Grand Aurelis was never truly silent.
The city was built from white marble that reflected sunlight like the surface of a calm sea. For centuries it had been known as the heart of human civilization, the city of gold, the city of prayer, the city of victory.
But on that day, the sunlight seemed to fall like ash.
The sky remained blue, yet the atmosphere beneath it felt like the sky above a funeral.
The cathedral bells rang slowly, heavily, and long.
Not the sound of victory.
Not the call to worship.
It was the toll of mourning.
Wooden carts rolled along the main road, carrying coffins covered with white cloth bearing the emblem of the Sanctuary Church. Royal soldiers stood lined along the streets, their heads bowed. Citizens knelt on the stone sidewalks. Some crying, others sitting silently like statues that had forgotten their meaning.
The smell of incense mixed with the lingering scent of blood on the survivors' clothes.
The Red Dungeon had claimed far too many lives.
And the city knew it.
In the middle of the procession walked the students who had survived.
Arga walked at the front.
His posture remained firm, but the shadow in his eyes was darker than usual. The sword of light at his waist no longer shone the way it once did. Its glow had dimmed, like a star that had grown tired.
Behind him walked Elara.
Her face was pale.
Her blue eyes were red from crying too much. Her healer's robe was still stained with blood, not her own, but the blood of people she had failed to save.
Nadia walked beside her, holding her bow with trembling hands.
Normally the girl possessed the calm of a silent forest.
But now that forest looked as if it had just survived a great wildfire.
Satrio carried his massive axe over his shoulder, yet his steps lacked their usual strength.
Ilham walked with his head lowered.
His twin daggers rested at his belt, but his hand occasionally touched their hilts, as if making sure the weapons were still there, as if confirming the world was still real.
Yogi walked on the other side of the group. The iron ball with its wind core in his hand seemed heavier than usual.
Normally he was the loudest among them.
Now he said nothing.
Rina walked slowly, her right arm wrapped in thick bandages. The infection from the demon blood had nearly destroyed the muscle in her arm, and only Elara's healing magic had saved it from ruin.
But the most noticeable among them all was one person.
Kafka.
He walked without a single wound.
Kafka remained at the very back of the group, carrying the same supply bag he had brought into the dungeon.
Not a scratch.
No blood.
No marks of battle.
And that was exactly why every eye turned toward him.
Whispers began to spread among the citizens.
"Why isn't he injured?"
"Everyone died… but he didn't?"
"Wasn't he the one using blood powers…?"
"Could it be…"
The word was never spoken clearly.
Yet like poison slowly dripping into water, the meaning spread without needing to be said.
A demon's ally.
"Did he really fight that demon?"
"Or… is he one of them?"
Some people spat onto the ground as Kafka passed.
No one threw stones.
No one dared to do that in front of heroes.
But their contempt was clear enough.
Kafka simply lowered his head.
He didn't respond.
He didn't grow angry.
He just kept walking.
Like a shadow long accustomed to being trampled by the light.
Of course he heard them.
But he only lowered his head further and continued walking.
His steps were slow, like someone used to walking across broken glass.
Suddenly Elara turned toward the crowd.
"Stop talking like that!" she shouted, her voice trembling.
Several people fell silent.
But Adam chuckled from behind them.
"They're not exactly wrong for thinking that," he said casually.
Nadia glared at him.
Adam shrugged.
"I'm just saying it's possible."
Ilham let out a long sigh.
Satrio said nothing.
They no longer joined the insults against Kafka like they once had.
But neither were they brave enough to truly stand beside him.
The only ones who walked near Kafka were Elara,
And Mr. Rahmat.
Their teacher walked slowly with his wooden cane. The middle-aged man looked ten years older than he had just weeks ago.
His eyes were red.
Not from crying.
But from holding back tears for too long.
He had lost too many students in that Blood Dungeon.
Far too many.
Mr. Rahmat stopped when they reached the cathedral.
The building towered like a mountain of prayer in the center of the city. Its pillars rose like the ribs of a giant supporting the sky, and its red-gold stained glass reflected the evening light like blood purified by the sun.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then he whispered quietly,
"We lost too many…"
No one answered.
