CHAPTER 84: THE GHOST TOWN

Rhys stepped between them before the argument could escalate into a full-blown catfight. He knew he could not stop Seduction from coming.

And a part of him knew that her power and knowledge would be an invaluable asset.

"Fine," he said, his voice firm. "You can come. But you follow my rules. No unnecessary killing. No causing chaos just for your own amusement. And you will not call me husband."

Seduction placed a hand over her heart, a look of mock hurt on her face. "You wound me. But very well. I will be on my best behaviour... for now."

With his companions decided, he made his final preparations. He gave his last commands to Stony, the silent Titan who now governed his dimension.

The city of Cinderfall would continue to grow, his armies would continue to kill themselves, and the lifespan crystals would continue to be harvested.

His personal world would be ready for him when he needed it.

After making sure everything was in order, Rhys focused his will on the space in front of him.

The air shimmered, the starlit void twisting and pulling inward until a swirling vortex of pure white light tore open a path.

The Qi of the mortal world washed over them, a refreshing change from the perfect, sterile energy of his domain.

He gave one last mental command to Stony, his regent, then took Sera’s hand.

"Let’s go."

They stepped through the portal.

The sensation was like being plunged into a wild, raging river after floating in a calm, silent lake. A warm, real sun beat down from a pale blue sky.

They stood on a rocky ridge, the same one Rhys had arrived on what felt like a lifetime ago, overlooking the Dragon Tooth Mountain Range.

However, the very air smelt of blood. Rhys frowned, looking down the valley below.

It was like a graveyard.

The grand encampment of the great families was gone, replaced by the scarred, blackened earth of a battlefield.

The colossal, bleached skeletons of spiritual beasts, some as large as small hills, lay scattered across the landscape.

Broken siege weapons and shattered banners were half-buried in the dirt, grim monuments to the war that had raged in his absence.

"Papa, this place is messy," Sera said, wrinkling her nose.

"A war happened here," Rhys explained simply. "The beast tide."

Seduction, who now wore a simple traveller’s cloak that did little to hide her perfect figure, looked around with an expression of profound disinterest.

’Mortals and their pointless struggles.’

Rhys ignored her, his senses spreading out. The immediate area was quiet. The great families were long gone.

The war was over, but a tense, weary atmosphere lingered. They needed information and a destination. He knew exactly where to go.

"We’re heading south," he announced, lifting Sera onto his shoulders. "To Silverwood."

They travelled on foot, a strange and unassuming trio. Rhys maintained his disguise as a quiet, weary merchant, his powerful aura completely concealed by the Shroud of Forgotten Echoes.

Sera, with her plain brown hair and simple dress, looked like any other child of the province. Seduction played her part as his beautiful, silent wife with an enthusiasm that Rhys found deeply unsettling.

She would cling to his arm, her head resting on his shoulder, looking up at him with wide, adoring eyes whenever they passed another traveller.

It was a flawless performance that made Sera grumble and kick her feet against his chest.

The roads were more heavily patrolled than he remembered. They saw several squads of Ashton clan soldiers.

The war had taken its toll on everyone.

They reached a fortified outpost on the edge of the Whisperwood after a day of travel. It was a rough, functional place, built to withstand a siege.

Rhys, under the guise of a merchant whose caravan had been lost in the chaos of the war, gained them easy entry.

The guards barely gave them a second glance, their attention focused on a group of rowdy mercenaries entering the tavern.

The tavern was the heart of the outpost, a noisy, smoky room filled with the smell of cheap ale and roasted meat.

Rhys found a dark corner booth, ordering a simple meal of stew and bread for them. This was the best place to gather information.

He did not need to ask questions; he just needed to listen.

"...never seen anything like it," a soldier with a fresh scar on his cheek was saying to his comrades at the next table. "The whole province was burning. If the Five Young Heroes hadn’t come back when they did, we’d all be speaking the language of the dead."

"Aye," another soldier grunted, wiping foam from his beard. "I was there when Aiden Thorne held the pass at Greenleaf. Fought for three days straight. The man’s not human, he’s a damn siege engine."

A grizzled mercenary captain chimed in.

"It was Lady Anya Sterling who turned the tide. My squad was pinned down by a pack of Elite Shadow Stalkers. We were dead. Then we get the order—’strike the third ridge to the east’.

We thought it was suicide. But we did it, and there she was, the Matriarch of the whole damned pack. Lady Anya saw her from the city walls, five miles away. A goddess, I tell you."

Rhys listened impassively, a cold smile playing on his lips. The heirs had not just survived; they had become legends. T

hey were no longer the arrogant children he had toyed with in the Labyrinth. They were seasoned, powerful, and now they had the love and respect of the entire province.

They were going to be his useful chess pieces now.

"What about the smaller towns?" a nervous-looking merchant asked from the bar. "I need to get a shipment to Silverwood."

The scarred soldier snorted with derision.

"Silverwood? Why would you bother? The beast tide didn’t even notice the place, it’s that insignificant. The Ashton clan has pulled most of its garrison out to protect the more valuable territories. The town’s dying on the vine. No money, no trade, no hope. It’s a ghost town."

Rhys’s expression did not change, but inside, a cold smile formed. Perfect. A ghost town. A place forgotten by its masters, a place no one cared about. It was a blank canvas, waiting for a new artist.

They finished their meal and left the outpost, melting back into the dusk-shrouded road. His plan was no longer a vague ambition; it was a clear, calculated strategy.

He would not challenge the Five Young Heroes, because they are going to become his lackeys. There was no need for the monopoly of the great families from today onwards.

He would go to the place they had abandoned, and he would build an empire from its dust.

Their arrival in Silverwood was a quiet, sombre affair. The town was a corpse.

The wooden walls were rotting, many houses stood empty and derelict, and the few people on the streets moved with the slow, shuffling gait of those who had given up.

It was a community slowly bleeding to death from neglect.

He found the same dusty inn, the ’Weary Traveller’, and secured a room from the same old, listless innkeeper.

The room was even smaller and dirtier than he remembered.

The next morning, Rhys began his work.