CHAPTER 428: CH 428: WAR IS COMING - PART 2

Kyle’s eyes flew open, his breath caught in his throat. The fragments of the dream—the warning—still echoed in his mind, but more than the words, it was the emotion behind them that clung to his chest like a vice.

"God of War..."

He sat up slowly, fingers pressing into his temples. A sharp, throbbing headache settled in like iron chains clamping down on his skull.

It wasn’t the usual fatigue of overusing mana—this was something else. Residual backlash.

Lucia’s divine mana had reached him. But it had been fractured. Incomplete.

He could feel the imbalance in the flow—it wasn’t just because of her urgency. Lucia had tried to reach out from a place where her mana couldn’t fully function. A divine prison.

One designed to suppress a god’s will and power.

Even in that state, she still found a way to warn him.

Kyle gritted his teeth.

"You stubborn idiot..."

She could have used her remaining strength for herself. To protect her mind. To break free.

But instead, she warned him.

"I’ll get you out. I don’t care what it takes... once this war is over, you’ll be free. No more shackles. No more silent suffering in the hands of those bastards."

Kyle muttered under his breath.

He stood and let out a long breath. The weight of what was to come was already pressing on his back.

War was coming—not a mere skirmish, not a divine shard or corrupted host. No, he was coming.

The God of War.

And Kyle knew this wasn’t going to be like the others.

He summoned his aide and sent word to the Crown Prince and the Grand Duchess, asking them to meet in the strategy chamber immediately.

Prince Mikalius walked in with a cup of steaming tea in hand, smiling as he opened his mouth to joke—until he saw Kyle’s expression.

He froze mid-step.

"...That bad, huh?"

The Grand Duchess followed close behind, frowning at the tension in the air. She took a seat quietly, eyes locked on Kyle as he stood before them with arms crossed.

Kyle didn’t waste time.

"The God of War has been sent to this world."

Silence.

Mikalius’s cheerful mood instantly collapsed into dread. He groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

"Are you serious right now? First the God of Justice’s shards, then the corruption of the elves, then monsters tearing apart the countryside—and now this? My people are on the brink of exhaustion. How much more can they take?"

"We don’t have the luxury of asking that. We fight, or we fall."

Kyle said coldly.

The Grand Duchess leaned forward, her voice calm and sharp.

"What’s your plan, Kyle?"

Kyle hesitated.

Then he shook his head slowly.

"There’s no plan that can involve you. Or Mikalius. Or the army. If the God of War descends fully into this world... then a war is inevitable. But I’ll be fighting this war alone."

Mikalius looked stunned.

"Are you mad?! Alone?! Against that?"

Kyle met his eyes.

"A god like him will trample through any formation, any battalion. He’ll enjoy the slaughter. If I take others with me, it’ll only multiply the casualties. I need to be mobile. Unpredictable. He’ll expect an army. I’ll give him me."

"But—"

Mikalius began, but the Grand Duchess cut him off.

Her gaze never left Kyle’s face.

"Is this something you’re sure you’ll survive?"

He didn’t answer.

That alone was enough.

Her lips quivered for a second. Then she took a slow, steadying breath.

"Then I have one condition."

Kyle raised an eyebrow.

She stood, walking to him with all the poise of a noble, but her voice was anything but calm.

"If you truly believe there’s a chance you won’t return, then I want to marry you before you leave."

Kyle blinked.

"That’s... not a good idea. It would only complicate things further. Wait until I return—"

"No. I’m not waiting. Not when every time you leave, my heart threatens to tear itself apart wondering if you’ll return."

Her tone was firm, defiant.

Mikalius quietly slipped out of the room, giving them space.

"I’ve waited long enough, Kyle. I’ve watched you walk toward danger again and again. I’ve watched you carry burdens alone. And I’ve watched myself fall in love with someone who may never come back."

She continued, her eyes growing glassy.

Kyle opened his mouth to speak, but she stepped closer and cut him off.

"If there’s even a sliver of a chance that you won’t return—then let me have this. Let me be your wife, even if just for a few days. Let me walk into that uncertainty knowing I was yours, even for a moment."

Kyle stared at her. The woman who had always stood proud. The one who never let her emotions sway her duty.

And yet now, all of that pride was being set aside for him.

"...You’ll regret it if I don’t come back," he said quietly.

"I’ll regret not marrying you more."

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, Kyle sighed, a small smile curling at the edge of his lips.

"...You’re too stubborn for your own good."

She stepped forward and rested her forehead against his.

"Then it matches the man I love."

He closed his eyes, just for a moment, allowing himself to feel her warmth.

"One day, when this war is over... I’ll give you the ceremony you deserve."

He whispered.

She smiled.

"For now, I’ll take the one you’re willing to give."

The Grand Duchess stood in front of Kyle, arms folded as if bracing herself for the truth.

"How long do we have before this... war begins?"

Kyle looked away for a moment, gauging the ebb and flow of the lingering divine mana he had felt.

"A few days. A week at most, if we’re lucky."

She sighed through her nose.

"So little time."

A beat passed.

"I always imagined something grand. A wedding where every noble would envy me, where I’d wear a dress so beautiful it would leave you speechless."

Kyle’s lips curved slightly.

"You’d leave me speechless no matter what you wear."

She smirked, but it faded quickly into something softer, more resigned.

"We’ll rush it then. A private ceremony. Just us, a few witnesses. Once you return, we’ll do it again—properly this time. With bells, and flowers, and scandalous amounts of wine."

He nodded.

"Do what you want. I’ll follow your lead."

The Grand Duchess tilted her head, studying him with narrowed eyes.

"Be careful, Kyle. Don’t die before I get my proper wedding."

"I’ll try not to."

She turned, the swirl of her cloak a flourish of regal poise.

"I have a lot to do. Preparations take time—even for a rushed wedding."

She said, voice clipped.

And with that, she swept out, leaving Kyle standing in silence.

As the door closed behind her, Kyle remained still, his expression unreadable. The echo of her footsteps lingered like a drumbeat in his ears, steady and purposeful.

He could tell she was holding back—her usual confidence hiding a deep, silent fear. And yet, she moved with conviction, as if organizing a wedding would give her some control over the storm to come.

Kyle exhaled softly and looked out the window, where clouds had begun to gather in the distance.

War was coming, and so was a rushed union. One born not from fear, but from a desperate, genuine love.