CHAPTER 48: CHAPTER 48

Chapter 47

A dimly lit room.

Shadows swayed softly on the cracked walls, dancing to the creak of an old rocking chair. The only sound, aside from the faint hum of medical equipment, was the slow, mechanical tap of fingers on a tablet screen.

Vice Principal Raiklan sat in that chair, silent, his expression unreadable.

In front of him, a bed. On it, Kael Arkzen—wrapped in bandages from shoulder to thigh. His chest barely rose beneath the linens.

Until, at last, his eyes fluttered open.

"...Hello, VP," Kael croaked, voice like parchment tearing.

Raiklan looked up. His face remained stone-cold, but something flickered in his gaze. Relief.

"So," he said, voice quiet but sharp, "you finally feel like speaking."

Kael tried to sit up. Pain burned down his ribs, and he gasped, leaning against the headboard with a wince. "I’m... fine. The kids... how are they?"

Raiklan’s jaw tightened. "Alive. Because someone else saved them."

Kael looked down. "I... I’m sorry."

"No," Raiklan said, tone suddenly acidic. "Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to the children who almost died because their teacher went missing during a war. Apologize to the parents who sent their children to Etherlight Academy thinking they’d be safe."

Kael closed his eyes, shame like acid in his veins.

"You were supposed to be a guardian. Not a ghost."

"I... I don’t want to teach anymore."

Raiklan stood. Slowly.

The room grew colder.

"You haven’t been teaching," he spat. "For over a year, you’ve vanished when it suited you. I covered for you. I made excuses. ’He’s doing research,’ I said. ’Special missions.’ I defended you, Kael. Even when it made me look like a fool."

Kael opened his mouth to speak, but Raiklan raised his hand.

"But to hear you say it so plainly... like it’s a burden. Like walking away from the very students who worshipped you is nothing. Gods," Raiklan laughed bitterly, "I didn’t think you were this weak."

Kael didn’t argue.

"You know why I tolerated your absence?" Raiklan continued. "Because you were the best damn teacher we had. You forged monsters. You molded heroes."

Kael’s voice came out hollow. "And one of those heroes became Varien Throne."

Raiklan’s voice died mid-sentence.

"I was the one who told you to take him in," he said finally. "He had no family. He was talented. He needed guidance. And you gave it. You were his father in all but blood."

Kael’s eyes burned. "And I failed him. That one failure took everything from me."

A heavy silence.

Then Raiklan’s voice cracked like thunder.

"That failure is a murderer!" he roared. "He helped massacre innocents! The Crimson Guild is a terrorist syndicate, and he—he was their core! You think they killed those thousands alone? No! They had Varien. The very child you raised. Your precious prodigy."

Kael’s fists twisted the sheets.

"I know your wife died. But she wasn’t killed by him, Kael. You avenged her. You tracked and killed the woman responsible. So why—why cling to this guilt?!"

Kael looked to the ceiling, vision blurring.

"Because she loved him."

Raiklan froze.

"She said we didn’t need children of our own," Kael whispered. "Because we had Varien. He was family. She’d kiss his forehead when he fell asleep in the library. She’d cook his favorite food. When he made his first breakthrough to Rank 4, she celebrated more than she did my own promotions..."

A trembling exhale escaped his chest.

"She called him our son. And I—I believed it."

Raiklan’s face twisted in disgust. "That boy you raised—the one you call your son—bathed in blood, Kael. He didn’t just betray you. He chose to be evil."

Kael’s mouth moved, but no sound came.

Raiklan stepped closer, gaze ice-cold.

"Perhaps you’ve gone soft. Perhaps you forgot what duty means. So let me remind you."

He paused, voice slow and deliberate.

"Varien Throne has been sentenced to public execution. Three days from now."

Kael’s heart stopped.

"You’ll get your chance to see him. Not as your son. But as a traitor to humanity."

He turned toward the door.

Kael said nothing. He couldn’t. His soul felt cracked open.

Raiklan stopped at the threshold.

"You still think he was your son? Then maybe you should die with him."

He left without another word. The door slammed shut behind him, and silence returned.

⸻

Kael sat still.

The weight of those words settled like chains on his shoulders.

"Maybe you should die with him."

"Public execution."

"Your power isn’t a decoration."

His fists trembled in his lap.

Was it true? Was Varien ever truly his son?

His mind drifted—memories unspooling like old film.

