Chapter 99: The Blood and the Feast

The magical distortion of the long-range teleportation performed by Lady Iris faded into a gentle breeze as Ethan stepped onto the damp grass of the eastern ridge. Rune trotted beside him, his small snout twitching as the crisp, cold air of the Northern Frontier replaced the warm aura of the Valerian estate.

No matter how many times she does that, it always feels ridiculous, Ethan thought, his mind lingering on how Iris was capable of flinging him thousands of kilometers across the continent with such effortless precision.

A few hundred feet down the hillside, Ethan spotted a solitary figure standing against the backdrop of the clearing sky. Luna stood motionless, her dark charcoal mourning robes tugging gently in the wind as she gazed over a fresh field of burial mounds.

Ethan paused, his dark eyes taking in the fifty pale blue markers gleaming under the pale afternoon sun. Even from a distance, he could feel the heavy mantle of grief surrounding her. Victory had come to House Bluemoon, but it had come with a staggering toll.

A sharp, familiar ache tightened inside Ethan’s chest. His fists clenched unconsciously at his sides. He carried the memories of a ruined past, yet the reality of war remained absolute. Sacrifices were inevitable, but knowing that truth did nothing to dull the quiet guilt settling in his soul. He took a slow breath, letting the cold air clear his mind, before walking quietly up the grassy rise. Rune followed quietly at his heels, unusually subdued as they approached.

Luna was so lost in her sorrow that she didn’t sense him until he reached the peak of the ridge. Her shoulders tensed slightly as a hand settled gently on her shoulder, providing a steady, grounding weight that anchored the spiraling grief inside her.

She turned her head, her breath catching softly as her crystal-blue eyes met Ethan’s calm gaze.

Without speaking a word, Ethan reached into his inner coat pocket, pulled out a crisp, folded white handkerchief, and held it out to her.

"It’s okay," he said softly, his voice quiet against the mountain wind.

Ethan stepped past her, facing the fifty fresh graves of the Bluemoon soldiers. Standing straight, he lowered his head and bowed deeply from the waist—a silent, solemn gesture of respect and an unspoken apology from a warrior who knew the true price of the blood spilled on this dirt.

Watching Ethan bow with such profound reverence for her fallen soldiers, Luna’s heart melted. She knew better than anyone that he had been the one fighting on the absolute front lines, risking everything to save her house. She reached out, taking the handkerchief from his hand, and gently dabbed away the single tear that had escaped down her cheek.

A few minutes passed as their emotions finally settled.

"It seems you’re back," she murmured, a deep, bone-weary relief easing the tension in her frame.

"Yes... we still have a deal to handle, after all," Ethan replied, looking back at her with a faint, playful smirk.

Luna glared at him with mild irritation.

"Hey, I was just kidding," Ethan raised his hands in defense, instantly worried he had crossed a line.

A soft chuckle escaped Luna’s lips as she watched his awkward attempt to comfort her with humor. The suffocating weight in the air loosened just enough for a genuine smile to break across her face. "Then let us head back down."

They began their walk down the winding dirt path toward the main estate grounds, side by side. There was no rush to fill the quiet evening air with meaningless words; the shared silence between them was comfortable and unhurried. Rune trotted happily between them, occasionally sniffing at the wild northern flowers lining the stone steps.

When the heavy wooden gates of the main courtyard swung open, a small delegation was already waiting.

Teresa, the Head Butler, and several veteran knights stared at Ethan in utter shock as he casually walked alongside Luna, suddenly realizing that their mysterious benefactor had returned. Overwhelmed with emotion, a few officers attempted to rush forward, but Luna and Ethan offered a subtle nod, signaling them to hold back for the moment.

A short distance away, Sir Peter stood near the steps of the main manor, flanked by Corbin and Drake. The moment the three veteran mercenaries laid eyes on the boy, their postures snapped rigid.

Drake’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, his breath hitching as he practically vibrated with the urge to leap forward and greet the legendary Successor. Beside him, Corbin’s jaw tightened, his gaze darting between Ethan’s nonchalant posture and Peter’s stoic face.

Drake took half a step forward, opening his mouth to blurt something out, but a sharp, imperious raised hand from Peter froze him instantly.

Peter offered Ethan a subtle, respectful nod—his eyes communicating a mountain of unasked questions while silently acknowledging that now was not the time. They were in a house of mourning; their ancient legacy would have to wait.

Ethan met Peter’s gaze with a subtle nod of his own, acknowledging the veteran’s restraint, before following Luna inside the manor.

Sir Ben walked at a gentle pace as he guided Ethan toward the guest chambers. When they reached the heavy oak door, the Head Butler stopped and turned to face the boy.

"Thank you, Young Master," Ben said softly. "If it weren’t for you... House Bluemoon would have ceased to exist."

Before Ethan could react, the old butler bowed deeply from the waist.

"No, Sir Ben, please get up—I didn’t do anything extraordinary," Ethan said hurriedly, reaching out to lift the elderly man.

"No, Young Master. What you did for us is something we can never truly repay," Ben insisted, his voice trembling slightly. "I only hope you will accept this old man’s gratitude."

