Chapter 137: ¹³⁷An Unexpected Arrival

A pale dawn broke over the Far East.

Light crept into the main hall of the Valen Manor, cold and hollow. On the western horizon, the sky above the Astrean Capital still defied normalcy—continuously radiating an eerie, blood-red glow.

The remnants of pine wood in the fireplace had reduced to grey embers. A suffocating silence hung heavy over the room.

Asrof stood frozen not far away. His servant uniform was neat, yet the dried bloodstains on his sleeves were impossible to conceal. The old man maintained his rigid posture, his jaw set tight.

Every few seconds, his gaze flickered between the hallway leading to the master bedroom and the red sky beyond the window. His military instincts screamed incessantly; something monumental had just collapsed out there.

At the dining table, Berta sat nervously. The middle-aged woman wrung the edge of her wrinkled apron, her lips moving in silent prayer. Every time a floorboard creaked, her shoulders flinched violently.

Yuna stood in a dim corner, clutching the wooden tray in her arms like a shield. Her light-brown eyes were swollen and bloodshot.

Ever since her master was brought inside drenched in blood, the young girl hadn’t moved an inch. Her mind was a complete blank.

No one dared to utter a word. Yet, the same heavy questions hung unanswered in the air: What were those shattered wings on the Young Master’s back? Who were these strange women? What sort of calamity had struck the capital?

Tap! Tap!

The clicking of heels broke the tension, followed by a soft chuckle far too casual for a morning this chaotic.

”Fufufu… what a pitiful sight.”

Asrof turned his gaze sharply toward her.

Lilith stepped inside from the kitchen. The succubus walked with a lazy sway of her hips, her pink hair cascading provocatively while her maid dress was intentionally left slipping off one shoulder.

Her reddish-gold eyes swept over the three human servants with a languid look.

”Why are you all frozen like tomb statues?” Lilith leaned against a pillar, twirling the tip of her hair. “Is no one going to prepare breakfast for an exhausted maid?”

”Mind your tongue, Lilith,” Asrof reprimanded raspily. “This is no time for your antics.”

Lilith’s playful smile flickered and faded slightly, replaced by a flash of alertness. She stepped closer.

”No time?” Lilith countered, her tone sharpening. “Our master came home with his back nearly torn apart and his life hanging by a thread. Not to mention these unfamiliar guests who reek of sheer terror. And you expect me not to ask questions?”

Asrof remained silent. He was just as blind to the truth as the demon before him.

Creeeak…

The hallway door opened. Kaelia von Ashford stepped out from the darkness.

The Southern Princess looked disheveled. Her fiery red hair was tangled, veiling part of her alabaster face. Heavy dark circles hung beneath her golden eyes, and her travel tunic was caked in dust.

Kaelia swept her exhausted gaze across the hall.

”Prepare a guest room,” she commanded. Her voice was raspy, yet her innate noble authority remained intact. “Someone needs to be cleaned up and tended to.”

Berta startled to her feet. “Y-yes, Lady… But… for whom?”

Kaelia glanced back. “For her.”

From behind Kaelia, Valera Voss stepped into view like a shadow of death.

The black-armored knight remained silent, her right arm still wrapped in thick bandages. Her amber eyes swept the room sharply before locking onto the red sky outside the window, her hand reflexively clenching into a tight fist.

Yet the aura of both women seemed to dim the moment a third figure stepped inside.

Isolde von Rosenberg.

Her posture was impeccably straight, as if gliding across a ballroom floor rather than dusty wooden planks. Her platinum-blonde hair fell loose without its usual elegant updo, and the hem of her blue silk dress was torn. She looked pale, missing her framed glasses.

Despite her disheveled state, an absolute authority radiated from her very presence.

Isolde surveyed her surroundings. Hidden beneath the folds of her dress, her knuckles turned white from clenching her fists too tightly. Her lips were pressed in a firm line, suppressing Alaric’s name that screamed relentlessly inside her mind.

The temperature in the room plummeted noticeably.

Asrof swallowed hard. This was no ordinary noble guest. She possessed an air of command that far transcended even the red-haired girl beside her.

”I am Isolde von Rosenberg,” she stated, her voice echoing with the cold chime of ice. “I am here by your Master’s command. And I shall remain until the situation allows otherwise.”

Berta froze. The tray in Yuna’s arms nearly slipped from her grip.

”R-Rosenberg…?” Berta whispered in horror. “The Duchess of the North?”

Asrof hurriedly bowed deeply, offering a crisp military salute. “It is an honor… Lady Isolde. Please forgive our inadequate welcome; we received no prior notice.”

”Unnecessary,” Isolde interrupted flatly. “This is an emergency.”

