CHAPTER 115: VOID AT THE DOORSTEP

[Leif’s Pov—Continuation—ThorenVald Estate]

Nick was swept into Sir Haldor’s arms the instant Zephyy laid him down. Haldor didn’t hesitate—his boots hammered against the stone as he ran, shouting for healers. Zephyy’s scales bristled like knives, eyes darting like a predator who smelled something wrong.

The halls felt tighter. Smaller. Like the whole estate was holding its breath, waiting for something awful to finish happening.

I ran.

My legs weren’t moving fast enough. By the time I reached the healer room—

Eryndor and Thalein were already there, palms glowing white-green over Nick’s chest. Nick lay sprawled on the bed like a broken doll, breath shallow, eyes rolled back, lips darkening.

And then I saw it.

Purple. Veins stained dark violet, crawling up his neck like ink bleeding through paper.

My lungs forgot how to work.

"No... no no no—" I stumbled toward him.

Alvar and Father rushed in behind me.

"Leif, I saw a drag—" Father started, but his voice died the moment his eyes fell on Nick.

Silence.

Heavy. Deadly. Thalein wiped sweat from his brow, face tight with horror. "Eryndor... this looks like... corruption."

Zephyy—now in cat form—scrambled onto the bed, fur spiked, tail stiff.

"Master," he hissed, voice trembling, "Nick touched something... wrong. A door sealed with foul magic. The moment he brushed the surface—he collapsed."

"Corrupted...?" I whispered.

The word tasted like rot.

Eryndor leaned close, eyes glowing gold as he inspected the veins. "The color... the crawling pattern... there is no doubt."

He swallowed hard.

"This is void corruption."

Father flinched. Alvar furrowed. I stared at Nick’s face—too pale, too still. Not the cheerful, bright boy who brought cookies. Not the boy who laughed at morning drills. Not the boy who talked about his mother’s cooking like it was a holy relic.

And something inside me cracked.

"This is my fault," I choked. "I sent him. I told him to go. I should’ve—I should’ve gone myself—"

Alvar had never moved so fast. His hands gripped my shoulders, firm and grounding.

"Leif." His voice was low. Steady. Stern. "You are not to blame."

"But—"

"No," he repeated, harder. "Corruption isn’t something anyone could predict. We need a solution, not guilt."

My breath shook, but his words kept me from unraveling. Thalein’s voice broke through, quiet and grim. "We need a Saint. Someone powerful—"

"I’ll send a hawk to the High Temple immediately," Eryndor said, already reaching for parchment.

"And Princess Sirella," Father added quickly. "Her sect specializes in purification magic. She must assist."

Everyone moved with purpose. Everyone... except me. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away from Nick’s chest rising slower. Slower.

"This is my fault..." I whispered again—too quiet, too broken.

Alvar cupped my cheek. "Leif. Look at me."

I tried. My vision blurred.

"We save him," he said. "Say it."

"...We save him."

"We save him," he echoed, like a vow.

And then—"Ican cure him, Master."

Luminael’s voice rang through my skull.

Clear.

Sharp.

Absolutely.

Everyone froze. In my hand, the divine sword pulsed with a bright, golden light.

"You... can?" My voice cracked, hope punching a hole through my chest.

"Yes," Luminael said. "The void is our ancient enemy, Master. My light can burn it away."

Eryndor’s eyes widened. "A Divine Sword of purification..."

But Luminael’s tone shifted—softer.

"However... I am still damaged. My blade is cracked. If I channel full power now—another fracture will form. I may become... rusted. Dull."

My grip tightened.

Rust?

I didn’t care about rust. It can be repaired.

Luminael continued, voice uncertain for the first time. "But... I trust you, Master. You can repair me."

My throat closed. "...Luminael."

Everyone watched me. The weight of the decision was crushing.

I swallowed.

"I will repair you," I said, voice shaking. "I swear on everything I have. Everything I am. Just—please—heal Nick."

The sword shivered in my hand like it was relieved.

"...Make me stronger, Master."

"I will."

I stepped toward the bed. Eryndor backed away, murmuring old prayers. Thalein lowered his hands with reverence.

