Thorne perched on the rooftop, his glowing eyes fixed on the chaos below. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting the city in hues of orange and red. Smoke curled up from the Braddock estate, blending with the fading light as if the building itself bled into the evening sky.

He didn't move, didn't flinch, as the scene unfolded. Servants scrambled desperately to douse the flames, buckets of water seeming laughably small against the roaring fire. He watched their frantic movements, their shouts blending into the cacophony of the battlefield, and felt... nothing.

At the destroyed side gate, Braddock guards were locked in a brutal fight with Ravencourt soldiers. Their armor gleamed in the dying light, silver clashing against black, but Thorne knew it wouldn't last.

From his vantage point, Thorne could see everything. The orderly Ravencourt ranks tightened, and their forces shifted. Soldiers peeled away from the main assault on the front gate, slipping around the estate to capitalize on the chaos Thorne had sown. The Braddock guards, valiant as they were, couldn't hold them back.

The clash of swords was underscored by bursts of aetheric energy as warriors unleashed their skills. A Braddock guard surged forward, his blade glowing faintly as he activated a skill, driving his weapon through the armor of a Ravencourt soldier. The man crumpled, but before the guard could step back, another black-cloaked soldier shouted, his shield shimmering with Aetheric Reinforcement. The shield slammed into the guard, sending him sprawling into the dirt.

Thorne's eyes flicked to the breach he had created. The side gate, now mangled and barely recognizable, had become a funnel for Ravencourt reinforcements. The moment the Braddock soldiers had rushed to plug the breach he had made, they'd sealed their fate. They were split now, fighting on two fronts.

The side gate was now an open wound for the defenders. The black tide poured through, their numbers splitting the Braddock defenders into fractured groups. A Ravencourt warrior stepped forward, raising his axe as a golden aura surrounded him, a Cleave skill. With one swing, he cut through two guards at once, blood spraying across the cobblestones.

Near the main gate, a Braddock officer barked orders, his voice hoarse but commanding. Thorne could hear every word, his enhanced senses picking up the conversation even amidst the clamor of battle.

"Hold the line! Send word for reinforcements!" the officer shouted, pointing to a younger soldier. The youth hesitated, his fear written plainly across his face.

Thorne's jaw clenched. He knew reinforcements wouldn't come; he had made sure of that. The alarm bell was already dismantled, and the few Braddock soldiers in the estate not fighting in the two fronts were already occupied inside the house trying to protect their lord from the roaring fires.

The young soldier broke away from the line, sprinting toward the courtyard's bell. As he moved, a Ravencourt soldier raised his arm, a faint glow surrounding him as he activated Throwing Blade. A knife zipped through the air, aimed at the runner's exposed back.

The Braddock soldier twisted at the last second, another glow surrounding him as he reflexively triggered Evasive Roll. The blade grazed his shoulder, tearing through his armor but leaving him alive.

The Braddock guards near the main gate fought valiantly, but their movements were sluggish compared to the relentless precision of the Ravencourt host. One Braddock warrior activated Aetheric Shield, his shield being surrounded by a glowing barrier absorbing a hail of arrows. But the shield flickered after only a few moments, shattering as a Ravencourt archer triggered Piercing Arrow, sending a bolt through the guard's throat.

At the side gate, the chaos was even worse. Braddock soldiers tried to form a defensive line, their swords glowing faintly as they activated Sword Mastery but they were outnumbered and outmatched. A Ravencourt captain bellowed, activating War Cry, the crimson energy radiating from him sending a surge of adrenaline through his troops. They charged forward with renewed fervor, their swords glowing with various combat skills as they hacked through the remaining defenders.

Both sides used their best skills, not sparing their stamina or aether, trying to overwhelm their opponent before it was too late. The Braddock soldiers were a tier above their enemies, with more powerful skills, but the sheer size of the Ravencourt host was too large.

Then it happened. The line broke.

The first wave of Ravencourt soldiers spilled into the estate, cutting down those who stood in their path. The Braddock defense crumbled like sand under the tide. Black-cloaked soldiers poured through the gates and into the courtyard, their swords glinting as they advanced with deadly precision.

Thorne watched it all from above, unmoving.

It should have felt satisfying. The plan had gone flawlessly. The breach he created had turned the tide of the battle in Ravencourt's favor, just as he'd intended. Yet, as he watched the flames climb higher, licking the estate's stone walls and consuming its grandeur, he felt a cold emptiness settling in his chest.

This was power. The ability to shape the course of events, to alter the lives of countless people with a few calculated moves. He had done this, no one else. And it was so easy.

Easy to destroy.

