Two days had passed since Vael and Gruk left.
Aamon stood in front of the quiet house, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the neatly maintained garden. The grass was trimmed evenly, not a single weed out of place. The cows grazed lazily under the morning sun, undisturbed, as if nothing had ever happened.
All of it had been done by the undead Haldir.
The corpse had worked tirelessly without rest, tending to every chore with mechanical precision, its hollow eyes glowing faintly with necrotic obedience. Not a single task had been left unfinished.
Aamon allowed himself a small, satisfied smirk.
With a soft snap of his fingers, the undead form collapsed instantly. Its body crumbled into fine black dust that rose into the air before streaming back into the ring on Aamon's finger.
The faint glow faded.
"Finally…" he muttered under his breath, exhaling slowly. "Feels good to be done with that."
Without another glance at the house, he turned and began walking toward the Ironclad Kingdom.
The moment he entered the city, the atmosphere shifted.
Noise. Anger. Chaos.
Large crowds had gathered outside the Heroes Guild, their voices clashing in a storm of outrage. Protest signs were raised high, fists shaking in the air as accusations were hurled like weapons.
"Frauds!"
"Useless heroes!"
"They take our money and fail when it matters!"
Aamon didn't even slow down.
He walked through the unrest as if it didn't exist, his expression calm, detached, almost bored. The shouting washed over him without meaning as he pushed open the doors of the guild and stepped inside.
The interior was unusually quiet.
Only a few figures remained - Kufa, Darius, Beatrice, and Elara.
Raymond was nowhere to be seen.
Beatrice noticed him first, her brows knitting together in surprise. "Aamon? Where have you been?"
Aamon didn't answer her question. Instead, his eyes swept the room once before he spoke flatly.
"What's going on here?"
Darius let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. "The Divine Sword was stolen. Raymond's been imprisoned for a week as punishment. The citizens are furious… and they're blaming all of us."
He paused, his voice tightening slightly.
"Some are even calling us extortionists."
Aamon raised a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence.
"Anyway," he said calmly, reaching into his coat, "I'm here to resign."
The room fell completely silent.
Beatrice blinked. "Resign…? Why now?"
Aamon shrugged lightly, as if it were nothing.
"My mother passed away recently," he said, his tone steady - almost too steady. "There's no one left to take care of the house. I need to return."
Darius narrowed his eyes. "Where are Gruk and Vael?"
Aamon didn't hesitate.
"Vael took it badly," he replied smoothly. "He went into the mountains to clear his head. Gruk followed him. They haven't returned."
He placed a folded letter on the table.
"Now, if you'll accept this… I'd like to leave before dark."
No one spoke.
There was something off about his calmness - something that didn't quite sit right - but no one could put it into words.
And Aamon… didn't give them the time to try.
Deep within the cold stone walls of the royal prison, Raymond sat alone.
His back rested against the rough wall of his cell, his head lowered, eyes fixed on the ground. The dim torchlight flickered weakly, casting long, distorted shadows across the stone.
The silence was suffocating.
How did it come to this?
The question echoed endlessly in his mind, repeating over and over with no answer.
Just weeks ago, he had been the Hero of Ironclad - the one people looked to with hope.
Now he was a prisoner.
Accused. Judged. Forgotten.
He replayed everything again and again. The missing sword. The accusations. The trial.
The silence.
Not a single one of them had spoken up.
Not Darius.
Not Beatrice.
Not Kufa.
…Not even Elara.
That realization hurt the most.
Raymond let out a hollow, bitter laugh, his fingers curling into fists.
"...So this is how it ends."
He had fought for them. Trusted them. Bled beside them.
And when it mattered most -
They said nothing.
A faint memory surfaced then.
Vael's voice.
A warning.
A name.
Miraleth.
Raymond's brows furrowed as the thought lingered.
I never wrote her… he realized slowly. She wasn't part of the story. Not in any version.
Yet she had been there from the beginning.
Watching.
Guiding.
Smiling.
A cold unease settled in his chest.
How did Vael know about her?
What am I missing?
His breathing slowed, the weight of the realization pressing down on him.
Something was wrong.
Something far bigger than all of this.
And he had been blind to it.
"…Pathetic," he muttered to himself, closing his eyes. "I couldn't even see what was right in front of me."
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then -
A faint blue glow flickered to life in the darkness.
Raymond's eyes snapped open.
A system window materialized before him, brighter than ever before.
