CHAPTER 156: BACK TO THE HOME!

But when he opened his eyes again, his face was stone—unyielding, resolute, the face of a man who carried not only his family’s honor but its survival.

His voice was heavy, each word carrying sorrow.

"You mean everything to me, Elysia," he said, his tone trembling only slightly. "That is why I ask you to endure. Because without your sacrifice, our family will be crushed beneath powers far greater than us. This path... is the only way."

(but deep inside, i want you to survive, my dear daughter)

The silence that followed was suffocating. Elysia’s tears fell freely, her body shaking as if his words had carved open her heart.

The crowd sat frozen, caught between pity and fear, while Edwin stood like a blade ready to break free of its sheath.

The crowd stirred uneasily at the father’s words, their voices rising and falling in restless waves.

Some nodded in grim agreement, their faces hard with the cold acceptance of noble duty.

Others frowned, brows furrowed in discomfort, pity flickering in their eyes. To them, this was both tragedy and inevitability—a story as old as power itself.

Nobles were not free to live by desire. They were bound in chains of duty, their children sacrificed like pieces on a board.

Elysia’s tears slipped down her cheeks, falling like drops of rain onto the blackened ground beneath her feet.

Each tear carried the weight of despair, soaking into the scorched earth where fire had just raged.

Her lip trembled as she bit down hard, trying to contain her sobs, but her shoulders shook violently, betraying her pain. Her voice broke through the silence, weak and trembling, yet filled with raw truth.

"I... I hate this," she whispered, louder with each word. "I hate all of this!"

The arena froze at her cry, the sound piercing deeper than any flame or blade.

At last, Edwin stepped forward. His body still ached, every movement heavy, but his spirit burned hotter than ever.

His voice came low, but it carried across the silent field like steel cutting through smoke.

"Do you truly understand the weight of what you’ve done?" he asked, his words aimed not only at her father, but also at Elysia’s father.

The head of her family lifted his chin, his eyes narrowing as they locked with Edwin’s. His voice was calm, resolute, the voice of a man who had already buried his own heart beneath duty.

"I do," he replied firmly. "More than you know. But if hatred is the price of survival, then I will carry it."

The crowd murmured at his response, some nodding in respect for his conviction, others whispering at the cruelty of his words.

Edwin’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging so deep into his palms they nearly drew blood.

He forced himself to remain still, to bite down his rage. For this was not the time. His anger would not be wasted on words that would vanish into the air. His vengeance would be slower, sharper, patient—waiting for the day it could strike without mercy.

In the silence of his heart, he carved a vow, one that would never fade.

(I will make them regret this. I will not forget these flames. I will not forget these tears. Even if it takes years, I will bring justice with my own hands.)

Edwin stepped closer to Elysia, lowering his voice so that only she could hear.

Her face was pale, streaked with tears, her eyes still glistening from the confrontation with her father. The crowd’s whispers pressed down on her like a thousand needles, and Edwin knew she could not take another moment of their stares.

"Let’s leave this place," Edwin said gently, his voice steady despite the fire burning inside him.

"Everyone is watching. You don’t have to endure their eyes any longer."

Elysia looked up at him, her lips trembling, but she nodded faintly. "Yes... I don’t want to stay here."

But before they could move further, a sharp, commanding voice cut across the arena like a blade.

"Before you leave."

It was Calvene, the loyal subordinate of the Celestial Royal. He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping across the field with authority.

"The representative of the Council of Clans," Calvene announced, "will not be declared in public. Instead, the official letters will be delivered directly to the families of each noble."

The words echoed through the hushed arena, but Edwin paid them no heed. He kept his arm lightly at Elysia’s side, guiding her away.

She leaned into him, her steps shaky, her strength nearly gone. To them, Calvene’s decree meant nothing compared to the weight of what they had already endured.

Without a word, Edwin and Elysia turned and began to walk out of the arena. The other participants, exhausted and shaken, silently followed their lead, one after another leaving the scorched arena behind.

The sound of their footsteps echoed, mingling with the whispers of the nobles who remained in the stands.

Calvene watched them go. Then, when the last of the participants had vanished through the gates, he spoke once more. His voice was colder now, sharper, a command that carried to every corner of the arena.

"All heads of noble families," he declared firmly, "shall remain here. There are matters that must be addressed among you alone."

The crowd stirred again, but this time it was not whispers of pity or disapproval. It was tension—thick, suffocating, filled with suspicion of what might be said behind closed doors.

One noble muttered under his breath, "So it begins..."

Another smirked bitterly. "Let us see who bows and who dares to stand tall."

And as the ordinary spectators were escorted out, the arena shifted from a battlefield into something far more dangerous: a hall of power, where words would cut deeper than swords.

From that day onward, Edwin and Elysia carried a silence that could not be broken.

The bond they once had with their fathers was shattered. Words became meaningless—every glance only reminded them of betrayal and pain.

Neither of them spoke to their fathers again, not even a simple farewell.

Two days later, they began their journey home. The path was long, weaving through terminal after terminal—grand checkpoints where soldiers stood in gleaming armor and merchants bustled with goods from distant lands.

Each terminal they passed was crowded with travelers: common folk carrying bundles of grain, wandering scholars with scrolls strapped to their backs, and even a few mercenaries sharpening their weapons while waiting for clearance.