From Deadbeat noble to Top Rank Swordsman-Chapter 118: A Kingdom Made of Ash

They fell like feathers, slow at first.

Then faster.

Each wing bore scars. Tears where light should’ve been. Etchings burned into bone and membrane—sigils of ancient courts long lost. Their descent wasn’t graceful.

It was surrender.

Mira instinctively stepped in front of Leon. Tomas flanked her. Both ready, both silent. The girl raised no alarm, no shield. She only watched.

"They were watchers once," she murmured. "Witnesses to the flame. When the fifth seal cracked, they lost more than names. They lost the sky."

Leon pushed himself upright. "Are they coming for us?"

She shook her head. "They come for me."

The first hit the ground ten feet away. Not a crash— but an impact. Dust swirled. Its form unfolded—tall, narrow, encased in what once might’ve been silver armour. Now dulled. Fused to flesh.

Its face was covered. But the lines etched across its helm pulsed—dim, irregular.

The girl stepped toward it.

The creature dropped to a knee.

Others landed behind it.

One by one, they knelt.

Leon blinked. "They serve you?"

"No," she said. "They remember me."

Mira looked between them. "That sounds worse."

One of the fallen raised its head slightly, and spoke—if the rasp could be called that.

"Veilborn... Flamekeeper... you should not be."

"I am," the girl replied.

Silence.

Then the creature turned its gaze on Leon. "Then the mortal must not be."

Tomas stepped forward. "Try it and I swear—"

The girl raised a hand. The air stilled.

"He’s not yours to judge," she said.

"He is part," the creature hissed. "You know what that means. The shard was not meant to remain divided."

Leon tensed. "Divided?"

The girl looked at him, almost apologetically. "You have one piece. There are four more. Scattered. Hidden. Feeding. If they reunite—"

"Another throne is born," Mira finished grimly.

The creature growled low. "And so we must judge."

"No," the girl said again, firmer now. "He has earned breath."

She stepped forward.

The creature flinched.

"You want him tested? Then name the proving. But do not presume dominion here."

More of them began shifting uncomfortably. Some hissed. One wept openly.

Leon’s head spun.

He’d fought bandits. Reclaimers. Monsters. Even a memory god. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

But this?

This was the kind of war you felt before it happened.

The girl turned back to him. "You’ve walked far. But there’s further still."

"How far?" he asked.

"Far enough to stand at the gate," she said, "and decide if it should be closed—or opened wider."

She extended a hand.

And behind her, the fallen rose.

Not in anger.

In allegiance. The winds howled as dawn broke over the basin.

Not warm winds.

Not hopeful.

But ash-laced currents that whispered of a kingdom long lost—and one being born again.

Leon stood at the cliff’s edge, his cloak torn, his sword sheathed, the silver-haired girl just behind him, still surrounded by the kneeling watchers.

Below, the battlefield had gone silent. Boundlings lay in twisted heaps, lifeless. The cultists had fled or burned. But the scent of rootfire and blood still hung thick in the air.

Tomas leaned against a stone slab, arms folded. "So... is no one going to mention the flying graveyard that dropped out of the sky?"

Mira ignored him. "Leon. We need to move."

Leon didn’t answer at first. His eyes were fixed on the girl.

"You never gave your name," he said.

She tilted her head slightly. "Names come with price."

"And power," Mira added warily.

"Exactly," the girl murmured.

Leon finally turned. "Then tell me what to call you. Not for control. For trust."

A pause.

Then she spoke. "Call me... Kairis."

Mira frowned. "That’s old tongue. It means—"

"I know what it means," Leon cut in softly. His voice carried something heavier than the ash around them.

Remnant.

The girl—Kairis—looked away. "There’s a temple northeast of here. Lost in root and stone. The next shard sleeps there."

Leon’s shoulders tensed. "Another one."

"You’ll need it. And I’ll need you to reach it."

Tomas scoffed. "Right. Just casually heading deeper into the mess. Do you people ever rest?"

Mira smiled faintly. "That’s not how we survive."

Kairis stepped down the slope, her bare feet never quite touching earth. "The throne’s shadow stretches further than you think. What we saw here... is the beginning."

