Under Asher's unblinking, golden gaze, Lan bowed his head.
"Yes, my lord," he said solemnly.
"I overheard Kohath speaking to a whore a week ago. I left her at Tiberias to confirm the details."
But before he could speak further, Asher cut him off—his voice like tempered steel.
"We care not for such."
His tone held no anger, only decree. "This is my command—have the Angels, all two hundred of them, emerge from the cave. Hunt down and kill every soul who conspired against my sons and caused the death of Duke Ohad."
Lan raised his eyes, sharp and calculating.
"The seven households under House Mormont are involved. They knew."
Then Asher lowered his gaze—his silence more terrifying than any shout.
"Kill them all," he said.
"Let the Angels justify the years of preparation. I've invested in them long enough. Now… let me see what I have forged in silence."
Lan's eyes shimmered with a lethal glint. He bowed his head once more.
"It will be done, My Lord."
He stood, turned sharply, and vanished into the shadows like smoke pulled by the wind.
Asher leaned back against his throne, resting his chin on the back of his left hand. Moonlight brushed across the sharp edges of his face, highlighting the stoic calm of a man far past rage.
"Send word to Count Finn Waters of the Sea Dwellers," he said.
Kelvin, still recovering from the suffocating mana pressure, froze.
"I want the Ashbourne navy prepared."
Asher's words fell like hammers. "We sail for Everard."
Kelvin drew a deep breath, forced strength into his knees, and bowed.
"At once, Your Lordship."
He turned and strode out, but his mind reeled.
Slay all noble members of House Mormont?
That command shook him. Not because of its brutality, but because of its certainty.
Did the Angels even have the strength for this?
He'd heard whispers of their training in the abyssal cave, of deadly drills and sacred arts… but to erase noble bloodlines? That was beyond reason.
Word of Asher's ordeal spread through every corner of the other domains.
But not with sympathy.
Many laughed. Mocked. Scoffed.
Especially his rivals—those who had festered under his rising fame and rising legend. What should have been a week of celebration turned sour in the mouths of lords and minstrels alike.
The tale became a twisted ballad—one commissioned in secret halls and taverns:
"Even with his wolves and golden fame,
He could not shield his children's name.
Cursed beneath his mighty nose—
And now he weeps where no wind blows."
They sang of how the great Lord of Ashbourne could not protect his own sons.
How he had not eaten for days.
How his throne was now soaked in silence and shame.
Whispers turned into poison.
In the markets and manors, the nobles of other lands chuckled.
"Even I can protect my child. What use is a lord who cannot?"
Such words were spoken not only in jest, but with emboldened pride. After all, when giants fall, the ants feel tall.
In Ashbourne, tensions rose.
The people—devoted to Asher—would not tolerate the mockery.
Fights broke out in the streets.
At the famed Westfall Restaurant, several foreign nobles were thrown out—some kindly, others with bruises and broken teeth—for their blasphemous jokes.
One dared raise a toast:
"To the golden lord who feeds the worms with tears!"
He left with missing teeth and bloodied silk.
Ashbourne stood behind their lord.
They remembered the man who fought beasts, who brought change to this forsaken land, who built walls with his own hands.
While the world laughed, in Verna, capital of House Mormont, Jessica stood in quiet triumph.
From her third-storey chamber, she gazed down upon the glimmering sprawl of the city. Lanterns lined the streets like stars pinned to the earth. A half-filled goblet of deep red wine swirled in her hand, its contents catching the moonlight like blood.
"Finally…" she whispered.
Her lips curled into a cruel smile.
"Vengeance has been rendered."
Behind her, her son Kohath lounged in a high-backed chair, one leg lazily thrown over the other as he sipped his wine.
"I heard his wife's hair has turned gray," he chuckled, smug.
"She must look like a haunted fairy by now."
Jessica threw him a sideways glance, amused.
"This is just the beginning," she said.
"Once Prince Aaron and King Reuel are done with Eden, they'll turn their eyes on Ashbourne. Everything Asher built will crumble. And then…"
She lifted the goblet to her lips.
"We shall inherit what remains."
Kohath's eyes gleamed with lust and arrogance.
"They say his wife is the fairest woman on the continent. A true fairy. I imagine she'll fetch a fortune at auction."
"Even with silver strands, her beauty is untouched. Like the golden sugar—unbelievably sweet, and yet… addictive."
Jessica laughed, a light, musical sound tinged with malice.
But her laughter stopped cold.
A knight stumbled inside, breathless, his face pale as the moon outside.
Jessica's face twisted in rage.
"How dare you barge into—"
"My Lady!" the knight interrupted, voice quivering. "The noble houses… all seven… have been slaughtered."
The goblet slipped from Jessica's fingers. It shattered against the marble floor, wine seeping into the cracks like spilled blood.
"None were spared." The knight's voice cracked. "Not even their hounds, their guards, their mounts… their beasts. All gone."
Kohath rose swiftly, the arrogance draining from his features.
"Is this some kind of joke?" he asked, though his voice betrayed him. He was already pale.
"It was done by a group of assassins… they came in silence. They moved like smoke, like ghosts. No alarms were rung, no bells tolled. They didn't attack like an army—they dismantled us like executioners."
Jessica took a step back, her heart thudding in her chest.
"And the city watch?"
"Most are dead. A few fled. Verna is not safe." The knight looked around desperately, as if the shadows in the corners might suddenly reach for him.
"They're still here. Somewhere. Watching."
Kohath took a step toward the window and looked out. "If they're as good as you say… then why are you alive?"
The knight dropped to his knees. "They sent me to tell you, they're at the castle walls."