Chapter 49: Aftermath

Chapter 49: Chapter 49: Aftermath

Allan forced the bedroom door open with his shoulder. Blood had already stiffened the fabric of his coat. Even after so many healers and used-up healing potions, every step sent a dull spike through the cracked ribs on his left side.

The Berserker smoke still leaked from his shoulders in thin black threads that dissolved before they reached the floor. He did not look at the wreckage of the hallway behind him.

Lira sat propped against the headboard, one arm in a rough sling, face pale but eyes open, seeing Allan. Seris stood at the foot of the bed, weight on her good leg, sword still in her hand even though the fight was over, but it loosened the moment she saw him.

Amelia occupied the chair by the window, spine straight, chin level, until the door moved. Then her hand closed on the armrest hard enough to bleach her knuckles.

They were breathing. Mostly whole, but breathing. That was the count he had come in to make, and he made it.

"Thank the gods..." he said as his knees went down. He did not sit so much as fold, landing on the edge of the mattress, head bowed, one hand braced against the frame to keep from tipping forward.

"Allan!!!"

All of them called in unison, running at him. Lira’s free hand found the cracked place along his ribs and pressed there, lightly. Then she found something else, lower, along the same side. Her fingers stopped moving there a full second longer. She did not say what she had felt. Her face said she knew it was not going to heal like the rest of him would.

Seris’s eyes tracked the smoke, the dried blood, the way his shoulders would not sit still. She sheathed the sword and moved in until her hip touched his, gripping his forearm harder than the moment called for, and did not seem to notice she was doing it.

Amelia crossed the room fast, with no court posture left in it, and stopped close enough that her skirts brushed his knee. Her hand settled on the back of his neck, cool against the leftover heat still coming off him, and her thumb started moving there in a small circle she clearly was not aware of either.

"Allan." Lira’s voice came out thin, her fingers still resting on the spot that had not given. "I am sorry. It is because of me, of how weak I am..."

He did not look up. The rasp that answered barely sounded like him. "No, no, do not say that. I am the one who should be sorry to all three of you." He stopped, swallowed blood and something metallic underneath it. "But I swear, I will never, and I mean never, let this happen again."

Everyone nodded right away. Lira’s hand kept its place, not trembling exactly, just staying, like she was standing guard over the part of him that would not come back right. Seris’s grip on his forearm did not loosen. Amelia’s thumb kept its small, unconscious circle at his neck. Three different ways of not being fine, all running at once, and the room got heavier for it instead of lighter.

He tried to stay upright and managed something close to a smile, but it did not hold.

"I will be stronger, much more..." Before he could say anymore, his vision pulled in from the edges. He felt three sets of hands, one on his ribs, one locked around his arm, one at his neck. He heard someone say his name.

I will become stronger and protect you all, he thought, and then darkness.

***

After a while, he came back to the sharp bite of antiseptic and the low steady glow of a crystal telephone already lit on a side table. Not his bedroom, but a narrow medical cot in a side chamber of the Arclight manor. The Viscount of the Arclight family, Amelia’s father, sat across from him in a high-backed chair, composed, waiting.

Allan’s first instinct was to sit up. His left side refused. A hard, unfamiliar limit sat under the bandages where the worst of the damage had been. He pushed through it halfway, breathed once through the spike of pain, and tried again slower.

"No need to push yourself. You can lie down, Baron Allan." he said, pushing Allan back to the bed.

"Wh-why am I here?"

He smiled. "Well, Amelia brought you here and told me, sorry, no, shouted at me to give you all the care you need, even using up all the precious healing potions I stored up."

Allan smiled as well. "She did, but she was also injured. How is she?"

"It has already been a week, so she is fine." he admitted.

"A week?" Allan said, waking up from his bed as the pain flared once more.

"Stay down," he said, gently pushing him down on the bed. "We already spent a fortune and tears from my daughter, so please." he said.

Allan nodded, easing back and taking a relaxing breath in and out. He closed his eyes for a few seconds until a familiar light forced his eyes to open.

"Is that?"

"Yes, I brought this here." he gestured at the crystal. "The Duke is on the open channel. He has held it for you specifically. Speak."

The connection resolved. The Duke’s voice came through measured and, underneath the formality, something that sounded like it meant to be personal.

"Lord Allan of House Oakwood. I owe you an apology. You are a noble under my protection, and the attack on Oakwood should never have reached your gates. That failure sits with me."

