Chapter 376 - 375: Forbidden Arts
King Alden’s eyes shift as the doors close behind his brother.
Even that small movement looks like it costs him.
"Duke Charles," Alden says, his voice rough, like dry leaves scraping together. "You’re late."
Charles doesn’t answer right away. He walks closer to the bed, each step heavy, then stops at the side. For a moment, he just looks at his brother.
Alden notices.
"Don’t stand there staring at me like I’m already dead," he mutters, irritation slipping through the weakness. "Speak. What happened in Bakwell City?"
Charles exhales slowly.
It comes out like he’s been holding it in the entire way here.
"They lost," he says.
Alden’s brows pull together.
"Lost?" he repeats. "Explain."
Charles closes his eyes for a brief second, then opens them again.
"The army failed. The nobles failed," he says. "And the worst part..."
He pauses.
"They surrendered."
The words hang in the air.
Alden’s body jerks, and suddenly he coughs violently. His whole frame shakes, one hand clutching his chest as if something inside is tearing apart.
Blood stains the cloth at the corner of his lips.
The healers at the edge of the room tense but don’t move without permission.
"Your Majesty," one of them whispers.
Alden raises a trembling hand, stopping them.
His eyes burn as he looks at Charles.
"Surrendered?" he rasps. "To monsters?"
Charles doesn’t look away.
"Yes."
Alden lets out a bitter, broken laugh that turns into another cough.
"This... this is what happens," he says between breaths, anger rising despite his condition. "Those Marshalls... those damned Marshalls refused to move. They didn’t send reinforcements to Hecrad when it mattered."
His grip tightens on the blanket.
"They sat in their peaks, protecting their own interests while a key city fell."
His voice sharpens, filled with frustration and something close to despair.
"They are the reason this kingdom is rotting from the inside. Not the enemy. Them."
Charles’ expression hardens slightly.
"I agree," he says quietly. "If they had acted earlier, Bakwell might still be ours."
Alden stares at the ceiling, breathing uneven.
"Then why didn’t they?" he demands. "Cowardice? Pride? Or are they already planning for when I die?"
Charles doesn’t answer immediately.
Silence stretches.
Finally, he says, "All of it."
That answer makes Alden close his eyes.
For a moment, he looks older than he ever has.
"The kingdom is breaking," Alden murmurs. "And I can’t even stand."
Charles leans forward slightly.
"There’s more," he says.
Alden opens his eyes again, slower this time.
"What now?"
Charles’ jaw tightens.
"The worst part is... we don’t know what really happened inside the city."
Alden frowns.
"What do you mean?"
"We’ve received scattered reports," Charles explains. "Most of them are inconsistent. Some say a new ruler has taken control. Others speak of slaves being freed. Entire noble families wiped out overnight."
He pauses.
"And all of it happened too fast."
Alden’s gaze sharpens despite his weakness.
"No details? No survivors worth questioning?"
"None at all," Charles says.
Alden watches him in silence.
The faint glow of the healing arrays flickers across his face, making the hollows under his eyes look deeper.
Charles continues.
"We can only wait here in the capital," he says. "Wait for those monsters to make their next move. Once they do, those old fossils won’t have any choice but to act. They can’t keep hiding behind their walls if the threat reaches this far."
Alden lets out a slow breath.
It rattles in his chest.
"So we sit," he mutters. "And wait for the blade to reach our throat before they finally wake up."
Charles doesn’t disagree.
Alden turns his head slightly, fixing him with a tired but sharp gaze.
"Do you have any clue what they want?" he asks.
There is a pause.
Charles shakes his head.
"I don’t," he admits. "I’ve been investigating them for years now. Quietly. Carefully. And still... nothing concrete."
He folds his arms.
"They move too cleanly. No patterns, no loose ends. Every time we think we’ve found something, it disappears."
Alden’s lips press into a thin line.
"That’s not reassuring."
"It wasn’t meant to be."
Silence settles again, heavier this time.
Then Alden speaks.
