Chương 241: A Lionhearts legend

Vale held Korin's gaze for a moment, his brow slightly raised, the lingering strain from the trial still sitting in his posture like residual weight.

"Then what was the point of that test?" he asked bluntly, voice steady but edged with mild frustration.

"If I wasn't going to make use of its benefits anyway?" Korin opened his mouth to respond, but before a word could leave him, a new sound cut through the corridor. It was sharp, measured, and unhurried: the steady clicking of boots against stone, each step carrying deliberate rhythm rather than casual movement. Vale turned instinctively toward the source, while the atmosphere around them subtly tightened, as if even the air recognized the approach.

From the dim edge of the hallway, a figure emerged as though the shadows themselves had made way for him. Long crimson hair fell over broad shoulders, and curved black horns arched from his skull with an almost natural elegance, neither ornamental nor unnatural, simply present, as though they belonged there. Every step he took carried weight, in presence rather then sound, a pressure that suggested authority rather than size. Vale stiffened immediately. Silfur exhaled quietly behind him.

"Oh. That guy." The man stopped a short distance away, his gaze settling on Vale with a calm so controlled it felt deliberate. There was no hostility in his expression, yet nothing warm either, only observation, precise and evaluating, like a blade resting still but already drawn.

"That is simple," he said at last, his voice low and absolute, carrying an authority that required no elevation to command attention. Vale felt it instantly, this was not a man who needed to raise his voice to be obeyed.

"If you are ever permitted to borrow one of our weapons," the man continued evenly, "you now possess the right to do so." He paused briefly, letting the words settle.

"Do you understand?" Vale hesitated only for a fraction of a second before nodding once.

"Yes, sir." Behind him, Silfur suddenly spoke up, entirely unbothered by the tension in the air.

"Hey, Mr. War God, don't scare the kid like that." The man's gaze shifted to her instantly. It was not aggressive, but it was sharp, measured in a way that suggested he was weighing her words rather than reacting to them.

"War God?" he repeated. Silfur tilted her head casually.

"Yeah. Your name's Ares, right? In my world, that's literally the god of war." A brief silence followed, stretching just long enough to feel intentional rather than uncertain. Ares exhaled slowly, expression flattening into something unreadable.

"I see. A misunderstanding then." Without further comment, he turned his attention back to Korin.

"Sentinel," he said, his tone unchanged.

"I will be taking Vale with me for a moment. Continue the preparations." His gaze shifted briefly toward Eskar and Silfur, lingering just long enough on the bloodscale pouch at Eskar's side to register as deliberate rather than passing.

"Ensure the hatchling is not provoked. Even now, its output remains unstable." Then, without waiting for acknowledgment, he added with quiet finality, "Extract proper value from them." Korin offered a light salute, his tone steady and composed.

"Understood, Commander." Ares turned away, then paused once more. After a brief silence, he looked back at Vale, expression still unreadable, yet slightly more focused than before.

"Are you coming?" Vale swallowed once, then nodded.

"Yes, sir." Then they moved. The corridor swallowed their footsteps as they walked, but the silence between them was not empty, it was structured, deliberate, as though even absence of sound had been arranged with intent. Ares led without hesitation, navigating the hallways with the certainty of someone who did not recognize obstacles as relevant factors.

Vale followed a half step behind, his senses alert, gradually realizing that the absence of guards was not accidental, every corridor they passed through had been intentionally cleared, as though the entire space had been shaped around this single conversation. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. After several minutes, Ares spoke without turning his head.

"I observed your fight with the vice commander." Vale glanced up slightly.

"Yes, sir."

"That technique you used," Ares continued, tone unchanged, "how was it learned?" Vale hesitated for a fraction of a second, not out of secrecy, but out of instinctive caution when speaking of it, before answering honestly.

"From a shade. In the Temple of the Scorched Sands." Ares's brow lifted faintly at that, the smallest shift in expression betraying recognition or at least significance. They reached a massive stone door at the end of the corridor. Ares stopped before it and placed one hand against its surface. There was no visible effort, no preparation in stance or breath, only contact. And then, quietly, the mechanism responded as if it had been waiting for him all along. The door opened as if it weighed nothing.

Inside, the chamber revealed itself, an austere command office suspended above Irea, its vast window overlooking the kingdom below. No excess decoration. No indulgence. Just its intended purpose. Maps, weapon racks, sealed archives, and a presence that made the room feel strangely small. Vale stepped in carefully, and the door closed behind him with a heavy finality, the locking mechanism engaging in a deep, grinding sequence that echoed through the chamber before fading into a sealed stillness.

