CHAPTER 41: READY

Edward stepped out of his room, fastening the last clasp of his cloak, only to halt at the sight before him.

Aeris and Seraphine were already waiting in the hallway. The quiet, flickering light from the sconces danced across their figures, drawing a sharp contrast between steel and shadow.

Aeris stood tall, her frame encased in silver-plated armour that hugged her body with purposeful design. Etched across the breastplate were delicate, curling patterns—almost too elegant for battle, yet tempered by the hard reality of its form. Black leather filled the gaps between plates, granting freedom of movement without exposing vulnerability.

A long skirt of black fabric hung from her waist, split high at the thigh, revealing greaves of polished steel beneath. Each step of her sharp-heeled boots struck the floor with a commanding click. At her side rested her rapier, a delicate yet deadly weapon.

Beside her stood Seraphine, striking in an entirely different way.

She wore a long black robe, its silver trim glittering in the torchlight, but the garment was far from modest. The robe parted boldly at her waist, falling open to reveal a short, close-fitted tunic that clung to her curves and left her thighs almost bare. The fabric dipped low across her chest, held together more by confidence than practicality—every movement threatened to reveal more than it concealed. Her boots rose high to her thighs, the sleek leather etched with silver runes that drew the eye along the length of her legs.

Edward’s eyes moved between them, taking in every detail. Aeris’ armour was practical and balanced, her body covered where it mattered the most while preserving mobility. Seraphine’s outfit, however...

"Isn’t it cute?" Seraphine interrupted his thoughts, twirling once on her heel. The silver trimming flashed as she spun, her grin wide. "I had some silver left from that gold you gave me, so I bought this!"

Edward arched a brow. "Why the staff?"

"It’s a magical conduit," Aeris explained, her tone flat but informative. "It helps to amplify mana and direct the spells more efficiently."

"I see," Edward muttered, giving a slow nod.

He found himself briefly forgetting—because of Seraphine’s bright and playful nature—that she had forged a pact. Beneath that carefree smile, she was far more dangerous than she appeared.

With all three ready, the group left the townhouse.

The streets of Ashenhold were strangely muted, as if the life of the town itself had been dimmed. Doors remained closed, windows shuttered, only the occasional flicker of candlelight betraying the presence of mourners within. Word of the chief’s death had already spread, and the grief weighed heavily on the air. Not even the taverns of the eastern quarter dared to stir with noise.

The cobblestone under their feet soon gave way to dirt, then to mud as they crossed beyond the gates and into the wild.

The forest closed around them, branches swaying gently overhead, their shadows long and sharp beneath the pale moonlight. For just over twenty minutes, they walked in silence, the sound of boots against earth and the rustle of leaves their only company.

Then, through the trees, the glow of torches broke the gloom.

A large group of men waited ahead, their formation disciplined even in the stillness.

At the front stood Prince Arthur. His armour gleamed like captured sunlight, though no sun remained—only moon and firelight reflecting off the steel. The breastplate bore the crest of his house, a lion wrought in gold. Chainmail lined his arms beneath polished pauldrons, and a flowing crimson cape draped from his shoulders, shifting with the night breeze. At his hip rested a longsword, the pommel studded with a sapphire, its edge catching the torchlight with an almost hungry gleam.

Behind him stood his retinue—ten soldiers, all clad in uniform mail with steel helmets, shields at their backs and spears in their hands. Their armour was worn but well-kept, meant for endurance more than pageantry.

Among them, however, four figures stood apart. They wore heavier plates, burnished to a shine, with intricate designs carved into the breastplates. Their visors were open, revealing sharp, hardened faces. Each bore a weapon unique to them—a hammer, an axe, a longsword, and a halberd.

The distinction of rank was clear. These were no ordinary soldiers—they were royal guards of higher standing, veterans marked by steel and blood.

"You’re here," Prince Arthur said, his voice kept deliberately low despite the stillness of the night.

"Yes," Edward replied.

The Prince gave a short nod, his expression grave. "Very well. You shall take the lead until we reach the cave entrance. Once there, my men will go in first."

"Understood," Edward said, nodding his head once.

The Prince stepped aside, letting them pass.

Edward moved to the front, along with Aeris and Seraphine.

The soldiers fell into silent formation, their boots striking in unison against the forest floor. The torchlight cast shifting shadows between the trees, the rhythm of movement broken only by the occasional call of an owl or the whisper of leaves.

For over an hour, they pressed forward through the dark forest, the ground rising steadily beneath their boots as the mountain loomed ahead. The air grew colder and sharper, carrying the faint scent of wet stone.

Finally, Seraphine came to a halt.

Her expression had changed entirely—the playful girl who had twirled in her robes earlier was gone. Now her face was grave, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her eyes fixed on the jagged rocks before them.

"We’re here," she whispered, voice barely louder than the wind.

Edward followed her gaze.

Ahead, half-hidden by roots and stone, was a small opening in the mountain. It looked little more than a wound in the earth, black and unyielding.

Edward turned back toward the Prince.

Arthur’s gaze met his, steady and sharp, and in that brief silence understanding passed between them. The Prince gave a single nod before lifting his hand. A low command slipped from his lips, calm but carrying the steel of authority.

The soldiers shifted at once. The four higher-ranked guards advanced first, their armour catching the torchlight, weapons drawn and ready. Behind them, the rest tightened formation, their boots striking the earth in unison.

The air thickened, heavy with the promise of blood. Edward drew a slow breath, steadying himself.

Then, without another word, they stepped forward—into the pit of the Crimson Oath.