Chapter 18: Chaos

Huston tucked the pocket watch away, his mind still reeling from the sheer power of the healing spell.

The Bloodborne Curse, a nightmare woven into the very fabric of blood itself, had been dispelled—something he had never thought possible.

Yet, the spell's cost was immense. The healing drained 45% of his total magic, leaving him with barely enough for one more use.

"This is…?" Emil murmured, barely daring to believe he was still alive.

Huston met his gaze. "The watch contains an enchantment. It cleansed the curse."

Emil exhaled shakily. "I always thought magic was terrifying… but it seems it can also be a miracle."

Even so, the weight of what had happened lingered like a shadow over him. The horrors he had just witnessed would haunt him for a lifetime.

The great hall had fallen into an unnatural silence.

There were no more cries of the dying, no more gasps for mercy. Only the dead remained.

Beyond the chamber walls, however, chaos reigned.

Shouts, clashes of steel, and the wails of the desperate echoed through the castle corridors.

The moment Baron Buck had fallen, his so-called allies had turned to hyenas, scavenging the remains of his domain.

Even his own guards and servants had joined in the looting. No longer bound by loyalty, they tore through the castle, stuffing their pockets with gold, jewels, and whatever else they could carry.

The once-proud Buck family was now reduced to nothing. Melissa was the last of them.

But she remained trapped in her grief, drowning in sorrow so deep that Huston wasn't sure she would ever surface again.

"Melissa, we should bury the Baron and the others." Emil's voice was quiet but firm.

The dead deserved rest. The gold, the riches—none of it mattered anymore. Right now, all that mattered was keeping Melissa from shattering completely.

Huston adjusted his stance. "I'll check on Old Henry. I'll meet you both later."

With that, he turned and strode toward the rear garden.

The path was lined with panic-stricken faces.

Servants and soldiers alike ran wild, clutching gold bars, pearl necklaces, and gemstones like starving men clutching their last meal.

Some locked eyes with Huston, momentarily frozen with guilt before quickly averting their gazes and sprinting past him.

He did not stop them.

Then—a scream.

"No—please! Stop—!"

Huston's steps halted. He turned sharply toward a side chamber where the door had been left ajar.

Inside, a brutal scene unfolded.

A soldier had pinned a trembling maid to the ground, her torn dress scattered in shreds around them.

"You thought you were too good for me?!" His voice was twisted with rage. "You dared to reject me?"

Hatred festered in his bloodshot eyes.

Huston exhaled slowly, reaching behind his back. In one fluid motion, he nocked an arrow.

A silent whisper of steel.

The arrow pierced the window, slicing through the air like a judgment unseen.

The soldier collapsed, his body hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Blood pooled around him.

The maid, shaking violently, turned toward the window—only to glimpse Huston's retreating figure disappearing into the night.

She clutched her chest, gasping for breath, before stumbling out of the room, away from the corpse of her tormentor.

The castle was burning with lawless carnage.

Huston saw more bodies strewn across his path—guards slain over treasure, their fingers still clutching scattered pearls like a gambler's last desperate bet.

The world had turned to madness.

Then, someone burst out of the rear garden, running frantically.

Huston tightened his grip on his bow—but as the figure neared, he recognized the face.

Mary.

The elderly maid who had cared for Old Henry.

"Mary!" Huston's voice cut through the din.

Mary flinched violently, her face draining of color.

Then—she ran.

Huston sighed. "You're old, Mary. You're not outrunning me."

With two long strides, he caught up and seized her by the collar.

"Why are you running?" His voice was low, edged with warning. "Where is Old Henry?"

Mary's hands shook violently. Her eyes darted anywhere but at Huston. "He… He's asleep."

Huston's eyes narrowed.

"Asleep?" He all but dragged her back toward the garden. "Then let's go see for ourselves."

The small garden chamber was exactly as he remembered it.

The old bow still hung on the wall.

And on the bed—Old Henry lay unmoving.

For a fleeting moment, he did look like he was simply sleeping.

A cup of wine sat beside him. The same wine distributed at today's feast.

Huston stepped forward, dread curling in his gut. He knew.

Even before he touched him—he knew.

Old Henry was gone.

"How did he die?" His voice was cold, but his hands trembled as he clenched them into fists.

