CHAPTER 292: THE WINTER RETURN AND THE UNFINISHED PEACE

Carl did not intervene, as this was the business of Emperor Azgoth or of Aric, who was administering state affairs on Azgoth’s behalf.

Carl had briefly wandered through western Tumaria, attempting to fulfill the promise he made to Yusuf. But not long after, he returned to Hardion through Davron.

To most, this move was baffling—outrageous even. Everyone had assumed Carl would lay claim to western Tumaria. The political elites in Hardion, who had been on edge since the war’s end, began to breathe a little easier. They started relaxing their guard around Charles, the man hailed as the hero of the war.

As for Carl and Yusuf, the two never met again in person. They quietly exchanged letters long after the sun had set, after their work was done.

Tumaria, still reeling from the civil war, was in chaos. Yusuf, now at the center of it all, struggled to hold the fragile nation together. But first, the matter of the weightlifters had to be resolved.

"We were just fooled by heretics!" cried the Sultans who had initiated the conflict, now desperate to place the blame elsewhere. All of them pointed fingers at Siana, the heretic, but their claims were rejected without mercy.

"Sultan Yusuf—no, Padishah. Kill me and come to the light."

Whisain, one of the few truly deceived by Siana’s curse, accepted his fate with unsettling calm. He was ready to die.

Yusuf, torn by grief and duty, executed his half-brothers. He then met with the Hadad Order. Together, they decided to strip Akhtal Naqsidil of his title and imprison him deep within the order.

Naqsidil fell into despair, a hollow shell of himself. He blamed himself—his fractured order, the civil war, the bloodshed. Because of him, Tumaria had crumbled.

This single decision rocked the foundations of the Hadad sect. The authority of the Akhtal, once sacred and unquestioned, was now diminished. And politically, Tumaria shifted. Everything changed.

Yusuf ascended the throne as Padishah, but it was not the glorious coronation many had imagined. There was no time.

The former Padishah had died, his condition worsening while Yusuf was campaigning in the west. The throne could not remain empty—not even for a day. Another crisis might erupt.

The people didn’t know the full story. They simply looked to their new Padishah and prayed for peace.

The war was over.

But strangely, it didn’t feel like peace. It felt like something was just beginning.

Siana had escaped. Something darker lurked beneath the surface, and the scars left behind by the war ran deep.

Autumn passed. Winter arrived.

And when Carl returned to Dabron Castle, the first snow had already blanketed the ground.

---

Dabron Castle buzzed with life. People lined the roads, waving flags and shouting with joy as the warriors of the Laurel Alliance returned.

But soon, confusion rippled through the crowd. The number of returning soldiers was far smaller than expected.

"I left troops behind to stabilize western Tumaria—it’s part of Hardion now," explained a knight, stepping forward to calm the anxious families.

"Oh, I see!" came the relieved murmurs.

The cheers resumed.

"To keep the heretics of Tumari in check!" someone shouted, and laughter followed.

Archduke Charles, still glowing with the glory of victory, led his remaining soldiers through a modest but proud triumphal ceremony.

And just like that, it was over.

Carl wasted no time. He gave a simple order: disband the army.

The war was done, so the Laurel Union would be no more—for now.

Many were disappointed. After all, this had been their first real war in over thirty years. People had expected more—a grand parade, a march through the empire, maybe even a triumphal procession in Himmeln.

But Carl shut those ideas down quickly. Supplies were low. The war had drained them. And besides, it was winter.

"Do you want to get stuck in a blizzard and freeze to death somewhere in the east?" he reportedly quipped.

It was enough to silence the murmurs.

The troops left Dabron in all directions.

Naturally, soldiers whose routes overlapped banded together. They marched out in formation, looking as dignified and mighty as ever.

"How many did you kill?" a boy asked one of the returning soldiers.

The soldier grinned. "Hahaha! Who counts during war? I just killed everyone I saw—must be hundreds!"

"Whoa!"

"Check this out! This dagger? Took it off a Tumari warrior."

"Can I touch it?"

"Try it!"

Young boys swarmed the soldiers like bees. Even children not yet ten years old reached out eagerly to touch the blood-stained weapons.

Killing, to them, was not something to fear. It was honorable—heroic. Especially in Dabron, where being hesitant to kill was seen as weakness.

Some soldiers had gone even further. They paraded around with strings of severed noses and ears from Tumarians they had killed, proof of their prowess.

Though many frowned at the gruesome trophies, few openly criticized them. Instead, some whispered their envy.

Carl, meanwhile, was already preparing to leave again.

His next stop was supposed to be Bemale, where reptilian monsters were still a threat. But with reports saying the monsters had stopped during winter, he changed plans.

He needed to contact Gasto. And for that, he needed Curtis Levin. Curtis would be the key to initiating contact with the Balturan people beyond the Marquisate of Gasto.

Carl was just about to leave Dabron when he heard the name.

"You mean Sir Curtis is here?"

"Yes. He’s been waiting to see Your Majesty—for three months now..." said one of the attendants awkwardly.

Carl’s brows lifted in surprise. Three months ago, the war had only just begun.

So after he’d quietly sent word through Camilla, Curtis had rushed over—and waited all this time?

Carl couldn’t quite believe it. With everything that had happened—the battles, the blood, the chaos—he hadn’t spared a thought for someone like Curtis.

And yet, Curtis had stayed.

’Do I have time to deal with this? Or am I just an idiot?’

He turned toward the stairs. One more meeting wouldn’t kill him. Probably.