Chapter 163 - 110 : Year 19 - 25 Scars of war

Chapter 163: Chapter 110 : Year 19 - 25 Scars of war

Lucian learned of his uncle’s death not long afterward.

The Viscount had been part of Lucian’s life for as long as he could remember. He had watched him grow, corrected him when he made mistakes, offered advice when he needed it, and never treated him as though the distance between their positions made them strangers.

Lucian had grown accustomed to his uncle being there, whether at his father’s side or somewhere within the familiar life of the family. His uncle had always been part of his life, as natural a presence as his father himself and he had expected that to remain true for many years to come. The war had taught Lucian how suddenly a man could fall in battle, but knowing the danger was real had not prepared him for the thought that his uncle would never return.

Lucian was training when he first sensed that something was wrong. The camp had not fallen silent, but there was an uneasiness in the way the soldiers moved around him. A few glanced in his direction before turning away, their expressions troubled. Others spoke in low voices, stopping whenever someone approached. At first, he paid little attention to it. Then he caught fragments of a conversation as two soldiers passed nearby. He heard his uncle’s title, followed by a few words that made his heart skip a beat.

For a moment, he stood motionless, trying to make sense of what he had heard. He wanted to ask them what had happened, to make them repeat the words so he could be certain he had misunderstood. Yet he was afraid of what their answer might be. He could not bring himself to ask. Instead, he abandoned his training and hurried toward the command tent, his thoughts racing ahead of him. With every step, he tried to convince himself that the rumors were wrong, that there had been some mistake and his uncle was still alive.

When he reached the command tent, he found his father with several officers, examining reports and discussing the army’s next movements. The Count was still at work, listening to the men before him and responding with his usual composure. For a moment, Lucian hesitated at the entrance, uncertain how to approach him or what to say. Then his father looked up and saw him.

"Father..."

The Count gave him a small nod.

It was only a simple gesture, yet when Lucian met his father’s eyes, the words he had been about to speak caught in his throat. His father had always carried himself with a steadiness that made even difficult circumstances seem manageable. Now, that same gaze held a weariness Lucian had never seen in him before. His father was keeping himself together, continuing with the work before him, but the pain behind his eyes was impossible to mistake.

Lucian had been devastated by the news, but standing before his father, he began to understand the depth of what had been lost. His uncle had been part of his life since childhood. For his father, he had been there from the beginning, a brother who had shared his youth, his hardships, and nearly every Chapter of his life. Lucian looked at his father’s face and found himself at a loss. He wanted to say something, to offer some comfort, but nothing came to mind. For the first time, he understood that some grief was too deep for words to reach.

The death of the Viscount had left House Veymont with another loss as well. The Force Tempering retainer who had died after reaching the camp had been one of the family’s most valuable martial assets. His strength had not made him invincible, and the circumstances of his death demonstrated why the family had never regarded even its strongest warriors as men who could be sent into battle without careful thought. He had survived the fighting long enough to reach friendly lines, but the injuries he carried were beyond what his body could endure.

The two deaths were felt throughout the household.

With the loss of the Viscount and the other veteran martial artist, House Veymont had lost two of the four Force Tempering martial artists who had stood at the heart of its strength. The consequences reached beyond the grief of those who had known them personally.

For a house whose standing had long rested on its ability to protect its territory and command the respect of its peers, losing half its strongest martial force was a blow that could not easily be repaired. The family remained powerful, its lands intact and its name respected, but it was no longer as strong as it had been before the war.

House Veymont had gone to war with four Force Tempering martial artists: the Count, his younger brother, and two senior retainers. By the time the campaign ended, only two remained. The Count had survived, but the war had taken its toll on him, and he would return home changed by everything he had endured.

For all the victories proclaimed by Enwitra, the cost to House Veymont was plain.

The family returned home bearing the scars of war.

The castle gates opened to receive the returning lord and his surviving soldiers. The people of Veymont gathered to welcome them home, offering greetings and prayers of gratitude that the war had finally ended. Families searched among the returning ranks for husbands, sons, brothers, and fathers, some rushing forward when they recognized a familiar face, others holding back until they could be certain their loved ones had truly returned. Not everyone came home on their own feet.

Wagons rolled through the gates carrying wounded soldiers who could no longer ride, some pale from blood loss, others too badly injured to stand. Those who had survived the fighting but lost an arm, suffered lasting damage to a leg, or been left with wounds that would never fully heal were helped down and guided toward waiting hands. Their families were relieved to see them alive, yet the joy of reunion was often mixed with the quiet realization of how much the war had taken from them.

Other wagons carried the bodies of men who had not survived. Where possible, their comrades had recovered them so they could be returned to their families and laid to rest among their own people. For some, the sight of a familiar face brought grief that had been held back through weeks or months of uncertainty. Wives broke down beside the wagons, parents clung to the bodies of their sons, and brothers stood speechless before the men they had hoped to welcome home. Others searched the returning soldiers and the wagons for someone who was not there. They asked questions, waited for explanations, and listened as officers described what little was known.

Some had been lost in battles where the fighting was too fierce for their bodies to be recovered; others had disappeared during retreats or in places the survivors had been unable to reach. For those families, there was no body to bury and no final moment of farewell, only the painful uncertainty of not knowing exactly how their loved ones had died. The war was over, but as the people of Veymont gathered their wounded, mourned their dead, and searched for those who would never return, its cost became painfully clear.

The changes were felt throughout Castle Veymont. Fewer guards walked the courtyards, familiar faces were missing from the household, and some of those who had returned would never again serve as they once had. Yet it was during the family’s evening meals that the loss seemed to settle most heavily over the castle.

The dining hall had always been a place where the family came together, whenever their duties and circumstances allowed. Even when the day had kept them apart, they could sit around the same table, share a meal, and catch up on what had happened in one another’s lives. Talk might begin with the affairs of the estate, turn to a matter concerning the lands or soldiers, then drift toward something more personal. The Count and his brother often found themselves on opposite sides of a discussion, while Lucian listened, offered his own thoughts, or found himself drawn into their disagreements. Others joined in as the conversation moved around the table, and even the children added their voices to the familiar bustle. It was an ordinary part of their lives, something they had grown so accustomed to that none of them had ever needed to think about it.

Now, the Viscount’s place remained empty, and the difference reached beyond the absence of his voice. Meals that had once been filled with conversation often passed in long stretches of silence. The Count spoke when there was something that needed saying, but he rarely carried a conversation further than necessary. Lucian sometimes tried to draw the others into a discussion, bringing up a matter from the estate or asking about something that had happened during the day, but the exchanges often faded after a few replies. Before long, everyone would return to their meal, and the quiet would settle over the table again.

The children did not always understand the change. Sometimes their voices and playful chatter briefly broke through the silence, bringing a little life back to the hall. At other times, even they seemed to sense the subdued mood and grew quieter, leaving only the faint clink of utensils against plates and the occasional movement of a servant. No one asked for the Viscount or spoke openly about how much his absence was felt. They did not need to. The family had shared too many meals with him for his place at the table to feel like just another empty seat.

The duties he had left behind would eventually be taken up by others, and the household would, in time, find a new rhythm. But those changes could not restore the ease that had once come so naturally to their gatherings. The family could continue with its life, yet whenever they sat down together, there was a place in their familiar circle that no one else could truly fill.