Chapter : 1597

  'We will gather her,' Valerius said, his voice thick with suppressed rage. 'Every piece. She will be returned to the earth with the honor of a Queen.'"

  Medics swarmed Roy. They began casting healing spells, pouring potions onto his wounds. They talked about stabilizing him, about saving the arm, about his spirit veins.

  Roy didn't care. He grabbed Valerius's robe with his good hand. His grip was weak, trembling.

  "Valerius," Roy choked out. "Lloyd. My son."

  "He is safe, Roy," Valerius soothed. "He is in the south. He wasn't here."

  "No," Roy said, his eyes wild. "You don't understand. When he finds out... when he comes home and sees this..."

  Roy looked at the empty spot where Jasmin had stood. He imagined his son's face. He imagined the cold, calculating mind of the boy who had built an empire out of soap and salt. He imagined the rage that would come.

  "He will burn the world," Roy whispered, his head falling back against the stone. "Gods help us all... he will burn the world."

  The medics lifted the Arch Duke onto a stretcher. As they carried him away towards the ruins of the keep, the wind finally cleared the courtyard.

  The diamond dust was gone. The purple sun was gone.

  Only the rust remained.

  The carriage wheels rumbled rhythmically against the cobblestone road, a steady, hypnotic sound that usually allowed Lloyd Ferrum to think. They were returning from the North, the mission to secure the rare minerals for the vaccine successful. Beside the driver, Ken Park sat with his usual stoic vigilance, though his posture was slightly more relaxed than usual. The mission had been dangerous, but they had won. They always won. That was the rule of Lloyd’s new life. He planned, he executed, and he won.

  Inside the carriage, Lloyd leaned back against the plush leather seat. He was tired. Not the kind of tired that comes from physical exertion, but the deep, bone-weary exhaustion of a man who spends every waking hour holding up the sky. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the swaying of the carriage lull him. He thought about the next steps. The vaccine production was already underway in his mind. He was calculating logistics, distribution routes, and the political capital he could gain from saving the northern villages.

  "We are about an hour out, Master," Ken’s voice drifted down from the driver’s seat. It was calm, steady. The voice of a man who expected a warm meal and a clean bed upon arrival.

  "Good," Lloyd replied, not opening his eyes. "I want a bath. And I want to check on the manufacturing line. If Borin blew up another vat while I was gone, I’m going to deduct it from his pay."

  It was a joke. Lloyd never deducted their pay. He paid his people better than the King paid his generals. He treated them like family because, in this strange, violent world, they were the only thing that kept him grounded. He thought of Jasmin. He had picked up a small trinket in the northern market—a simple silver comb. She wouldn't accept expensive jewelry, but she needed something to manage her hair during the long hours in the manufactory. He smiled faintly, imagining her flustered gratitude.

  The carriage rolled on. The scenery outside the window changed from the wild forests of the north to the manicured lands of the Ferrum Duchy. Farmers waved as the carriage with the Ferrum crest passed. It was peaceful. It was normal.

  But then, Lloyd felt it.

  It wasn't a sound. It wasn't a smell. It was a glitch in the data.

  Since upgrading his [All-Seeing Eye], Lloyd didn't just see the world; he read it. He perceived the flow of energy, the structural integrity of matter, the ambient magic in the air. Even with the ability dialed down to a passive hum to save energy, he was constantly processing his environment.

  And the environment was screaming.

  Lloyd sat up straight, his eyes snapping open. He leaned out the window. They were still miles away from the main estate, but the air tasted wrong. It tasted like static electricity and rust. It tasted like ozone and old blood.

  "Ken," Lloyd said. His voice wasn't loud, but the urgency in it made Ken pull the reins instantly. "Stop."

  "Master?" Ken looked back, confused. "Is something wrong? We are nearly home."

  "Look at the sky," Lloyd ordered.

  Ken looked up. The sky was blue. There were a few white clouds drifting lazily. "It is clear, sir."

