The court hall seethed like a boiling pot ready to spill. For six long days the nobles had been confined within the palace walls under the Emperor's command, unable to leave, unable to bribe, unable to slither away from his sight.
Whispers filled the suffocating air:
"Six days! For what reason?"
"All because of a former commoner?"
"His Majesty does play favorites…"
"This is tyranny! We're innocent!"
The murmurs crawled like insects against the marble pillars.
On the dais, the two Guardians—Teodore and Iris—sat in cold silence. Teodore's jaw twitched at every insolent whisper. Iris leaned her head on her hand, listening, but she was no less irritated.
They dare say this while that boy coughs blood in the infirmary? Teodore thought.
He felt the same frustration gnawing at him—six days, and still not a single mastermind found. Only scraps, lingering traces of demonic energy, and dead ends.
Then—
BOOM.
The double doors of the court swung open.
All gossip ceased instantly.
Everyone rose from their seats, expecting Reinhardt's iron stride.
But it wasn't the Emperor.
It was Kael.
The nobles froze. Some gasped. A few even paled.
He walked with steady steps—too steady for someone they heard was at death's door only days ago. He wore a dark cloak, clean but clearly not ceremonial. The faint bandage on his wrist peeked beneath the sleeve. His expression was unreadable.
But more than anything—
His eyes were cold.
Cold enough to silence an entire court.
Kael ascended the steps to the throne—not Reinhardt's central throne, but the seat placed beside it for the Guardian of the West—and he sat, one leg crossed over the other, leaning into the chair as if he ruled the hall.
Iris hid a smile behind her hand.
Teodore raised a brow.
He shouldn't even be awake yet…
Kael tapped the armrest with one finger.
"I received permission from His Majesty," he said calmly, his voice echoing in the silent hall. "As Archduke of Delcra, I understand all of you have suffered, being confined here because of me."
No one dared to answer.
Kael's lips curled—not in warmth, but in something sharper.
"But good news," he continued. "I have found traces of those who conspired with the Demon Cult."
A wave of panic rustled through the room.
Kael raised his hand lazily and pointed to the center of the hall.
"Step forward," he commanded. "I am not His Majesty—so I will give you one chance. Confess, and walk to the center."
Silence stretched.
No one moved.
Kael slowly exhaled, disappointment clear in the tension of his shoulders.
"Is that so?" His voice dropped coldly. "Am I too kind for you?"
The air suddenly shifted.
The temperature felt as if it dropped. Pressure filled the hall—like an invisible force pressing down on every shoulder. Some nobles visibly trembled. Others clutched their throats as breathing turned laborious.
Teodore straightened in his seat, eyes widening.
This aura… this killing intent… this is nothing like the Hero I've read about.
Iris, however, quietly observed, intrigued.
Kael rose from his seat.
"Then allow me," he said softly, "to come to you myself."
He descended with slow, purposeful steps.
As he walked among the nobles, they instinctively stepped back—like prey avoiding the predator that suddenly remembered it needed to hunt.
Kael's fingers brushed the hilt of the sword at his waist.
The sound of swallowing echoed through the hall.
His gaze seemed to cut through bodies, exposing secrets, peeling away masks. He moved deeper, deeper, until—
One nobleman stumbled backward.
Kael's eyes never left him.
The man hit the wall with a thud, trapped like an animal.
Teodore inhaled sharply.
"Count Yarnes," he muttered under his breath.
Iris's smile faded into something sharper.
"Found you."
Kael stopped in front of the trembling count.
Count Yarnes tried to steady himself, but his hands shook violently. Sweat dripped down his temples.
"Lord K-Kael… Lord Kael, there must be a misunderstanding—"
Kael tilted his head.
"I gave you a chance," he said quietly.
The count swallowed hard. "I–I don't know anything about the cult—"
Kael lifted his hand.
The entire hall held its breath.
His tone dropped to ice.
"Lies."
Count Yarnes flinched so violently his legs gave out. He collapsed onto his knees, choking on fear.
Teodore stepped forward. "Count Yarnes. You attended the banquet that night. You visited the servants' quarter shortly before the poisoning. And you disappeared from your assigned chamber for an hour after midnight."