A boy, drenched in rain, standing outside the academy gates. Eyes hollow. Hands calloused from begging.

"I’ll be the best," the boy had said. "Just give me a chance."

Kael had.

He remembered their late-night training, the boy asleep on library desks, the moments he had laughed—rare, but real.

And then he remembered the battlefield.

Charred bodies. Screams. The scent of burning blood.

Children.

Families.

All gone.

Killed by his student.

Kael lowered his head.

"...This is my fault."

He should’ve seen the signs. He should’ve killed Varien himself. Instead, he froze. Let him go. Let him escape.

His weakness had nearly cost the academy everything.

No more.

No more.

Kael gritted his teeth. Something inside him shifted. Hardened.

"If I cannot stop another Varien from rising...

Then I will be the one to end them."

His breathing steadied.

He looked down at his trembling hands... then curled them into fists.

He would return to teaching.

Not for prestige. Not for praise.

But for prevention.

No more prodigies without conscience. No more monsters born from neglect. If any of his students ever walked Varien’s path—

He would cut them down himself.

Kael Arkzen wasn’t done.

Not yet.

Not until he cleansed his past with fire.

———————-

A week had passed since the Blackridge incident.

The truth, once buried in shadows, could no longer be contained.

The Human Council made its declaration public:

Halden Kairen, once hailed as a visionary, was now denounced as the Member of a Demonic Faction. His sins—human sacrifice, blood rituals, and corruption at the highest level—shocked even the most jaded officials.

The Crimson Guild, once a dominant force, was entirely disbanded.

All known members directly tied to Halden were executed—without trial.

Their emblems were burned, their vaults confiscated, their names struck from all records.

The so-called "Heroes of Blackridge"—once admired—

Were now the shame of the city.

Vice District Magistrate Osorkon—once the 2nd highest authority in the region—was seized by the Council Guard in broad daylight. Shackled, dragged through the streets, and thrown into solitary confinement.

The charges?

Negligence. Conspiracy. Enabling ritual sacrifice, abduction, and the trafficking of civilians.

But the public knew it was more than that.

He had protected monsters in uniform. Allowed horrors to fester in plain sight. All under the illusion of peace.

And still, rumors whispered of something darker—

A hidden hand above Osokorn.

A puppetmaster who had yet to be found.

But even that mystery would not be allowed to rest.

——————

While the council bickered over politics, one man moved.

Ren Kurogane, the Sword Emperor, issued a decree that froze blood and shattered illusions:

"You may seek truth in scrolls and courts.

I will carve it from corpses."

With steel in hand and silence in his eyes, he vowed to hunt every last soul linked to Halden Kairen. Names, shadows, whispers—it mattered not. Whether they hid in thrones or slums, Ren would find them.

"I do not forget betrayal.

And I do not forgive it."

⸻

And then—

The world shuddered.

In a moment destined for history, six of humanity’s ten Rank 9s stood together for the first time in a century. Each one a walking apocalypse. Each one a living legend.

• Solas Morningstar, the Fist Emperor—whose strikes split mountains and ruptured warzones.

• Zepharion Voncrest, the Winter Grave—arbiter of ice, silence, and death.

• Selvara Grace, the Moon Requiem—unseen, unheard, unfailing.

• Grand Duke Arken Aetherhart, Lord of Aether—blood of the ancients, sovereign of the skies.

• Ren Kurogane, the Sword Emperor—vengeance incarnate, blade without rest.

• And above them all...

Demetrius Ardent, the Magic Emperor—an existence feared even by the arcane itself.

Together, they released a single, unified statement.

"We do not seek trial.

We seek judgment."

"All who aided Halden Kairen—be it through coin, silence, or cowardice—will face us. There will be no plea.

There will be no pardon.

There will only be erasure."

"No matter your name.

No matter your blood.

No matter where you run.

You are already dead."

The Fedration heard.

The world trembled.

And the hunt began.

———————

Author Note:-

Alright, folks—just putting this out there before anyone starts sharpening pitchforks in the comments:

Halden’s arc is done.

No, I’m not dragging it out for 50 more Chapters.

No, he’s not coming back as some edgy shadow clone with amnesia.

He’s dead. Deader than his fanbase.

But hey—

If you want to see how Rank 9 monsters throw hands when they’re not busy issuing badass decrees?

Let me know. I might just drop a bonus Chapter showing the kind of fight that splits continents and silences gods.

You want it? Scream in the comments.