He clenched his fist, his glove creaking under the pressure. Is this what Uncle wanted? Is this what he meant when he said I had the potential to lead? Thorne's lips twisted into a bitter smile. Uncle might have been proud of him if he'd seen this, proud of his protégé becoming just as ruthless, just as cold.

But it wasn't pride he felt. It wasn't satisfaction either. It was... numbness.

Thorne's gaze dropped to the bodies littering the courtyard below. He saw a face he recognized. A Braddock guard who had once shared a drink with Jonah and Darius at Gilly's tavern lay sprawled on the ground, his chest cleaved open. A Ravencourt soldier who had been fighting with reckless abandon collapsed, clutching his throat as blood pooled around him.

They were all just pieces on the board.

Once, he might have cared. He might have felt guilt for the lives lost because of his actions. But now, standing above it all, he saw it for what it was. Necessary. A means to an end. Uncle had taught him well, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

He inhaled deeply, letting the acrid smell of smoke fill his lungs. The air carried with it the weight of his choices, but also a strange kind of clarity. What's one more body? What's one more ruined estate?

The Braddock defenders were either dead or in retreat, their last cries swallowed by the relentless tide of black-cloaked warriors. With no resistance left to slow them, the soldiers turned their attention to the estate itself.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Servants fled in every direction, their panicked screams rising above the crackle of fire. A group of Ravencourt soldiers chased a young maid across the courtyard, their laughter sharp and cruel. One soldier reached out, grabbing her by the hair and dragging her back as she thrashed and screamed. Thorne turned his gaze away, his jaw tightening, but he could still hear her pleas echoing in his ears.

Elsewhere, a Braddock stable hand tried to save the estate's prized horses, leading them out of the burning stables. He didn't make it far. A Ravencourt archer perched on the estate's wall loosed an arrow, striking him in the back. The boy collapsed, the reins slipping from his hands as the frightened horses bolted into the chaos.

The soldiers didn't stop there. They ransacked the estate with brutal efficiency, smashing through doors and overturning furniture. Valuable paintings were torn from the walls, and silver candlesticks were stuffed into sacks.

Thorne watched as the tide of violence spread, his expression calm. This was no longer a battle; it was a purge, an annihilation of a family and its legacy.

A commotion near the estate's grand doors drew Thorne's attention. A pair of Ravencourt soldiers emerged, dragging two figures behind them. Lord Braddock and his wife.

The once-proud noble lord was unrecognizable. His fine clothes were torn and smeared with soot, his face streaked with blood and ash. His wife fared no better, her hair disheveled, her gown ripped, and her terrified sobs cutting through the chaos.

Thorne leaned forward, his Veil Sense expanding to take in the scene below. He could feel the erratic pulses of their cores, fear and panic radiating off them like a beacon.

The soldiers threw the couple to the ground in the center of the courtyard, their faces pressed into the dirt. Lord Braddock struggled to rise, only for a soldier to kick him back down, the blow striking his ribs with a sickening crack. His wife reached for him, but another soldier stomped on her hand, eliciting a scream of pain.

A Ravencourt captain stepped forward, his black armor gleaming in the firelight. He drew his sword with deliberate slowness, the blade catching the light as he raised it high. Lord Braddock turned his head, his soot-streaked face contorted with desperation.

"Please!" the nobleman rasped, his voice barely audible over the chaos. "We surrender! There's no need for this..."

The captain's blade came down, cutting through the lord's plea and his neck in one clean stroke. Blood sprayed across the cobblestones, and Lady Braddock's scream was cut short as another soldier grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to watch.

Thorne's hand tightened into a fist as the captain moved to the trembling woman. She begged incoherently, her words slurred and broken by sobs. The captain's sword swung again, and the courtyard fell silent, save for the crackle of flames and the faint clatter of steel.

From his perch, Thorne didn't flinch, didn't look away. The sight of the noble couple's lifeless bodies, their faces frozen in terror and pain, stirred something deep within him, something he couldn't quite name.

They were just pawns, he told himself. Casualties in a game far larger than themselves. But even as he thought it, he couldn't shake the faint hollow feeling creeping through him.

His glowing eyes narrowed as he watched the captain wipe his blade on the fallen lord's tunic before turning back to his soldiers, barking orders to continue the looting. Thorne exhaled sharply, shoving his unease aside.

This was war. And in war, sacrifices had to be made.

And yet, even as he turned away, moving toward the edge of the rooftop to make his next move, the screams echoed in his ears. He couldn't tell if they were cries of the dying below or the faint whispers of a conscience he thought he'd silenced long ago.

Thorne leapt to the next building, his form vanishing into the shadows as the estate behind him burned.

