Meanwhile, back at the Land of Luminous Flame…
The sea had long swallowed the silhouettes of Leo and his companions.
Two days had passed since their ship vanished beyond the horizon, yet the absence they left behind felt far heavier than time could measure. The wind that once carried laughter and voices now drifted through Lucindor in uneasy silence—as if even nature itself sensed that something was wrong.
Inside the castle, the atmosphere was tense.
King Henry stood near the grand window, his gaze fixed on the distant skies. Beside him, the Queen held her hands together tightly, her composure intact—but only just.
"It's been days…" she whispered, her voice barely steady. "Far too many days."
Henry did not respond immediately. His eyes remained locked on the horizon, as if willing an answer to appear.
"They're strong," he finally said, though there was a faint uncertainty beneath his authority. "Leo… and the others. They can handle whatever lies ahead."
But even as he said it, doubt lingered.
Because this wasn't just any mission.
This was Kharous Raine.
Elsewhere in Lucindor, beneath the shadow of the towering castle, a lone figure trained relentlessly.
Mourvine Sol.
The echoes of impact rang through the empty courtyard as he struck again and again—his movements sharp, controlled, yet fueled by something deeper than discipline.
Regret.
The memory of the Witch incident still clung to him like a scar that refused to fade. The corrupted orb… the chaos… the destruction he had nearly helped bring upon the very people who now allowed him to stay.
He exhaled sharply, stopping mid-motion.
"I won't lose control again…" he muttered under his breath.
Dark energy flickered faintly around his hand—but unlike before, it didn't consume him. It obeyed.
That alone was proof of his growth.
Lucindor had given him something he never had before.
Acceptance.
Even after betrayal.
Even after failure.
His thoughts drifted further… beyond the castle, beyond the land—
—to the Village of Avendale.
The place he once called home.
A place that had cast him out.
An exile among his own kind, blamed for the sudden attack on their high-ranking elf, Arravon. Whether it was truth or misunderstanding no longer mattered. What mattered was that he had nothing left there.
No family.
No place to return to.
"…It doesn't matter anymore," Sol whispered, clenching his fist.
Lucindor was his home now.
And this time—
He would protect it.
Far beyond the training grounds, the Village of Harvest stood restored.
Once plagued and broken, it now thrived again—rebuilt through the combined efforts of nearby villages, and the great cities of Lucindor and Perona. Life had returned, but the memory of what happened lingered in every repaired wall and every silent prayer.
Peace had returned.
But not completely.
Not while a shadow still lingered.
Inside the castle halls, the heavy doors opened.
Eryndor stepped in.
The room fell silent almost instantly.
His presence alone commanded attention—not out of fear, but respect. The man who stood before them was no ordinary warrior.
He was the one who stood against both the Witch… and Kharous Raine.
The one who survived.
The one who earned the title:
The Strongest Human Alive.
He walked forward calmly, his expression unreadable.
"I have a report," he said.
The Speaker of the castle nodded, allowing him to continue.
"After the Witch incident, I was appointed by Perona as well to lead the investigation regarding Kharous Raine."
Murmurs spread across the room.
Eryndor continued.
"Since the day Kharous stepped into this land, the feeling hasn't disappeared. That presence… it lingers."
He paused for a moment.
"We attempted to track and capture him multiple times."
"And failed."
Silence fell once more.
"He doesn't engage directly. He retreats. Observes. Moves like he's setting something up."
Eryndor's eyes narrowed slightly.
"We never saw him fully. Only his silhouette."
"But wherever he passes…"
His voice lowered.
"There are bodies. Creatures. Animals."
"Drained."
"No souls left behind."
A chill ran through the room.
"We've eliminated multiple ghouls in the area. They're increasing."
"And Kharous…" he added quietly, "is growing stronger."
King Henry stepped forward, his voice firm.
"Then we send an army."
The room stirred.
"Lucindor and Perona will combine forces. We hunt him down before it's too late."
Before anyone could respond—
A voice cut through the tension.
"I'll lead it."
All eyes turned.
Art Ryder stepped forward.
Calm. Confident. Unwavering.
Eryndor glanced at him but said nothing. He didn't object—but he didn't agree either.
"I can operate alone," Eryndor stated. "It's more efficient."
But then—
He spoke again.
"There's one more person we should include."
A brief pause.
"Mourvine Sol."
The room erupted.
"A traitor?"
"Absolutely not."
"He nearly destroyed us!"
Voices overlapped, sharp and unforgiving.
One of the higher officials stepped forward.
"And how can we be sure he won't betray us again?"
The tension grew heavier with each passing second.
But then—
The Great Wizards stepped forward.
"If we include him," one of them said, "our chances increase significantly."
"He has control now."
"And power we cannot ignore."
Eryndor remained silent, but his stance made it clear—
He agreed.
The debate continued for hours.
Arguments clashed. Doubts surfaced. Trust was questioned.
Until finally—
A decision was made.
"Mourvine Sol… will join the hunt."
"But under one condition."
"He will operate under Art Ryder's command."
"And he will follow every order."
High above the city, unaware of the decision—
Sol lay on the rooftop of the tallest structure in Lucindor.
The sky stretched endlessly above him.
For once, everything was quiet.
No voices.
No judgment.
Just silence.
"…Maybe this is enough," he murmured.
But deep down—
He knew it wasn't.
A figure approached.
A messenger.
He delivered the news.
Sol sat up slowly.
"…I'm part of the mission?"
The messenger nodded.
For a moment—
Sol said nothing.
Then—
A smile broke across his face.
Not pride.
Not arrogance.
Relief.
"This is it…" he whispered.
A chance.
To prove himself.
"To protect… not destroy."
He stood up, determination burning in his eyes.
"Thanks, messenger guy."
Meanwhile, on the training grounds—
Eryndor stood alone.
His blade moved with precision, cutting through the air again and again.
But his thoughts weren't focused on training.
"They've been gone too long…"
He stopped.
Lowered his weapon.
"Did they succeed?"
A pause.
"…Of course they did."
But doubt crept in.
"What if something went wrong?"
"What if what they faced there…"
"…was worse than Kharous?"
He clenched his grip.
"No."
"They can handle it."
"They have to."
He exhaled slowly.
"The people here need me."
"I can't leave."
A moment of silence passed.
"…Maybe I can send someone."
But even that felt uncertain.
"Kharous is still here."
"That means whatever was in Thaloun Grass…"
"…was something else."
His expression hardened.
"The fate of the Land of Luminous Flame…"
"…is in my hands right now."
And then—
His thoughts drifted.
To a battle he could not forget.
Sol.
The clash of power.
The overwhelming force.
Eryndor's eyes narrowed slightly.
"…At full power…"
"I can't beat him."
He exhaled.
"But that doesn't mean…"
"…he's stronger than me."
Above Lucindor, the sky remained calm.
But beneath it—
War was already beginning to take shape.
And somewhere in the shadows—
Kharous Raine was waiting.