Chapter 360: There are whispers.

At the East Coast of Ashen Heights, ocean waves crashed quietly against the cold, rocky shore. The air was thick with sea mist, and the clouds above rolled low and grey—matching the mood of the soldiers who stood waiting.

Hundreds of boots pressed into the brown sand as four hundred Men of the Watch, dressed in worn steel and thick leather, formed a line across the coastline. Their armor bore the mark of the Velmourns—a towering Steel Dragon with outstretched wings standing before a crescent moon and cracked world tree, flanked by silver and black lesser dragons—a sigil that once terrified the entire world.

A sigil that represented the dominion the Velmourns held over the entirety of Nerathis and their past glory.

*Picture*

Of course, none of the past glory mattered anymore. It stopped mattering twelve hundred years ago. The Velmourn sigil just became… a symbol, an echo from the past.

A washed-out symbol most people of the present wouldn’t even recognize anymore, and if they did, they would only laugh at its arrogance.

The Velmourns, however, were different. They wore this symbol with pride, their eyes were sharp, hands firm around their spears, blades, and bows as they all stared at the Drakthar ships with solemn looks on their faces.

The very ground beneath them felt frozen—but from the weight of what was coming.

And then—

It finally happened.

The ships were here.

Ten black warships.

Large, sleek, and covered in the Drakthar’s golden-red sigil—a burning eclipse sat at the center with four dragons—black, gold, red, and silver—circling it. Below was a dark throne on broken steps with lava flowing from its base and cracked rocks and fallen swords surrounding it.

A sigil that seemed completely opposite of the Velmourns, each dragon representing a noble trait: wisdom (black), courage (red), honor (gold), and mercy (silver). They circled the eclipse, shielding the light—showing their vow to protect hope, even in darkness.

The battlefield below, with its lava and fallen swords, was not a symbol of war, but of sacrifice. It reminded all who saw it that peace had a price. A symbol that Drakthar rose by standing firm when the world burned.

Yes, it was a sigil created after the defeat of the Velmourns. In the Velmourns’ eyes, this was the symbol of mockery.

*Picture*

Not that the Velmourns could do anything about it. They could only wait and watch as the Drakthar ships sailed toward them. The water around them trembled as the great vessels closed in, cutting through the waves like blades.

As they got close, the Velmourns could now see it.

Each ship carried a hundred men.

And they were not ordinary men.

Their armor gleamed with polish and magic-forged reinforcement. Their blades shimmered faintly, etched with runes that pulsed with power. They stood straight, proud, disciplined—as if they were born as soldiers. Everything seemed to have been instilled into their very bodies, creating what could be called one of the most powerful armies the world had known.

As the ships docked with a synchronized thud, ramps lowered—and from the front of the lead ship stepped a tall, lean man dressed in a flowing black-and-gold coat, a man both Kael and Lavinia would have recognized in an instant if they were here.

Zephyr Nightvale.

Yes, the Shadow Regent had come on his own.

Zephyr’s sharp eyes calmly observed his surroundings with his hands behind his back. From the looks of it, he wasn’t holding any weapons, nor were any of his Bonds around him, but the aura around him was heavy—impossibly heavy.

He looked at the Velmourn army waiting at the shore and suddenly, a small smile appeared on his face.

He could feel it.

The Velmourns’ fear. The heavy, tense air seemed much heavier than anything the fallen Velmourns were used to.

And it wasn’t their fault.

After all, the Velmourns were outnumbered.

They were a thousand strong, while the Velmourns only had four hundred.

What’s worse?

This wasn’t even Drakthar’s main army.

It was obvious the Velmourns would be nervous.

Thinking about this, Zephyr’s smile widened even further.

Behind him, the nine other captains disembarked from their ships with their men. Ten columns formed across the coast—rows of elite Drakthar soldiers, moving like clockwork. Their footsteps made no noise, but every movement oozed with power.

The two armies stared at each other, and the difference couldn’t be clearer.

The Velmourns were fewer, and as if that wasn’t enough, they were less equipped. Their armor was dented. Some carried mismatched weapons, patched together over years of salvage and repair.

Even so… not one of the Velmourns took a step back.