When they finally arrived at the Grand Aurelis castle, the cathedral bells began to ring again.
Not the bells of victory.
But the bells of death.
The kind usually heard only when a great hero had fallen.
That day, the bells rang dozens of times.
That night, the entire city mourned.
Because no one knew what to say.
The days that followed passed like fog.
Arga, Elara, Nadia, Adam, Satrio, Ilham, Rina, and Yogi were all treated for their injuries.
The wounds were not only on their bodies.
But in their hearts.
Gilbert still lay in bed with one arm missing.
Antonio cursed endlessly over the loss of his eye.
Azuna could barely speak due to the damage to her throat.
Meanwhile,
Kafka was not treated at all.
He simply sat in the academy's backyard.
Alone.
Sometimes reading.
Sometimes staring at the sky.
Sometimes doing nothing.
But almost of the times, he back to his physical workout dan mana control. Just to make sure, this tragedy will never happen again in the future.
People who passed still looked at him with suspicion.
But his classmates had slowly grown used to his presence.
Even if not all of them liked him.
***
A few days later.
The castle dining hall felt far quieter than usual.
The long table that once echoed with laughter now held only ten people sitting with slightly hunched backs, like trees that had lost most of their branches after a storm.
Mr. Rahmat sat at the end of the table.
He looked at his students one by one.
Arga.
Elara.
Kafka.
Nadia.
Adam.
Satrio.
Ilham.
Yogi.
Rina.
Only they remained.
The man exhaled softly.
"I want to tell you a little story tonight."
Everyone raised their heads.
Mr. Rahmat smiled faintly.
"You know… before I became a teacher, I once sat in the same school seats as you."
Adam raised an eyebrow.
"You studied there too, sir?"
Mr. Rahmat chuckled.
"Not the same generation. But yes… the same school."
He looked up at the chandelier.
"Back then I wasn't a teacher."
"Just a troublemaker who got into fights."
Some students looked surprised.
"You might find it hard to imagine," he continued quietly, "but I used to fight in the school yard… get punished for not doing homework… even get yelled at for sleeping in class."
Yogi laughed softly.
"Seriously, sir?"
Mr. Rahmat nodded.
"Seriously."
He picked up his chopsticks.
"Though I often lost those fights."
His gaze drifted toward the empty seats where their fallen classmates once sat.
Then he spoke softly.
"Students like you… existed back then too. The quiet ones. The troublemakers. The diligent ones."
Silence filled the room.
He stared out the window.
"And back then… the world felt very simple."
One by one, the students began remembering their old lives.
Rina lowered her head.
"I used to practice karate every day," she said softly. "I thought the hardest fight in my life would be the provincial championship."
She gave a bitter laugh.
Yogi scratched his head.
"I was just a kid who liked playing volleyball at school. I still training for provincial tournament before arriving in this world though."
Ilham said quietly,
"Man, I been workin' part-time at a burger spot… barely enough for me and my moms to get by,"
"Where is your dad?" Adam asked simple.
"Guess he ain't never find that milk. I don't give a shit 'bout him." Ilham answered.
Satrio added,
"I lived with my uncle in his workshop."
Adam continued,
"Yeah, i also worked part-time with my uncle in his barbershop."
Yogi responded,
"You? In a barber? A Shaolin monk in a barber?"
Adam stand up ready to slam, but just casually sat again after Satrio dan Ilham told him that is just a joke.
Nadia gripped her cup.
"I used to garden behind our house with my mom and little sister. I miss them so much..."
Their voices sounded fragile.
Elara set down her spoon.
"My parents divorced when I started middle school. Neither of them wanted to take care of me… so I ended up in the same orphanage as Arga and Kafka."
Kafka kept his head lowered.
He didn't even remember his own family.
He had grown up in that orphanage since birth with Arga.
And when they got older, Elara entered their lives.
They were the only family he had ever known.
Even Arga finally spoke.
"I… don't really remember my home either."
