Chapter 217: Crimson, Fire and Rain [2]

Thunder rolled over Hiddleston.

The sound crossed the harbor and shook through the sleeping town. Rain followed at once, falling in hard, cold sheets from the black sky. It struck the dock, the roofs of the warehouses, the dark water below, and the deck of the Valmorian ship.

The fire at the broken ram fought against the rain.

Flames still climbed over the splintered wood and twisted metal where the figurehead had been cut away. Smoke rose from the prow in thick black clouds. Water hissed against burning timber, but the fire had not yet gone out.

Ulrich stood above it.

His crimson hair was soaked within seconds. Rain ran down his face and over the blood still marking his skin. His white shirt clung to his body, darkened by water, mud, and the wounds beneath it. The black anti-magic sword rested in his right hand.

"You..."

Valdris stared at him, speechless.

Ulrich looked at him.

Then he jumped.

He landed on the deck.

The impact made the wet wood shake beneath his boots.

No one moved.

The sailors had backed away from the prow. The Valmorian knights stood with their hands near their weapons, watching the bloodied Count who had appeared from the burning figurehead. Rain struck their helmets and armor, running down the black metal in thin streams.

Airam stared at Ulrich.

Her mind could not understand what she was seeing.

She blinked.

The image did not disappear.

The fire burned behind him. Rain struck his crimson hair. His face looked pale beneath the blood and exhaustion. His clothes were torn. His body had been wounded badly enough that he should not have been able to stand.

But he stood.

It was him.

Ulrich.

Flesh and blood.

Real.

"Why..." Airam asked.

Her voice came out small.

No one answered.

Airam looked at him again.

She could not understand.

This was the last thing she had expected.

She had given him the perfect chance to let her go.

She had stepped forward herself. She had offered to leave with Valdris. She had asked Ulrich to take care of Hermione and Esther. She had made the decision he should have wanted her to make.

Ulrich was practical.

He always thought ahead.

He cared for maybe a bit for the sisters in his own way, but he did not make choices blindly. He calculated risks. He considered consequences. He chose the path that gave House Rubenhart the greatest chance to survive.

Airam had believed he would understand.

Letting her go had been the best result.

It was one loss.

A painful one.

But Hermione and Esther remained safe. The Empire had taken only her. Ulrich could return to the Estate, gather the survivors, strengthen the defenses, and keep the younger sisters away from Valmoris.

Airam had expected him to accept that.

She had not been surprised when he said fine.

She had not felt betrayed when he ordered Hendrick and Rina to pull Hermione and Esther away from her. She had understood what he was doing. He was protecting the two sisters he could still protect.

That was Ulrich.

He did not let emotion control his judgment.

He chose what was best for his House.

He chose what was best for him.

Airam had seen no reason for him to come after her.

If anything, she had thought he might consider it better that she was gone.

Airam had always been the least cooperative of the three sisters. Hermione could be stubborn, but she loved studying magic and learning under Grandmaster Strelley. Esther was young and easily pleased when she felt safe.

Airam questioned Ulrich.

She argued with him.

She watched every decision he made with suspicion.

She had never fully trusted him.

Why would he risk his life for her?

Why would he cross the forest alone while wounded and exhausted?

Why would he stand before Valdris again after seeing the strength of the Valmorian soldiers?

The odds were even worse than before for him.

"W...why?" Airam asked once more.

This time, her voice cracked.

Her dark eyes remained fixed on him.

And beneath the shock, beneath the confusion, another feeling rose in her chest.

Relief.

It came so suddenly that it hurt.

For the entire carriage ride, Airam had felt the pressure of Valmoris closing around her. Every soldier who bowed to her, every crest carved into the carriage, every mention of the Emperor had made her feel more trapped.

She had told herself she could endure it.

She had told herself that leaving was worth it if Hermione and Esther stayed safe.

But she had been afraid.

Afraid of the ship.

Afraid of the palace waiting beyond the sea.

Afraid of facing Sedhoran alone.

Then Ulrich appeared.

And the suffocating weight in her chest loosened.

The deck remained wet beneath the rain.

The fire behind Ulrich continued to burn.

Airam stared at him, and for the first time since leaving the camp, she did not feel entirely alone.