In the corner of the room, Lilith snorted in amusement.

The succubus crossed her arms over her chest, a sharp, appraising smirk carved onto her lips.

”Archmage Rosenberg of the North?” Lilith teased, deliberately dragging out her tone. Her eyes scanned Isolde from top to bottom. “Fufufu… Our Master certainly has… varied taste.”

Isolde turned her head slowly, her icy-blue eyes locking dead onto Lilith.

The look was devoid of warmth. Unhurried, as though observing an insect perched on the tip of her shoe.

”And who… are you?” Isolde asked, barely above a whisper yet cuttingly sharp.

Lilith didn’t back down. She stepped closer, hips swaying gently.

”My name is Lilith,” she offered a venomously sweet smile, stopping a meter short of Isolde. “I am a servant of this household.” She tilted her head. “As well as… Master’s most loyal possession.”

The air grew taut.

Isolde didn’t blink. A silent exchange of understanding passed between them—an unspoken line drawn acknowledging they stood on the exact same ground, bound absolutely to the dying man within that room.

”I see,” Isolde replied devoid of emotion.

She turned her gaze away instantly, severing eye contact and dismissing Lilith’s existence as though the demon were mere specks of dust in the air.

Met with such absolute rejection, Lilith merely let out a faint smirk.

The tension shattered at the sound of hesitant, dragging footsteps from the hallway.

Laras emerged from behind Isolde. Her black hair was a tangled mess, her swollen eyes glistening with tears. Deep purple bruises were plainly visible across her neck and temples, standing out starkly against the oversized dress she wore.

The young girl hugged herself, trembling violently under the gazes of the strangers in the room.

Seeing Laras’s pitiful condition, Berta’s maternal instincts immediately took over, her fear of the nobles evaporating instantly.

”Oh dear God…” Berta whispered. She stepped forward gently, hands open. “Little lady, are you cold? Come sit near the fire. Auntie will prepare some warm soup for you.”

Laras gasped softly. She looked at Berta timidly before darting a glance toward Kaelia.

Kaelia offered a slight nod. Receiving permission, Laras finally allowed Berta to guide her toward a wooden chair.

Asrof stared at the bruises on Laras’s neck, his jaw clenching tightly. He turned his eyes toward Yuna. “Yuna, help me prepare the room—”

Yuna flinched. Her gaze landed on Laras before shifting toward Kaelia and Isolde.

A pang of jealousy and suffocating helplessness tightened around her chest. Her master had brought home women from a realm she could never hope to reach.

”I-I’ll go fetch clean water,” Yuna interrupted quickly. Keeping her head lowered, she hurried off toward the kitchen, half-running away from reality.

Isolde cast a brief glance at Yuna. A flicker of understanding crossed the Archmage’s eyes; she recognized that quiet jealousy all too well.

Suddenly, a faint voice stole the breath from everyone in the room.

”Brother… Ethan…?”

Elara Valen stood at the end of the hallway.

The little girl was as pale as alabaster, wrapped in a thick wool nightgown over her frail frame. Her brow was furrowed, her milky-white eyes staring blankly ahead while her tiny hands blindly grasped at the air.

The atmosphere in the main hall shifted drastically.

Kaelia tensed up, wanting to step forward but held back by hesitation. Valera lowered her head, looking away. Isolde shut her eyes tightly, hastily wiping a sudden moistness from the corner of her eyelids. Even Lilith fell completely silent.

Berta rushed over. “Lady Elara… come sit down first.” Her voice trembled as she held back tears. “Young Master is alright. He’s just exhausted and sleeping.”

Elara didn’t respond to Berta’s comforting touch. Her hands continued to reach out into empty air.

”But… it feels so lonely, Auntie,” Elara whispered in confusion. “Brother Ethan… usually feels so warm. But now it’s so cold. Why does Brother feel so far away?”

Berta bit her lip hard, tears escaping down her cheeks. No lie could ever veil a spiritual bond that felt so precariously severed.

Near the fireplace, Laras stared into Elara’s sightless eyes.

A sudden warmth washed over Laras’s chest, standing in stark contrast to the relentless torment she had endured. Gazing at the blind girl, Laras felt as though she were beholding her own soul, desperately searching for something to cling to in the midst of a storm.

Elara took slow, trembling steps. The hollow void emanating from her brother’s room suffocated her entirely.

”Brother…” Elara called out again, tears welling up in her eyes. “Why does it feel so lonely…?”

Not a single human or demon in that room possessed the strength to answer. They stood frozen in heartbreaking silence while outside, the blood-red sky of Astrea stared down relentlessly, poised to devour whatever sanity remained.