"What about Sir Virtil’s opinion?"
At that, Charles hesitates.
It is brief, but noticeable.
Alden catches it immediately.
"Say it."
Charles exhales.
"He did have a theory," he says. "Though I’m not sure you’ll like it."
Alden gives a faint, humorless smile.
"Nothing about this situation is likable. Speak."
Charles lowers his voice slightly, even though the room is secured.
"As we already know, many of those Marshalls are nearing the end of their lifespan," he says. "They’ve reached their limits. Decades of cultivation, and still no breakthrough."
Alden’s eyes narrow.
"Get to the point."
Charles meets his gaze.
"Virtil believes that, they may be looking for another way forward."
Alden doesn’t blink.
"What kind of way?"
Another pause.
Then Charles says it.
"The forbidden arts."
The words feel heavier than anything said so far.
Even the air in the room seems to tighten.
One of the healers shifts uncomfortably in the corner.
Alden’s expression changes.
Not shock.
Not even anger.
Just a deep, cold displeasure.
"They must be out of their minds," he says quietly.
Charles nods.
"If it’s true, then desperation has already taken root among them."
Alden looks away, toward the dim curtains.
"Forbidden arts..." he repeats under his breath. "They know the cost."
"They do."
"And they would still consider it."
Charles doesn’t answer that.
Alden closes his eyes.
For a moment, he says nothing.
Then he lifts a hand slightly.
"Enough."
His voice is firmer now, though still weak.
"I don’t want to hear more about that."
The topic itself feels like poison in the room.
Dangerous even to speak aloud.
Charles inclines his head.
"As you wish."
Another stretch of silence follows.
This one quieter.
Heavier.
Alden’s breathing steadies, though it still sounds strained.
"We are being attacked from the outside," he says slowly. "And rotting from within."
His fingers curl slightly against the blanket.
"And I am lying here, listening to reports."
Charles watches him carefully.
"You’re still the king," he says. "That hasn’t changed."
Alden lets out a faint breath that might have been a laugh.
"Titles don’t stop kingdoms from falling."
Charles steps back slightly, straightening.
"Then we make sure it doesn’t fall," he says.
Alden doesn’t respond. His gaze drifts, distant now.
The conversation is over.
Charles understands.
He bows his head slightly, then turns and walks toward the door.
The healers remain silent, and the runes continue to hum.
And on the bed, King Alden stares into the dim light, the weight of a dying kingdom pressing down on him with every passing second.
-----
Far from the capital, in a city that had already changed hands, the night felt different.
Inside the city lord’s hall, the chamber remained dim, lit only by faint blue veins of mana running through the walls. The air was thick with energy, steady and calm, like a deep ocean that hid something dangerous beneath the surface.
Alix stands near the window, looking out over the city. The fires have died down, leaving only faint trails of smoke rising into the night sky. Patrol lights move along the streets in steady patterns.
Order is already taking shape.
Behind him, Zevran lies curled up on the couch.
Gone is the large, imposing form from the battlefield. Now he looks small, almost harmless. A palm-sized creature with soft scales, tiny folded wings, and a tail wrapped neatly around his body. His chest rises and falls slowly as he sleeps, letting out the occasional quiet chirp.
Alix glances back at him.
"You sleep a lot," he says.
No response.
Zevran’s tail flicks once, then goes still again.
Alix exhales lightly.
"I suppose you earned it."
His gaze shifts to the other side of the room.
Mero floats in the air, a small drifting figure that looks like a ball of soft white cotton. His body is faint and translucent, edges blurring like mist. Thin strands of energy spiral slowly around him, slipping into his form without resistance.
At first glance, it looks like he’s doing nothing.
But the air around him tells a different story.
The ambient qi in the room is being pulled in, slowly but steadily, drawn toward him like a quiet tide.
Alix watches for a moment.
"You’re recovering faster than I expected."
Mero’s small body bobs slightly in place.
A faint voice echoes, soft and distant, like it’s coming from somewhere far away.
"I am trying... master."