Chapter 141: ¹⁴¹Isolde’s Shadow

?"I’m home."

?Those words marked the end of the long storm raging within Ethan Valen’s mind.

?He carefully untangled himself from Elara’s embrace. Wiping the damp tear trails from his sister’s alabaster cheeks with his thumb, he gently whispered for her to get some rest.

?Elara nodded obediently. Soon after, Miya entered and guided the softly sobbing little girl back to her room.

?The master bedroom was now empty.

?Ethan rose from the edge of the bed. He smoothed out his wrinkled black shirt, which was still stained with dried blood. His physical wounds had healed flawlessly. A healthy flush of life had returned to his pale face.

?Beneath his shirt, the Horned Crown tattoo pulsed in a steady rhythm, perfectly syncing with his heartbeat.

?His dark brown eyes were no longer purely human. Faint flashes of crimson and golden-white radiance melded within them—the lingering aftermath of two absolute powers clashing within his soul.

?Ethan stepped outside. The wooden door creaked shut behind him.

?The moment his boots touched the stone floor of the hallway, he stopped in his tracks.

?Sunlight streamed through the window slits, highlighting a figure sitting slumped against the wall right beside his door. Isolde von Rosenberg.

?Hearing the door, Isolde immediately stood up. Her movements were slightly unsteady, but she forced herself to stand tall.

?Her appearance was an utter mess. Her platinum-blonde hair fell in disheveled strands. Her gold-rimmed glasses were nowhere to be found. Her dark blue silk dress was dirty and torn, barely concealing the black rose root tattoo on her back.

?Her pale, icy-blue eyes stared at Ethan unblinking. Her lips parted slightly, trembling, yet no words came out.

?Ethan returned her gaze with a flat expression. He didn’t dismiss her, nor did he greet her. He simply let the silence take over.

?A few seconds stretched out like an eternity, until Isolde finally stepped forward. Her pale hand reached out, trembling.

?Fingers as cold as ice brushed against Ethan’s cheek. She touched him with agonizing care, as if terrified that the contact would shatter an illusion and reduce him to ash.

?Ethan didn’t pull away. He allowed his dark brown eyes to remain cold, yet reserved a paper-thin sliver of softness for the Archmage.

?"You’re warm..." Isolde whispered hoarsely.

?"I’m still alive," Ethan replied calmly.

?The breath Isolde had been holding finally escaped. Her shoulders trembled slightly. The Archmage closed her eyes, letting an invisible weight crumble from her shoulders.

?Ethan raised his hand, gently catching Isolde’s wrist in a light grip. Isolde looked up in surprise.

?Ethan’s gaze lingered on the exhausted lines at the corners of her eyes, then drifted down to the bloodstains on the sleeves of her dress.

?"How long have you been waiting here?" Ethan asked.

?"For two hours," Isolde answered softly.

?"Alaric."

?That single name sliced through the air like a blade.

?Isolde’s body stiffened completely. Her hand froze within Ethan’s grip. She swallowed hard. "What about Alaric...?"

?Ethan remained silent. He offered no verbal answer. He just looked straight into Isolde’s eyes.

?Isolde searched those dark brown depths, looking for the truth amidst the frigid silence. And she found it. Her lips trembled violently. Tears welled up in her eyes.

?Yet, remarkably, not a single tear fell. The wife of the Northern Ruler refused to cry.

?Isolde closed her eyes slowly, then gave a single, slow nod. "I understand."

?Ethan released her wrist. The woman immediately pulled her hand back, clasping her fingers together to hide their trembling.

?"What will you do now, My Lord?" Isolde asked, her voice finding its footing again despite the lingering raspiness.

?"I don’t know yet," Ethan answered honestly.

?Isolde stared at the broad back of the young man in front of her. "Whatever the plan is... I’m going with you."

?Ethan glanced back, looking at her from the corner of his eye. "You don’t have to do this, Isolde."

?"I want to."

?The sheer resolve in those icy-blue eyes pierced through the remnants of her exhaustion. Without a shred of hesitation.

?Ethan evaluated that absolute loyalty for a moment, then looked away without confirming or denying. Isolde understood her boundaries. She took a step back, leaning against the stone wall once more.

?As Ethan stood alone in the middle of the hallway, a familiar resonance vibrated at the base of his skull.

?"You cannot fight the Vampire Queen right now, My Lord."

?Asmodeus’s raspy voice slithered in without its usual seductive teasing. Just pure pragmatism.

?I know, Ethan replied mentally. His eyes stared at the grey sky on the western horizon through the window.

