CHAPTER 255: 255

CRACK!

Dust settled over the charred ruins of the building. Blackened beams jutted out like skeletal fingers, and broken bricks crumbled under each step as Kael moved through the devastation. His coat fluttered in the wind, the air thick with ash and the bitter stench of smoke.

His boots crushed broken glass and twisted metal, his eyes scanning with urgency—searching.

Burn marks seared the walls, and fallen rafters littered the scorched floor. Kael ignored the sting of blood on his knuckles from prying away rubble. His breath was low and sharp, his brows furrowed, movements growing more frantic by the second.

"Where is it..." he muttered, voice hard and strained as he searched around frantically.

Then his eyes widened.

Half-buried beneath a charred beam and broken stone, something glimmered faintly in the dim light.

Kael dropped to his knees, yanking debris aside with shaking hands, until finally—

There it was.

The egg.

Gently, he lifted it from the wreckage. For a moment, his breath caught. His expression shifted from relief to frozen horror.

A thin crack snaked across the smooth shell.

Kael’s pupils shrank.

His grip tightened, veins rising along his forearm as his body trembled with rage.

"DAMMM!" His roar echoed across the quiet ruins.

He turned the egg, carefully inspecting it, his hands now soft, reverent.

A faint glow pulsed from within.

Still alive.

Kael exhaled deeply. The rage loosened just enough for relief to seep in.

"Thank God..." he whispered, voice shaking slightly.

Had something happened to this, on top of Lyria being captured—Kael might’ve gone beyond reason. An enemy touching either was already a death wish. But this? This would’ve turned him into a storm of vengeance.

He stood up slowly, brushing off some ash as he heard approaching footsteps.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

Kael turned. Martina stood a short distance away, her expression pale, her steps light with fatigue. She held her arm, her breath uneven.

"Hmm." Kael nodded quietly.

"Any news?" he asked, eyes still on the egg.

"Yes... I got confirmation." Martina swallowed. "Adele is leaving the capital."

Kael’s eyes narrowed. "Do you know which route?"

"I have my men tailing her movements." Martina offered a small nod.

Kael’s gaze lingered. "Can you trust them?"

Martina blinked—just a second too long. Her voice fumbled slightly, "H-Hmph! I’m not that much of an idiot."

She crossed her arms with a pout, raising her chin in defiance.

"I’m not that incompetent, you know? I made sure to tighten things up. Nobody’s getting past my network that easily!"

Kael rolled his eyes. He didn’t doubt Martina’s effort—but he also didn’t entrust fate to faith. Still, he appreciated her work.

He walked past her, egg still carefully held in one hand.

"Then let’s go," he muttered.

His voice was low, steady, but full of weight.

"Hopefully... we can still solve this peacefully."

His pace picked up, cloak billowing behind him, as Martina trailed close—her expression tightening.

Neither of them believed this would end peacefully.But they had to try.

...

The roads split before them like a coiling serpent, winding through rocky hills and thick forest.

Dust kicked up as a grand entourage rolled forward, banners fluttering under the pale sunlight. At the center, a black-gilded coach, ornately adorned with silver sigils of House Veydrin, rumbled along—drawn by four restless, armored stallions. Knights clad in full plate surrounded it, their lances pointed skyward, armor clinking in unison. The vanguard rode ahead, scouting, while several guards on horseback trailed the convoy’s rear.

The clatter of hooves echoed in rhythm, accompanied by the rustle of banners and the occasional screech of hawks flying overhead.

Inside the coach, Adele sat quietly, arms crossed, her eyes narrowed and thoughts racing. The elegant interior did little to soothe her storming mind.

"What a waste..." she thought, biting the inside of her cheek. "The whole thing was a damn trap..."

She leaned her head back, her voice cold with bitter self-reflection.

"That entire port incident—just a twisted game between the royals. Martina shows up, spreads the word, and suddenly I’m the perfect scapegoat. The Emperor won’t execute Rein. But me? I’ll bear the fallout."

Her fingers curled around the silk armrest.

"Damn... Nanny was right. I should’ve curbed my temper. Shouldn’t have rushed into this like a damn hothead..."

Then her gaze turned sharp again.

"Still... if I can kill—or even cripple—Kael... the biggest obstacle in my way disappears but with the way now.If something goes wrong, Kael can just sit there and enjoy the benefits.’

She glanced toward the far end of the carriage where Lyria, bound and silent, sat like a porcelain doll—expression unreadable.

"With her as leverage, things might turn in my favor."

But her brows furrowed.

"First, I need to measure how much Kael actually values her. And where the hell is he? Martina’s troops? No... I didn’t see him in the base. Those freaks that attacked me? None matched him. Too composed... too tactical..."

Her breath slowed slightly.

"Kael’s a psycho, sure. But that group... that was something else entirely. He wasn’t there. No way he got that strong, that fast..."

She exhaled, tension easing.

But then—

BOOOOOOM!

A thunderous explosion ripped through the air.

A shockwave blasted outward—snapping branches, toppling knights off horses. The carriage jolted violently, nearly throwing Adele from her seat.

The horses screamed in terror. Armor clashed as men scrambled. The ground trembled as roars echoed from above.

Adele kicked open the door, stepping into a scene of sudden chaos.

A massive sword arc, seared into the ground ahead, glowed faintly with heat—cutting through rock and earth like paper. The air sizzled where it landed.

Her head snapped up as a strange sensation prickled her skin.

And then she saw them.

Two figures, standing tall atop a craggy cliff high above the road.

One—a woman, her long dark hair unbound, danced like tendrils in the wind as though gravity itself feared her. A faint blood-red glow emanated from her eyes. She wore dark battle robes that fluttered with her overwhelming presence—an aura of sharp, suffocating power.

Beside her stood a man.

Silent. His presence was cold—chilling, like standing before a glacier. He had piercing eyes that cut through the battlefield like blades. His coat flowed with eerie stillness, and the air around him shimmered with a faint blue hue—almost like frost. His entire body gave off a controlled, deadly intent. His hand rested on the hilt of a long, rune-carved blade that pulsed faintly.

Together, they radiated fearsome pressure, the kind only felt in warzones where death was certain.

Adele stared up at them.

Her breath caught.

Déjà vu washed over her.

Then a voice she knew too well echoed from above—

"Adele Veydrin..."

"Why don’t we have a talk?"