The room beyond was sparse and deliberate in design, more functional than ceremonial, with stone walls that absorbed sound rather than reflected it. Ares did not sit or settle, instead he moved toward the large window, hands clasped behind his back, his posture unchanged as though rest was irrelevant to him.

"Show me this Shade," he said without turning.

"You carry it with you, correct?" Vale nodded and slowly unstrapped the spear from his back. As soon as his grip tightened, darkness rippled along its surface in response, reacting to his intent rather than physical motion. With a quiet mental command, he allowed it to manifest fully, and Shade emerged in its complete form, unfolding from the spear like something waking from containment.

Crimson eyes ignited within the shadowed mass almost immediately, locking onto Ares with an alert, predatory focus that filled the room with a subtle pressure of its own. For the first time since Vale had met him, Ares's expression shifted, barely perceptible, but it definitely shifted. Interest sharpened into recognition, and he stepped forward slightly, closing distance with measured control rather than caution.

"…I see," he murmured.

"Leo Lionheart." Vale paused mid-breath, his grip tightening.

"Wait, you know him?!"

"Not personally," Ares replied, circling Shade slowly as if studying a preserved artifact rather than a living construct.

"But the structural imprint, the formation pattern, even the residual design philosophy… it is unmistakable. I have only encountered fragments of his existence through restricted records." Vale frowned, lowering Shade slightly but not dismissing it.

"Can you tell me anything about him?" Ares paused for a moment, considering, then turned slightly as if shifting from observation to intent.

"How about we make this a transaction," he said calmly, his voice even and without pressure.

"I ask you a question. You answer it truthfully. In return, I will tell you what I know." Before Vale could fully respond or agree, Ares reached into his coat and produced a worn photograph. It was aged, edges frayed and softened by time and damage, but the image itself remained disturbingly clear. He held it out without hesitation, and after a brief moment, Vale took it. The instant his eyes landed on the image, something in him tightened. A pale boy, framed in stark contrast.

Flame-colored hair that looked almost unnatural in its brightness. A single piercing gaze directed straight at the camera, so focused it felt less like a captured moment and more like an observation that had continued beyond it. It carried an intensity that made the image feel less like a memory and more like something still aware, even beyond its paper lining. A cold shiver ran through Vale before he even realized he was reacting.

"False Angel…" he murmured instinctively. Ares's eyes narrowed slightly at the words.

"So you do recognize him." Vale's grip tightened on the photograph, his expression sharpening as memory and sensation overlapped.

"I've seen him in a vision," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully.

"Not as himself. I wasnt in my own body, rather in that of a different boy, but... in the vision a angel like being appeared. It tried to corrupt that body, but it failed. Instead, it… became him. Or something resembling him." Ares retrieved the photograph from Vale's hand with deliberate calm, as though sealing the exchange. For a moment, something subtle shifted across his expression, relief, or confirmation, tightly controlled and quickly suppressed. He returned the image to his coat before speaking again.

"I have what I needed," he said simply. Vale frowned.

"You're not going to ask anything else?" Ares glanced briefly toward the window, where the light from outside cut across the stone floor in a clean, controlled line.

"You would not have had useful answers," he replied without judgment. Vale exhaled through his nose, half unimpressed, half resigned.

"Fair enough." A brief silence followed, not uncomfortable but weighted, as Ares began shifting the conversation into something deeper without announcing it. Then Ares spoke again, his tone lower this time.

"Leo Lionheart," he began, "was the strongest warrior recorded in our known history." Vale did not interrupt.

"Even without formal power structures or inherited authority," Ares continued, "he was capable of eliminating Category Five-class entities alone, without visible strain or prolonged engagement. He belonged to a cohort that disappeared entirely from all recorded systems. No deaths, survivors or even traceable remnants of their organization have ever been either confirmed or found. Only fragmented accounts remain, scattered and inconsistent remain." His gaze shifted briefly toward Shade, then returned to Vale.

"However, despite the inconsistencies in documentation," he added, "one fact remains consistent across all surviving records." Ares turned fully toward him now.

"Leo Lionheart was not human in the way we define the term." A pause settled between them, heavier than the previous silence.

"He was something worse." Vale exhaled slowly, eyes still fixed on Shade as though reassessing what stood beside him.

"…A monster," he repeated quietly. Ares nodded once, without hesitation or embellishment.

"As far as history is concerned," he said, "that is the only classification that fits."