Chapter 66: Aftermath of the Battle
Two days had passed since the battle against the undead forces.
Auren had vanished without a trace.
Since then, Edward and Arthur had remained in the city—organising what was left of the royal guard and commanding shadow summons to dig through rubble, clear streets, and recover the wounded.
The smell of ash still lingered, but at last, things were beginning to look better. The streets were nearly clear, the cries had quieted, and for the first time since the night of the invasion, sunlight broke through the clouds, bathing the ruined town in a soft, golden glow.
Yet even the light could not hide the countless new graves that dotted the outskirts.
Each one was a reminder.
Edward leaned back in his chair, staring out the cracked window of the townhouse he’d been staying in. Somehow, it had survived the destruction untouched, a lone fragment of the city’s former peace.
"Are you sure now is the right time to leave?" he asked.
Arthur sat opposite him, a cup of steaming drink in his hands. His armour had been replaced with a simple royal coat, one shoulder still bandaged.
"As good as it can be," the Prince replied, taking a long sip. "We can’t sit here while the townsfolk rebuild everything. My father needs to hear what happened. All of it."
Edward nodded slowly. "And who will be in charge while we’re gone? The council’s gone. The chief’s gone. Most of the officials didn’t survive the attack."
Arthur smiled faintly. "I’ve already sent a message to someone suitable. A man who can handle the weight of this place."
Edward raised a brow. "And who might that be?"
Arthur took another drink and shrugged. "You’ll see. He should arrive today, actually. Perhaps we should meet him before we depart."
"Today?" Edward repeated, but the prince gave no answer—too content with his warm beverage to explain further.
Edward sighed, leaning back.
"Let’s hope it’s not another lunatic," he thought.
Over two hours later, the Prince’s words proved true.
The town square was busier than it had been in days. People moved between carts of supplies and wagons of stone. Smoke rose from distant fires as reconstruction slowly began. And amid all of it, a familiar voice reached Edward’s ears.
"Chief Warren?!"
Edward froze in disbelief. The man standing in front of them—dust-covered, with a rugged travelling cloak and an all-too-familiar expression—was Aeris’ father.
"Edward?" The older man blinked, equally surprised. "Well, I’ll be damned. Didn’t expect to see you here!"
"What are you doing here?" Edward asked.
Warren scratched the back of his neck, glancing around the ruined buildings.
"Apparently, I’ve just been appointed as the new chief of this town—though they didn’t mention half of it being rubble."
Arthur chuckled lightly.
"Edward, that’s no way to greet the new chief," he said, his tone playfully formal. Turning to Warren, he added, "I’ve heard many good things about you, Chief Warren. I’m confident you’re the right man for this post."
"You speak kindly, Your Grace," Warren said, bowing slightly.
Arthur waved him off with a grin. "Please, just Arthur is fine. This town had seen enough titles and bloodshed to drop the formalities."
The older man nodded but then gave Edward a questioning look—as if silently asking how the young man had come to stand beside the Prince himself.
But that wasn’t the question that weighed most heavily on his mind.
"Aeris..." Warren’s tone shifted, quieter, more uncertain. "Where is she?"
Edward hesitated. "Well... that’s—"
Before he could continue, Arthur stepped away, suddenly very interested in giving orders to his soldiers a few paces away, leaving Edward stranded.
He exhaled softly.
"It’s a long story," he began, and over the next few minutes, explained everything—from the crimson oath to the tournament and the desperate battle that followed.
Warren’s expression shifted with every detail—anger, disbelief, sorrow—but when Edward had finally finished, the man only nodded slowly.
"I’m glad to hear she’s alive," he said quietly.
Edward offered a faint smile. "Of course."
He left out the part about her injuries. Warren didn’t need that weight now.
By the time Edward and Arthur prepared to depart, the afternoon sun had already begun to sink. The royal convoy stood waiting at the city’s entrance—much smaller than before. More than half of the royal guards who’d arrived with Arthur had fallen in battle. And yet, considering what they’d faced, even survival could be called victory.
As the gates creaked open, Edward cast one final glance at the ruins. Townsfolk moved like clockwork, their faces tired but resolute. Chief Warren was already shouting orders, directing groups to reinforce buildings and dig out wells.
Perhaps the Prince had been right—he was the right man for the job.
The journey to the capital was shorter than Edward expected.
Hours of travel blurred together. The forests that had once echoed with the undead’s presence were now silent. By dawn, the faint glow of the capital began to rise on the horizon.
The city stood proud and unmarred—its high stone walls reflecting the sunrise, towers gleaming like polished silver. Banners of crimson and gold fluttered in the wind above the gates.
As they approached, the people waiting outside began to cheer. Word of their survival had reached the capital before them. Crowds lined the roads, waving and shouting praises as the convoy passed.
Edward watched the Prince’s reaction. Arthur offered polite waves, but his expression was distant. He didn’t bask in their admiration. His mind, Edward knew, was still buried in the ruins they had left behind.
For Edward, it was strange—seeing him like this.
Back in the town, Arthur had felt more like a comrade. But here, in the shadow of towering spires and stone, he was once again the Prince that people admired.
The convoy stopped before the royal court—a massive structure of pale stone and gold trim. High pillars lined the entrance, banners fluttering overhead. The air smelled faintly of polished steel and incense.
As they stepped down, city officials and guards rushed forward, bowing deeply in respect. Servants shouted orders, pages hurried, and the heavy sound of the city’s heart seemed to pulse beneath their feet.
"Your Highness! You’ve returned!"
"Is the threat contained?"
"What of the casualties?"
Voices overlapped in a storm of questions and greetings.
Arthur offered a brief nod to them all but didn’t slow his stride. "We’ll speak inside," he said firmly, pushing through the crowd.
Edward followed a step behind, his boots echoing across the marble floor as they entered the grand corridor. Golden light poured through stained glass windows, painting the walls with soft hues of red and blue. Soldiers stood at attention on either side, their eyes fixed ahead.
The throne room loomed at the far end—doors of dark oak carved with scenes of victory and conquest.
And with a heavy groan, the guards pull them open.