CHAPTER 315: CHAPTER 314 - THE MUTTS.

Inside the grand chamber of Marquise Colombore’s mansion, laughter and clinking crystal filled the air.

Four youths reclined in cushioned chairs around a low table, a bottle of imported wine breathing between them.

The firelight danced across their flushed faces, their mood light, as though the war outside their doors were nothing more than a rumor.

"It worked," one of them chuckled, raising his glass high. "By the gods, it actually worked. I didn’t think my father would bend."

The speaker was Benoit Colombore, son of the Marquise himself. His voice carried both pride and a sense of relief.

Unlike the others, there was no malice behind his smile. To him, this was victory—not against Raven, but against war itself.

"You played it beautifully, Benoit," said another, a sharp-eyed youth with slicked hair. "The way you trembled when you said, ’Father, I don’t want to see more blood’—hah! That melted him like butter on bread."

The others laughed, and Benoit flushed slightly, waving them off.

"It wasn’t acting," he muttered. "I really don’t want to see more blood."

"Whatever it was," sneered the second youth, "it worked. And because of you, our fathers, Baron Drelith, Baron Harkon, and Baron Veylan all withdrew as well. They listened when we said, ’If even Marquise Colombore stands neutral, why shouldn’t you?’"

The three of them chuckled again, while Benoit merely shook his head.

The third boy raised his cup. "To Benoit—the unlikely peacemaker!"

They all cheered, but behind the toasts, their eyes glimmered with a darker satisfaction.

"This is the best way to spit in Raven’s face," said the sharp-eyed one. "He thought he could pull the strings of every noble, use us like chess pieces. But we’ve just snatched the board from him."

"Right," agreed the fourth, a wiry boy with a crooked grin. "We can’t fight him. He’s too strong. But this? This is our revenge. Making him fail where it hurts most."

Benoit exhaled, a little uneasily. "You three... You still carry those grudges, don’t you?"

"Of course we do!" Snapped the wiry one. "Do you think we’d forget what happened at the academy? The humiliation he gave us?!"

Benoit only smiled weakly. "I remember. I just... thought you might have grown past it."

He had been their friend since they were kids, and he had seen them get into fights and win, so he could tell how they felt when they finally lost to someone.

Meanwhile, outside the mansion’s chamber window, someone else remembered as well.

Raven stood there in the cold night, his cloak blending into shadow, surrounded by unconscious guards who hadn’t even had the time to scream before collapsing.

His eyes narrowed as he peered inside.

"Oh," he murmured flatly. "It’s them."

Omni’s voice rumbled in his head. "Them?"

Raven’s crimson eyes widened faintly. He could almost hear phantom barking from the past.

"They’re the three dogs."

Inside, the trio laughed louder, throwing around toasts and memories, oblivious to the pair of red eyes staring at them.

To Raven, however, their human forms blurred, replaced by a ridiculous mental image.

Baron Drelith’s son—short, stocky, with his perpetually drooping eyelids—appeared in Raven’s eyes as Droopy Dog, mumbling his words like a sleepy mutt.

Baron Harkon’s heir—tall and sharp-nosed, forever barking insults—morphed into Scooby, ears flopping as he yapped nonsense through a wine-soaked grin.

Then finally, Baron Veylan’s wiry boy, with his jittery energy and trembling smirk, became Courage the Cowardly Dog, yipping bravado one moment and quivering the next.

They were the three mutts Raven had met on his first day at the Velmoria Academy.

It was something that had happened not long ago but seemed like a distant memory.

Raven pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. "Scooby, Droppy, and Courage. Still barking after all this time."

Omni snorted so hard that Raven swore he could hear him choke. "Boss, stop—stop—I can’t—dogs? You really see ’em as mutts?"

"Why would I waste the effort to see them as men?" Raven muttered. "Dogs bark. That’s all they’ve ever done."

But then his gaze flicked to Benoit, seated at their head. Different. Calm. No malice in his tone.

Even he was a dog, but one that tried to be a shepherd.

Raven let the moment sit before lifting his knuckles and rapping lightly against the window glass.

The sound cut through the chamber like a guillotine blade.

The four froze mid-laughter, wine glasses pausing inches from their lips. Slowly, one by one, their heads turned toward the dark window.

There, framed by the flicker of firelight from inside, stood Raven. Cloaked in shadow, crimson eyes glowing faintly like embers in the night.

The room went deathly still.

Scooby’s wine glass slipped from his trembling fingers, spilling across the rug. Droppy’s jaw worked soundlessly. Courage’s knees knocked under the table.

