Chapter 12: The Vanguard’s Report

The grand war chamber of House Von was a place of cold calculation and unwavering discipline. Carved from obsidian and reinforced with ancient enchantments, it stood as a testament to House Von's military legacy. Banners of Eldoria draped the high walls, their embroidered sigils flickering under the pale blue glow of arcane sconces. At the center of the chamber, a massive war table bore a detailed map of the kingdom, every battle and enemy movement meticulously marked with cold precision.

Seated at the head of the table was Duke Reinhardt Von, his glacial blue eyes unreadable as they scrutinized the warriors standing before him.

The Abyssal Vanguards—House Von's deadliest force—stood at unwavering attention, their garments still marred with the blood and dust of their latest hunt. At their forefront, Vice-Captain Samuel Krauser, known as the Duskbreaker, stepped forward, his every movement controlled and deliberate. In his grasp, he held a bloodstained insignia, which he placed upon the table without ceremony.

"The operation was successful," Samuel reported, his voice even, unwavering. "We intercepted and neutralized all three assassins. Two were eliminated in direct combat. The last self-terminated to avoid capture."

Duke Von's fingers drummed slowly against the polished surface of the table. "And this mark?"

Samuel stepped back, allowing Faelan Drexus, the Interrogator, to step forward. In his grasp was a tightly bound scroll, its wax seal bearing a crest that should not have been there. With a flick of his wrist, Faelan unfurled the parchment and laid it open for all to see.

A collective silence fell over the chamber.

Etched into the wax was the Seal of the Radiant Council—a sigil that belonged not to mere assassins, but to a force far more dangerous.

"These were not ordinary killers," Faelan stated, his voice calm but layered with restrained fury. "These were sanctified warriors. The Church was involved."

A slow, weighted breath left Duke Von's lips. His expression remained unreadable, but beneath that composed exterior, tension coiled like a predator waiting to strike.

"So… the Holy Church ordered a strike within our domain?" His voice was deceptively neutral, but every soul in the chamber felt the razor edge of his rising anger.

Samuel did not waver. "It was a test, my lord. A calculated probe. If they truly intended to kill the Young Master, they would have sent more. This was… a warning."

Faelan's eyes darkened as he added, "I managed to extract information from the last assassin before he died. He revealed that the Church had been monitoring the Young Master ever since his failed awakening. They feared… an anomaly."

Across the room, Alastor Von, seated at the Duke's right, clenched his fists—but his grip trembled. His body was shaking, though whether from the lingering pain of his wounds or the sheer weight of what had happened, even he wasn't sure. He had barely survived. The assassins had come for him, and they had nearly succeeded.

Why?

His breath hitched, and before he could stop himself, his voice—small, unsteady—escaped in a whisper. "Why… me?"

The war chamber fell into silence. Eyes turned toward him, but Alastor wasn't looking at them. His vision blurred slightly, his fingers digging into his sleeves as he tried to steady himself.

"I… I couldn't even awaken. I have no affinity." His voice trembled. "I failed my awakening." His breathing grew uneven, shoulders shaking as the weight of reality bore down on him. "Is someone like me… could be a threat that needs to be eliminated?"

He gritted his teeth, trying to suppress the burning in his eyes, but the sheer helplessness—his powerlessness—threatened to drown him. They had tried to erase him. As if he was nothing. As if his very existence was something to be stamped out.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then, a voice—firm, yet unexpectedly soft—cut through the silence.

"Because you exist, Young Master."

It was Valerian Cainhurst, Captain of the Abyssal Vanguards, his crimson gaze sharp yet not unkind. "Your failure at awakening is irrelevant. You are House Von's heir. That alone makes you a factor they cannot afford to ignore."

He hesitated for a moment before adding, "Besides… a noble failing to awaken has never happened before. The Church may have misunderstood the situation. They might suspect heretic involvement—or worse, believe you to be one yourself."

Alastor swallowed hard, his breathing still shaky, but the words made something settle—if only slightly—inside him.

Duke Von exhaled slowly, measured. "You are correct. And I do not believe this is the end of it."

His gaze shifted to the map before him, where the borders of Eldoria met the sacred lands of Solhaven—the Holy Church's dominion.

"From this moment forward, the security around my son is absolute. The Church has made their move…" His eyes gleamed with cold intent. "Now, we will prepare ours."

The chamber fell into absolute silence.

Then, the heavy doors of the war room swung open.

A figure strode inside—clad in the regal black and crimson robes of House Von's elite. His every movement exuded quiet authority. Lucian Everhart, the Head Butler of House Von and the Third-Ranked Knight in the Kingdom, came to a halt before the war table. His amber eyes gleamed with urgency as he placed a sealed letter onto the polished wood.

"Duke Von," Lucian said smoothly. "A messenger from the Holy Church arrived at the outer gates. They bring an official summons. The High Pontiff requests an audience with you and the Young Master."

The room's tension coiled tighter, thick as a storm waiting to break.

Samuel's jaw tightened. "They want to control the narrative. They act as though they were not involved."

Duke Von lifted the letter, studying the seal for a moment. Then, with an almost leisurely motion, he sliced it open with the tip of his dagger. His gaze swept over the contents, his expression betraying nothing.

Then, in a low, deliberate voice, he murmured, "We will accept."

Alastor's head snapped toward his father. "You want to meet with them? After all this?"

Reinhardt Von's gaze met his son's, icy and unyielding.

"Yes. Because I need to look them in the eye before we make our next move."

Without another word, he pressed the letter into the flickering candle at the center of the table, watching as flames devoured the parchment, curling its edges into glowing embers.

"War is fought not just with blades, but with words. And I intend to see just how well the Holy Church can lie to my face."

Alastor barely registered the rest of the conversation. His mind was still drowning in everything that had just happened. The assassins, the Church, the way his father had decided—so easily—that they would walk into enemy hands. His body trembled, though whether from exhaustion or the sheer weight of it all, he wasn't sure.

A gentle warmth enveloped him. Soft arms pulled him close, fingers threading through his hair, a familiar scent wrapping around him like a shield.

"Enough, my love. You've endured enough for today. You should rest for now."

His mother's voice was quiet, soothing, a stark contrast to the cold tension in the room. Duchess Elira Von rarely raised her voice, nor did she ever demand attention, yet the moment she moved, the world around Alastor seemed to be quiet.

She held him, unbothered by the presence of the war-hardened warriors around them, and whispered, "You don't have to carry this alone."

Alastor clenched his fists, his breathing uneven, but he let himself lean into her warmth.

Across the room, Seraphine and Cedric stood frozen.

The weight of the Church's involvement had silenced them.

Seraphine, usually quick with sharp words or some sort of reassurance, said nothing. Her fingers were curled tightly at her sides, her mind clearly racing.

Cedric, on the other hand, was unreadable. His usual easy confidence was gone, replaced with something colder. His gaze lingered on Alastor for a moment longer before he exhaled sharply, fists clenched.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

Alastor lifted his head, watching him. 

Cedric paused only briefly, his back still turned. "I need to inform my father. This… is something my father should, know maybe he can help."

Then, he was gone.

The heavy doors closed behind him, leaving only silence in his wake.