  Chapter : 1598

  "No," Lloyd whispered. He activated the [All-Seeing Eye] fully. The world overlayed with a grid of information.

  To the naked eye, the estate in the distance looked fine. The towers stood tall. The flags were waving. But through Lloyd’s eye, the reality was a nightmare.

  The energy signature of the Ferrum Estate—usually a robust, golden hum of protective wards and latent earth magic—was shattered. It looked like a broken mirror. There were gaping holes in the mana field. The ley lines that ran beneath the castle were twisted and bleeding raw energy into the soil. And hovering over the entire area was a residual stain. It was a color that didn't exist in nature, a sickly, bruised purple that pulsed with a lingering, malicious intent.

  "It's broken," Lloyd muttered, his heart skipping a beat. "The sanctuary is broken."

  He looked at the main gates in the distance. To normal eyes, they were just dots on the horizon. Lloyd zoomed in with his vision.

  The massive iron gates, forged to withstand a siege of ten thousand men, were gone. They weren't open. They weren't battered down. They were twisted like wet clay, imploded inward as if a giant invisible fist had punched through them.

  "Ken," Lloyd said, and this time his voice was cold, devoid of all emotion. It was the voice of the Major General. "Get the horses. Unhitch them. We are not taking the carriage."

  Ken didn't ask questions. He heard the shift in Lloyd’s tone. He jumped down and began working on the harness.

  "What do you see?" Ken asked, his hands moving with blurred speed.

  "An attack," Lloyd said. "A big one. The defensive grid is gone. The structural integrity of the outer wall is compromised. And I don't sense... I don't sense the guards."

  That was the terrifying part. Usually, the estate buzzed with the life signatures of hundreds of soldiers. Now, the heatmap of the castle was patchy. There were pockets of life, huddled together, but the courtyards? The ramparts? They were cold.

  "Done," Ken said, mounting one of the horses.

  Lloyd didn't mount the other. He looked at the distance. Three miles. A horse was fast, but not fast enough. Not for the dread that was currently clawing at his throat.

  "Follow me," Lloyd said. "I'm not waiting."

  He stepped away from the carriage. He took a breath, centering his Void energy. He recalled the sensation of the world folding, of distance becoming a suggestion rather than a rule.

  "Void Steps," he whispered.

  The world fractured.

  To Ken's eyes, Lloyd didn't run. He simply vanished in a burst of azure static, reappearing a hundred yards away in the blink of an eye, leaving a trail of blue afterimages that faded like ghosts.

  Lloyd moved. He pushed the [Void Steps] to their limit. He wasn't conserving energy. He was burning it. Step. Flash. Step. Flash. The landscape blurred into a tunnel of green and grey.

  Please be wrong, Lloyd thought. Please let it be a magical accident. Maybe Roy lost control during training. Maybe an experiment went wrong.

  He tried to rationalize the data. He tried to find a logical explanation that didn't involve an enemy strong enough to crush the Ferrum estate like a paper cup. But the closer he got, the harder it was to lie to himself.

  He flashed past the outer perimeter. The guard posts were empty. There were no bodies, which gave him a flicker of hope, until he looked closer at the ground as he passed. There were piles of red dust on the stone floors of the guard shacks. Armor lay in heaps, rusted and brittle, as if it had aged a thousand years in a day.

  He reached the main gates.

  He stopped for a fraction of a second, his boots skidding on the dirt. Up close, the destruction was absolute. The iron bars, thick as a man's thigh, were twisted into spirals. The stone archway was cracked down the middle.

  And the smell.

  It wasn't the smell of fire. It wasn't the smell of rot. It was the metallic, coppery tang of blood mixed with the dry, dusty scent of rust. It smelled like a slaughterhouse that had been abandoned for a century, yet the blood was fresh.

  Lloyd stepped through the ruined gates. He didn't use the Void Step now. He walked. He needed to see.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The main courtyard was a graveyard.