Even Benoit, who had no direct grudge, paled visibly. Because, unlike the others, he had never forgotten the weight of that name.

"Raven," someone whispered.

Why wouldn’t they know? How could they forget?

He was the shadow that had humiliated them at the academy, the nightmare who now hunted nobles in their fortified homes, and the Reaper who had just knocked politely on their window.

Raven tilted his head slightly, lips curving in the faintest smile. His knuckles tapped once more, softer this time.

Knock. Knock.

Inside the chamber, silence cracked into panic the instant Raven’s knuckles left the glass.

"W-What do we do?" Scooby yelped, his voice breaking like a startled pup. "Call the guards? Yes, yes, call the guards!"

Droppy shook his head so violently his slicked hair nearly fell out of place. "Are you mad? Did you not hear? He’s killing nobles—slaughtering them in their beds! You think guards will stop him?!"

Courage whimpered, gripping his cup with both trembling hands. "We’re doomed. Doomed! I told you this was a bad idea! I should have stayed home!"

Benoit, pale but calmer than the others, tried to steady his breath. "Wait. Maybe he’s not here for us. Maybe—Maybe it’s Father."

That thought silenced them all, leaving only the crackle of the fireplace. Their wine suddenly tasted like ash.

Knock. Knock.

The sound made every hair on their bodies stand on end.

Slowly, their eyes dragged back to the window. Raven was still there, waiting patiently—only now he was holding up a limp, armored body like a butcher showing off his catch.

The guard dangled unconscious in his grip, head lolling like a puppet with cut strings.

Raven tilted the man toward them, as if to say, ’Call the guards? Go ahead. I’ll stack them outside like firewood.’

Then his lips curved. His voice, muffled through the glass, cut cleanly into their bones: "Open the window... or do you want me to break in?"

The three dogs didn’t hesitate. They tripped over each other in a frantic scramble, nearly knocking the table sideways before unlatching the window.

The cold night air swept into the chamber as Raven stepped in, cloak trailing like a shadow given form.

Benoit alone stayed rooted where he was, staring at him with wide, conflicted eyes.

"Why... Why are you here?" Benoit whispered. "Are you here... to take my father’s head?"

Raven ignored the question at first, surveying the chamber as though deciding whether the wine was worth drinking.

Then, with casual arrogance, he sank into one of the cushioned chairs as though he’d been invited.

"I’m thirsty," he said, his voice low but smooth. "Would be nice if someone poured me a glass."

Courage moved before his brain could object, fumbling for the bottle with shaking fingers.

He sloshed more wine onto the table than into the cup but somehow managed to place a filled goblet into Raven’s waiting hand.

Raven grinned faintly at him. "Good dog."

Courage nearly fainted on the spot.

Raven took a sip, swirling the wine against his tongue before turning his gaze back toward Benoit. His crimson eyes sharpened.

"Relax. I’m not here to kill. Not tonight." He paused, then added, "Of course, that could change if someone forces me to."

The three dogs whimpered in unison, ears practically pinned back like real mutts caught under their master’s glare.

Benoit’s voice was steady, though his hands were clenched. "Then... What do you want?"

Raven set the goblet down with deliberate calm. "Simple. Lead me to your father."

Benoit froze. "But... You said you weren’t here to kill."

Raven nodded once, his smile faint and razor-thin. "Not killing. Kidnapping."

The wine in Benoit’s throat nearly choked him. Scooby, Droppy, and Courage squeaked like cornered puppies.

"You can’t!" Scooby barked. "If you take him, the neutral faction—"

Raven’s eyes slid lazily in his direction, silencing him without a word. Scooby’s jaw clicked shut, teeth rattling.

At last, Benoit swallowed hard, the weight of choice pressing down on him. His father’s face flashed in his mind, the man who had believed his pleas for peace. Slowly, almost against his will, Benoit nodded.

"...I’ll take you."

The three dogs gawked at him, horror written across their faces.

Raven rose to his feet in one fluid motion.

"See? Easy." His smile carried no warmth. "You could save yourselves a lot of trouble if you just listened."

Together, the five of them moved through the hallways of the mansion—Raven gliding like a shadow, the others stumbling like prisoners being led to the gallows.

But halfway there, a sound cut through the silence.

A groan—a heavy, pained sound, almost like a man struggling to breathe.

It came from the direction of Marquise Colombore’s chamber.

Benoit stopped cold, blood draining from his face. The three dogs clutched each other, trembling.

Even Raven’s eyes narrowed, a ripple of unease passing through his usually unshakable calm.

Without another word, they quickened their pace, boots echoing sharply against the marble floor, dread clawing tighter with each step toward the Marquise’s door.