The private medical chamber was deathly silent, save for the low, rhythmic chanting of the high-tier healers.
The lead healer, an elderly Gladeon with eyes clouded by decades of magical strain, took the wooden bowl from Kenshin.
He stared down at the glowing, dark-crimson water.
He could feel the heavy, necrotic miasma radiating from the liquid, yet beneath that terrifying aura lay a concentrated spark of absolute, unyielding vitality.
“Step back, boy,” the lead healer murmured.
Kenshin stepped away from the stone slab, his dark-green eyes fixed on Horuto’s pale, lifeless face.
The healer dipped a clean linen cloth into the crimson water.
Gently, he pressed the glowing, blood-soaked cloth directly over the massive, jagged puncture wound in the center of Horuto’s chest.
The other nine healers intensified their chanting, their hands flaring with brilliant green runes, attempting to force Kenshin’s corrupted vitality into Horuto’s severed aura pathways.
For a long heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then, a sharp, violent hiss of steam erupted from the wound.
The healers gasped, breaking their circle and stepping back in alarm.
But the lead healer held his ground.
Beneath the blood-soaked cloth, Horuto’s chest arched upward.
The pale, deathly gray of his skin suddenly flushed with warmth.
The jagged edges of his torn flesh sizzled, rapidly weaving themselves back together as the glowing crimson blood acted like an impossible, magical mortar.
“By the Supreme Creator…” the lead healer whispered, his voice trembling with sheer disbelief.
“That is… impossible. I have studied the healing arts for a century, and I have never known a bloodline potent enough to forcefully regenerate another being’s flesh.”
The heavy oak doors of the chamber slammed open.
Asami rushed in, her midnight-blue hair disheveled, her chest heaving as if she had sprinted across the entire sanctuary.
She ignored her bandaged shoulders, pushing past the junior healers to reach the stone slab.
“What happened?!” Asami demanded, her icy blue eyes darting frantically from the steaming wound to the healers.
“He is healing, Lady Asami,” the lead healer said, a profound sense of relief washing over his aged face.
“The boy’s blood… it is actively repairing the severed aura pathways.”
A ragged, heavy breath escaped Asami’s lips.
The suffocating weight that had been crushing her chest since Takashi’s betrayal finally lifted.
She leaned against the edge of the stone slab, her trembling fingers gently brushing against Horuto’s forehead.
He was warm.
“How much time will it take?” Asami asked, her voice uncharacteristically fragile.
“To fully reconstruct the internal organs and stabilize his mana core?” The healer analyzed the glowing runes hovering over Horuto’s chest.
“It will take around three hours. But he is out of danger. He will live.”
Asami closed her eyes, letting out a long, shuddering exhale.
When she opened them again, she turned her head to look at Kenshin.
The sixteen-year-old boy stood awkwardly near the archway, his scarred arms crossed over his chest.
“You did well,” Asami said quietly.
Kenshin blinked, slightly taken aback by the lack of venom in her tone.
The feral beast that had slaughtered guards in the courtyard was entirely dormant.
For a moment, he looked like a normal teenager.
“I expect a ‘thank you’,” Kenshin muttered, looking away to hide the faint, arrogant smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.
Asami’s icy blue eyes narrowed instantly, the momentary vulnerability vanishing.
“Thank you. Are you happy now, street rat?”
Before Kenshin could retort, a sanctuary guard wearing a fresh brown cloak hurried into the medical chamber.
He stopped, bowing deeply.
“Lady Asami. Kenshin,” the guard said urgently.
“The Master is calling for both of you. You are to report to the Grand Hall immediately.”
Asami and Kenshin exchanged a quick, tense glance.
The consequences of the dungeon were catching up to them.
-Break-
The heavy mahogany doors of the Grand Hall groaned open.
The vast, circular room was entirely empty of council members and commanders.
The only source of light came from the braziers lining the polished oak walls, casting long, flickering shadows across the deep-veined marble floor.
At the far end of the room, Master Brados sat upon his massive, carved wooden throne.
He did not look like a grieving father anymore.
He looked like the ancient, war-hardened sovereign of the Underward.
In his right hand, Brados held his legendary Green Dragon Guandao.
The long, elegant shaft was wrapped in a spiraling pattern of green and gold.
At the top, a beautifully sculpted golden dragon head opened its maw, from which emerged a curved, vibrant jade-colored blade adorned with intricate, glowing runes.
In his left hand, the Master rested the tip of a single-edged sword against the marble floor.
It featured a thick, translucent green blade etched with elegant filigree that pulsed with an inner, mystical light, anchored by an antiqued bronze crossguard.
The sheer magical pressure radiating from the two weapons was suffocating.
Asami stopped a respectful distance away, bowing her head.
Kenshin stopped beside her, his dark-green eyes fixed on the glowing weaponry.
“Asami,” Brados spoke, his deep baritone echoing through the empty hall.
“Four of the Strong Holders are coming to the Endlerworld.”
Asami’s eyes widened in absolute shock.
