Chapter 104: His son had returned

The carriage moved along at a leisurely pace.

The wheels carved gentle ruts into the earth, raising barely any dust, which the wind quickly scattered.

The sound of the wheels on the road had become part of the landscape, a steady rhythm that blended with the murmur of the wind and the occasional creak of the wood. Adam lay back, his eyes half-closed, letting the rocking motion carry him into a state between wakefulness and rest.

His body seemed to have found a natural balance with the movement, as if it had already fully adapted to the journey.

The sky stretched clear above him, unbroken by clouds—a deep blue, almost indifferent to everything happening on the ground.

The light fell evenly, without harshness, bathing everything in a calm clarity that stood in contrast to the previous days.

Adam exhaled slowly.

The air left his lungs unhurriedly, carrying with it some of the accumulated tension.

Along the side of the path, the trees stretched out in a continuous line, their shadows lengthening across the ground.

The leaves moved gently, producing a constant rustling that barely stood out among the other sounds.

“You’re too relaxed,” said Asterin, floating beside him.

Her voice broke the stillness without completely disrupting it, like a slight ripple on the water’s surface.

Adam didn’t turn his head.

“Does that bother you?”

“It worries me.”

There was a brief pause.

The silence wasn’t awkward, but dense, heavy with something left unsaid.

The carriage continued on its way.

The steady rhythm of the wheels filled the space between them once more.

“When someone like you relaxes that much… it means you’re thinking too much.”

A faint smile crossed Adam’s face.

“Or maybe it means that, for once, I’m not thinking about anything.”

Asterin didn’t respond right away. She stood there in silence, as if trying to make sense of something that didn’t quite add up.

…

The journey continued without a hitch this time; Adam didn’t stop in the town of Bretan, as his priority was to reach Arkham as quickly as possible.

The roads stretched out uninterrupted, and the few travelers who crossed his path were left behind in a matter of minutes, reduced to distant figures.

Moreover, he had a strange sensation in his body that, at first, was subtle, but now was no longer so easy to ignore.

A constant discomfort, like an internal pressure that found no way to release itself.

That was why, after he had come under Bretan’s care, he had increased the carriages’ speed, without caring much about the horses’ condition.

The animals breathed more heavily, their hooves pounding the ground with a more aggressive rhythm, while the carriage vibrated slightly from the increased speed.

The closer he got to Arkham, the more Adam could feel the change in the air; the wind was no longer clean; it seemed to carry something else, like a metallic scent.

A subtle but persistent presence that seeped into every breath.

Adam frowned slightly, feeling his heart begin to pound harder, and a lump formed in his throat.

His body reacted before his thoughts, as if it already recognized what his mind had not yet fully accepted.

The smell in the air was unmistakable: it was the smell of blood… but not fresh blood, rather blood that was several days old… though a hint of fresh blood could also be detected.

That mixture was unsettling, contradictory, as if the past and present of the battle coexisted in the same place.

He sat up slightly in the carriage, leaning on one arm as his gaze turned forward.

His eyes focused, shedding any trace of rest, alert to what was about to appear on the horizon.

The further they went, the less the landscape had changed; yet the changes were noticeable: there were footprints on the road and in the grass, many of them… no, too many, far too many of them.

At first, they seemed scattered, almost random, but soon they became impossible to ignore, marking the ground with an unsettling persistence.

Adam’s expression darkened completely; as they drew closer, the marks became increasingly prominent.

Some overlapped one another, deep and disordered, as if a great many bodies had passed through without any formation.

“We’re getting closer…”

One of the mercenaries muttered.

His voice was low, almost instinctive, as if speaking louder might disturb something they didn’t yet fully understand.

It was all too clear that something had happened in the city of Arkham. Adam glanced at the mercenaries’ leader, named Ethan.

A glance, but enough to confirm that they were both thinking the same thing.

He began issuing orders immediately as they drew closer and closer, and the traces only grew more numerous.

The men adjusted their stances, their hands moving toward their weapons almost automatically, as the tension grew with every meter they covered.

Columns of smoke rose slowly from various points, mingling with the sky that moments before had seemed so calm.

The smoke was not uniform; some columns were dense and dark, others thinner, as if different pockets of destruction were still active.

Then, they began to hear screams, initially faint and distant.

At first barely perceptible, like echoes carried by the wind, but clear enough not to be mistaken for anything else.

Adam’s eyes narrowed. His expression changed. All the calm he’d shown before vanished without a trace.

His pupils focused sharply, and his body tensed instantly, as if he’d been waiting for that moment.

“We’re too late…” Claire murmured.

Her voice carried a heavy weight, as if she’d already accepted an inevitable conclusion.

Adam didn’t respond right away. His gaze remained fixed on the city. A faint, cold smile appeared on his face.

It wasn’t a smile of relief or doubt… but something more restrained, more dangerous.

“No, we’re right on time.”

His tone was low but firm, like a certainty that needed no explanation.

…

“Shit… shit!”

The sound echoed through the enclosed space, bouncing off the walls with nowhere to go.

General Darion kicked the table hard—the one holding the map marked with the cities he had managed to capture—but with the recent arrival of the Tubor army, everything had gone downhill.

The impact caused the map to crumple and shift, the tokens and markers moving out of place as if mirroring the actual chaos.

On top of that, he had received a report that a group of mercenaries was rapidly approaching the city.

The messenger’s words still seemed to echo in his head, insistent, impossible to ignore.

He couldn’t believe what was happening—just when he’d managed to take over most of the city, and was on the verge of conquering it, reinforcements suddenly appeared, and all his hard work went down the drain.

The thought repeated itself over and over in his mind, in no particular order, filled with rage and disbelief.

Darion couldn’t have been more frustrated. They’d fought so hard just to get in, and now they had to leave—because if they stayed, they’d all be killed, not to mention that they were vastly outnumbered.

Reality hit them with brutal clarity, crushing any attempt to deny it.

And most importantly, after so many days in combat, they were exhausted; the same was true of the Hall family’s army, but with their reinforcements, they had the advantage…

Exhaustion weighed on his muscles, on his breathing, on every thought that now seemed slower and heavier.

Darion clenched his teeth tightly and let out a cry of frustration:

His jaws clenched until they ached, and his hands clenched into fists, making the veins stand out beneath his skin.

“SHIT!”

The shout burst forth with all his pent-up force, tearing through the air as if it could shatter something more than just the silence.

…

Sitting in a wooden chair, her gaze fixed on the window overlooking the city, Alisha massaged her shoulders; she could see her body covered in wounds she never imagined she would have, but seeing them did not make her feel ashamed.

The wood creaked slightly under her weight, and with every movement, her muscles protested with a dull ache that was already starting to feel familiar.

The wounds she bore were proof that she had given her all for everyone in this city.

Some were still fresh, others were already beginning to heal, but all told a story that needed no words.

Then, a soldier rushed toward her at full speed.

Her footsteps echoed against the floor, hurried, breaking the stillness that had settled inside.

“Madam, the young master has arrived in town!”

Her voice came out in short bursts, filled with urgency and something else… something close to relief.

Alisha’s eyes widened, and she sat up, quickly moving away from where she had been. In the distance, she could see a large group rapidly approaching her, and at the front was her son, his expression serious.

The movement was almost automatic, ignoring the exhaustion, the pain, everything else, as her gaze fixed solely on that approaching figure.

His son had returned

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