The Dread of Damned

I entered the guest room with Lucian following silently behind me, his presence a shadow that never strayed far. As soon as Gunnar saw me step through the doorway, he rose from the pristine white sofa and offered a shallow bow—more out of forced politeness than genuine respect. His dark eyes, sharp and calculating, flickered with something close to amusement.

I walked past him without acknowledgment, my steps deliberate, and settled into the large white sofa in the center of the room. Lucian positioned himself to my right, his cold, unwavering gaze locked on Gunnar, who took a single step forward to stand before me.

“How have you been, Your Highness?” Gunnar asked, his tone a delicate balance—two parts respectful, eight parts arrogant, and not a trace of sincerity.

“Better than ever,” I replied smoothly, a faint smile tugging at my lips as I held his gaze, unflinching.

“I am glad to hear that. I was… concerned when I heard the news,” he added, though the lack of emotion in his voice made it clear that concern had never crossed his mind.

“No need to worry, Gunnar. Whatever happened, it was for the best. Now, we have another supreme being in the grand house,” I said, leaning back into the plush sofa, my eyes never leaving his. “And I finally had the luxury of a well-deserved rest,” I added casually, watching his expression shift almost imperceptibly. A flicker of understanding passed through his eyes. He got the warning—I was watching him closely, and he would do well not to forget that.

“Now,” I continued, straightening up with a deliberate motion, “I trust you doubled your efforts in my absence. I hope I won’t be disappointed.”

“We did our best, Your Highness,” Gunnar replied, inclining his head slightly. “The first phase is complete. During your absence, Her Highness sent Lucian to oversee the allocation of funds for the second phase, which is now ready.”

His gaze flickered to Lucian as he mentioned him, but the latter’s expression remained unchanged—unreadable, as always—before Gunnar turned his attention back to me.

“I am here to report that all the armors for the second phase have been repaired and refined. You may conduct a quality check and authorize the next budget so they can be sent back and the third phase can begin.”

He paused, waiting for my response. I nodded, granting him permission to proceed.

“I brought one of the armors here for you to inspect. Once you’ve assessed it, you may decide whether to examine the rest or approve the next phase immediately,” Gunnar said, his voice measured, though I sensed the faintest edge of impatience beneath the surface.

He gestured to a guard stationed on the sixth floor, a knight of Zenith, who entered moments later carrying a polished armor set on a mannequin. The gleaming white armor with its silver sheen was placed precisely in the center of the room before the guard bowed and exited.

“So, this is the reinforced armor,” I mused aloud, my eyes narrowing as I studied the piece. The silver sheen was new—subtle, but undeniably present. It looked more agile and lighter than before, promising both flexibility and strength.

I raised a hand, flicking my wrist with a sharp motion. A silver dagger materialized from the essence I summoned, slicing through the air. It struck the armor’s shimmering surface, causing the silver sheen to ripple outward like water disturbed by a single drop. The dagger dissipated on contact.

I intensified my focus. Another dagger formed, this one sharper, faster, stronger. It shot forward, colliding with the armor. The response was immediate—the ripples more forceful, almost alive, as they absorbed the attack.

Not enough.

I condensed the essence further, forming it into a bullet, small but deadly. It tore through the air with a sharp hiss, creating faint distortions in its wake. The armor hummed in response, its silver sheen surging to meet the assault. Waves of energy surged outward, clashing against the bullet’s force. This time, the bullet didn’t dissipate. It held firm, growing brighter, more intense—until a single crack appeared in the armor’s protective layer.

The crack sealed itself almost instantly, but the sheen had dulled, and the faint line remained—a reminder that nothing was impervious.

“Good,” I said, leaning back into the sofa, my gaze shifting back to Gunnar. “Lucian will accompany you to ensure all the armor is prepared to my standards. Collect the funds on your way out. The armor will leave the warehouse under Lucian’s watch.”

Gunnar bowed slightly, the bare minimum required, and exited. Lucian mirrored the gesture before silently following him out.

The room fell into stillness once more. I leaned back against the sofa, exhaling softly, letting the weight of solitude settle over me.

“Come out,” I commanded, opening my eyes.

From the very spot where Gunnar had stood moments ago, a figure emerged as though woven from shadows. Arion. My guard.

His dark silver armor melded seamlessly with his form, and the mask he wore—a cold, expressionless visage—hid his face, but not his intent.

“How are you, Arion?” I asked form my personal gurad.

Arion had taken a blow meant for me during the last battle. It was his burst of essence, released from his sword in a desperate moment, that had allowed me to recover what little of my depleted essence I could and survive.

“I am fine,” he replied, his tone devoid of emotion, as always.

“Stopping that attack must have taken a tool on you,” I observed. “You couldn’t even use your power to negate a fatal strike by dissipating your form and reforming.”

“The damage was… severe,” he admitted, his voice steady. The implication was clear—had he tried to dissipate, he might not have been able to reform at all.

“You defied my order,” I said quietly, my fingers tracing the lines on my palm. “I told everyone to wait five minutes before intervening.”@@novelbin@@

“Your order was for Elder Eryndor,” Arion replied, tilting his head slightly in what could have been confusion. The dark silver mask, eerily still, almost seemed to reflect his unspoken thoughts. “My only order was to protect you. It came directly from His Majesty.”

My eyes narrowed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Trying to use my father against me, Arion?” I asked, my tone dangerously light. “Are you being cheeky?”

“I would not dare,” he replied, bowing his head.

I chuckled softly, standing and moving beside him. My hand rested lightly on his armored shoulder. The metal was cool beneath my fingertips.

“Keep up the good work,” I said softly.

He nodded once, and then, like mist dispersing under the morning sun, he vanished, leaving behind nothing but silence.

The guest room was mine alone once more.