Divine Bane kaal

If anyone else had told him this, Zed might have scoffed. But standing before Martis, seeing the sheer presence of the man—he knew.

Nothing was impossible for him.

Martis exhaled slowly, his piercing green eyes steady.

"I suspected as much," he said. "Frey never cared for anyone except his brother. It was… out of character for him to go hunting with Zed."

Zed's fists clenched. "Then… are you going to punish him?"

Martis' gaze didn't waver.

"Kid, I made a vow to my father. And I will keep it until the day I die. I cannot—will not—go against the royals."

Zed's stomach twisted. "Even if they're bad?"

Martis didn't hesitate. "Yes. Whether good or evil, my loyalty remains the same."

Zed's heart sank.

The strongest man in Celestia. A warrior who could do anything, achieve anything… was nothing but a slave to the throne.

A bitter taste settled in his mouth. Deep down, a small part of him had hoped—just maybe—Martis would be the justice that the real Zed never got.

But that hope shattered into dust.

Martis shifted the conversation. "How did you get your hands on that soul blade?"

Zed instinctively glanced at the tattoo on his arm. "This, I..."

His voice died in his throat.

His mind hadn't even processed a thought—yet somehow, something stopped him.

Martis observed him for a moment before offering a slight nod. "It's fine. Let's not dig too deep."

He turned, striding toward the window. The moment he opened it, a rush of fresh air flooded the room, carrying away the crushing weight of tension.

Zed exhaled, not realizing how suffocating it had felt until now.

Martis' voice softened. "Kid, I am a demigod. I have lived for over ten centuries."

His green eyes flickered with something distant. "There aren't many people who have left a lasting impression on me. Only a few did."

He paused. "Jaeger was one of them."

Zed blinked. "Jaeger?"

Martis gave a small, almost wistful smile. "He was strong. Brave. But more than that, he was… kind."

For the first time since meeting him, Zed saw something in Martis' expression—something human.

"I wanted him by my side in the royal capital. So, I chose him to be the Second Prince's bodyguard."

Zed frowned. "But he wasn't."

Martis chuckled. "Of course not. He refused."

He shook his head slightly, as if recalling a fond but frustrating memory. "That was very much like him. I didn't hate him for it… but he left an impression on me. So much so that watching him go left an ache in my heart."

His gaze drifted to the sky beyond the window.

"So, I told him… to write letters to me."

Martis' expression darkened slightly, his voice quieter now. "But he never did."

He exhaled, as if the weight of old memories pressed against him. "Things in Ravenhart weren't going well. The years passed, and he never visited. Never sent a single message."

His gaze drifted toward the horizon. "I thought… my student had forgotten me."

The room fell silent for a moment, the only sound the distant rustling of leaves outside.

"Then, I heard about Vincent and Mathilda's passing."

Zed felt a shift in the air—a subtle crack in Martis' otherwise unshakable presence.

"That's when I understood. Life hadn't been kind to him. And if things were that dire… I accepted that I might never hear from him again."

Martis turned away from the window, his green eyes sharp yet distant.

"But then, after a few years… a letter arrived."

Zed watched Martis closely, sensing the weight behind his words.

Martis' expression softened, a rare flicker of warmth breaking through his usual unshakable demeanor. "Then, every week, a letter would arrive."

He let out a slow breath, almost as if reliving the moment. "I was happy for him. Because it meant he was happy."

Martis turned to Zed, his green eyes calm yet piercing. "Do you know what he wrote in those letters?"

Zed shook his head.

Martis let out a quiet chuckle. "He never spoke of the hardships he faced. Not once did he complain. Instead… he told me about you."

Zed's breath hitched. "Me?"

Martis nodded. "Every letter carried your name. How you trained, how you fought, how you led. Jaeger always wrote about you—his pride, his hope for the future."

For a moment, Zed couldn't speak. His heart pounded against his ribs, a strange mixture of emotions swirling inside him.

Martis smiled faintly. "He never stopped talking about you, Zed."

Martis' words struck deep.

"If Sir Jaeger believed in you, then so will I."

Zed felt his chest tighten. He had never been loved like this before—not in his past life, not even in this one. Jaeger had believed in him, protected him, and now, even in death, his faith in Zed was changing the course of fate.

Tears burned at the edges of Zed's eyes, threatening to spill, but he forced them back. Not here. Not now.

Martis studied him for a moment before continuing, his voice steady. "I will keep your identity a secret from all. But for me to do that, you need to get strong."

Zed clenched his fists.

"Edgar saw what you're capable of, and the rumors are spreading. People are beginning to believe you've manifested a Rhu core. The Golden Wave is becoming fertile again—many things are aligning in your favor."

Martis' expression darkened. "But that also means bad things will come for you."

A heavy silence fell between them. Zed understood. He had always known, deep down, that power ruled this world. But hearing it from Martis, the strongest man in Celestia, made it feel more real than ever.

"If you don't get stronger, you will lose everything you have."