  Chapter : 1599

  There were no bodies. Not in the traditional sense. There were just stains. Dark, wet stains on the cobblestones where men had stood. And next to every stain, a pile of rusted metal. Swords, breastplates, helmets—all corroded into orange dust.

  "No," Lloyd whispered.

  He scanned the area. The stables were flat. The main keep had cracks running up its face like lightning bolts. The windows were all blown out.

  He saw a movement near the main entrance. A servant, one of the kitchen maids, was sweeping. She was sweeping the dust. She was crying, her shoulders shaking, but she was sweeping. It was a mechanical, traumatized action. Trying to clean up the apocalypse.

  Lloyd walked up to her. She looked up, her eyes hollow. She didn't bow. She didn't speak. She just looked at him with a thousand-yard stare.

  "Where is my father?" Lloyd asked. His voice was hoarse.

  The maid pointed a shaking finger toward the main building. "His room," she whispered. "He is... he is alive."

  Alive. The word was a lifeline. Lloyd grabbed it. If Roy was alive, then maybe it wasn't total defeat. Maybe they had held. Roy was a Sovereign. He had Gog and Magog. He was the strongest man in the North.

  Lloyd left the maid and ran into the building. The interior was a mess of shattered glass and fallen tapestries. He took the stairs three at a time, ignoring the pain in his legs, ignoring the warning bells in his mind that said trap.

  He reached his father's chambers. The heavy wooden doors were open.

  He walked in.

  The room was dim. The curtains were drawn. The smell of medicinal herbs and iron was thick in the air.

  Arch Duke Roy Ferrum lay in his massive bed. He looked small. That was the first thing Lloyd thought. His father, the giant, the mountain of iron, looked small. His skin was the color of old parchment. His right arm was bandaged heavily, immobile. His breathing was a shallow, rattling wheeze.

  Lloyd walked to the bedside. "Father?"

  Roy’s eyes opened. They were dim. The golden light of the Sovereign spirit was gone. They were just the eyes of an old, tired man.

  "Lloyd," Roy rasped. He tried to sit up but failed. He coughed, a wet, painful sound.

  "I'm here," Lloyd said, kneeling by the bed. "I'm here. Who did this? I will kill them. I will hunt them down and I will—"

  "Stop," Roy whispered. It wasn't a command of strength; it was a plea.

  Roy looked at his son. He looked at Lloyd's face, searching for something. He saw the anger. He saw the confusion.

  "Don't look at me," Roy said, turning his head away. "I am not... I am not the story today."

  "What are you talking about?" Lloyd demanded. "You're hurt. The estate is destroyed. Who attacked us?"

  Roy closed his eyes. A single tear leaked out, cutting a track through the grime on his face.

  "Go," Roy said. His voice broke. "Go to the infirmary. The central medical wing."

  "Why?" Lloyd asked. "I need to get the healers for you. I need to—"

  "GO!" Roy roared. It was a shadow of his old voice, but it still had authority. The effort made him cough violently, blood flecking his lips. "Go to the infirmary, Lloyd. Don't waste time on me. Go see... go see what your inheritance cost."

  Lloyd stood up. A cold dread, colder than the northern wind, settled in his stomach. It was a heavy, leaden weight. He had thought the worst thing he could find was his father dead.

  He was wrong.

  He turned and walked out of the room. He walked down the corridor. He didn't run. He walked with the heavy, measured steps of a man walking to the gallows.

  He went down the stairs. He crossed the ruined foyer. He walked down the long hallway that led to the medical wing.

  The air got colder with every step.

  ________________________________________

  The hallway leading to the medical wing felt endless. It was a tunnel of stone and silence. Usually, this part of the estate was bustling with activity—healers tending to training injuries, servants rushing with linens. Today, it was quiet. The kind of quiet that falls after a catastrophe, when everyone is too shocked to speak.

