Chapter 67: Karl
Dawn broke.
Reinhard departed from the dingy inn.
Nick and Bruce had not parted ways despite the barrier at the gate. Reinhard felt a flicker of joy for them, mixed with an emotion he couldn't quite name. But now was not the time for sentimentality.
He reached into his Spatial Pouch, retrieved the silver signet of the House of Andrew, polished it briefly against his sleeve, and pinned it to his chest. The Holy Sword remained hidden within the pouch's dimensional folds. It was the hope of the Empire.
Reinhard didn't spare a second glance at the bustling morning streets, walking directly toward the Royal Palace.
The palace gates were a fortress in themselves. Four Royal Knights stood guard, clad in silver plate armor that blazed under the morning sun. Emblazoned upon their breastplates was the Golden Lion crest of the Imperial line.
As Reinhard approached, two halberds crossed with a sharp metallic ring, barring his path.
"Halt."
Reinhard spoke. His voice wasn't loud, but every word carried the weight of his resolve. "I seek an audience with His Imperial Majesty."
The knights remained motionless, their gazes locking onto Reinhard from behind their visors. The air between them solidified. Suddenly, one of the knights spoke.
"Your identity."
Reinhard straightened his spine. "Reinhard Andreas Von. Heir to the House of Andrew of the Iron Fortress Territory."
"I carry urgent military intelligence regarding the Undead Calamity."
"Furthermore, I possess the remains of the Hero Leon. I must report to His Majesty in person."
At the mention of "Hero Leon" and "Undead Calamity," the knights' posture shifted instantly. Their grip on their halberds tightened.
"Wait here."
One knight turned and disappeared through the palace gates at a brisk pace. The remaining three kept their eyes fixed on Reinhard, their scrutiny heavy and unyielding. Reinhard stood like a statue.
Time crawled.
Fifteen minutes later, the sound of rhythmic footfalls echoed from within. The knight returned, followed by an elderly man in the ornate robes of a Court Steward. The old man approached Reinhard, eyeing him from head to toe.
"You claim to possess the remains of the Hero Leon?"
Reinhard offered no verbal answer. He channeled a thread of Mana, retrieving the sword from his Spatial Pouch. The blade was wrapped tightly in layers of cloth, but a distinct, hallowed aura seeped through the fibers.
The Court Steward's face paled. "Follow me."
He turned on his heel, the suspicion in his voice replaced by a grim solemnity. The knights retracted their halberds, clearing the path.
Reinhard followed the Steward through a labyrinth of corridors. Portraits of past Emperors watched him from the walls with silent, painted eyes. They stopped before a set of gargantuan double doors.
"His Majesty awaits you within," the Steward whispered. "Once inside, do not look His Majesty directly in the eye. Speak only when spoken to."
Reinhard nodded. The doors swung inward soundlessly.
The Audience Hall was cavernous and vast. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass dome, shattering into colorful patches of light across the floor. At the far end of the hall, atop a high dais, sat the Throne.
And upon the Throne sat the man himself: Odri V, Ruler of the Odri Empire.
Reinhard walked to the center of the hall, knelt on one knee, and lowered his head. "Reinhard Andreas Von, heir of Iron Fortress, petitions His Imperial Majesty."
A majestic voice drifted down from the dais. "Lift your head."
Reinhard complied slowly, his gaze coming to rest on the steps before the throne.
"You are the survivor of that territory," the Emperor said, his voice a flat, unreadable calm. "Explain the meaning of 'Leon's remains'."
"The Hero Leon... has fallen in battle."
A deathly silence swallowed the hall. It was a long time before the Emperor spoke again.
"Details."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Reinhard began his report. He spoke of the powerful Undead Generals—beings possessed of high intellect and the ability to wield magic.
"Based on my observations and our engagement, they possess strength equal to the Hero Leon himself. There are at least seven such enemies, perhaps more."
As Reinhard spoke, he could hear the suppressed, sharp intakes of breath from the shadows on either side of the hall. The Empire's highest officials were standing there, listening. Reinhard's voice echoed against the stone, devoid of emotion, stating only the cold facts.
When he finished his final sentence, silence returned. The Emperor did not panic. He merely commanded:
"Bring the Holy Sword forward."