Zed exhaled slowly.

Ever since I came here, people have told me about this world. How it works. But now I understand. Power is everything.

He had been drifting, caught between vengeance and survival. He had been fighting battles without a clear goal.

But now?

Now, I have an aim.

Zed lifted his head, silver eyes burning with new resolve.

I will become strong. I will rise in power. I will carve my place in this world.

Martis leaned against the window, gazing out at the vast city below. His voice was calm, but there was a weight behind it.

"Now that Jaeger is dead, many nobles will come for you."

Zed's eyes narrowed.

"They think you are defenseless. Vulnerable. Without Jaeger, they believe Ravenhart has no fangs left."

A slow smirk crept onto Zed's lips. "Let them try."

Martis chuckled softly, turning back to face him. "Confidence is good. But arrogance will get you killed. Remember that."

Zed's smirk didn't fade, but he nodded.

Martis then walked toward his desk, picking up a sealed parchment. "I have some advice for you." He glanced at Zed, his green eyes sharp. "Your masked copy—send him to the Guild. Let him train. He needs to grow stronger, faster."

Zed froze.

He hadn't told anyone about Copy One. And yet, Martis spoke of him as if it were common knowledge.

Martis gave him a knowing look. "Don't act so surprised. You already know I can see through you. Nothing you do is hidden from me."

Zed exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to stay composed. "And why the Guild?"

"Because power is cultivated in battle. Connections are made through experience. If you want to rise, you need more than just strength—you need reputation, alliances, and knowledge. The Guild will give your copy all of that."

Zed folded his arms, thinking it over. It made sense. His masked copy could train without drawing too much attention to the real him.

Martis then set the parchment down and met Zed's gaze again.

"And one more thing."

Zed tilted his head.

"Keep an eye on the Valmont prodigy girl."

Zed frowned slightly. "Valmont… you mean—"

Martis nodded. "You'll understand soon enough. But tread carefully around her. She may be more dangerous than she seems."

Zed absorbed the information, his mind already working through possible outcomes.

A Guild. Nobles coming for me. And now this Valmont girl.

It seemed the game was just beginning.

As Zed stepped out, the heavy doors shut behind him with a finality that left the room in silence. A moment passed before the air shifted. From the dim-lit corner, an entity emerged.

She moved with an effortless grace, black hair cascading over her shoulders, the purple-dyed edges catching the light like embers in the dark. Her presence was not just physical—it was something deeper, something ancient. She strode to the sofa and sank into it, her sharp eyes locked onto Martis.

"I can't believe she chose him," she muttered, voice laced with quiet disdain. "My sister… of all people."

Martis, still gazing out the window, didn't react immediately. Then, he spoke, his voice calm yet weighty.

"Riana… That boy. When I looked into him, I saw no limits. His cardinal… it's different."

Riana narrowed her eyes. "Are you saying he has a Fallen Cardinal?"

Martis exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping lightly against the armrest. "Might be."

He turned his gaze back to the window, his thoughts spiraling into the past. A thousand years had passed, yet something felt… off.

"For centuries, the Fallen have remained hidden. No Soul Blade has surfaced since you, Riana. And never in history have spirits bestowed their boon upon a mortal. This… this shouldn't be possible."

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Riana's face, but she remained silent.

Then, like a ghost from his memories, a whisper of a long-forgotten conversation surfaced. His mother's voice. Her warnings. Her stories.

Martis frowned. "She once told me of an entity… One who carried the blessings of all three. But… what was he called?"

The room, despite its grandeur, felt smaller. The weight of something unseen pressed against him. Then, a voice—majestic, familiar, and echoing with the wisdom of ages—spoke directly into his mind.

"Martis."

His breath hitched.

"Mother?"

Her voice was calm but urgent. "Amaris has escaped her prison. She may come for you. Be cautious."

A cold dread coiled around his heart. First, the strange light. Then, the boy. And now… her.

Martis clenched his fists. "I will see it through."

"No," his mother warned, "I do not want you to face her. She may be stronger than even you."

His mother was never one to exaggerate. If she was warning him, it meant something far worse than he could imagine.

Swallowing the unease rising within him, he forced himself to ask, "Mother… you once spoke of an entity. The one who carried the boons of all three. What was his name?"

Silence.

Then, his mother's voice returned, softer now, yet filled with an undeniable weight.

"His name is not to be mentioned, for he has been erased from history itself. But his title… his title still lingers in the echoes of time."

A pause.

Then, with chilling finality, she spoke:

"Divine Bane."

Martis felt the words settle over him like a storm cloud. His mind raced, memories long buried resurfacing in a flood of understanding.

Divine Bane kaal.

The one responsible for the Second Cataclysm. The nightmare of the Aryans. A being so powerful, so destructive, that history itself had sought to erase his existence.

He exhaled slowly, but the tension in his chest remained.

"Something has begun," he murmured to himself, staring into the horizon. "And this time… it may be far worse than anything before."