Chapter 471. Quiet Was Never the Same Thing as Gone

Chapter 471: 471. Quiet Was Never the Same Thing as Gone

"This isn’t something I can use carelessly," William finally said. His voice was rough, like gravel grinding together, but the tremor had passed.

He took another long pull from the waterskin Catherine held, the cool liquid soothing the fire that still lingered in his throat. "I felt it... Just now."

He looked down at his right fist. The knuckles were red, not from impact, but from the sheer internal pressure of the energy that had forced its way through his capillaries.

"That kind of power... it’s not just strength."

"It’s a violation. It feels like forcing a river through a crack in a dam."

"If I miscalculate by even a fraction, I won’t just destroy the target... I’ll destroy myself."

’My bones felt like they were vibrating apart,’ he thought bitterly. ’ Like every joint was screaming at the intrusion.’

"Agreed completely," Catherine said.

She hadn’t moved. Her hand remained pressed against his back, warm and steady through the damp, sweat-dampened fabric of his shirt.

Her touch was an anchor, pulling him back from the edge of that hollow, empty abyss he had just fallen into. "We don’t use it for practice."

"We don’t use it for posturing."

"We save it for the day the world actually starts breaking around us... Not a moment sooner."

Kaela shifted, leaning more of her weight into his shoulder. She seemed unconcerned by the sweat or the dirt staining her own clothes; her focus was elsewhere.

She looked past the high stone walls of the training yard, toward the distant, glittering towers of the royal palace that rose like jagged teeth against the deepening purple of the evening sky.

Somewhere in those opulent halls, a prince was likely sipping wine, wearing a smile as carefully constructed as his court politics—a smile that hadn’t yet been shattered by the reality of what was coming.

"At least now we know our last card exists," Kaela said quietly.

Her voice carried a rare note of grim satisfaction. "In this game, knowing you have one last desperate move left in your sleeve... that’s actually pretty reassuring."

"Even if it’s a suicidal one."

"It’s a card we hope never to play," William replied, his gaze fixed on the twisted, smoking corpse of the steel dummy. "But I’d rather have it and never use it than need it in the heat of battle and find my hands empty."

The heavy iron bolt of the gate screeched as it was thrown back. Captain Roan appeared in the doorway, his boots echoing sharply on the stone.

He had clearly been drawn by the thunderous sound of tearing metal that had reverberated through the barracks.

He stopped dead three paces from the yard’s entrance, his eyes widening as they took in the scene: the cratered earth, the scattered, glowing shards of shrapnel, and the ruined heap of what had once been a fortress of steel.

His gaze flickered from the wreckage to William sitting exhausted and bloodless in the dirt and then to the three women surrounding him like a protective phalanx. Roan let out a long, slow whistle that sounded more like a sigh of disbelief.

"Remind me never to make you angry, Instructor," Roan said, his voice carrying a grudging, dangerous respect. "I’ve seen siege engines do less damage than that single punch."

William offered a weak, humorless smirk. "You’re in good company, Captain."

"I’m trying to remind myself of the same thing."

Roan walked closer, kicking at a piece of twisted plating with his boot. The metal groaned, still warm to the touch.

"I’ll have someone bring out a replacement target before your next session... Though honestly?"

"I’m not sure what we have in the armory that won’t end up looking like confetti after you’re done with it."

The captain surveyed the damage one last time, his arms crossing over his barrel chest. A strange expression crossed his weathered features, something resembling approval, the look of a soldier who had just seen a new weapon forged in fire.

"I’ll make sure this yard stays reserved for you specifically," Roan said, his tone shifting to something deadly serious. "Whatever that was, whatever hell you just unleashed, I’d rather nobody outside this circle knew it existed."

"Not until you decide otherwise... Secrets like that are worth more than gold in this city."

"Appreciated, Captain."

"Don’t mention it." Roan turned toward the gate, his cape swirling behind him.

He paused at the threshold, casting one final, ominous glance at the carnage. "Truly... Don’t mention it to anyone."

Lia finally allowed herself to surrender to the exhaustion, dropping onto the packed earth on William’s far side with a heavy, shuddering exhale that sounded like a prayer of relief.

For a long time after that, silence reclaimed the yard—not the ringing, violent silence of the aftermath, but something softer, thicker.

The four of them sat together in the dying amber light of the enclosed yard, huddled close against the encroaching chill. They were tired in a way that transcended physical muscle ache; it was a bone-deep weariness born of holding back a floodgate.

In that moment, they were a closed circuit, a small island of raw truth in a sea of deception. There was nothing left to prove to one another, and more importantly, nothing left to hide.

Somewhere across the sprawling palace grounds, in chambers lit by expensive wax and perfumed air, Delmore’s agents were still moving their pieces with meticulous, practiced care.

They were confident in their shadows, certain that their web of influence remained invisible, their masks perfectly intact. They had no way of knowing that the foundation of their conspiracy had already developed its first hairline fractures.

Those cracks wouldn’t appear in the grand ballroom where flattery could smooth them over, but in the eyes of these four people sitting in the dirt, people who had finally, irrevocably, decided they were done pretending not to see the rot beneath the gold.

’Let them play their games,’ William thought bitterly, staring at the jagged remains of the steel dummy. ’Let them think they’re winning while they’re actually walking into a slaughterhouse.’

His mind wandered, unbidden, to the west balcony. He remembered the silhouette that had stood there in the darkness a week ago, a shape that had watched him with a patient, unsettling stillness.

He hadn’t shared that memory with Kaela or Lia. Not yet.

There was already too much blood on the table, too many secrets weighing down their conversations. But he couldn’t shake the feeling of those eyes on him.

He had learned something painful in another life, one that had ended with the wet gurgle of blood in his throat and the taste of iron on his tongue: Quiet was never the same thing as gone.

Silence was often just the indrawn breath before a killing blow.

He shoved the thought into the darkest corner of his mind, locking it away for tonight. He needed to be present here, with them, before the armor of responsibility had to be strapped back on.

Eventually, Catherine was the first to break the spell. She rose with the fluid grace of someone who refused to let exhaustion show, brushing the dust from her knees with precise motions.

She turned to William and offered her hand. He took it, his fingers closing around hers, accepting the help gratefully as his legs fought the lingering weakness still thrumming through his nerves.

Lia and Kaela followed, rising like shadows from the earth. The four of them began the unhurried walk back through the quiet barracks yard, moving as a single unit.

None of them were in any hurry to return to the palace to that gilded cage full of smiling masks, poisonous whispers, and unsigned contracts that could doom them all.

Roan’s men, scarred and battle-hardened, nodded them through the gate with a silent acknowledgment of the gravity they carried.

As they walked, the first real stars began to pierce through the deepening velvet of the evening sky, cold, distant, and piercingly bright.

They hung there, ancient and indifferent, watching without judgment as the four warriors disappeared into the shadows of the palace, each carrying a secret that could set the world on fire.