The Court Steward descended the steps, took the sword from Reinhard with trembling hands, and presented it reverently to the Emperor. Odri V did not touch the blade.
"What reward do you seek for this deed?"
The question was sudden. Reinhard didn't hesitate.
"I seek no land. I seek no titles."
"I ask only for a teacher. The finest Magic Instructor the Capital can provide."
Reinhard looked up, locking eyes with the man on the throne for the first time.
"I need power. Power enough to face those monsters."
Odri V studied Reinhard's eyes. "Granted."
"All of the Empire's Tier 5 Mages are currently occupied with their duties. I cannot divert them. I shall assign you a Tier 4 Court Mage named Martin."
"My deepest thanks, Your Majesty."
Reinhard lowered his head once more. A Tier 4 Mage was a cornerstone powerhouse in any region. For the current Reinhard, it was the best resource he could hope for.
"Your intelligence is valuable," the Emperor continued. "The Empire shall re-evaluate the threat level of this Calamity. You are dismissed. Sir Pierre will arrange your accommodations."
"Understood."
Reinhard rose and, guided by the Steward, exited the hall. Waiting outside was a tall, middle-aged knight. The man offered a gentle salute.
"Lord Von. I am Pierre."
Reinhard returned the gesture. "An honor to meet you, Sir Pierre."
"Follow me. His Majesty has arranged guest quarters for you."
The two walked side by side through the silent palace corridors.
"I have heard of your circumstances," Pierre said, attempting to soften the atmosphere. "You are around the same age as my son, yet you have endured so much. You are a remarkable youth."
"I only did what was required of me," Reinhard replied humbly.
"My son's name is Karl," Pierre said, his tone dipping into a complex mixture of affection and sorrow. "I wish he possessed even half of your courage."
Reinhard did not press for details. Pierre saw him to a clean guest room and took his leave.
Evening fell.
Pierre returned to his home in the commoner's district of the Capital—a modest two-story stone house. He pushed the door open. The house was silent.
A youth was crouching in the corner of the room, motionless.
Karl. Pierre's son.
Pierre softened his footsteps, walking to the boy's side. "Karl? How was your day?"
Karl's body gave a violent jolt. He didn't turn around. He didn't speak.
Pierre let out a heavy sigh. Karl's world was not the world of others.
To Karl, a simple cup was a monster covered in writhing tentacles.
A wooden chair was a giant dripping with puss and gore.
The world was a never-ending nightmare, leaving the boy pathologically withdrawn and terrified of his own shadow.
Pierre took an egg from the kitchen and placed it on the floor, sliding it gently toward Karl. To Pierre, it was a simple egg. To Karl's distorted vision, it was a bloodshot, twitching eyeball ripped from a socket.
Pierre's voice was incredibly tender. "Karl. Look at it."
Karl's breathing hitched, his frame shivering.
"It is weak. You can defeat it. You must have faith. You must have conviction." Pierre encouraged him. "Flick it. Shatter it."
Karl's gaze remained locked on the "eyeball," his eyes wide with primal terror. Pierre didn't rush him, standing by in silent support.
It took a long time before Karl slowly raised his right hand. His finger hovered in the air for an eternity, shaking so violently it was a blur. He tried to move closer, only to jerk back. Closer, then back again. He repeated this agonizing dance dozens of times.
Sweat beaded on Karl's forehead, matting his hair. Pierre watched his son's profile, his heart aching, yet his face remained a mask of gentle encouragement.
Finally, Karl's finger brushed the egg. The touch was cold and smooth. Karl's body shook with a violent tremor, but he didn't pull back.
He had succeeded in the first step.
Then came the second movement: gathering strength. His finger curled, straightened, and curled again.
An hour. A full hour passed.
Snap.
A faint, crisp sound. Karl's finger finally flicked the egg. A tiny crack appeared in the shell.
Karl stared at the crack as if he had just slain a dragon. Drained of every ounce of his strength, he collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air.
Pierre stepped forward and gently ruffled his son's hair.
"See, Karl?"
"It was quite simple, wasn't it?"
Pierre wore a smile of pure satisfaction. This was the encouragement, the training, he had maintained for years. He would not give up on his son.
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