Iris added from behind Kael, "We also found a trace of corrupted mana in your pocket lining. A leftover from a cultist's charm."
Count Yarnes' breath hitched.
Kael leaned down slowly until he was eye-level.
"Now," he whispered, "shall we discuss what you mixed into my coffee?"
The count screamed.
The court erupted into chaos.
And Kael—without lifting a blade—had revealed the first cultist hiding among the nobles.
Chaos erupted as soon as Count Yarnes' scream faded.
Guards rushed forward, seizing him by the arms as he thrashed in terror.
"L-Lord Kael, I—I didn't—! Please—!"
His pleas were ignored.
The guards dragged him out of the grand hall.
The nobles whispered frantically, panicked murmurs rippling through them like a plague.
"Count Yarnes… a cultist…?"
"He was among us all this time?"
"So the Demon Cult did infiltrate the capital…"
"And Lord Kael caught him instantly—just by looking—"
But it didn't end there.
Kael stepped forward again, his expression unreadable.
His gaze swept across the remaining nobles, and the room fell silent—as if the air itself feared to move without his permission.
Then he pointed.
One after another.
A marquis, a viscount, and a young baron—three more nobles turned pale as ghosts. All three tried to step back, but guards were already moving toward them. No one argued. No one dared.
It was terrifying how fast it happened.
As if Kael could see their sins written across their faces.
Teodore felt his spine prickle.
He had known heroes—fought beside them, honored them.
But Kael?
Kael did not behave like a hero.
He behaved like someone who had seen hell… and came back colder.
As the last noble was dragged away, Kael faced the remaining court with a chilling calm.
"That is all for today," he said, voice steady, tone as sharp as winter steel. "I have spoken with His Majesty. The gates will now reopen. You may return to your homes."
The nobles hesitated at first, exchanging looks, half-afraid to turn their backs on him.
But eventually, they bowed—deep and trembling—and retreated out of the hall. Ministers followed, whispering feverishly about the sudden purge. The great double doors closed behind them, leaving only three figures inside:
Kael.
Iris.
Teodore.
Silence settled, heavy like mist.
Iris crossed her arms, staring at Kael with both amusement and awe.
"You did wonderfully," she said, smirking. "They shut up the moment your eyes narrowed. I didn't know you had that kind of presence."
Kael didn't respond. He simply exhaled, fatigue slowly softening the edges of his authority.
Teodore stepped forward.
"I've been tracking the Demon Cult for months," he admitted. "They hide well—too well. And yet today you found four suspects within minutes. Care to explain how?"
Kael opened his mouth—
But then—
His breath hitched.
His knees buckled.
Before he even felt the floor, Teodore had lunged forward, catching him by the shoulders.
Iris froze, eyes widening. "Kael!"
Kael's skin was cold—ice cold. His lips pale. His eyelashes trembled as his vision blurred in and out.
"I—" His voice broke into a weak cough. "I'm fine. Just… let me rest for a moment."
But he was not fine.
Even speaking strained him.
And both Guardians could see it clearly.
Iris knelt beside him, placing a hand on his back. Her voice softened, gentle but urgent.
"Kael, you just recovered from a demon-blood poison. Don't push yourself. Let us get you out of this hall."
Kael nodded slowly, gripping Teodore's sleeve to stay upright. His hand shook violently.
"Iris," Teodore said lowly, "He shouldn't be standing at all. The Emperor will kill us if he sees this."
Kael tried to straighten. "I can walk—"
"No," Iris cut in firmly. "Enough. You did more than anyone expected today."
She gently took his arm.
"Let's move somewhere he can sit and breathe properly. The more you stay here, the more Reinhardt and Elric will murder us later."
Teodore sighed but nodded, supporting Kael on his other side.
As they helped him walk toward the exit, Kael murmured under his breath, barely audible:
"…just a little dizzy…"
Iris and Teodore exchanged tense looks.
Dizzy was not the word.
He was swaying like a man on the verge of collapse.
But Kael tried to force a faint smile for them anyway.
After all—
no matter how much his body screamed,
he had something he needed to protect.
And today, he had done it alone.
