CHAPTER 81: AFTERMATHS

Half a year before...

The Azure Province was bleeding. A beast tide, larger and more ferocious than any in living memory, had erupted from the depths of the Whisperwood.

The great families, their strongest cultivators standing guard at the empty Labyrinth entrance, were caught completely off guard.

Towns were overrun. Garrisons were shattered.

A tide of Feral and Elite-grade monsters pushed relentlessly towards the heart of the province. Despair began to settle over the land like a thick, suffocating fog.

It was into this chaos that the heirs returned.

A vortex of white light tore open the sky above the Dragon Tooth Mountain Range. From it, the surviving disciples of the great families emerged.

They were different. The arrogant, inexperienced youths who had entered the Labyrinth were gone. In their place stood seasoned warriors.

The disciples were all at the peak of the Energy Gathering realm. Their eyes were hard, their movements efficient, and their bodies hummed with a power that was far beyond their peers.

But it was the five figures at their head who truly stunned the world.

Daemon Azure, Aiden Thorne, Anya Sterling, Lysander Crestfall, and Joric Ashton.

Their auras were no longer that of disciples. They were the auras of masters. Each of them had broken through to the Core Formation realm.

They had become Tier 3 experts in half a year, a feat that was simply unheard of.

They did not waste time. They saw the burning towns, they heard the screams of the dying, and they acted. The five young heirs, once rivals, became the province’s last hope.

They became heroes.

Aiden Thorne was a one-man army. He charged into the thickest parts of the beast horde, his greatsword a blur of motion.

His Meridian Opening technique gave him a stamina that seemed endless. He fought for days without rest, his body a fortress of power.

He was a brute, but he was a brutally effective one. His roars of challenge were as feared by the monsters as his blade.

Anya Sterling was the strategist. She did not charge blindly. She stood on the walls of besieged cities, her eyes glowing with a faint green light.

Her Eye of Veridian Insight allowed her to see the flow of the battle, to find the weak points in the monster horde.

"The Alpha Stone-Hide Boar, three miles to the east. It is the lynchpin. Kill it, and their charge will falter," she would command, her voice calm and clear. Her predictions were never wrong.

Lysander Crestfall was the shield. He did not focus on killing. He focused on saving. He moved from town to town, his hands a blur as he laid down complex defensive formations.

His arrays, learned from ancient scrolls found in the Labyrinth, were powerful enough to hold back even Elite-grade beasts.

He stood before the common soldiers and the terrified civilians, an unbreachable wall of power.

Joric Ashton was the ghost. He was no longer the arrogant, insecure disciple. He was a ruthless and efficient killer.

He moved through the battlefields like a phantom, his dagger a whisper of death. He hunted the leaders of the monster packs, the cunning alphas and the powerful matriarchs.

He fought with a desperate intensity, as if trying to wash away a deep, internal shame with the blood of his enemies.

He was trying to prove that the Ashton name still meant something.

And Prince Daemon Azure was the commander. He stood at the head of the royal army, his presence a beacon of hope.

His netherworld spirit, Shade, was a terrifying weapon, a creature of shadow and fear that could turn the monsters’ own pack-mates against them.

He gave the orders. He coordinated the attacks. He was the mind that guided the sword, the shield, and the ghost.

Together, they were unstoppable.

The tide of the war began to turn. The beast horde, which had seemed like an unstoppable force of nature, was pushed back.

The five young heirs became legends. They were hailed as the ’Five Young Heroes,’ the saviours of the Azure Province.

Their names were sung in every village, their deeds told in every tavern.

But behind the public celebrations and the songs of praise, a different story was being told. In the private halls of the great families, in the quiet moments between battles, a deep and terrifying fear was taking root.

They had won. They were heroes. But they knew the truth.

They were not the strongest beings to come out of that Labyrinth. They were not even close.

Another half a year passed.

The beast tide was a memory. The province was rebuilding. The Five Young Heroes were the undisputed leaders of their generation.

In a quiet, heavily guarded hall within the Azure Royal Palace, the five of them gathered. It was the first time they had all been in the same room since they had returned from the war.

The air was thick with a tension that had nothing to do with their old rivalries.

Daemon sat at the head of the large, round table. He looked every bit the part of a future king. His face was calm, his posture perfect. But his eyes held a deep, hidden weariness.

"It has been a year," he began, his voice steady. "A year since we entered the Labyrinth. A year since we returned. The province is safe. Our families are secure. We are stronger than our fathers ever were at our age."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the others. "So why have we all been avoiding this conversation?"

No one spoke.

Aiden Thorne, who was usually the loudest in any room, was unnaturally quiet. He stared down at his own powerful hands, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

Anya Sterling looked out of a large window, her gaze fixed on the distant sky. She looked as if she was searching for something.

Lysander Crestfall had his eyes closed, as if in deep meditation, but the tight line of his mouth betrayed his inner turmoil.

Joric Ashton simply stared at the polished surface of the table, his face pale.

"Because we are afraid," Daemon continued, his voice dropping to a low whisper.

"We are celebrated as heroes, the most powerful cultivators of our generation. But we all know it’s a lie. We know there is another monster out there. A monster that makes all of our power look like a child’s game."

The name hung in the air, unspoken but felt by everyone.

Rhys.

Aiden Thorne finally broke the silence. He slammed his fist on the table, the sound echoing in the quiet hall.

"He’s dead!" he roared, his voice a mixture of anger and desperation.

"He has to be dead! Or else he would’ve exited there long ago! The Labyrinth probably collapsed and killed him when the trial ended. We are the victors! We should forget about that freak!"

He was trying to convince them, but it was clear he was trying to convince himself most of all. He had seen Rhys’s power. He had felt it.

The memory was a cold knot of fear in his gut that no amount of victory or praise could undo.

Anya turned from the window. Her face was calm, but her eyes held a deep, chilling certainty.

"You’re a fool, Aiden," she said, her voice quiet but sharp. "You saw his power. A place like that is not a prison to him; it’s a resource. He is not dead. Now as he talking, he may be growing stronger."

"Stronger?" Aiden scoffed, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. "How much stronger can he get? We are Tier 3 experts now! We have treasures from the Labyrinth! The five of us together could crush him!"

"Treasures," Lysander laughed, "doesn’t he have the same? Did you already forget about the army he had? That four-legged monster was enough to kill our ancestors!"

"You..."

The argument was on the verge of escalation when a young man with a terrified face rushed into the hall. That young man was also in the team of Labyrinth challengers.

"Your Highnesses!" he stammered. "A... a report! From the outer garrisons! At the edge of the Whisperwood!"

Daemon frowned, annoyed at the interruption.

"What is it? Have the beasts returned?"

"No, Your Highness," the servant shook his head violently, his eyes wide with a terror that was all too familiar to the heirs in the room.

"It’s a family. A man, a child, and a woman."