Chapter 19 : Strong Enough to Protect Anyone
The evening sky bled orange across State Ryounjiku, painting the endless sunflower fields in shades of amber and gold. The flowers turned their faces toward the dying sun in perfect unison—a sea of yellow petals rippling in the warm breeze like living waves of light.
This was the birthplace of Legendary Craftsman Evan Ryunn, whose hands had shaped two of the eighteen legendary relics known to exist in the world: the Fantom Spear—Art of Destruction—and Supreme Tyranny's Will, the dual-edged blade called Will of Chaos. Rumors whispered of a third creation, something called Dance of Death, but if it existed, its location remained a mystery even centuries after Ryunn's passing.
Ryounjiku was a state that lived by different rhythms than the rest of Aurelith. Its people had willingly merged with the Empire centuries ago, not through conquest but through choice—drawn by promises of protection and shared prosperity. They were craftsmen, artists, farmers who understood that life was meant to be lived rather than endured. They focused on beauty, vitality, the simple act of existence in harmony with nature.
It was the kind of place that attracted Mabel more than any other.
Inside the lead carriage of Princess Thalira's convoy, the atmosphere was considerably less poetic.
"Ahh..." Thalira sighed dramatically, pressing her face against the window. "It would have been wonderful if I'd come for tourism. This travel is so boring."
Minister Graham sat across from her, absorbed in a leather-bound book of imperial law. Senior Maid Zeta stared at nothing in particular, lost in thoughts that made her cheeks flush periodically.
"It seems your sigh came at the right time, Your Highness." Graham looked up with the patience of someone who'd dealt with restless nobility for decades. "We're stopping at Saffron Cloud Palace for the night. We'll reach State Zyrick tomorrow morning."
He glanced at Zeta, noting her distraction. "Are you well?"
She startled. "Yes, Minister. Just... thinking."
'Thinking about how I've wasted my life serving Empress Althaea,' her mind continued silently. 'Thirty-six years of perfect service, and only now do I realize an angel like Prince Lucien exists in the same palace where I work every day.'
Her body stirred with something intoxicating—anticipation, attraction, excitement. The memory of him shirtless in moonlight, the way he'd looked at the Empress with those violet eyes...
She pressed her thighs together slightly and forced herself to focus on the passing landscape.
'When we return, things will be different. They have to be.'
The carriage rolled on toward Saffron Cloud Palace, where Duke Arun of Ryounjiku—a man as generous and life-loving as his people—would host them according to imperial protocol.
---
Elsewhere in State Zyrick, as evening shadows lengthened, a merchant's carriage came to a stop near the city's eastern gate.
"If you need any help, you can ask us," the merchant said, watching his passenger lift the cloth-wrapped bundle like it weighed nothing more than a branch. The thing had made their horses strain for the entire journey. Now this man hoisted it onto his back with casual ease.
"Ah." The traveler spat out the rosemary leaflet he'd been chewing. "You're quite good at hospitality."
He pulled a single gold coin from his pouch and placed it carefully in the palm of the merchant's eight-year-old son, who'd fallen asleep against his father's side during the final stretch of travel.
The boy was deeply asleep, dreaming whatever children dreamed. Something about him—that innocent exhaustion, that complete trust in the world—stirred something in the traveler's chest.
A memory. A promise.
"This boy is quite childish," he murmured, more to himself than the merchant. "Somehow letting me remember that I have something to..." He stopped, gripping the white-wrapped bundle more tightly. "Something I need to protect."
'I have to become stronger. Strong enough to protect anyone. Strong enough that no child has to learn the world isn't safe.'
"Who are you?" The merchant studied this stranger who'd traveled with them for hours yet remained an enigma. "I felt from the start that something was different about you. Somehow I felt... safer."
"Ah. I'm Mabel."
He turned and began walking toward the city proper, white cloak catching the evening light.
The merchant tested the name in his mind, finding it pleasant but unfamiliar. Behind him, the carriage handler went rigid with recognition.
"Sir—" The handler's voice pitched higher with awe. "Do you not know whose name is Mabel?"
The merchant looked confused.
"Mabel is one of the strongest Death Knights in existence!" The handler could barely contain himself. "Rank 2. Second only to Marakanda himself. But in rumors, it's said he's very different from most—that he wanders alone, helping people, living like he's trying to understand what it means to be human rather than a weapon."