-----------------------------------------
Laughter shook the walls of Kael's guest chamber—loud, bright, and unmistakably triumphant.
Reinhardt lounged on the sofa across from Kael, one boot crossed over his knee, both hands covering his mouth as he tried—and failed—to smother another round of laughter.
"—I wish I could've seen their faces!" he burst out again. "The proud ministers, the noble ladies, Teodore of all people—everyone frozen because you, of all people, decided to show your pressure!"
Kael sat quietly in his chair, fingers wrapped around a porcelain cup of coffee Reinhardt had brewed himself. Steam rose gently from it, warming Kael's trembling hands.
He lifted it, took a silent sip.
Reinhardt laughed even harder.
"Don't glare at me like that," Reinhardt teased, leaning forward with a grin. "I'm praising you."
Kael put the cup down with a soft clink. His eyelashes lowered for a heartbeat—then he whispered,
"Thank you… for saving me…"
Reinhardt's smile faded.
Just slightly.
He straightened his back, studying Kael with a quiet, softened gaze—one Kael rarely saw on him.
"And thank you," Reinhardt answered, voice lowering, "for cleaning up the mess for me."
"Cleanup," he repeated, as if reminding himself. "You caught spies of the Demon Cult in my palace. My palace. If you hadn't… who knows how far they've infiltrated."
His jaw tightened.
"Please don't get poisoned again," he said sharply. "This entire palace nearly fell apart when you collapsed."
Kael looked away, staring at the window where sunlight spilled across the floor. His reflection faintly visible—white hair, pale skin, still recovering.
Two days had passed since the infiltration.
Two days since Kael stood in that court like an unshakeable hero, despite his weakened body.
And two days since Reinhardt nearly tore the palace apart searching for the mastermind.
Reinhardt leaned forward, elbows on knees.
"So," he said, eyes narrowing with curiosity that bordered on suspicion, "care to tell me how you knew who the spies were?"
Kael's shoulders tensed.
He didn't answer immediately. His gaze remained on the outside—the courtyard, the bright flowers, the fluttering banners celebrating his recovery.
"I…" Kael hesitated, searching for the safest words, "just can sense them."
Reinhardt raised a brow.
"That's vague," he muttered. "You sensed them?"
Kael didn't speak further.
He couldn't tell Reinhardt the truth—that each cultist was wrapped in a faint black mist that only his eyes could see.
A mist that reminded him disturbingly of Varyn.
A mist that whispered corruption and hunger.
Reinhardt studied him closely.
"You're hiding something," he said quietly. Not accusatory—just observant. "But I won't force you. Not today."
He leaned back again, crossing his arms.
"But Kael," he continued, tone turning more serious, "if you feel something—if you see something—tell me. Even if it sounds strange. I'll believe you."
Kael didn't look at him.
He didn't nod, didn't shake his head.
Just silence.
Reinhardt let out a sigh, rubbing his temple.
"Well, at least you look a little more alive than you did three days ago," he said lightly, though the tension in his voice betrayed how deeply Kael's condition had shaken him. "But be careful. Don't push yourself."
Kael's grip on the chair tightened.
He remembered the dream—Varyn's hands pinning him down, his cold voice whispering in Kael's ear.
Born from unwanted womb…
Born to destroy this world…
We are the same, Kael…
A faint shiver ran down Kael's spine.
Reinhardt noticed.
His expression hardened.
"Kael," he said carefully, "did something else happen?"
Kael shook his head—barely.
Reinhardt didn't push further.
Silence settled between them, but it wasn't tense.
Just heavy—with worry, with secrets, with unresolved danger.
Finally, Reinhardt stood.
"There will be consequences after today," he said, brushing dust off his sleeve. "Those spies you dragged out—they weren't working alone. The Demon Cult is deeper than we thought."
He walked toward the door.
"But remember this," Reinhardt added, glancing over his shoulder, "if anyone dares to touch you again… I'll burn their entire bloodline."
Kael blinked slowly.
Reinhardt smiled—soft but terrifying.
"And Kael… good job."
When the door closed, Kael sat alone—coffee cooling beside his hand—watching sunlight scatter across the floor.
He didn't smile.
But he exhaled, long and quiet.
He had survived.
Again.