[SYSTEM UPGRADING…]
[SYSTEM UPDATED]
[HERO STATUS CONFIRMED]
A new line appeared beneath it.
[New Mission]
Raymond's breath caught.
Something had changed.
That same night, inside the quiet common room of the guild, tension lingered in the air.
Elara stood before the others, her expression firm, her eyes filled with urgency.
"We can't just sit here," she said. "We need to speak to the King. At least let us see Raymond. He's our teammate."
Darius frowned, crossing his arms. "You saw the hall. It was chaos. No one could speak unless they were called on."
He shook his head. "And he'll be released in a week. There's no need to escalate things."
Elara's jaw tightened.
"No," she said quietly. "Something isn't right."
The others looked at her.
"If this was just a mistake," she continued, "the King would have ordered us to investigate. To find the sword. To track Haldir."
Her voice lowered.
"But instead… he punished Raymond immediately."
Silence followed.
"And how," she added slowly, "did the citizens know before any official announcement was made?"
That question lingered heavily in the room.
Beatrice placed a hand on her shoulder. "You're overthinking it."
But her voice lacked conviction.
Elara turned to Kufa.
He didn't answer immediately.
Memories flickered through his mind - Raymond laughing, fighting, saving his life without hesitation.
The man he knew…
…didn't deserve this.
Kufa let out a quiet sigh.
"…Fine," he said at last. "We'll try."
Darius and Beatrice looked away.
Neither of them objected.
But neither of them stepped forward either.
Elara gave a small nod.
"Thank you."
And without another word, she and Kufa left the guild, stepping into the cold night.
Far below the surface world, in the depths of the underworld, Morbelith's rebellion had begun.
The halls of darkness echoed with screams.
Blood stained the black stone floors as demons fell one after another, those who refused to kneel were cut down without hesitation.
At the center of it all stood Morbelith.
The Divine Sword gleamed in her hand, its light twisted and corrupted, humming with unnatural power.
Behind her stood her three loyal followers Nyxthar, Sylvara, and Ferrak each radiating deadly intent.
Before them, blocking the path forward, stood Ignarath.
The ancient demon lord towered over them, his presence immense, his gaze burning with fury.
"I may despise Valthar," he said, his voice like rolling thunder, "but you… you disgrace us all."
His eyes narrowed.
"Consorting with humans. Stealing a holy weapon."
His grip tightened on his weapon.
"You are a traitor."
Morbelith laughed.
Soft at first.
Then louder.
Colder.
"Say that again," she whispered, her smile widening.
Ignarath moved first.
The ground shattered beneath his step as he lunged forward, his massive weapon crashing down with overwhelming force.
Morbelith met it head-on.
The clash exploded with violent energy darkness colliding with corrupted light, sending shockwaves tearing through the hall.
They exchanged blows rapidly, each strike powerful enough to shatter stone. Ignarath pressed forward with brute strength, forcing her back step by step.
"You rely on borrowed power!" he roared. "Without that sword, you are nothing!"
Morbelith's eyes gleamed.
"Then I suppose," she said softly, "I'll just have to make it mine."
In that instant-
Ice spread.
Sylvara's magic surged forward, freezing Ignarath's limbs mid-motion. Frost crawled over his body, locking him in place.
His eyes widened.
"You—"
That single moment was enough.
Morbelith stepped forward.
And drove the Divine Sword straight into his chest.
Light erupted.
Not bright
But devouring.
Ignarath's body convulsed violently as the sword consumed him from within. His form cracked, shattered
And then
He was gone.
Not dead.
Erased.
Nothing remained but drifting black dust.
Silence fell across the hall.
Even the watching demons stepped back in fear.
The Divine Sword didn't just kill.
It annihilated.
Morbelith slowly pulled the blade free, her smile returning.
"Next."
At that exact moment, far away in the Demon King's throne room, the heavy doors burst open.
A messenger stumbled inside, collapsing to his knees.
"My King!" he gasped. "Morbelith, she has the Divine Sword! Ignarath is gone!"
Valthar didn't move.
For a long moment, he remained slumped on his throne, unmoving.
Then
Slowly
He lifted his head.
A twisted smile spread across his face.
"…Good."
His voice was hoarse.
Broken.
And filled with something dark.
"Let them come."
The ancient ring on his finger began to glow once more deep crimson, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Something had awakened.
And this time
It wasn't sleeping again.
To be continued.