“Protect His Majesty—” The Erene Guard snapped up their shields like a rising wall. A dozen more tugged their Lawbreaking Brands, ready to counter like flint on steel. Paris stood aside, calm as a still pond, not a ripple of panic.
He extended his right hand, two fingers parted like a blade’s prongs, and pressed his own eyes. A clear membrane shed like a dragonfly’s skin. His pupils turned a blinding milk-white, then light speared from his gaze, a flood that swallowed the palace.
Crackle— Elyu’s green orb, mid-cast for Magic Breaker, was ground to dust in midair, scattering into emerald motes that died like fireflies.
“What?!” Elyu’s heart plunged like a stone. The effect mirrored Haidra’s report on “sealing,” yet wasn’t that something only Medith could do?
Not just Elyu—every Magic Breaker in the palace felt their Lawbreaking Energy vanish, snuffed out like candles in a storm, as if it had never existed.
Thoughts raced like startled deer through Elyu’s mind. He was close to a truth when the Black Spear’s butt came in. Tempered steel met flesh like thunder on a drum; several ribs snapped on impact.
Pfft— He flew back several meters and spit a sharp arrow of blood midair.
“Elyu!” Ostos blanched, rushing in to catch him, his steps frantic as a breaking wave.
Paris hooked Penero by the wrist. “Mother, from here on, it’s better you don’t watch,” he said, voice cool as night rain.
Penero’s face twisted with grief; hate and beauty tangled like thorns on a rose. Two clear tears fell. “Little Pa… why… Why can’t father and son sit and speak? Why drive it to this cliff’s edge?”
Paris sighed and shook his head, wind through a hollow reed. “I gave them chances. Too many, too many… In the end, I understood. The will of the gods is mist to mortal minds. Gods are meant to be looked up to.”
“You’ve changed… you really have…” Penero stepped back two paces, pressing Venus’s eyes shut, shielding her like a winged bird.
“No… I’m your son. The prince of today, the lawful heir. If you say I’ve changed, it only means… you never truly knew your son.” Paris touched a finger to her brow like a falling hammer.
Penero reeled as if struck by a thousand-pound ram. Her eyes fluttered closed; darkness took her.
“Mother!” Venus cried, pain bright as a cut. Paris tapped the nape of her swan-white neck. Venus collapsed atop Penero, a flower folded by night.
[Ostos Palace, Rooftop Terrace]
The place had been swept clean, a chessboard after the last move. Choosing the Erene Guard for most of the watch had been the fatal misstep; the castle’s shield had turned into the spear that pierced its king. It was almost laughable, like frost burning fire.
The few of Ostos’s trusted men could not dam the river of fate. Now Elyu and Ostos knelt on the terrace, stars pouring across the vault like spilled salt, moonlight carpeting the stones like milk. The air was heartbreakingly beautiful, the shining sky painting the world with a dream’s last colors.
Paris released the two. The three—father and sons—sat once more in this pavilion of fate. Only now, a scatter of unfamiliar faces stood behind Paris like shadows on snow.
“Turn back,” Ostos said, voice worn like old leather. “There’s still a road home. Paris, don’t cling to your delusion. Heavenly Edge isn’t the easy tool you think. It’s a demonblade in truth. I don’t care how deep you’re in. Stop now…”
He kept pleading; the lines of his weathered face cut deeper, old mountains under winter cloud.
“Father, you keep thinking I’m drunk on power and lured by profit? No. You’re wrong. I’m saving this continent. You know better than anyone how Uncle went mad.” Paris looked at him with a half-smile, a curve like a knife. Even Ostos shivered, beard trembling in a cold wind.
“You’re mad already…” Ostos gave up the argument, words falling like ash.
Elyu’s eyes turned to ice, rage and sorrow burning like twin torches. “You won’t succeed. Even if you kill us and snatch the throne—do you think the nobles will consent? The people? The Northern Kingdom will sit and wait? Medith will look away? I thought you were clever. Turns out you’re a fool—so foolish you’d grab a crown with gutter tricks. You’ll die for this… even if I can’t do it myself, one day you’ll—”
Paris’s easy voice cut across him like a soft blade. “I kept asking: what do the people hope for? What do the vassal lords truly chase? What pulls the strings of our allies’ interests? I hunted that answer for twenty-five years. Luck favored me. I found it. Now I can say, with absolute certainty: you’ve lost. Utterly. To me.”
Elyu ground out the words between his teeth. “I said—you won’t succeed—”
“Do you know Captain Hibo’s nickname?” Paris asked lightly.
Elyu’s face jolted as if struck. Beside him, Ostos’s beard quivered, as though he’d just seen the mountain crack.
