Chapter 487: Dark Arcnyte

The engagement had been negotiated over months of careful diplomacy, and now he would meet the woman who would share his throne.

As his carriage approached the main city of Shuk’ha Province, another traveler was also making his way through the bustling streets.

Ewen, a young man with brown-black hair and the lean build of someone who spent more time with books, walked quickly through the crowded marketplace. His simple brown robes marked him as a scholar rather than nobility, and he drew little attention from the merchants and citizens going about their daily business.

Ewen had been Veronica’s partner.

What brought him to Shuk’ha Province now, at this particular moment, was a mystery known only to himself.

The city around him buzzed with unusual activity.

Banners hung from every building in preparation for the prince’s arrival, and soldiers in the provincial guard’s green and gold uniforms stood at every major intersection.

The engagement of the Prince was clearly an event of great importance to the local population.

Ewen pulled his hood up slightly and continued through the streets, his destination unclear but his purpose apparently urgent.

As the Prince’s carriage entered the city from the south gate, and Ewen made his way through the northern districts, neither man knew that their paths would soon cross in ways that would change the course of the Empire itself.

***

Meanwhile, far from these lands,

Inside the farmhouse, the chamber was drenched in the soft spill of dawn, light pouring through tall windows and gilding the tangled sheets where Jaegar and Diana lay spent, skin glistening faintly from the heat of a night that had carried them through countless whispered moans and desperate kisses. The musk of their pleasure still lingered in the air, heavy as incense, though both slept in the languid haze of exhaustion.

That’s when the door creaked open.

A figure framed by the golden wash of morning stood at the threshold, and Jaegar’s body stirred at the sound of the door creaking, a groan spilling from his lips as his lashes fluttered.

The sunbeam, merciless, struck him full in the face, forcing his eyes open to see her.

Angelina. His grandmother.

He was stupefied.

"Awake yet, dear Jaegar?"

Her voice carried both warmth and a cutting edge of mischief.

Jaegar’s breath caught in his throat, words clumsy on his tongue, stammering nonsense as he tried to form a reply.

Beside him, Diana stirred at the intrusion, her body stretching languidly before realization crashed down upon her.

Her gaze followed Jaegar’s, and she saw Angelina standing in the doorframe.

She sat up in a rush, face paling, sleep shattered, and hastily clutched the bedsheet to her chest. No excuses, no quicksilver explanation rose to her lips—only silence, her shame writ plain in the way she scrambled from the bed, wrapped herself in linen, and fled.

Angelina’s chuckle filled the room like the rustle of old pages.

"You are a very naughty pervert, little boy," she said with a sly smile, eyes glinting. Her words carried no venom, only an amused appraisal of his tangled situation.

Without waiting for Jaegar to answer, she swept from the chamber, her steps light, leaving the taste of mystery in her wake.

When he descended later to the great hall, the long table gleamed with steaming platters, and Angelina sat at the head, her composure regal, her smile as unreadable as mist.

Diana was absent, no doubt still hidden in the folds of her embarrassment, but Angelina waved it away with a flick of her jeweled hand.

"I don’t mind," she said casually, her voice rippling like silk, her gaze pinning him.

"Your... appetites are your own."

She sipped from her cup, the smallest curl of lips betraying she had found the scene far more amusing than scandalous.

Then her tone shifted, her eyes sharpening with that quiet weight of one who knew far more than she ever said aloud.

"We must be off soon, and you will come with me. There is business beyond the comfort of hearth and bed that requires our presence."

Her words held no room for argument.

-

On the outskirts of Shuk’ha Province, where ancient stone formations jutted from rolling hills like the bones of sleeping giants, Angelina led Jaegar through winding paths known only to those versed in the old ways.

Her auburn hair caught the afternoon light as she moved with practiced grace between the weathered rocks.

"The last chaos child is here," she said softly, her voice carrying caution.

Jaegar followed behind her, his dark cloak billowing in the mountain breeze.

They approached a circular pavilion carved from white marble, its pillars supporting a domed roof that seemed to shimmer with inner light.

Old runes covered every surface, their meanings lost to all but the most learned scholars. This was a place of power, where the boundaries between magical realms grew thin.

But as they drew closer, the sound of combat reached their ears. Crackling energy and the clash of magical forces echoed from within the pavilion’s sacred walls.

Inside the structure, two figures moved in deadly combat.

Prince Vlaran, his blue robes singed and torn, wielded streams of golden fire that danced around his hands like living serpents. His movements showed the training of a level 19 master wizard, each gesture precise and controlled despite his obvious anger.

Facing him stood Ewen, the Arcnyte whose simple brown robes now glowed with dark arcane energy. Though only a level 18 master wizard, his knowledge of ancient magical techniques gave him advantages that raw power alone could not match. Shadow magic writhed around his fingers as he wove complex spell patterns in the air.

"You dare enter this sacred place!" Vlaran shouted, sending a lance of golden flame toward his opponent.

Ewen deflected it with a shield of crystallized darkness, his voice cold with fury. "Sacred? You know nothing of what this place truly represents!"

The Arcnyte raised both hands above his head, and the very air around him began to thicken with malevolent energy. Dark brown color energy swirled upward from the marble floor, responding to his call like smoke drawn to flame.

But this was no ordinary conjuration—this was a manifestation of raw, erratic force.

"Behold the fury of forgotten arts!" Ewen cried, and the dark energy began to take shape.