Elara quietly held the hands of both Arga and Kafka.
Then Mr. Rahmat pulled several cards from his pocket.
Ten cards.
He handed them out one by one.
"These cards… aren't weapons."
The students looked at them.
"They're just simple magic cards."
Kafka examined his.
A faint glowing symbol shone on its surface.
Mr. Rahmat smiled sadly.
"I just thought… that if one day… we have to die far away from each other…"
His voice trembled.
"At least these cards will remind us that we once fought together."
The first tears began to fall from the heroes' faces.
One by one.
Like a small rain falling across the dining table.
Some students began crying.
Elara covered her face.
Nadia gripped the card tightly.
Rina stared at hers as if it were the last memory of a home that had burned down.
They kept the cards like people receiving small gravestones for their future.
That night they didn't eat much.
But they shared something more important than food.
Memories.
A moment later, the hall doors opened.
A church guard stepped inside.
"Bishop Magnus calling, all of you."
***
The cathedral hall that night was filled with candlelight.
Bishop Magnus stood before the great altar.
His white robe flowed like the wings of a weary angel.
"You have endured a trial no students should ever face," he said.
His voice was heavy.
"But the kingdom… and the Church… owe you a debt."
He raised his staff.
"The ceremony to crown you as the Heroes of Grand Aurelis will be held in a few days."
The room fell silent.
"The ceremony will be attended by nobles… citizens… and several of the Seven Paladins."
Several students widened their eyes.
The Seven Paladins.
SS-Rank knights.
Living legends of the kingdom.
But suddenly Mr. Rahmat stepped forward.
"If those Paladins are so powerful," he said sharply, "why wasn't even one of them sent to help us in the Blood Dungeon?"
The room grew tense.
Magnus lowered his head slightly.
"That… is a mistake we deeply regret."
Mr. Rahmat clenched his fists.
"The Paladins…"
Magnus sighed.
"…are currently at war."
He lifted his head again.
"Jotunheim's invasions are becoming more frequent."
Several students exchanged glances.
"For now, there is just only two paladins left in this continent."
He looked at them seriously.
"Only one of them may attend your coronation. But I hope both will attend."
He paused.
"But believe me… they do care."
Mr. Rahmat still looked dissatisfied.
But eventually he nodded.
***
The days passed slowly.
Like wounds trying to close.
Arga returned to training.
He trained the hardest.
Every swing of his sword sounded like a war bell.
Nadia practiced archery in the academy courtyard.
Her arrows flew faster.
Deadlier.
Satrio sharpened his massive axe.
Ilham practiced dagger movements within the shadows.
Adam fought training dummies until his hands bled.
Elara helped in the healing hall.
Rina slowly returned to practicing karate, flames flowing around her fists.
Yogi spun his iron ball again.
And Kafka…
Kafka sat beneath the old tree in the courtyard.
He's back to his quiet training methods.
Sometimes reading.
Sometimes watching them train.
Sometimes just holding the card Mr. Rahmat had given him.
His eyes looked distant.
As if memories he could not understand kept knocking on the door of his mind.
The Blood King.
That voice still echoed in his head like an unfinished dream.
***
The night before the coronation finally arrived.
The sky above Grand Aurelis was filled with stars.
But inside the cathedral, the shadows felt darker than usual.
Mr. Rahmat walked slowly between rows of ancient bookshelves.
A small lantern hung in his hand.
He opened several old archives.
Dust floated in the air.
Some of the pages were centuries old.
And on one of those pages,
He found something.
The same name.
A name he had seen before.
Eldric Vaelorian.
And beneath it,
Azhraviel.
Mr. Rahmat read with held breath.
His eyes slowly widened.
"So… that's how it is."
Suddenly,
Footsteps echoed behind him.
Mr. Rahmat froze.
The lantern in his hand trembled.
Slowly he turned his head.
But before he could see who stood there,
A cold voice spoke from the darkness.
"It seems… you are reading something you shouldn't."
The lantern light flickered.
And a long shadow began creeping across the cathedral floor.
~To Be Continued ~