The man's eyes narrowed. This was Tadeo Starcrest—patriarch of one of the Five Great Families of Krythos, and a Level 9 powerhouse.

"General Jerome," Tadeo's voice was cool, "your army storms the Wandering Fellowship, and now you show up at my home in the dead of night. It doesn't sound like you're here to explain—it sounds like you're here to accuse."

"I wouldn't dare," Jerome replied evenly. "But I've discovered the Fellowship has been embedding spies in the military, suspected of colluding with the Mutant Beast King."

He paused, his eyes never leaving Tadeo. "Your family gave those exiles shelter, supported them, kept close ties. I don't believe the Starcrests would ever betray Krythos—but if the wrong rumors spread, public opinion could ruin your reputation. That's why I came. To hear it from you."

"If I had known they were colluding with beasts or planting spies," Tadeo snapped, "I would have slaughtered them myself before you ever intervened."

Around him, Timothy and the other Starcrests kept their heads low, their eyes sharp. They knew their father was livid, though his voice remained steady.

Jerome stood silently, smiling as if waiting for something more.

The stillness stretched, heavy and suffocating, until Tadeo finally asked, each word deliberate: "Isn't that enough for you?"

Jerome's smile faded into severity. "Not enough."

Tadeo's lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. "You want me to swear it on my soul?"

A Level 9 Awakener's spiritual core was their soul—an oath sworn on it was absolute, its truth perceptible to another of equal rank.

The request was not just bold. It was fucking arrogant.

Jerome's words hadn't been loud, nor openly disrespectful, but Tadeo felt the insult burn in his bones. His fighting spirit surged, rippling outward, pressing against every corner of the garden.

Though he hadn't moved a step, Jerome could hear it—the thunder of warhorses, the roar of tens of thousands charging, the suffocating aura of a battlefield descending on him.

Timothy and the others had already retreated, watching from a distance, nerves stretched tight as bowstrings.

The two men stood locked in silence. Then Jerome slowly unfurled the scroll from his waist, whispering softly:

"Peace is the most precious thing."

The words carried weight, power—something almost supernatural. The crushing aura shattered, dissipating in an instant, as if a balloon had burst.

The night air was still again.

Tadeo studied Jerome for a long moment. At last, he exhaled deeply, the edge in his eyes fading, replaced with weary disappointment.

"Jerome," he said, his voice heavy, "you're formidable. But don't forget—Krythos made you what you are."

Jerome straightened, his reply firm. "I never forget."

Tadeo's mouth twisted into something between a sneer and a bitter smile. "Then you should obey the Senate. Not run around doing whatever the hell you please."

For a long time, Jerome said nothing. Then, his voice dropped to steel.

"Krythos trained me. So I serve Krythos. But the Senate does not equal Krythos."

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Tadeo barked a laugh, sharp and mocking. "If the House of Lords doesn't represent Krythos, then who does? You? Jerome?"

Jerome shook his head. "The billions of people who live on this land. They are Krythos. Without them, there is nothing to represent."

For the first time, a flicker of helplessness crossed Tadeo's hard eyes. He gave a small, bitter smile and gestured toward the hall.

"Then… go ahead, Mr. Tadeo."

......

Ten minutes later, under the weight of everyone's mixed gazes, Jerome gave a slight bow.

"Excuse me," he said simply, before slipping into the night.

As he vanished into the darkness, the horizon began to stir with the first pale streaks of dawn.

"Don't breathe a word of what happened tonight. Keep it within the family." Timothy's expression was cold, though a flicker of unease still lingered in his eyes.

At his side, his younger brother Todd leaned closer, whispering, "Brother… why? Is there something to worry about?"

Timothy dismissed the others with a casual wave. Once they were alone, he let out a sharp, humorless breath. "If there was something wrong, do you think Jerome would've just walked away? Father swore on his soul—but there's nothing glorious about that."

Todd fell silent, bowed, and departed without another word.

Timothy lingered, then slowly made his way into the back garden. There, he found Tadeo—his own father, yet outwardly more vigorous than him—sitting in thought beneath the pale light of dawn.

"Jerome has gone too far," Timothy muttered.

Tadeo glanced at him, calm as still water. "From an Awakened's perspective," he said evenly, "I admire him."

Timothy blinked, momentarily stunned by the response.

Tadeo rose to his feet, whatever faint dejection he'd shown earlier now gone without a trace. His voice carried the weight of command again. "You've been buried in politics for too long. Reaching the ninth level is beyond you now. But the younger ones—those with true potential—must be kept far away from this mire of politics."

Timothy bowed deeply. "Understood."

Tadeo turned his gaze to the path Jerome had taken and said slowly, "There must not be another Jerome. Especially not in the military."

Timothy remained silent. He knew his father was right. Once, the military had been the obedient arm of the Senate. But ever since Jerome had reached the ninth level and risen to command, things had shifted. His actions had unsettled the old balance, angering many of the lesser families. Still, Timothy had never imagined he'd be bold enough to come to Starcrest Manor itself and force his father into a soul oath.

"I never expected Jared to harbor such filth," Timothy muttered, speaking of The Wandering Fellowship. His eyes narrowed with cold anger.

"Jared was nothing but a clown," Tadeo replied dismissively. "Send Terrence to this year's academy competition."

Timothy's head snapped up in surprise. Terrence was his grandson, twenty-three, a top student at Everton War Academy. Normally, sons of great houses didn't bother with such contests. Their bloodlines and training already placed them above students of ordinary schools, and the rewards were trivial compared to what the Starcrest family could provide.

"The beast tide will rise again soon," Tadeo continued. "The academy is spending heavily to prepare. Make the arrangements."

Timothy bowed his head. "Yes, Father."

......

The Wandering Fellowship

By the time Jerome arrived, the battle was long over.

"General," a military investigator reported quickly, "aside from Jared, all members have been captured alive. We moved too fast for them to destroy much—our men have already secured a large cache of intelligence."

He handed Jerome a tablet with data scrolling across the screen. "We've identified several spies. Three Awakened managed to escape: two Level Fives and one Level Six."

He hesitated, then added, "The Stormhold Imperium's escapees in Langford remain cooperative, no issues uncovered. Virelia still has some resistance activity, but they're cooperating as well."

Jerome gave a curt nod. "Add the fugitives to the wanted list. Remind all units—if they encounter them, they're free to kill on sight. Civilian casualties must be avoided, but hesitation is not an option."

The officer saluted sharply and hurried away.

Jerome turned to Nolan. "Explain the operation to the Remington family. Coordinate with them to arrange a press conference. The Wandering Fellowship is a large organization—this will spark outrage. The public deserves clarity."

With that, Jerome strode away from the site, leaving Nolan to handle the aftermath.

Nolan's gaze swept over the remaining officers. "Mr. Xander, step forward."

Xander stiffened, then strode over, his eyes alight with barely contained excitement. The Obsidian team's intelligence had proven invaluable—Nolan wouldn't be calling him over without cause.

He straightened his back, acutely aware of the envious stares from the other squad leaders. Tonight, their hard work might finally be recognized.

"Your Obsidian team played a crucial role in this operation. I've already filed for an A-level military merit with General Jerome."

Even though Xander had braced himself for good news, the words still hit him like a hammer. He sucked in a sharp breath. An A-level merit wasn't something just any unit could dream of—only the very top combat teams across the Whisper Syndicate ever received one.

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