  Lloyd walked. His boots echoed on the floor tiles. Click. Click. Click. It sounded like a clock ticking down.

  He reached the double doors of the infirmary. They were propped open.

  He stepped inside.

  Chapter : 1600

  The room was large, filled with rows of beds. Most were empty. The attack hadn't left many wounded. It had left dust. But the room was full of people.

  He saw the healers. They were standing along the walls, heads bowed, hands clasped. They weren't working. There was no one to work on.

  He saw the servants. The kitchen staff, the gardeners, the stable hands. They were huddled in groups, crying softly.

  He saw Faria. The fiery, passionate artist was sitting on a bench near the window. Her face was buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Her bright red hair looked dull in the dim light.

  He saw Mei Jing. His CEO, his general of commerce. She was standing by a pillar, staring at the floor. Her face was a mask of stone, but tears were streaming down her cheeks, unchecked and unacknowledged.

  They all looked up when he entered.

  The room went deathly still. The sobbing stopped. The whispering stopped. Everyone turned to look at the Young Lord.

  And then, they moved.

  Like the parting of the Red Sea, the crowd separated. They stepped back, clearing a path down the center of the room. They didn't look him in the eye. They looked at the floor. They looked at their shoes. They couldn't bear to watch him.

  Lloyd didn't look at them either. He didn't ask Faria why she was crying. He didn't ask Mei Jing for a report.

  His eyes were locked on the center of the room.

  There was a single bier there. A simple wooden table used for laying out the dead.

  It was covered with a white sheet.

  The shape under the sheet was small. Slight. It wasn't a warrior. It wasn't a large man.

  Lloyd’s heart stopped. It literally missed a beat, a painful thump in his chest. His blood ran cold, freezing in his veins.

  No, his mind whispered. No. Please. Take the money. Take the power. Take the estate. Burn it all down. Just... not that.

  He walked. One step. Two steps. His legs felt like they didn't belong to him. They felt like wooden stilts, clumsy and heavy.

  He reached the bier.

  He stood there for a long time. He stared at the white fabric. He could see the faint outline of a face.

  His hand came up. It trembled. He tried to stop it, but his fingers shook like leaves in a storm.

  He gripped the edge of the sheet.

  Don't look, a voice in his head screamed. If you don't look, it's not real. If you don't look, you can turn around and wake up.

  He pulled the sheet back.

  The world ended.

  It didn't end with fire or an explosion. It ended with a quiet, terrible stillness.

  Jasmin lay there.

  She looked like she was sleeping. Her face was pale, almost translucent, but peaceful. Her eyes were closed. Her dark hair was fanned out on the pillow.

  But then his eyes moved down.

  Her chest...

  The white tunic she wore was stained red. But it wasn't just blood. Her chest was caved in. There was a terrible, unnatural depression in the center of her sternum, as if she had been hit by a cannonball. The fabric was torn, revealing skin that was bruised purple and black.

  And her hand.

  Her right hand was resting on her chest, right over the wound. Her fingers were curled tight, locked in a death grip.

  Lloyd looked closer.

  Clutched in her cold, stiff fingers was a silver hairpin. It was cheap. It was simple. It was the first gift he had ever given her, back when he was just starting the soap business. She had cherished it like a crown jewel.

  She had died holding it.

  Lloyd couldn't breathe. The air in the room had vanished. His lungs were trying to pump, but there was no oxygen.

  He looked at her face again. He waited for her to breathe. He waited for her eyelids to flutter. He waited for her to jump up and say, "Master Lloyd, you're back! Would you like some tea?"

  She didn't move.

  She was so still.

  The silence in Lloyd’s mind was deafening. It was a white noise, a high-pitched ringing that drowned out everything else. He couldn't hear the healers shifting. He couldn't hear Faria sobbing. He could only hear the silence of the girl who used to hum while she worked.

  "I gathered her," a voice said.