The merchant's hand moved instinctively to the Sol pendant hanging around his neck—a stylized sun disk representing the god of light and life. He clutched it, whispering a prayer of gratitude that they'd traveled safely under such protection without even knowing it.
In the distance, Mabel's white-cloaked figure grew smaller against the cityscape.
---
Sol Shrine Inn sat in Zyrick's craftsman quarter—a square building wrapped around a central courtyard, humble but well-maintained. The wooden sign above the entrance bore the symbol of Sol, the sun god worshiped throughout Aurelith.
Mabel approached the reception desk where a young man—perhaps twenty—looked up from his ledger with immediate suspicion.
"Room for the night?" Mabel asked. "Did the cost change from two silver coins?"
The receptionist, Atuen, began circling him slowly, scanning him like a potential threat. The covered bundle on his back, the travel-worn white cloak, the hint of weapons beneath—everything about this stranger screamed caution.
"Yeah, price changed." Atuen's tone carried challenge. "It's four silver coins now."
"Atuen!"
The inn's owner—a portly man in his fifties with laugh lines deeply carved around his eyes—emerged from the back room. He took one look at the situation and backhanded his receptionist across the face.
Not hard enough to injure, but enough to make a point.
"Didn't I tell you?" The owner gestured for Mabel to sit in one of the common room chairs. "Keep loyalty in your work and you'll always be happy. Alas, I haven't taught you well enough." He waved Atuen away. "Go sort the storage room. Now."
The young man fled, shame-faced.
"Sir, please pardon us if he was rude." The owner presented a tray containing room essentials—a matchbox, a towel, packaged bread. "Your stay is free for two days. It's the least we can offer during this celebration."
"Why free?" Mabel accepted the tray but his expression remained curious rather than entitled. "Is something special happening in Zyrick?"
"You haven't heard?" The owner's face lit up with genuine joy. "The Emperor reduced our taxes to match the rest of the Empire. The price of goods went up slightly, but it's nothing compared to that cruel tax system we suffered under. We're celebrating—free rooms for travelers, festivals in the streets tomorrow. We're proud to be part of Aurelith again instead of feeling like a punished child."
'I'm proud that I'm from Aurelith Empire,' Mabel thought, warmth spreading through his chest. 'This is what strength should protect. Joy like this.'
"Then you don't need to send food tonight," he said, heading toward the courtyard. "I have what I need."
The owner watched him go, noting the reverent way he carried that mysterious wrapped bundle.
---
Hours later, as full darkness settled over Zyrick, Mabel stood in the inn's central courtyard.
Balanced on one foot.
The Fantom Spear—still wrapped in white cloth—held horizontally across his shoulders like a yoke. One hundred thirty kilograms of legendary metal, perfectly still.
His eyes were closed. His breathing synchronized with something deeper than mere respiration.
"Mind, body, and weapon are one self," he chanted in an ancient tongue that predated the Empire itself. "Mind, body, and weapon are one self. Mind, body, and weapon are one self."
The mantra repeated, a meditation and a prayer and a training exercise all at once.
He held the position for two hours without wavering. Without sweating. Without any sign that the weight existed at all.
Then, as midnight approached, he walked to the edge of Zyrick where a lake reflected starlight like scattered diamonds.
He waded into the water fully clothed, the Fantom Spear wrapped and resting on the shore beside him.
And sank beneath the surface.
For thirty minutes, he sat cross-legged at the lake's bottom, lungs still, heart rate slowed to something barely above death. The water pressed against him. Fish swam past, curious about this strange statue of a man who'd invaded their territory.
'Stronger. I must become stronger. So no child ever has to be afraid. So no merchant has to pray for safety. So the world can be full of sunflower fields and celebrations instead of fear.'
When he finally surfaced, he saw stars scattered on cityscape , starting of celebration tomorrow.
He emerged from the lake like something born from myth—water streaming from white fabric, dark hair with its white streaks plastered to his skull, brown eyes reflecting starlight.
Superhuman.
The walking god of destruction, being an absolute angel to everyone he met.
---
In a different quarter of Zyrick, in a room above a tavern that asked no questions, Hunter Knight Urus Deacon sharpened his throwing knives with methodical precision.
Tomorrow, Princess Thalira would arrive.
Tomorrow, the banquet would begin.
Tomorrow, the hunt would commence.
He smiled in the darkness, unaware that the second-strongest Death Knight in existence now stood between him and his prey.
Some hunts, it turned out, came with obstacles even Rank 8 couldn't anticipate.