Mary stammered. "He… He drank his cup this morning. Then he just… went to sleep. I thought nothing of it."

Her voice cracked as she continued, "When the chaos started, I tried to wake him… but he was already gone."

Huston took a slow breath.

"AI chip. Confirm cause of death."

A pause. Then—

"Confirmed. Natural causes. No signs of foul play."

A weight lifted from Huston's chest.

At the very least, he had not suffered.

He exhaled, glancing down at Mary. "Go. You're free."

She backed away hesitantly, her gaze never leaving him—as if expecting him to strike.

Then, without another word, she turned and disappeared into the darkness.

Footsteps echoed outside.

Multiple figures approached, their movements measured, deliberate. But it was the voice that caught Huston's attention—one he knew all too well.

"Melissa's still alive. I don't know how, but she survived. Come, I'll take you to her. She's only got Emil by her side now. Lord David, tonight you'll have the daughter of your enemy beneath you, completely at your mercy."

Iven.

Huston's expression darkened as he silently scaled the back garden wall, slipping onto the rooftop for a vantage point.

Below, Iven, the obsequious steward, trailed behind a young blond nobleman—a smirk plastered across his face.

Behind them marched a fully armed squad, their armor gleaming in the moonlight.

Four of them radiated the unmistakable presence of knights.

This wasn't just a raid.

This was a hunt.

Moving like a shadow, Huston sprinted across the rooftops, reaching the banquet courtyard where Emil and Melissa were finishing the burial rites for their fallen kin.

"Emil—" Huston landed beside them, his voice urgent. "Iven's bringing them here. David is leading the charge."

Melissa's breath caught in her throat.

"David?" Her voice trembled, but it wasn't fear—it was rage.

"Simon's eldest son." Emil's grip tightened on his sword.

"I will kill him." Melissa's voice was ice and steel.

But before she could storm forward, Emil caught her in an embrace.

"Hide," he murmured. "This is our fight."

A breath. A pause.

Then, to Huston's surprise, Melissa nodded.

"I'll wait for you."

She stepped back into the shadows, forcing herself to be still. She knew the truth—her rage was not enough to overcome knights.

Not yet.

A Sniper's Judgement

Huston ascended the rooftops, settling into the perfect vantage point.

Emil, in turn, vanished into the dark, waiting like a blade unsheathed.

Then—David arrived.

Swaggering into the courtyard as if he had already won.

His eyes swept over the desolate battlefield—the corpses, the bloodied ground, the remnants of a family extinguished. And then, he laughed.

"A century of war between our houses… and in the end, we were the ones who triumphed! Hah!"

To him, this was not a tragedy.

It was a victory.

A blood-drenched coronation.

huston's fingers tightened around his bowstring.

The arrowhead gleamed, coated in venom, ensuring that even a glancing shot would be fatal.

From this distance, David would never see it coming.

A whisper of steel.

A blur in the moonlight.

The arrow tore through the air—silent, merciless.

David never even flinched.

The knights behind him sensed something—danger—but too late.

"My Lord—"

An instant later, the arrow punched clean through David's throat.

A grotesque gurgle escaped his lips. Blood erupted, splattering the stones as he stumbled back, his fingers clawing at his own neck.

The knights lunged, forming a desperate perimeter, but it was already over.

David's body collapsed.

Iven, standing beside him, staggered back in horror.

He barely had time to scream before a second arrow lodged deep in his throat.

Gurgling, spitting blood, the traitorous steward collapsed to the ground, choking on his final breath.

"Take cover!" one of the knights roared.

The squad scattered, seeking shelter behind whatever they could find.

And that was Emil's cue.

Like a wraith, he descended.

Sword flashing, he landed in their midst, cutting down the first knight before they even realized he was there.

Huston kept his arrows flying from above, each shot finding its mark.

They had fought together enough times to know each other's rhythm—an unspoken dance of death.

The knights fell, one by one.

It was over in ten minutes.

Huston lowered his bow.

Emil exhaled, blood dripping from his blade.

But neither moved immediately.

Not until they were certain—no one was left breathing.

At last, they began the grim task of cleaning up—checking for survivors, ensuring no enemy would rise again.

Tonight, vengeance had been served.