Korvath Velmourn, the Commander of the Watch, stood at the front of their line. His back alone gave them all the courage they needed to stand firm.

And it wasn’t just him. Beside the Commander stood the Matriarch—her presence alone bound all of them together, be it the Men of the Watch or the Elders of the Iron Council.

It was a sight that impressed even Zephyr. With a light, polite smile on his face,

“My name is Zephyr Nightvale,”

He spoke in a calming tone, placing a hand lightly on his chest, as if showing his respect.

“I come from the Nightvale House and serve the King of Drakthar as his Shadow Regent.”

He introduced himself. His gaze then shifted to Morvain and—

“And you must be the Matriarch.”

He spoke as he stared at the people around her.

“Your presence… gives it away.

The Velmourns are fortunate to have a leader like you.”

It was a praise, but it didn’t win Morvain’s favor. She simply stared at the man in front of her with her usual unreadable look on her face.

“You’ve traveled far, Shadow Regent,”

She replied firmly. Then, she glanced at the ships beside him and—

“With a rather large company—if I might add.”

“A necessity,”

Zephyr answered smoothly.

“These are uncertain times. It is best to travel prepared.”

It was a political answer, as one would expect from someone like a Shadow Regent. Morvain, who was seeing this man for the first time, could instantly tell why he, of all people, was sent here.

Not that she cared.

“You stand on Velmourn soil with an army, Regent.

Has Drakthar forgotten about the Treaty of Vorgath, or do you people intend to break it?”

She questioned with a sharp tone, the soldiers behind her holding their weapons tightly at those words—showing they were prepared for what was about to come.

But—

“Break it? No. We’re not so careless. The Treaty of Vorgath is an ancient agreement—one the Drakthar will always respect.”

Zephyr answered respectfully. Morvain, however, continued to stare at the ships and—

“Your words and your action do not match, Regent.”

“I only brought them for my protection.

I am quite frail these days, you see.”

Zephyr smiled. It was quite frustrating to see a literal demigod acting like this. Someone like Veylara would have already lost her mind by now.

Of course, Morvain was different.

“Frail men shouldn’t be travelling—especially on sea.

The sea is far deeper and more dangerous than what most believe.”

“I wouldn’t have done that if I had another choice, but this is a matter of utmost importance,”

Zephyr said without pause.

“I am here to locate… a few individuals. Ones of great significance to the Kingdom of Drakthar. We’ve been searching for them for a long time now, and our search has finally brought us here.”

“I do not recall the Treaty of Vorgath giving Drakthar any power over us Velmourns.”

Morvain did not blink.

“Velmourns are not your subordinates. We are not required to aid in your searches.”

She spoke in a strict tone.

“Nor am I demanding it,”

Zephyr replied, still polite.

“I am only asking… for cooperation.

We are willing to offer compensation for your trouble—rich resources, metals, even food before the winter deepens.

Please see it as a gesture of goodwill.”

“No,”

Morvain said simply.

“No…?”

Zephyr blinked.

“You speak of cooperation, but come armed. You speak of goodwill, but offer rewards for our silence.

You do not need allies, Regent.

You want obedience.

And that is not what you’ll find here.”

The Shadow Regent’s smile tightened, just a little.

“You misunderstand me, Matriarch. Drakthar has no desire to subjugate Ashen Heights. We know what this land has endured.

But you must understand—what we seek… it matters to us more than I can properly say.”

“Then perhaps you should say it anyway,”

Morvain replied.

“What—or who—do you seek?”

She questioned directly.

Zephyr’s eyes lingered on her for a moment. From the information he had, he knew his conversation wouldn’t be smooth—but this…

It was much more than what he was expecting.

He turned silent for a while, thinking how he should proceed from here. And only after a minute-long pondering over everything that might happen after this did he finally open his mouth.

“There are whispers.”

He began carefully.

“Rumors that a certain Hero… and another figure of interest… may have found their way to Ashen Heights.”

He spoke, and in an instant, Kael and Lavinia—who were hearing this conversation through Imperia—had a change in their expressions.

This confirmed it.

Drakthar knows.

There was indeed a traitor amongst the Velmourns.

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