CHAPTER 35: A HERO’S WELCOME

By the time the adrenaline and endorphins had fled from Caedrion’s bloodstream, he was left bereft of breath.

It wasn’t physical exhaustion that tried to suffocate him. Nor was it any wound of the body. Rather, he stared in disbelief at the scene in front of him.

Ash, smoke, and bodies. Lots of bodies.

Their putrid flesh churned his stomach as the toxic smell finally wafted through his nostrils.

A scent of decay... A scent both alien and intimate... A scent of death....

And he was the cause of it.

He was not a warrior, at least not fully.

His memories and beliefs were still largely influenced by that peaceful life in a world far more advanced than the one he had transmigrated to.

He had waged simulated battle a million times on a computer, through strategy games and shooters alike.

But this... this was real. And it suddenly hit him: the lifeless eyes before him were not coded pixels, crafted from imagination in a time of peace, but lives taken under his orders, and in some cases, by his own trigger finger.

Yet it wasn’t despair, remorse, or grief that overcame him as his mind adjusted to the idea.

It was pride.

Because he had taken up arms to defend his family, his home, and those whose protection he was charged with.

And as he stared at the field of scattered dead, he realized that few of his own men were among them.

What he had done was necessary. When he understood this, his breath returned to him, as if it had never been stolen in the first place.

So too did his strength.

He stood firmly, gazing at the tattered banners of House Ignarion, and walked over to them. Pulling the black leather glove from his left hand, he cast a spell upon the crimson cloth.

The rustlight blazing from his fingers overwhelmed the entire shape of the ragged fabric, and transformed it.

Until the colors once more stood proudly against the world. But the sigil among them was not that of the defeated.

The banners now bore the arms of House Ferrondel, which Caedrion lifted into the air, holding them proudly aloft as he waved them with the setting of the sun.

Dawnhaven had broken its siege and sent a message to the rest of the world. The Architect’s power had been mocked for too long, and such insults would no longer be tolerated.

---

Gone were the taunting gestures of aristocrats, taking pleasure in what they perceived to be the downfall of an ancient and noble house that had long since fallen from grace.

Not a single word was uttered after House Ignarion’s forces, or what remained of them, routed.

An army that would have burned their own Houses to cinders had been toppled in half an hour.

And it was defeated by a single Magus. Or at least, a Magus in command of an army of Nulls.

They dared not believe their eyes, for to do so would confirm their worst fears.

To utter the thought aloud would make it reality.

And yet... they could not deny it, as Lady Caltrisse was the first to break the petrifying silence.

"How long... how long has House Ferrondel hidden such a force? Have they been pretending to be weak this entire time?"

But Lord Marvik shook his head, his fingers twitching so much they threatened to drop the crystal glass in his hands.

He took a long sip of the wine within to calm his nerves, before letting out a tenuous sigh.

"Not at all... This... this is new. We would have known. You can’t hide such a thing, not for long. If my understanding is correct, they must have recently discovered some ancient source of the Architect’s power that bypasses the laws of Vessels and temporarily transfers such power to Nulls. Luckily, this should be the extent of such a force. An army built for defense and deterrence, not conquest..."

Marvik’s words were filled with confidence, or at least, false bravado. Enough to conquer the fear that threatened to overwhelm every Magus around him.

So long as they did not provoke House Ferrondel as Ignarion had, they might maintain the status quo. Or so the aristocrats convinced themselves.

---

Caedrion returned to the gates of Dawnhaven with the dusk, his army with him.

He had been the first to exit the city gates, and the last to return.

And when he did, he could scarcely believe what he saw.

The city gathered in celebration, having witnessed their miraculous victory over House Ignarion.

Those who had grieved the passing of the army with the dawn as they marched to battle now praised the Eidolons for their safe return by dusk.

Throughout his life, Caedrion had heard the phrase "A Hero’s Welcome." But he had never truly understood the depth of its meaning until now.

Bards played in the streets. Maidens danced with the returning soldiers. Flowers were cast before their steps, not the kind reserved for funeral rites, but bright and lavish blossoms, almost mythical in appearance.

And then Caedrion heard a voice.

"Out of my way! This instant!"

There, among the crowd, Aelindria forced her way through. Her eyes fell upon the mud and blood that coated Caedrion’s flesh and armor alike.

None of it his own, but gruesome nonetheless.

At first she appeared fearful, perhaps mistaking the blood for a mortal wound.

But when he cast her a tired smile and a thumbs-up, she rushed toward him.

Pushing past the guards, she stamped the ground and cast a spell that surged beneath her feet, launching her upward on shifting cobblestones until she landed in his arms atop his horse.

Caedrion barely had time to catch her, pulling her into his lap. She cupped his face, bloodstained as it was, and stared into his matching eyes.

"Don’t you ever terrify me like that again... you miserable little brat!"

Caedrion said nothing. He could only chuckle as he leaned in to kiss his wife, and the crowd roared with cheers at the sight.