I want utter silence

When Zed finally turned to look at Roadie, he found the young man lying motionless—still, peaceful, as if merely asleep. But Zed didn't yet realize what had happened. Roadie's soul had been consumed, drawn into the depths of Vasuki's curse, now sealed within the inked coils of his tattoo. All that remained was a faint whisper of power lingering in the air, already fading beyond his comprehension.

It was quick. It was clean. The blade had returned to its resting place as though it had never left.

Habil had witnessed everything firsthand, and terror gripped him so fiercely that he could barely breathe. He wanted to run—to throw himself away from this nightmare—but his legs refused to move, frozen stiff by an unshakable dread.

Just then, a wave of exhaustion crashed over Zed. His vision blurred, his body swayed, and he barely managed to remain conscious. Dropping to one knee, he exhaled sharply, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Oh, shit… it's already starting."

Forcing himself upright, he gathered what strength he had left and issued a command.

"Come forth."

From the depths of his elongated shadow, two figures emerged.

The first was a perfect copy of himself, clad in flowing black garments and a crimson Asura skull mask, looking untouched by battle. The second was Zander—white-haired, red-eyed—his presence cold and calculating.

Zed's body gave out, and he collapsed. His first copy moved instantly, catching him before he hit the ground. Zander stepped forward, glancing at him with quiet understanding.

"You can rest now," Zander said. "Let me take care of the rest."

With fading strength, Zed murmured, "Copy Two, make sure the death ceremony of Sir Jaeger goes smoothly… Copy One, protect Aurora—no soul should dare to mess with her."

Both copies responded in unison. "Leave it to us."

And with that, Zed surrendered to sleep.

Zander turned his gaze to Roadie's lifeless form, then to Habil, who stood paralyzed, his face drained of all color. Smirking, Zander stepped closer, tilting his head slightly.

"Well, well… Habil. How did your revenge go? Do you still want me to come with you?"

Habil swallowed hard, barely holding his fear together. His lips trembled as he spoke.

"Zander… who are you?" He hesitated, eyes darting over the eerie figures before him. Then, as though realizing his mistake, he corrected himself. "No… what are you?"

The first copy hoisted Zed onto his back. Zander chuckled darkly, his voice a whisper of menace.

"We are your worst nightmare."

A shudder ran through Habil's body.

Just then, as the tension thickened like a noose, the sound of hooves echoed through the air. A figure approached, clad in golden armor, his white horse moving with noble precision. Edgar had arrived.

Edgar's breath caught in his throat as his eyes fell on Roadie's lifeless body.

"You've got to be kidding me… He actually defeated that beast?" he thought, struggling to mask his disbelief.

For a fleeting moment, shock threatened to crack his composed exterior, but he quickly buried it beneath a practiced indifference. He couldn't afford to show hesitation—not now. Instead, he straightened his posture, eyes sharp as he took in the scene.

Two figures stood before him—one clad in a black mask, the other unmistakably Zander.

Tightening his grip on his sword, Edgar took a step forward, his voice firm.

"You, the one in the mask—who are you? And why is Roadie's lackey still breathing?"

Before the masked figure could respond, Zander stepped in, his tone effortlessly casual.

"First of all, Sir Edgar, I'm not 'Roadie's boy.' And as for him," he gestured toward the masked figure, "he's Zed's personal bodyguard."

Edgar narrowed his eyes, suspicion flickering in their depths. "And why should I believe you?"

Zander smirked. "We don't need you to. Just take us to White Beauty, and you'll get all your answers."

A muscle in Edgar's jaw twitched. That insolence—so casual, so assured—it made his blood simmer.

"This little bastard…" Edgar seethed internally. "He's not even an adult, and he dares speak to me like this? Me, the captain of the Fourth Division of the Royal Knights?"

But Edgar forced himself to remain calm. He had a reputation to uphold.

For now, he would play along.

"Alright, then. Let's go. We're already running late."

Zander turned to Copy One, nodding slightly. "Ride with them in the chariot. I'll go with Sir Edgar."

With that, he walked over to Roadie's still form, his lifeless eyes staring blankly at the sky. Zander hesitated for a moment before kneeling down, gently closing them with his fingers.

With a quiet sigh, he muttered, "Wish we could have met under different circumstances."

Straightening up, he mounted a nearby horse. The chariot's wheels groaned as it began to roll forward, carrying its passengers toward White Beauty. Edgar gave one last glance at the strange group before spurring his horse onward.

The day of Sir Jaeger's death ceremony had arrived. Nobles from various states had gathered, their presence a testament to the late knight's influence. House Valmont had sent its youngest lady, House Draven its young master, while House Castellano and House Laverick were represented by their eldest sons. Alongside them, noblemen from different cities had also arrived, their polished attire and solemn expressions reflecting the gravity of the occasion.

