting nails. What should we do?” The youngest asked, but none of his seniors had answers.

  “Let’s verify then.” The youngest unsheathed the sword, levelling it at Theodred’s face.

  “As the testimonies said, he doesn’t use any aura skills. So let’s just test it in pure sword art.” The senior murmured.

  The youngest soon learned it was his worst decision ever.

  “State your name, fools?” Hans demanded, giving his first. “I’m Theodred. If you don’t want to be disabled like them. State your affiliations.”

  “And what if I’m not—”

  In a flash, the youngest found his chin connecting with Theodred’s elbow— a brutal upper strike that launched the knight into the air, dazed before he even understood what had happened.

  But Hans wasn’t the victor there. Almost all five, the elites of Clandor, all had their swords fixed on Hans’s neck. “Guess they aren’t called the best of Clandor for nothing.” He ducked, but the sword traced down.

  It was his first time facing knights other than Dietrich, but facing these elites who were reluctant to attack him was a child’s play compared to the monster his ancestor was.

  “She’s watching,” he muttered. Watch me, Reina. And be intrigued — so much that even your reason cannot save you.

  He clicked his tongue. “So you are one of those who buries the truth?” Swiftly, he pulled out the Libra seal. Flicked high, it gave him perfect distraction, just enough to pass through them.

  He vanished between their blades.

  Seeing this, the Elite Captain by Reina’s side started forward, but her queen raised a hand. “Stand down,” she commanded.

  “Your Majesty?”

  “I want to see if he’s the real deal,” Reina said softly, her eyes never leaving the fight.

  Since Hans was brimming with aura and their youngest had already tainted their name. It was no time to hold back.

  And then, without word or warning, the first moved.

  He was fast. Hans barely raised his blade in time to parry. Sparks of energy exploded outward. Hans slid back across the cracked path, his breath ripped from his lungs. Another came from the left. He ducked under the blade, spun, and then slashed.

  Yet nothing happened.

  No blood. No wound.

  Just a strange silence cutting the air — like the sound of a wind that had yet to come.

  The third knight came from above, aerial, majestic. Noticing him quickly, Hans’s battle-sense warned. He leapt backward, slashing upward. Again — no contact. Just that same odd, delayed stillness in the air.

  It wasn’t a failure.

  It was something else.

  The fourth and fifth circled him now. Precision. Teamwork. Years of combat knowledge in motion.

  Hans’s instincts flared. He planted his foot, drove his blade into the earth — and let go.

  The sword vanished.

  Not shattered. Not dispersed.

  Seeing him defenceless, out of fumes. The youngest found an opportunity to good to be true. Inexperienced as he was, he was ready to face any kind of ambush.

  He landed behind Theodred — flared his aura to full, ready to strike— a shade of icy blue.

  That was the trigger. A smirk rose from Hans, “Gotcha, bitches.”

  A burst of white light exploded behind the attacking knight — a slash that hadn’t been there a moment ago — now rending through his armour. The knight gasped, collapsing to one knee, the wound bled light instead of blood.

  The other knights paused — wary now.

  “That is some trickery, be aware,” the first one said.

  Theodred, on the other hand, stepped forward as if he were strolling in his home ground. Summoning his sword again. From the hilt of light, a formed an elongated blade— longer this time.

  They attacked, this time in unison. Not giving any breathing room to their target.

  But every parried blow of Theodred’s blade disappeared. It left no mark. Yet it left something — a shimmer, suspended in the air where the strike had landed.

  The knights didn't notice — until they did.

  One charged, his aura flaring — and the air behind him tore open, a delayed arc of Theodred’s earlier slash slamming into his back, sending him flying.

  Another tried to suppress his aura entirely to avoid triggering the latent cuts — clever, but futile. They were fighting with their hands tied. There were no orders for subduing Theodred, a possible royal. They wanted to subdue him and their pride as Clandor elites couldn’t allow them to attack an upcoming aura user with grade eighty or seventy skill.

  They wanted to beat him where he was good at— in sword arts, but their opponent was using some sort of trick, incomprehensible to them.

  While they were struggling to decide what to do. Theodred instincts were sharpening. He anticipated where they’d flare next. He baited them.

  More than instinct, it became method.

  The fourth knight attempted to bind him with metal chains. Theodred let the attack wrap around his limbs — then pushed his aura outward. The chains shattered. In their place, a pulse of energy bloomed, and from the shattered fragments, Theodred’s hidden slashes emerged like serpents — seven in total — coiling, waiting.

  They struck simultaneously the moment the knight tried to blink-step away. His armour cracked like porcelain.

  Looking at how this was unfolding, the fifth knight stood still, blade raised, wary. His eyes weren’t on Theodred. They were lifted toward the cliffs.

  Watching him. Theodred followed his gaze.

  And though he couldn’t see her — he felt her presence. Regal. Distant. Watching through a thousand layers of spellcraft and illusion.

  She saw him.

  He raised his sword — the aura trembling now, barely held together. His body was failing. Blood dripped from his side, but the blade of light remained.

  “I know you see me,” he whispered to her. And finally, his glimmer tone down. He was barely a grade ten, and he stood far more than any.

  “Arrest him.” Reina came face to face.

  Theodred, almost on his last straw, accused, “Oh, so this is the queen of corruption.” And fell, his exhaustion overtook him, and as he got arrested, the news of his presence reached Arat— The Parvian bane is in the hands of Reina, it said.

  SATR’s recommendation— nip the bud, send a death emissary.