Ulrich glanced at her.

Only briefly.

His eyes moved over her face, her cloak, and the way she stood apart from Valdris. Then his gaze returned to the commander.

Valdris’s shock had already disappeared.

Coldness replaced it.

"You dare come back," he said.

Armor clattered across the deck.

Valmorian knights moved in from behind Valdris. More soldiers emerged from the lower deck and from the dockside gangplank before it could be fully raised. Their black armor shone beneath the rain. One after another, they drew their anti-magic swords.

The sound of blades leaving their scabbards filled the ship.

Ulrich stood before them alone.

Valdris took one step forward.

"I spared your life," he said. "You were broken. Your soldiers were dead. The Princess secured mercy for you with her own surrender."

His eyes narrowed.

"And yet you came here."

Rain ran down Valdris’s face.

"You must have a death wish."

"I am here for Airam," Ulrich said.

His voice was quiet.

The fire crackled behind him.

"Give her back, and no more blood needs to be shed."

Valdris let out a soft laugh.

"So you truly came for her."

He looked toward Airam.

Then back at Ulrich.

"I do not understand you. Princess Airam has talent. She has expectations placed upon her. Her blood carries great value." His expression became openly contemptuous. "But she should not be worth more than your life, your title, and your future."

Airam’s fingers tightened around the edge of her cloak.

Valdris continued.

"She remains a witch. The kind you once despised. The kind you hunted. You have already risked your life for her sisters. You have already lost your knights. Yet you came here alone, in this foolish attempt to take her back, knowing full well that you will die."

Even Valdris could not understand.

Ulrich’s choice made no sense to him.

A Count should protect his estate.

A noble should protect his inheritance.

A man should preserve his own life when faced with an enemy he could not defeat.

Airam had expected Ulrich to act according to those rules.

But he had come anyway.

Ulrich looked at Valdris.

Then he lifted his right arm.

He pulled the soaked sleeve of his shirt back from his wrist, exposing the skin beneath. Bruises and burns marked his arm. Blood had dried along his knuckles. His fingers remained wrapped around the anti-magic sword, though the hand looked stiff from the battle.

Crimson mana answered him.

Sparks appeared around his wrist.

At first, they were faint.

Then more followed.

The crimson light spread across his arm, winding over the burns and cuts. It moved past his elbow, along his shoulder, and across his chest. Runes appeared beneath the soaked cloth, glowing red through the torn white shirt.

Mana gathered around his entire body.

The rain hissed when it struck the crimson aura.

"Foolish attempt," Ulrich said.

Crimson mana continued to gather around him.

"You think I came this far without believing I could take her back?"

Valdris’s eyes darkened.

The rain ran down his face and dripped from the ends of his black hair. Around him, the Valmorian knights remained motionless for a moment, waiting for their commander’s order.

"You are antagonizing an entire Empire, Count Rubenhart," Valdris said. "Do you understand that?"

Ulrich began walking forward.

The deck creaked beneath his boots.

"You attacked my camp," he said.

"You stand against the will of His Imperial Majesty."

"You took a member of my House."

"Skargardia will not protect you from Valmoris," Valdris continued. "The Skargardian Crown will not risk political conflict for a Count. It certainly will not risk war for three witches."

Ulrich did not slow.

"It does not matter."

Valdris watched him closely.

"Airam bears my name," Ulrich said. "She is part of my House."

Airam stared at him.

The words reached her harder than she expected, and her heart skipped a beat.

For two years, she had carried the name Rubenhart. At first, it had been a shield. A name that gave her, Hermione, and Esther legal protection inside Skargardia. A name that allowed them to attend lessons, live within the Estate, and stand among nobles without immediately being treated as abandoned witch children.

She had never believed it meant more than that.

She had never believed Ulrich considered them truly part of his House.

Valdris gave a cold laugh.

"Foolish."

Ulrich stopped several paces away from the commander.

"You adopted princesses without knowing their father was alive," Valdris said. "No one of importance would consider that adoption legitimate if they knew the truth."

"I do."

"That does not matter."

"It does to me."

Valdris’s expression hardened.

The Valmorian knights moved.

They spread across the deck around Ulrich, closing off the path toward Airam. Some stepped between him and the gangplank. Others formed a line near the main mast. More soldiers emerged from the lower deck, their black armor gleaming with rainwater.