Draped in mourning black, the entire assembly stood as a sea of dark fabric—velvet cloaks, embroidered coats, and flowing gowns, all dyed in shades of grief. Gold and silver jewelry gleamed faintly under the dim chandeliers, but even the finest adornments could not mask the heavy air of sorrow.

Among the late arrivals were the nobles who had accompanied Habil. However, their faces were pale, their expressions hollow—haunted. They looked as though they had narrowly escaped death, only to fall into an even deeper, more insidious trap.

The grand Ravenhart villa stood as the venue for the ceremony, its towering spires casting long shadows over the assembled guests. Inside, the priest and his assistants, also clad in black ceremonial robes, had finished their preparations. Everything was in place. Now, all that remained was for Zed to arrive.

The crowd waited in growing impatience. Aurora stood among them, her posture poised but tense. Her brother was still nowhere to be seen.

Whispers and murmurs spread through the noble ranks, a quiet storm of discontent. Some scoffed at Zed's absence, others outright sneered, their words laced with disdain.

Yet Aurora remained unfazed. She heard every insult, every biting remark—but she did not react. She simply waited.

The whispers grew louder, a tide of murmurs swelling through the noble ranks. Discontent crackled in the air, and Aurora, despite her best efforts to remain composed, felt her patience fraying. She could bear it no longer.

But before she could react, a sharp sound cut through the noise.

Clang.

A sword tapped against the ground, its ringing echo demanding attention. The murmurs died instantly, as if swallowed by the weight of an unseen force.

All eyes turned toward the source.

A man stood there—his face concealed, his identity shrouded in mystery. Only his form, strong and imposing, was visible from the shoulders down. Draped in black, his presence alone was enough to command respect.

Then he spoke.

His voice, deep and resonant, crashed over the gathering like a lion's roar.

"I want utter silence."

It wasn't a request. It was a decree—one that carried the weight of a king's command.

A hush fell over the crowd. Almost instinctively, nobles bowed their heads, their murmurs stifled, their defiance crushed beneath the sheer authority of his presence.

Without another word, the man turned and walked back to his seat, vanishing into the sea of black-clad mourners.

And not a single whisper dared to rise again.

A little while later, Edgar strode into the hall, his armor gleaming faintly under the dim candlelight. He moved with purpose, his steps deliberate as he approached Aurora. Leaning in, he whispered something into her ear.

Aurora's expression shifted instantly, her eyes flickering with concern. Without hesitation, she turned and followed Edgar, both of them dashing out of the room.

The nobles exchanged puzzled glances, whispers threatening to rise again, but before they could, a guard approached the priest and whispered something into his ear.

The priest's solemn expression deepened. Taking a breath, he turned to address the assembled crowd.

"Zed Ravenhart will not be joining this ceremony, as he sustained injuries on his way here. Lady Aurora will proceed with the rites in his stead."

A murmur swept through the room, but no one dared speak aloud.

The grand hall was bathed in the flickering glow of candelabras, their dim light casting long, wavering shadows across the black-clad nobles. At the center of the room, upon an elevated platform, lay Sir Jaeger's coffin—an ornate masterpiece carved from obsidian wood, adorned with silver filigree and the sigil of the Ravenhart family.

The ceremony began with the Rite of Remembrance. The priest stepped forward, raising his hands as he recited the ancient verses honoring Jaeger's service, courage, and sacrifice. His voice, though quiet, resonated through the chamber like a solemn hymn.

Next came the Rite of Offerings. One by one, noble representatives approached the coffin, each placing a symbolic item upon the altar beside it. A ceremonial sword, signifying honor in battle. A black feather, representing the flight of the soul. A silver coin, meant to guide him safely to the afterlife. Aurora, standing before the coffin, placed a single white rose atop it—an intimate farewell from the Ravenhart family.

Then came the Rite of Legacy. The priest called forth those who wished to speak in Sir Jaeger's honor. A few noble lords stepped forward, recounting tales of his bravery and wisdom, their voices steeped in respect. Yet, the hall remained heavy with sorrow, for no words could truly fill the void left by his passing.

Finally, the Rite of Departure began. The priest led the final prayer, invoking the blessings of the gods to watch over Jaeger's soul. The mourners stood in unison, bowing their heads as the ceremonial bell tolled three times—once for his past, once for his legacy, and once for his journey beyond.

With the ceremony complete, the guards stepped forward to escort the coffin to its final resting place in the crypts beneath the villa. As the nobles filed out in silence, the weight of loss hung heavy in the air, an unspoken grief that bound them all.

Aurora remained behind, standing alone before the coffin for a moment longer. Her hands clenched into fists, her heart heavy.

She had fulfilled her duty.