*

Thorne approached the familiar estate with caution, his footsteps soundless as he navigated the eerily quiet street. To an outsider, the place appeared abandoned, no signs of life save for the mountain of bodies that lay scattered along the perimeter, grim evidence of the day's relentless fighting. But Thorne's Veil Sense told a different story.

Two dozen cores pulsed faintly in the darkness, their positions spread across the estate's periphery. Lost Ones were hidden in every shadow, lying in wait for any who dared approach.

As Thorne watched, a small group of Lockridge soldiers tried to cross the street, likely hoping to bypass the estate and regroup. They didn't make it far. Silent arrows found their marks, each soldier dropping mid-stride, their bodies joining the carnage below.

Thorne exhaled, his glowing eyes narrowing. "Still sharp," he murmured to himself as he activated Veil of Light and Shadow, slipping into stealth. He bypassed the main entrance, making his way to the service door, just like the one he had destroyed at another estate not long ago.

Scaling the four-meter wall, he landed without a sound on the other side. For a moment, he thought he'd gone unnoticed, but then his Veil Sense flared. One of the guards had detected him, their core surging as they activated a skill.

Thorne leapt sideways, his reflexes sharpened by his Combat Reflexes skill and enhanced agility, avoiding a concealed blade aimed for his ribs. A small smirk formed on his lips as he deactivated his stealth.

"Only one in four spotted me," he said, his tone mocking as he eyed the four Lost Ones who emerged from the shadows. A notification blinked in his vision:

Skill Level Up: Veil of Light and Shadow!

Two women and a man stood before him, all older recruits of the guild. Clarice, a blonde in her early thirties, scowled at him, her knuckles white around her blade.

Before they could retort, Thorne's smirk faded, his tone turning sharp. "Is Uncle here?"

Clarice straightened, her expression taut with frustration. "We don't know."

Thorne's glowing eyes narrowed. "You don't know?"

She shrugged, her lip curling slightly. "He didn't say. Our orders are to hold the estate at all costs."

Thorne pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily. "Great." Without another word, he marched toward the service door that led into Matilda's domain: the kitchen.

Two more Lost Ones guarded the door, their stances tense. Thorne had no patience left for games and announced himself before entering, avoiding another confrontation.

Inside, the usually bustling kitchen was unrecognizable. The smell of fresh bread and stew had been replaced with the acrid scent of blood and burnt fabric. Pots and utensils lay forgotten on the counters, and the warmth of the hearth felt distant and cold.

Faint noises drew Thorne deeper into the house, and as he turned a corner into the grand living room, the sight before him gave him pause.

The lavish space had been transformed into a makeshift infirmary. Wounded guards and Lost Ones lay sprawled across the floor, sofas, and chairs, their moans and cries of pain filling the air. Servants bustled about, their faces grim and hands stained red as they worked tirelessly to staunch bleeding and set broken bones.

Thorne's eyes landed on a familiar figure. Matilda, her neat bun disheveled, hurried between patients, her usually pristine apron smeared with blood. Before he could approach her, his gaze shifted to another figure lying still on a nearby couch.

Dallen.

Thorne's heart clenched as he rushed to his side, kneeling beside the man and touching his neck gently. A pulse. Relief flooded through him, and Dallen's eyes snapped open at the contact.

"You look worse than usual," Thorne said, his smirk weak but genuine.

Dallen's lips twitched into a faint grin. "You should see the other guy."

Thorne chuckled softly, though the sound was hollow. "Don't get too comfortable. I'm not carrying you out if this place goes under."

Dallen closed his eyes again, his voice barely above a whisper. "Good to see you too, Thorne."

Thorne patted his shoulder gently before rising and making his way to Matilda.

She didn't notice him at first, too preoccupied with tying off a bandage. When she finally looked up, her eyes widened, and she crossed the room in hurried steps, enveloping him in a tight hug.

"Thank the stars you're safe," she murmured, her hands patting him down as if to check for injuries.

"I'm fine," Thorne said, trying to extricate himself. "What's going on here?"

Matilda stepped back, her face weary but determined. "They're sending the wounded here. Those too far gone to make it back to the guild or too critical to move. We're expecting two healers soon, but until then, we're doing what we can."

Thorne nodded, his gaze sweeping over the room again. "And Uncle?"

Matilda's lips pressed into a thin line as she shook her head. "I don't know. He left without a word."

Before Thorne could ask further, Arletta entered the room, her usual air of control fractured. Her hair was loose, strands sticking to her sweat-dappled face, and she held a clipboard in one hand while a younger girl followed her, carrying towels and bandages.

"He's gone," Arletta said bluntly, her voice heavy with frustration.

"And he is waiting for you."

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.