?"That Queen is at the absolute peak of SS-Rank," Asmodeus explained like a seasoned war general. "The chessboard has been shattered. To turn the tides, you need two things: information and power."

?Information about what?

?"Vampire weaknesses. The Crimson Night Ritual. Something that slipped past the Queen’s arrogance. Unfortunately... I didn’t care about a race of bloodsucking mosquitoes back in my prime, so I don’t know their weaknesses."

?Ethan nearly scoffed. So you know absolutely nothing.

?"But I know who does," Asmodeus cut in, refusing to be belittled. "Sage Cornelius."

?Ethan furrowed his brows.

?"That blind old man at the Academy is a true scholar. He knows the secrets of the ancient races hidden by the world," Asmodeus whispered, his tone dropping into a cunning lilt. "And don’t forget... you also have Miya."

?Ethan blinked slowly.

?"That Elf already bears the Lust Brand, but you haven’t truly harvested her on a proper altar. Bring her to the Academy. Meet Cornelius for the information, and harvest Miya in the underground altar to solidify your power."

?The demon’s voice faded, sinking back into the ocean of Sin Mana.

?From the end of the hall, hurried footsteps broke Ethan’s reverie. His three servants finally dared to approach after confirming their Master had left his room.

?Asrof led the way. The old man’s military posture was ramrod straight, despite his uniform being stained with dried blood and his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He brought a fist to his left chest—a crisp, resolute military salute.

?Behind him, Berta sobbed heavily, muffling her mouth with her wrinkled apron.

?Meanwhile, Yuna stood stiffly. The young girl kept her head bowed deep. Her knuckles turned white from clutching the hem of her dress so tightly. Her lips trembled as she held back an overwhelming mix of sheer relief, and the bitter pangs of jealousy every time her eyes caught sight of another woman existing near her Master.

?Ethan looked at them one by one. His frigid gaze softened just a fraction of an inch.

?"I’m back," Ethan stated flatly, yet the words echoed with undeniable solidity down the hall.

?Berta’s defenses crumbled completely. Yuna bowed her head even lower, letting her tears slip and strike the stone floor.

?"Thank heavens, Young Master," Asrof let out a long, relieved sigh. "Lady Elara—"

?"Elara is asleep," Ethan interjected calmly.

?Berta wiped her tears roughly. "You must be starving, Young Master. I have prepared food, or perhaps warm water for a bath—"

?"Later, Berta," Ethan declined gently. His eyes swept over the pale faces before him. "Later, after I see all of you get some rest and stop looking like the walking dead."

?Berta managed a smile through her tears. Yuna nodded softly without daring to look up. Asrof gave a deep, respectful bow before turning to guide the two women away.

?Ethan turned his body back toward Isolde.

?"Is there something you need, My Lord?" Isolde asked.

?"I’m heading to Zenithar Academy," Ethan answered. "There is something I need to take care of down there. And I am bringing Miya with me."

?Isolde furrowed her brows slightly, fully understanding what her Master intended to do with the Elf physician, but she chose to remain silent.

?Ethan stared at the Archmage’s pale face. "You just lost your husband, Isolde."

?Isolde pushed herself off the wall. Her icy-blue eyes met Ethan’s with equal coldness—harboring old wounds that had long since frozen over.

?"I lost my husband seven years ago, My Lord. The Alaric who died last night... was nothing more than an empty shell," Isolde stated without a single tremor in her voice.

?"Are you sure?"

?"I am certain."

?Ethan gave a slow nod. "Prepare yourself. We leave as soon as possible."

?Isolde bowed respectfully, then turned to head toward the guest room prepared for her without asking any further questions.

?Now, Ethan was truly alone.

?His eyes drifted to the end of the hallway, staring at the wooden door to Elara’s room. For a fraction of a second, the Demon Lord’s frigid mask cracked. An overwhelming exhaustion radiated from his gaze.

?Yet, in the blink of an eye, the armor of absolute dominance wrapped around him once more. Ethan turned on his heel and walked away.

?Behind that closed wooden door at the end of the hall, Elara stood perfectly still.

?The blind girl couldn’t see the fading figure of her brother, but she heard everything. And within the silence of her soul, a strange, ancient whisper echoed warmly.

?"You and your brother... are the key."

?Elara clutched the hem of her nightgown. Her white, cataract-clouded eyes stared straight ahead, as if piercing through the wooden door.

?"I know," Elara whispered almost soundlessly. "I’ve always known."

?The invisible bloodline binding the two of them now throbbed even stronger, bracing itself to welcome the true storm.