How the mighty have fallen

Walking through the well-paved corridor, Damien let his thoughts settle on what he knew about Niomi.

When she was a child, tragedy struck her family. With no other choice, her parents entrusted her to Old Man Harrier for safety.

At that time, the Valthorn Kingdom was just beginning to rise from the ashes of war. Though her father trusted Roosevelt Harrier, he knew that human hearts were fickle, that loyalty could turn to ambition in a moment. To secure Niomi's future, he arranged her marriage to Damien.

Father Roosevelt and Niomi father shared deep bond, so Roosevelt immediately accepted the marriage.

Damien had been surprised by the child marriage, but the shock was nothing compared to the horrors he had already endured in life.

Besides…

His steps slowed as he reached a towering set of wooden doors, their surface polished to a rich mahogany sheen, exuding a faint floral scent. The craftsmanship was impeccable, each carved groove telling a story of the kingdom's legacy.

With a steadying breath, he pushed the gates open. The weight of the doors was immense, forcing him to brace both hands against them.

A thick, suffocating silence struck him like a wall of ice.

His gaze darkened.

Behind him, Niomi wiped the corner of her eyes before following.

---

Devrok stood rigid, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

A few steps away, two figures stood—a middle-aged man with a long, graying beard and a younger man with a slightly crooked nose. Their eyes flickered between the dying king and the silent tension in the room.

At the center of it all was a grand bed, carved from the finest Mahogany rosewood. The intricate engravings of roaring lions and mythical beasts once reflected the strength of its owner. Now, the man lying atop it was but a shadow of his former self.

Roosevelt Harrier, the reigning king of the Valthorn Kingdom, lay motionless.

If the people of Valthorn could see him now, they would not believe their eyes.

Roosevelt Harrier—the man who had dragged this kingdom from the brink of ruin, who had reclaimed lost land and nearly ascended to the fabled Gold rank—now lay weak and feeble. His once-imposing frame was reduced to frail bones beneath paper-thin skin. His broad chest, once a symbol of power, had turned an unnatural black, writhing with sickly green veins that pulsed like slithering vipers.

A man dressed in ceremonial white robes placed a small red elixir in the king's mouth, his expression grim.

"Sigh... how the mighty have fallen..."

The words barely left his lips before he turned toward the others, his features heavy with unspoken defeat.

It had only been a day since King Roosevelt returned victorious from battle, but within hours, his health had collapsed. His condition deteriorated so quickly that even the Church's healers had been summoned in desperation.

Now, the chamber held its breath as the priest finally spoke.

"Oh, One True Eternal above, guide this lost lamb..."

His solemn prayer echoed through the room.

Devrok's gritted his teeth. "Priest Theodore..." His voice was restrained, his emotions coiling like a viper beneath his calm facade. "How is my father's condition now?"

A flicker of discomfort crossed Priest Theodore's face. It was clear he had anticipated the question yet dreaded answering it.

Roan Harrier, the king's younger brother, turned his sharp gaze toward the priest. Despite his composed exterior, pain flickered in his eyes.

Meanwhile, the younger man with the crooked nose smirked faintly, though he quickly masked it.

"Sigh..." Priest Theodore exhaled, his voice laced with regret. "Forgive me, but the king's illness is beyond my abilities..."

His admission sent a shiver down Devrok's spine.

"I fear only a two-star healer can aid him now."

A hush fell over the room.

Devrok's breath hitched. His shoulders trembled.

If the strongest healer in the kingdom couldn't save him… then who could?

The room felt smaller, the walls pressing inward.

His father had never been the warm, guiding presence a son would hope for. Since Devrok's failure to awaken an ability, their relationship had soured into silence. Still, the thought of losing him sent an ache through his chest, deeper than he expected.

Across the chamber, Roan Harrier cleared his throat, his voice unsteady. "Sister-in-law will arrive in ten days..."

Devrok's heart clenched.

"If she sees her elder brother in this state... she may not be able to bear it."

He swallowed hard. He didn't even want to imagine his mother's reaction.

Then—

The heavy doors creaked open.

All heads turned.

Damien stepped inside, his eyes sweeping across the room, his expression unreadable. But the moment he saw King Roosevelt's withered form, his breath stagnated.

"Father-in-law..."

Beside him, Niomi gasped, her small hands covering her mouth as tears welled in her eyes.

"No..." Her voice broke as she rushed forward, her gaze locked onto the man who had once shielded her from the world.

Her raw, unguarded cry sent ripples through the room.

Even the coldest hearts felt the impact.

"Nephew Damien, help her calm down..."

Roan's words barely registered before Damien moved. Without hesitation, he stepped beside Niomi, taking her trembling hands in his.

She turned to him, eyes filled with sorrow, and collapsed into his arms, her sobs muffled against his chest.

Damien exhaled softly, his grip tightening around her shoulders. "Why are you crying? Father will get better in no time..." His voice was steady, reassuring. "We just need to find a two-star healer."

The words rang hollow. Everyone knew it.

Two-star healers were rare, their services guarded like treasure. Simply hiring one was next to impossible.

From the corner, the younger man with the crooked nose sneered, though he kept his amusement to himself.

Devrok straightened, his eyes sharp. "Priest Theodore... do you know where we can find a two-star healer?"

A contemplative look crossed the priest's face.

"If I am not mistaken…" He hesitated before continuing. "The headquarters recently deployed one to Durant City..."

Damien's eyes narrowed. "Durant City…"

Memories stirred, but nothing solid surfaced.

Across the room, Roan Harrier's expression darkened slightly. Unlike Devrok, he was no fool. He had seen enough of the world to understand how things truly worked.

Priest Theodore's presence here was not an act of benevolence.

The Church had always been strategic in their actions.

Roosevelt Harrier was the kingdom's shield—the reason the apocalypse monsters had not overrun their lands. His strength allowed the Church to flourish, collecting offerings without fear of destruction.

But if that protection disappeared…

Roan's gaze sharpened.

The tides of power were shifting.

And in the shadows, the vultures were already circling.