Allan had spent every rung of his climb calculating, never expecting anyone above him to claim responsibility for anything. Hearing it now did not sit easy. Not even a single bit.

"Your presence is required at a meeting in the coming days. Details through the proper channels." A pause. "Until then, recover. That is not a request. It is an order."

The channel closed. The chamber went quiet.

Allan pushed the words out while he still had the strength for them. "The Hero, the man who led the attack, before the end, he mentioned Kael. I already told you about Kael and what her cult is after."

Arclight listened without interrupting. "Are you sure the man was related to her and the cult?"

"I am a thousand percent sure."

"I see. Do not worry. The Adventurer Guild has been disbanded in this state, effective immediately. The other guild leaders are already in custody, awaiting trial. What happened at Oakwood was the last piece of evidence we needed."

Allan sat with that a moment, the dead crystal in front of him and the raw spot on his ribs that Lira’s fingers had found still aching under his shirt.

A century-old Guild had come apart because of what happened in his hallway a week ago. It was hard to digest in many ways.

He did not try to weigh it on himself. He put his palm flat on the edge of the cot, pushed himself up, and this time he stood on the first try.

Arclight rose, adjusted his cuffs. "Rest well, Lord Oakwood. I will inform Amelia of your condition." The door closed softly behind him.

Allan stood from the bed and stayed on his feet. The left side still groaned, a deep, grinding warning every time he shifted weight. He tested a slow step. Then another.

He walked to the narrow window. Outside, the manor grounds were lit by the usual ward-lamps. There were no bodies. No blood. The fight had never reached this far. Which meant they targeted him specially. Yes, it was his problem, but he would make it his problem now. He was going to make it the empire’s problem and let them deal with them.

"I will destroy you. I will hunt every one of you. I swear on it, on my mother’s name."

A soft knock came at the door. It was not the usual noble knock.

"Come in."

Lira entered first, still in the sling, face set in the expression she used when she was refusing to show how much something hurt, and then Seris followed, limping less than before but still favoring the leg, and then Amelia closed the door behind them and stayed near it, as if she expected someone else to try walking in.

None of them spoke right away. Lira crossed to the cot, checked the bandages with quick, professional motions, then looked up at his face.

"Why did you stand up too soon? You still need to rest."

"I know. I know." he said, going back to the bed, his earlier rage slowing down with a smile.

Seris leaned against the wall, arms folded. "The Viscount’s people already took statements from the survivors. They are treating the Guild’s collapse as closed. No public inquiry into how an S-rank adventurer team got that deep into a noble estate."

Amelia’s voice was quieter. "They are calling it an internal purge. The official story is that the Guild leadership turned on itself. Your name stays out of the first reports."

Allan nodded once. That was the correct political move. Keep the Viscount’s house clean, keep the new variable, him, under control until the larger pieces settled. He did not resent it. Resentment was a luxury that got people killed.

Lira’s good hand found the edge of the cot and stayed there. "I felt it in our house. How much function did you lose?"

He considered lying but after a pause, decided against it. "I thought the side effect would take more, but the range of motion on the left side is slightly reduced. Strength is still there though, but the recovery time on any new injury will be slower, even with healing potions." he said with a smile.

There was a pause as he looked around at their expressions, going down.

"Girls..." he called. "Why the sad face? We survived. That is what counts. So."

He placed a hand on Lira’s shoulder, holding her chin and slowly lifting it up. "Cheer up."

Seris’s jaw tightened. Amelia looked away toward the window for a second, then back.

"We will start training right away," Lira said. Practical. Immediate. "And you will train us. Agreed?"

"Hu—"

"Please!" All of them beckoned, leaving Allan speechless for a couple of seconds.

"...Agreed."

Silence settled again.

"Allan." Lira called.

He waited.

"You do not have to carry the whole weight alone. Not anymore."

He did not answer that. There was not a clean answer that would not sound like either arrogance or weakness.

She came close, close enough that he could hear her breathing, and just like that, he felt her warm lips at his cheek. Then she left before the silence stretched too long.

"My turn," Seris said quickly, giving Allan a kiss on his other cheek and running away.

Amelia’s face was already red, not knowing what to say or do. But she knew what to do as she did not want to be left behind.

"I guess it is my turn then." she said, coming close and kissing Allan’s forehead. "R-rest well, Allan."

With those words, she too scurried away, leaving Allan with a smile, a genuine smile.