"You are yet to understand what we mean, child of man," said the female voice, "but when the time comes, you will understand our words and their meaning."
"Do you know something? If so, please tell me now; do not speak in riddles. I have people I need to protect," Blanc replied, speaking louder than before.
"The eyes of a beast, cornered and in pain. That is what you bear, child. No answer we might give you will change that. Go now, face your fears," said the voice.
He did not understand. How could he? And how could they? Creatures could not understand what he was carrying on his shoulders.
But Blanc knew not to push further, nor to remain. Time was short. And arguing over riddles will not aid him. So he bowed to the creatures and took off running.
There was a silence in the forest that reminded Blanc of the silence before the wolves came. But there were no beasts.
Only the darkness of night and the wind that found passage through the branches above.
The Golden Forest was calm and steady. Yet Blanc's mind wasn't.
With each step that took him closer and closer back home, the heart in his chest reminded him he was still alive.
His breathing became ragged as the panic that was slowly creeping into the depths of his bones disturbed his pace, his breathing.
Due to the panic and the wheezing he was spitting out of his mouth, he had to take yet another break, a few miles away from the battlefield and what lay beyond.
He let himself rest on a pile of leaves, placing his back against the trunk of a tree.
At this distance, the sound of a battlefield, of swords clashing, of men yelling or chanting, should have been heard.
He was getting closer, and he did not know how the battle looked or what had changed.
For all he knew, he could have been in enemy-infested territory right about now.
He would lose a bit of time, but after that break, he would have to move more slowly.
More focused on his surroundings, or it will all have been for naught.
All the stress and pain they endured. Reduced to nothingness.
As he rested, regret over how he had acted earlier, before he left the cave, emerged between the other thoughts that raged like a tempest in his mind.
He knew why Celine said what she said.
That was what frustrated him more, that he considered it.
That he considered her proposition. To delay this. A day, two, a week, even.
And that he, for a moment, considered her other proposition.
Her invitation for Miyanna to join them at night.
Why was he like this?
Why did he even consider it?
She was a commoner. They had nothing that tied them.
Yet, even if he did not want to admit it, he cared for her to a certain extent.
He gave her food until she was satisfied, and he taught her things even if he seemed displeased about it.
He was confused.
But what confused him more than all things regarding Miyanna was herself.
Who was this strange, beautiful woman, with the build of a seasoned warrior, and a commoner who held her past a secret, really was?
She figured out they were Noble Bloods, yet her demeanor did not change that much after. She became even more comfortable with them while also keeping them at arm's length from herself.
Only Celine attempted to find out more. And perhaps she did. But she kept silent about it.
Why?
Was it to protect her? From what? From me?
If her past was deemed dangerous by me, I might have to kill her.
After all, I'm still not sure if I should let her live.
But why would Celine defend…
I see, I see. Haha. You got me there, Celine, love. You really did.
How foolish of me. How could I not see it until now?
How could I be blinded by Miyanna?
And why did Celine not mention anything if she knew?
Can this be considered betrayal, I wonder?
I'm not so certain. We will need to talk this through when I get back.
But Miyanna… I see it now.
I had an enemy sleeping near me all this time.
She was part of the Iron Line.
Those were Blanc's thoughts as he rested.
One could notice that such thoughts on several subjects, filled with doubt, anxiety, and fear, would not really constitute what one should normally call and do while 'resting'.
Yet, that was how his mind had been for the last few days.
But while breaking his mind apart, it also gave him a resemblance of strength.
A resemblance that pulled him now, after resting, on his feet, to continue.
He moved slowly but steadily, his stride long and deliberate, covering ground with quiet efficiency.
But every sound within two hundred feet felt like danger.
Every rustle, every snapped twig, made him stop cold, straining to see or hear what might be out there.
Minutes passed in a silent battle between instinct and paranoia, the forest surrounding him like a breath held too long.
Eventually, he drew his bow and kept it firmly in hand, unwilling to be caught off guard, just in case.
But he pressed on without a sound, his focus as sharp as a polished sword.
An hour passed as he approached.
Midnight came and went.
Now he stood less than a mile from the Golden Forest's entrance.
To the path that led straight to the mansion, with Duldera's silhouette faint in the distance.
But the final stretch would not be as easy as he had hoped.
The ground beneath his feet had turned soft and wet.
Muddy, not from rain.
But from blood.
Blood-soaked and thick with the remains of whatever battle had occurred here after they left.
Countless corpses lay on the forest floor, hidden in the darkness of the night and paving the path to his answers.
There was no rot in the air. Only the pungent smell of iron, of blood.
Whatever battle happened there happened in the past day or two.
Unable to stay any longer, as the smell of blood made his stomach wish it had not had dinner that night, he kept walking between corpses.
As he moved through the carnage, he paused now and then, careful not to brush against the corpses' armor or slip in the blood-slick mud, so as not to make any sound.
Yet in doing so, he could not help but look at the fallen warriors and who they fought for.
Most of the dead were soldiers of the Iron Line, wearing the same weird masks they wore when they fought against them in the past.
But that made sense; there were millions of them present.
And one Warden of Blood Denegis had the strength of several commoners who fought in the Iron Line.
But the Wardens were eternally resting here as well.
Many of them. Hundreds, at least.
And that was only what Blanc saw on the path he took towards the exit.
He was in an ocean of bodies. Surrounded by an amount of death that was unseen even by his eyes.
But the Wardens were not the only elite soldiers dead on the ground. As other soldiers who came from the allies of Blood Denegis, especially soldiers bearing the sigil of Blood Maroux and Blood An, stood dead on the ground.
The issue, however, besides that they were dead, was that many of them died the most gruesome deaths.
Several of them were literally ripped in half.
Not cut.
A cut would have been cleaner. But these men had their skin near their bellies stretched as if it were rubber before it finally gave in, rupturing.
The pain these men must have felt was unimaginable.
It made Blanc slightly rethink the life he had during these weeks, or whether he should continue.
He was disgusted by the carnage. The way these men died could not have been made by common soldiers.
Not even his father could just rip a man in two with his bare hands.
No… this was no work of man. Not even beasts. Only creatures of True Vita or monsters could do such a thing to a man.
However, he was close now.
Less than a hundred feet away from the entrance to the forest.
Yet the earlier sight and the eerie silence even outside the forest did not give him peace of mind, no matter how many Iron Line soldiers were dead around him.
This was it.
This was the moment he had dreamed of and dreaded for the last week since he saw the smoke.
And as the opening in the treeline showed itself, making way for the outside world to be visible.
So did the answer to all of his questions.
"Oh no, oh no, oh no," muttered Blanc as the sight he saw slowly ingrained into his soul as he fell to his knees.
The Mansion of Blood Denegis and the city of Duldera were… ruins.