Chapter 35: Reaper and Ruin: Training Arc.
The heavy doors at the far end of the ruined arena burst open with a metallic crash.
Through the settling dust and cracked stone, dozens of armored figures poured in, imperial knights, their armor gleaming silver and gold beneath the flickering light. Their movements were sharp, disciplined, the clatter of their boots echoing like thunder through the fractured air.
At their head strode a man clad in gold-trimmed plate, the twin dragons of the Velkaris crest curling proudly across his chestplate, a jeweled sword at his hip.
The moment his eyes fell upon Belle, every knight behind him stopped and then, as one, dropped to one knee.
"Lady Ardent!" the captain declared, voice carrying across the silence. "We came as soon as we felt the disturbance."
Even through his visor, I could see the tightness in his jaw—the faint tremor of a man who knew exactly whose presence he was standing in.
The Order knights who’d survived, if you could call trembling and pissing themselves surviving, were immediately seized. The imperial soldiers moved with brutal efficiency, disarming and restraining them before they could so much as twitch.
The captain turned to Belle, lowering his head slightly. "My lady," he said, tone cautious but respectful. "Were there any other heretics in the vicinity? Or were these all?"
Belle didn’t answer right away. She lifted her hand lazily, black ribbons of mana gathering around her fingers.
Then snap.
A single, sharp sound echoed through the air.
Reality bent.
A rift tore open above the ruined ground, pitch black, its edges glowing with threads of black light. The air around it reeked of death mana, thick and suffocating, like the world itself was being strangled.
And then, clatter.
Visors began to fall.
Dozens. Hundreds.
Steel faces hitting the ground in a rain of hollow sound, one after another, until the floor was littered with them—some dented, some cracked, all marked with the symbol of the Order of Nowhere.
The rift sealed itself shut with a faint whisper.
The captain just stood there, pale beneath his golden helm, his gloved hand tightening around his sword. "T-These..." he stammered softly. "A hundred of them?"
Belle turned her head toward him, calm as ever, her blindfold glinting faintly in the dim light.
"There were a few scattered throughout the palace," she said simply. "I took care of them before coming here."
Her voice was quiet. Matter-of-fact.
But the words hung heavy, like the statement of a god describing the weather after ending a civilization.
The captain swallowed audibly, nodding once; every trace of color drained from his face.
"As expected of Lady Ardent," he managed to say, though his tone bordered on disbelief.
I couldn’t help but grin.
Yeah. As expected. But she’s gained more aura than me, I don’t like this.
I watched the Imperial knights haul the survivors away, if you could call the twitching heaps of armor and blood "survivors." Their blades glinted under the fractured light, clinking faintly against the tiled floor.
The golden-armored captain barked orders, his voice tight with effort, but the fear in his tone was obvious. No one wanted to linger here longer than necessary. Not under her gaze. Her blind gaze.
My eyes drifted back to Belle. She stood there silently, black hair fluttering in the dying wind, the faint shimmer of her death aura still curling off her like smoke. Calm. Unshaken. Untouchable.
I couldn’t help but think, what kind of idiots would attack here of all places?
The capital. The Empire’s heart. Surrounded by enough soldiers, mages, and enchantments to crush an army before it reached the walls. And even if someone was mad enough to try, she was here. Belle Ardent. The Empire’s Reaper.
It was suicide.
No—worse. It was stupidity wrapped in arrogance.
I frowned, folding my arms, my mind turning over the details from the novel, even though I didn’t remember much, I did know that the Order of Nowhere wasn’t known for subtlety, but they weren’t complete fools either. Their assassinations were always targeted, deliberate. They struck where the Empire’s defenses were weakest, never here, never this deep.
So why now?
Then a thought hit me, sharp as the cold air.
They didn’t know she’d be here.
Belle had turned down over a dozen invitations from the Imperial Court in the last few months, ceremonies, meetings, inspections, even the Empress’s own summons. Half the capital was whispering about it. Everyone assumed she’d vanished on another one of her "hunts."
So maybe... maybe the Order thought the same.
If they believed the Empire’s greatest weapon wasn’t home, they might’ve thought this was their chance—a statement, a message, a spark to light their so-called revolution.
But even then...
I looked around at the shattered arena, at the broken stone, and the lingering scent of blood.
What kind of fools risked everything on a maybe?
Even without Belle, this was the Empire. You didn’t attack a dragon’s nest and expect to crawl away breathing.
No, something about this didn’t add up.
And for the first time that day, a faint unease stirred in my gut.
I stared at the wreckage for a few seconds longer, trying to make sense of that uneasy twist in my gut. The broken arena, the crushed knights, the smell of ozone and death mana still hanging thick in the air, it all screamed bad omen.
But then again... bad omens weren’t my problem.
I exhaled, dusting the rubble off my coat, and straightened up.
"Alright," I said, tone grave, "enough of this."
Belle turned her head toward me, one eyebrow slightly raised. "Enough of what?"
I met her gaze, deadly serious. "I have something more important to do."
The Imperial captain froze mid-order. The surviving knights stopped dragging bodies. Even the air seemed to pause, waiting for whatever profound declaration was about to follow.
Belle, bless her, didn’t even ask. She just gave a small nod, as if she somehow already knew. From within the folds of her tattered black dress, she pulled out an object, sleek, dark, and faintly humming with runic circuits.
A black phone.
She handed it to me like it was a sacred relic. "Be careful," she said quietly. "The world isn’t ready for this."
"I know," I replied solemnly, taking it with both hands. "But sacrifices must be made."
Then I turned around, crouched a little, angled the screen—click!
A perfect shot. Me, standing proudly in front of the obliterated arena, smoke curling behind me, the faint outline of Belle like a grim reaper looming in the background.
Another click. This time I grinned. Wide. Heroic. Maybe a little too heroic.
"#JustTrainingThings," I muttered while typing. "#BeatThePrince #EmpireStrong #BelleBombedItAgain #PrinceOnecent."
The Imperial captain was staring at me like I’d just slapped the Emperor. "...Is he—taking pictures?"
One of his knights whispered, "I think he’s... posting?"
"Of course I am," I said, without looking up, thumbs flying across the screen. "Do you know how rare good lighting is after an explosion? The dust gives it texture."
Belle blinked slowly. "Sebastian," she said, voice flat, "are you—"
"Shh." Click. "Hold that pose, Belle. Perfect. We’ll caption this one ’Reaper and Ruin: Training Arc.’"
Her death aura flared, a low hum shaking the debris. The Imperial knights backed away in sheer panic.
I gave her a thumbs-up. "Don’t worry. I tagged you."
"...Tagged me?" she repeated, like the phrase was physically painful.
"Yep! #TeamDeathAndTaxes," I said proudly. "We’re trending already."
Belle just stared at me for a long, silent moment. Then, slowly, she turned away.
"I regret ever buying you that phone," she muttered.
Meanwhile, my screen lit up.
🔥 2,341 likes in 10 seconds.
I grinned, sliding the phone into my pocket. "Priorities, Belle," I said, brushing the ash off my shoulders. "The people must know."
And somewhere behind us, the Imperial captain was still frozen, muttering, "...We’re all going to die."