“Four…?”
“Including King Bellod,” Brados added, his tone grim.
For a long moment, Asami remained completely quiet, her mind struggling to process the sheer scale of the threat.
The Strong Holders were the apex entities of the realms.
A single one of them could level a nation-state.
Four of them meant absolute annihilation.
“Why…?” Asami asked, her voice betraying a sliver of dread.
“Why are they coming here?”
Brados slowly stood up from his throne.
He planted the heavy shaft of the Dragon Guandao against the floor, the metal striking the marble with a thunderous impact.
“Kenshin,” Brados said, turning his intense, shadowed gaze to the teenager.
“You have a great deal to learn. It is time you finally understand what is happening. Where you are. What nation-state you belong to.”
Kenshin’s jaw tightened.
“I do not care about nations.”
“You will,” Brados countered.
“Because more importantly, it is time you learn exactly why your father locked you in that subterranean vault. Why Zenjiro allowed you to suffer torture and alchemy for an entire decade.”
Kenshin froze.
His racing heart skipped a beat, a sudden, icy chill of dread washing down his spine.
“How…?” Kenshin whispered, his voice trembling.
“Do you know why he did it?”
“I know everything,” Brados stated.
“I will tell you everything. But not now. We are going to wait for Horuto to fully recover. Once he awakens, we will all sit down, and I will reveal the truth of the past.”
“I need answers now!” Kenshin yelled, his raw, unrefined aura flaring wildly.
“You cannot just throw this kind of talk at me and expect me to wait! Tell me why my father turned me into a monster!”
Brados’s eyes narrowed, his heavy magical pressure instantly crushing Kenshin’s aura into submission.
“Believe in me, Kenshin,” Brados commanded strictly.
“I will answer every single one of your questions. But I will only tell this story once, and Horuto must be present to hear it. For now, you are to return to your chambers.”
Kenshin glared at the elder, his fists trembling at his sides.
“And ask yourself… why would a man whose loyalty is absolute, put his only son through such unimaginable pain? Look past your hatred, boy, and think.”
Kenshin wanted to scream.
He wanted to summon his dark aura and tear the answers from the Master’s throat.
But the memory of Brados holding the painted portrait of Takashi flashed in his mind.
This man was mourning, yet he was still trying to guide him.
With a frustrated, heavy exhale, Kenshin turned on his heel and stormed out of the Grand Hall without another word.
As the heavy doors slammed shut behind the boy, Asami turned back to the Master, her expression deeply troubled.
“Master,” Asami said carefully.
“If the Strong Holders are coming… including King Bellod… how are we going to handle them? Why are they mobilizing after all these years?”
“They are coming here to kill me,” Brados replied calmly.
“And to kill Kenshin.”
Asami took a step forward, completely baffled.
“Why? Why Kenshin? What does a traumatized boy have to do with the Strong Holders? Why are they seeking to kill him when he cannot possibly harm them?”
“Because Kenshin is Zenjiro’s son. Do not forget that,” Brados said, leaning the Jade sword against his throne.
“And because Kenshin has the power of the Shadow entity living inside him.”
Asami’s breath hitched.
Shadow.
The very word carried a forbidden weight in the realms of magic.
“As I said, we will have a long talk about it tonight,” Brados said, waving his hand dismissively.
“For now, go and stand guard outside of Kenshin’s door. Be absolutely vigilant. If anything happens to him, our entire world will burn.”
Asami hesitated, clearly burning with a hundred more questions.
But the absolute authority in the Master’s eyes left no room for debate.
She bowed her head deeply, turning and exiting the hall to fulfill her duty.
-Break-
The Grand Hall was finally empty.
Brados stood alone in the dim light of the braziers.
He let out a long, exhausted sigh, the weight of his one hundred and sixty-eight years pressing heavily upon his broad shoulders.
He turned his gaze toward the dark, shadowed corner of the room, far behind his wooden throne.
“You may come out now,” Brados said quietly.
“You saw your brother. Are you happy?”
From the shadows, a woman stepped into the flickering light.
She possessed long, straight black hair and fair, beautiful skin.
Her pure, dark-green eyes were shimmering with unshed tears.
She wore a simple, elegant dark cloak to hide her identity, but the noble grace of her Gladeon bloodline was undeniable.
It was Ren.
Kenshin’s elder sister pressed her trembling hands over her mouth, a choked sob escaping her lips.
“My brother… is alive,” Ren whispered, tears finally spilling down her cheeks.
“My Ritsu… he is truly alive.”
“He is,” Brados confirmed gently.
“But he is broken. He will need to understand that what his father did was the only way to save him.”
Ren shook her head, her dark-green eyes wide with sorrow.
“No… he will not understand. How can someone possibly understand that? After being tortured in that dark pit for a decade… how can he ever forgive our father?”
Brados looked down at the gleaming jade blade of his sword, his expression grim.
“He must,” Brados murmured into the silence.
“Or the hatred will consume him long before King Bellod arrives.”