Alina peeked in through the doorway, eyes wet. Zephyy stayed, pressed close to Nick’s shoulder, tail wrapping protectively.

Alvar stood behind me—solid. Warm. My anchor.

Luminael whispered, "Place me near his heart."

My hands trembled as I lowered the blade against Nick’s chest. One slip. One second too slow. I pressed the flat side over his sternum—

And—

SHIIIIIIINE!!!

Light exploded through the warding room like a second sunrise. Gold, white, and blue—fire and dawn tangled together, piercing every shadow.

Nick’s body arched off the bed, mouth open in a silent scream. Purple veins writhed, struggling, burning, dissolving under the light.

Ink became steam. Corruption became dust. The void hissed—like something ancient and furious was being dragged back into chains.

Luminael’s crack glowed—split further—another fissure branching across the blade with a painful Krrrk!

But he didn’t stop. He poured everything out.

All his light.

All his fire.

Nick inhaled sharply, chest heaving once—Then fell limp.

The room went still. Silent. Terrified. Gold dimmed. Light faded. Luminael went cold on Nick’s chest—dimmed to a flickering ember.

"...Master..." he whispered weakly. "I... kept my dignity... right...?"

I choked out a broken laugh. "You did. You idiot sword. You really did."

Eryndor rushed forward, hands flying. "Pulse is steady! Corruption gone—his veins are clearing!"

Father exhaled a prayer into his hands. Thalein slumped against the wall, relief shaking him. Zephyy collapsed on Nick’s chest, purring raggedly. "Don’t scare us again, you stupid human..."

Alina sobbed into her sleeves. "Nick...!"

Alvar’s arms slid around my waist, forehead touching the back of my head. "You saved him."

I swallowed.

"...No," I whispered. "We saved him."

I looked down at Luminael.

One more crack.Dimmer.Weaker.

But smiling.

And for the first time...I saw him as something more than annoying.

"...Thank you," I breathed.

His flicker warmed.

"That," he whispered, "is enough."

The battle had ended. But the war?

Had just begun.

I pressed my palm flat against Nick’s cooling chest and felt the slow, stubborn rise of his breath. Every ragged exhale was an apology the world had no right to demand of him.

My hands curled into fists until my nails left crescents in my palms.

"No," I said, the word small and then a blade. "No. I’m not letting that—thing—breathe inside my house. I’m not letting it poison my people. Not here. Not ever. Not until I am alive. This is my territory. I am the ruler here and I decide who shall live here and who shall not."

Alvar’s fingers found mine, warm and steady, but the iron in my tone didn’t soften. It sharpened.

"Alvar," I spat, every syllable a flare of fury, "get the imperials off my soil. Now. I don’t care who’s offended. I don’t care who calls it politics or diplomacy. One of their rooms screamed and my friend nearly died. That badge can’t hide a rot like that. They leave, or I make them leave."

He looked at me for a long second—that look that had cusped tenderness and battle in equal parts—and his jaw set like a drawn sword.

"You sound like you mean it," he said quietly.

"I do."

Alvar squeezed my hand. "Then we will do it right. We’ll give them a choice: leave peacefully, or we’ll escort them out, and I will personally make sure they remember how dangerous it is to bring shadows into our home."

Heat rose in my chest—not the panicky kind, but a clean, terrible furnace. It steadied me. Focused me.

"Sir Haldor, Find every imperial servant in this estate. Seal the private doors. Lock the halls. Increase wards. No one goes near that second building until we know what’s under its floorboards."

"Yes, My lord, I will marshal the guard."

Alvar squeezed my hand, saying, "I’ll ride to the palace with a formal demand if we must. But you—stay here. Hold the line, Leif..."

I stared at Nick—asleep, fragile, saved for now. For him, for Alina, for every baker and stableboy in this place, I swallowed the small, furious thing inside me and nodded.

"Just...throw them out."

And I—finally—breathed.

"I’m not losing anyone else," I whispered.

Not to corruption. Not to void. Not to imperial devils pretending they are guests.

Not again.

This is my Land and if to protect my people I had to fight the devil...then so be it. But I am not letting any corrupted being...roam around my people.