Something shifted in Ethan’s eyes. He recalled how, in his past life, Luna would occasionally bring up her Head Butler with deep affection—recalling how he had managed the estate’s sprawling administrative burdens after her father’s sudden death, and how, despite possessing no martial cultivation, he had died like a true warrior protecting fleeing refugees from Count Thorn’s army.

"We are family from now on, Sir Ben," Ethan said, his voice calm and resolute. "And I consider Luna my friend. So... if you keep treating me like an outsider, I’ll be forced to accept your gratitude."

Hearing those words, the old butler straightened up quickly. "No, Young Master!" Tears streamed down his weathered face, but a brilliant, genuine smile broke through his emotional composure.

"Thank you," Sir Ben said, bowing once more as Ethan offered him a warm smile.

Standing around the corner of the corridor, having secretly followed them to ensure Ethan was settled, Luna watched the entire exchange. A soft, radiant smile bloomed across her face before she quietly turned around and slipped away to oversee the final arrangements for the evening.

By nightfall, the somber silence of the morning had yielded to the roaring hearths of the grand banquet hall.

The delayed victory feast was a sprawling, vibrant affair. Massive iron chandeliers hung from the high arched ceiling, casting a warm golden glow over long oak tables that groaned under the weight of the spread. There were platters of roasted wild boar glazed in dark honey, steaming tureens of creamy root vegetable soup, towers of crusty fresh-baked bread, and thick cuts of spiced northern beef that filled the air with a mouthwatering aroma.

At the high table overlooking the hall, Ethan sat between Luna and Sir Peter. Servants moved swiftly through the rows, pouring dark crimson wine into the silver goblets of the battle-hardened knights.

When a servant reached Ethan, however, they set down a polished wooden cup and filled it to the brim with sweet, chilled berry juice.

Ethan stared blankly at the dark purple liquid, then at the heavy silver wine chalices surrounding him. A deadpan expression crossed his face—a stark, absurdly human reminder that despite his battle intent, his past-life memories, and his terrifying prowess, he was still legally a child sitting among scarred veteran soldiers.

Sir Peter caught the look and let out a rare, low rumble of a chuckle into his beard, raising his own goblet in a silent salute before taking a heavy gulp.

At the center of the high table, Countess Luna stood up. She had traded her mourning robes for a formal blue and silver tunic, her spear resting against the wall behind her seat. As she raised her glass high into the air, the roaring chatter throughout the massive hall died down instantly. Every eye in the room fixed upon their young ruler.

"To the Black Reaper!" a burly Great Knight roared from the back tables, locking eyes with Ethan.

"To the Black Reaper!" dozens of veteran soldiers echoed within seconds—men who had witnessed the terrifying figure in black armor stand between the Bluemoon forces and Thorn’s army like an unyielding god of death.

Ethan blinked in confusion, a subtle twitch crossing his brow as he glanced at Luna. Instead of helping him, Luna offered a brilliant, toothy smile and raised her glass higher, joining in on the cheer.

"To the Black Reaper!" she chimed in playfully.

"And to the Silver Phantom!" the soldiers shouted next, looking down at Rune, who had torn through Thorn’s vanguard like a streak of lightning. Rune let out a proud, high-pitched yip from beside Ethan’s chair, enjoying the attention immensely.

"To Countess Luna! To Sir Peter!" another officer bellowed.

"To the Frostmoon Phoenix!" the soldiers roared back, bestowing the legendary title upon Luna as they cheered wildly for their young Countess.

Now it was Ethan’s turn to smirk. He looked over at Luna, whose face had instantly flushed bright crimson at the embarrassing grandiosity of her new title.

"HOUSE BLUEMOON!" the entire hall thundered in unison.

The roaring shout echoed off the stone walls, a swelling tide of raw, collective pride and relief that shook the heavy roof rafters. Soldiers slammed their cups together, wine sloshing over the edges as weeks of desperate fear and bitter fighting finally washed away in a single moment of triumph.

Luna smiled warmly, letting the joyful noise wash over the hall for several long moments before slowly lowering her glass just a fraction. Her expression softened into something far more solemn, her gaze sweeping across the faces of the men and women who had survived.

"And to those who bought this night with their blood," Luna spoke, her clear voice carrying over the quieted room. "May the Great Forge keep them warm, and may their names never fade from our halls."

"To the fallen!" the hall echoed back in a low, reverent rumble. Every warrior, noble, and servant raised their glass, drinking deep in solemn unity.

As the night wore on, the grand feast settled into a rich, bittersweet rhythm. In the center of the hall, laughter boomed as knights reenacted key clashes from the siege, boasting of close calls and miraculous strikes. Yet in the quieter alcoves along the perimeter, older veterans and surviving family members sat together, speaking softly and raising quiet toasts to the friends and brothers who were no longer there to share the bread.

The deep grief of the morning and the fierce joy of the evening existed side by side, neither canceling the other out. Sitting quietly at the high table, sipping his berry juice while Rune happily devoured a roasted turkey leg beside his chair, Ethan watched the room with a calm, watchful eye.

House Bluemoon had been saved. The eastern trade routes remained secure, Thorn’s tyranny had been shattered, and a future that had once ended in blood and ruin had been rewritten.