Chapter 673: Sound of Rain
Defeat. Anger. Sadness. Pain. Shame. Betrayal. Mourning. Disbelief.
All of them surged through Arnold’s mind, not in turns, but all at once—clashing, grinding, devouring one another in the chaos of his heart. He stood motionless, numb, as if the blood in his veins had turned to ice.
We have been cursed, he thought—no longer in desperation, but with solemn conviction.
It was the only explanation that could make sense of the ruin unfolding around them. What else could make the world unravel so thoroughly, so precisely, so cruelly?
He lifted his eyes from the mud at his feet to the man standing before him. The messenger looked as though he had aged decades delivering the report, soaked in rain and burdened by the knowledge he carried along with the sign of a siege that lasted two months . Yet he spoke, clearly and without faltering, relaying every word like a blade to Arnold’s chest.
The city had not held. His father had retreated before the city fell, in his turn leading it to its demise.
He had misjudged, retreated not from fire, but from smoke. And worse still: Cretio, Arnold’s father-in-law, the last man whose honor shone like steel in the dark, had died—fighting not for his kin, but for the very same prince who had spat on him.
The very men who had forced Arnold to set aside his wife, to deny her love, to sever the bond carved by loyalty and sacrifice.
And for what?
He clenched his fists. His nails dug into his palms, but the pain was dull—swallowed by the storm inside.
This is how kingdoms fall, he realized, even as the report droned on, spilling details like dirt onto a fresh grave. Not by sword or siege, but by rot from within.
The kind that crept slowly, silently, until one day the weight of it made the proudest towers collapse without a blow.