Ulrich stood in the center of them.

He looked around him.

He counted the knights.

He looked at their weapons.

Anti-magic swords.

Spears.

Black armor reinforced against elemental spells.

Some carried shields shaped to turn aside force magic. Others had narrow blades better suited for thrusting through gaps in armor. None wore the battered equipment of soldiers who had fought at the camp. These men were fresh.

Valdris had brought more than enough forces.

Ulrich’s eyes returned to the commander.

"I will take Airam back," he said, hardening his grip of ths black hilt of his sword.

"The only question is whether I take her back through your corpses."

For a moment, Valdris said nothing.

Then he exhaled softly.

He turned toward Airam.

"I apologize, Princess."

Airam remained near the railing, her cloak soaked through by the rain. Her dark hair clung to her face and shoulders. She looked from Ulrich to Valdris, still caught between shock and confusion.

"You understand," Valdris continued, "that I have no choice now. Count Rubenhart has made himself an enemy of the Empire."

Airam’s hands tightened into fists beneath her cloak.

Valdris looked at Ulrich again.

"If he dies, your sisters cannot remain in Skargardia safely. House Rubenhart will be weakened. Its remaining knights have been slaughtered. The Count’s enemies will see an opportunity."

He spoke as though the matter were simple.

"As painful as it may be, I will have to bring Princess Hermione and Princess Esther to Valmoris as well. Their father cannot leave them in a foreign kingdom once the Count who sheltered them is gone."

Airam did not answer him.

Her eyes remained on Ulrich.

"Leave," she said.

The word was barely audible beneath the rain.

Ulrich did not respond.

He watched the knights surrounding him.

Airam’s hands clenched harder.

"Leave," she repeated.

Ulrich still did not look at her.

The anger in Airam’s face became visible.

"Why?!"

She shouted out loud at the end, showing a range of emotion she had never shown in two years.

Ulrich finally turned toward her.

Airam had always kept her emotions hidden. She spoke with a cold expression even when afraid. She had spent years standing between Hermione and Esther, acting as though nothing could reach her.

Now rain ran down her face, almost looking like tears.

Her eyes were wide.

Her mouth trembled.

Ulrich stared at her.

He had no answer to give her.

He had done all of it because he believed it gave him the best chance to bring her back alive.

But explaining that did not change what she had felt.

It did not erase the moment she stepped toward the enemy alone.

Ulrich’s expression remained still.

Airam waited.

He gave her nothing.

Valdris watched the exchange with narrowed eyes.

Then he raised his hand.

"Kill him."

The Valmorian knights moved.

Ulrich lifted the black sword.

Crimson light exploded around him.

Formula Rings appeared across the deck.

One formed around his boots.

Another circled his waist.

Three more opened around his arms and shoulders, each turning at a different speed. Smaller rings gathered around his wrists, knees, and chest. Larger formations hovered behind him, their crimson lines shining through the rain.

The circles did not remain still.

They moved around Ulrich’s body.

Some rotated horizontally. Others turned vertically, passing over his shoulders and beneath his feet. The runes within them shifted as they traveled, changing places, separating, and rejoining along new paths.

Ulrich’s body glowed crimson.

The Valmorian knights stopped.

Valdris’s eyes widened.

At first glance, the spell formations resembled physical enhancement magic.

A strengthened body.

Greater speed.

Sharper reaction time.

Protection against impact.

But the sheer number of Formula Rings made no sense.

No ordinary enhancement spell required so many moving formations. The patterns around Ulrich’s body were too complex. Some of the rune combinations were unfamiliar. Valdris recognized fragments, reinforcement, acceleration, stability, force, sensory sharpening, but they were arranged in ways he had never seen used together.

Other runes meant nothing to him.

He could not tell where one spell ended and another began.

The rings shifted too quickly.

They appeared to be separate formations, yet mana flowed between them. A rune from the circle around Ulrich’s wrist connected briefly to a path in the ring near his boots. Another line ran from his chest toward the larger formation behind him before vanishing beneath the crimson light.

Valdris’s hand lowered slightly.

Once again, he found himself in disbelief at what he was witnessing from Ulrich.