James stood frozen, his eyes locked on the markings carved into the wall. His chest rose and fell sharply, disbelief painting his features. Arts, actual arts, inscribed right there before him. His voice came out low, almost reverent, "Was it… the Lord's clone that did this?"

He didn't linger on the question. Deep down, he already knew the answer. Only Leon could have left such a gift behind. James stepped closer, his gaze tracing the etchings, the strokes that seemed almost alive with intent. I wonder what grade it is… he thought, awe and curiosity wrestling within him.

"Captain," Carl's voice broke the silence, urgent. "There's more here."

James's head snapped around, his heart kicking in his chest. He strode to where Carl stood and froze again. Another art. Entirely separate, yet just as profound. The thought that struck him next felt impossible, and yet the evidence spread before him left no room for denial.

Slowly, James pressed his palms together. The fireball in his hand flickered and died, plunging the chamber into darkness. Carl shifted uneasily behind him, but James shut his eyes and began an incantation in a language Carl didn't recognize, the syllables rolling off his tongue like whispers from an ancient time.

When he opened his eyes, the chamber bloomed with light. Countless specks of flame floated into the air, scattering across the room like stars cast against a night sky. The glow revealed everything the fireball could not, and both men's eyes widened.

Every wall, every surface, was covered. Arts, dozens of them, each form profound, each stroke precise. It was as if Leon had poured out an entire lifetime of mastery into this hidden chamber.

Carl's voice trembled as he spoke. "How… how can one person know so many arts?"

James didn't answer. His throat was too tight, his thoughts too tangled. He already knew the truth. A professional could only impart an art if they had mastered it themselves. And the sheer number here meant Leon, their Lord had grasped far more than any man his age had a right to.

James blinked rapidly, his vision blurring. His eyes burned, moisture threatening to spill. His voice cracked with quiet devotion as he whispered, "Even in your absence… you still look after us."

"Captain," Carl's voice came again, softer this time. He pointed to a corner of the wall where the script shifted. This wasn't an art. It was a note.

James stepped closer, his breath held.

The world requires power for one to survive in it, so I left you a means to achieve that power.

The words were blunt, straightforward, and utterly Leon. Always direct. Always cutting past anything unnecessary.

James lowered his head, bowing to the writing as though it were Leon himself standing there. His voice rang with solemnity, steady despite the swell of emotion inside him. "Thank you"

Then he turned to Carl, who still stood in shock. "Get the others here. We have a lot to do."

Carl nodded sharply. "Yes, Captain." He hurried out, his footsteps echoing as he vanished up the stairway, leaving James alone with the glowing chamber.

James stood silently, his eyes sweeping across the walls, across the future written into stone by their Lord's hand. A future not just for him, not just for the squad, but for all of Shantel.

And he knew, they had been entrusted with something that could change everything.

****

Outside the manor, the people of Shantel had gathered. Whispers carried through the crowd, nervous and restless. They had all heard it, the distant roar of battle, the earth-shaking chaos that erupted deep in the forest. Even from so far away, the signs of devastation were clear. Yet none of it had reached them. Their homes stood untouched, their families unharmed. For that, there was only one explanation.

Their new lord.

Leon.

"I wonder why we were called here…" one man muttered.

"Maybe the Lord wishes to explain what happened there"

"Hah. Why would someone like him waste time with us commoners?"

The words drew a small hush, though not from fear, more from disapproval. Then, a lighter, smaller voice broke through. "Excuse me…"

A young boy stood near the front, his hand clutched tightly in his mother's grasp. Pascal. If Leon had been there, he would have recognized the boy instantly. Samantha, his mother, held his shoulder protectively, but her son's eyes were steady as he looked toward the crowd.

"Lord Leon would never disregard his followers," Pascal said firmly, his voice carrying more weight than his years. "No matter how powerful he becomes, he will always remain benevolent."

The scoffing man sneered. "And how would a child like you know that?"

Pascal didn't flinch. "Because the Lord rescued me himself."

The answer silenced the man. A murmur spread through the crowd, but before anyone else could speak, the manor doors groaned open.

Every neck craned. Expectation filled the air, hearts beating faster. Surely, surely it would be him.

But it wasn't.

James stepped out, flanked by his squad. The atmosphere shifted in an instant. Excitement dulled into disappointment, the faces of many—especially Pascal, falling as if a flame had been snuffed out.

James drew in a breath, squared his shoulders, and cleared his throat. "Ahem." The murmuring stilled. Dozens of eyes fixed on him. He felt the weight of it, their silent plea for reassurance.

And then he spoke.

"Lord Leon… is no longer with us."

****

The courtyard of the manor fell utterly silent as James's words rang out.

"Lord Leon is no longer with us."

For a breath, no one moved. It was as if time itself had stopped. Then, a single voice shattered the stillness.

"What!?"

Ironically, it came from the very man who had scoffed earlier, the one who claimed Leon wouldn't bother with commoners. His face drained of color, his voice cracked, and the strong front he had worn crumbled in an instant.

His fear spread like wildfire. Murmurs turned to panicked chatter, and soon the air was choked with questions.

"What happened!?"

"Is this even possible?"

"A Rank Six professional—how could he just…?"

The disbelief was heavy, almost suffocating. Their Lord had been untouchable in their eyes, the one who had stood against the abomination without hesitation. To imagine him gone now was like imagining the sky itself falling.

James clenched his jaw, realizing too late how his choice of words had struck them. He raised his voice over the growing unease. "Not like that!"

The crowd quieted just enough for him to continue. His tone steadied, though the weight in his chest did not ease.as he explained everything.

Relief flickered in some faces at the thought he hadn't been slain, but it quickly soured into fresh unease. Gone was gone. Whether by death or any other means, the truth remained the same: Leon was no longer with them.

Mothers pulled their children closer. Farmers exchanged grim looks. Pascal's small hand tightened around his mother's, his wide eyes searching James's face for some hint of hope.

But James had none to give.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.