Leon exhaled. His hand instinctively brushed over his chest, where the shard pulsed quietly.

A rhythm.

Not warning.

Not threat.

But... a heartbeat.

Kairis turned to him. "The fifth seal was never meant to break."

"It didn’t," Leon replied. "It was shattered."

Silence again.

The watchers slowly dispersed, melting back into mist and smoke—pulled by unseen callings only Kairis seemed to understand. One by one, they faded.

Leon stepped beside Mira, and together the three of them—four, if Kairis counted—turned toward the north.

Toward whatever came next.

"Leon," Mira said, "when this ends... what do you want?"

He didn’t answer for a long while.

Then, softly: "A world where we don’t have to burn to be seen."

She glanced at him. Smiled.

"Then let’s go make it."

And behind them, the cliffside basin smouldered.

A grave for what came before.

A warning for what came next. The trek north began with silence.

Not a silence born of fear or fatigue—but reverence.

The land itself felt subdued. Trees grew in crooked patterns, bent away from an invisible line that crossed their path. Moss coated stone like frost. Birds did not sing here. No insects chirped. Only the crunch of ash beneath boots and the low hum of Kairis’s presence filled the world around them.

Leon walked at the front, his expression unreadable. Mira followed with one hand on her blade hilt, eyes scanning. Tomas trailed them both, muttering under his breath and glancing too often at the sky, as if expecting more wings to fall.

Kairis didn’t walk. She drifted just above the earth, pale and distant.

They moved like that for hours.

Then came the sound.

A chime.

Soft. Rhythmic. Not mechanical—alive. Like glass tapping against bone.

Leon raised a fist. The group halted.

From ahead, the trees parted.

And something stepped out.

A figure draped in barklike robes, its face carved from ivory. Not a mask—grown bone, veined faintly with glowing green. Its eyes were pinpricks of emerald fire.

It bowed.

"Kairis," it said. Its voice sounded like water dripping onto cold stone.

"Guardian," she replied.

Leon narrowed his eyes. "Friend?"

"Guide," Kairis answered. "Of the temple."

Mira muttered, "That doesn’t sound reassuring."

The creature turned to Leon. "You carry the Shard of Witness. Then the path will open. But the temple sleeps. And dreams are dangerous things."

Tomas stepped up beside them. "So what? Another trial?"

"No," the guardian said. "A remembrance."

Kairis floated closer. "The shard you carry... once belonged to a king who chose silence over salvation. His memories linger."

Leon didn’t flinch. "And we have to walk through them?"

"Yes," the guardian replied. "Only then will the next fragment reveal itself."

Without another word, it turned and began moving through the trees.

The path it took didn’t exist—until it did. Trees bent aside. Stones lifted slightly. Even the air grew clearer.

Leon followed.

Mira and Tomas shared a glance.

Then stepped in behind him.

The forest narrowed, then fell away entirely.

And the temple revealed itself.

Built into the side of a mountain, its structure was more grown than carved—roots petrified into arches, branches woven into spires, glowing lichen illuminating the stone with a dull green sheen.

But it was the doors that made Leon stop.

They weren’t closed.

They weren’t even open.

They were missing.

As if something had torn them free and left only the echo.

The guardian stopped before the threshold. "The king awaits."

Leon turned to Mira. "If I don’t come back—"

"You’re coming back," she said, voice sharp.

Tomas clapped him on the back. "And if you don’t, we’ll drag you out of whatever dream pit they throw you into."

Kairis hovered beside him. "The shard remembers. Let it. But don’t become it."

Leon nodded once.

Then stepped into the temple.

Darkness closed around him.

Not empty darkness.

Memory.

And somewhere, far behind him, the heartbeat of the shard began to echo louder.

The floor beneath Leon’s boots shifted with each step, not solid stone—but thought.

He didn’t walk forward.

He descended.

Down spirals of soundless echoes and fractured colour. The walls weren’t walls—they were moments. Flickers. Reflections.

A child crying before a throne of ash.

A woman torn in half by vines that whispered prayers.

A crown, half-melted, sinking into a pool of blood that never rippled.

Leon pressed on.

The shard in his chest burned hotter now—not pain, not quite. But recognition. Like a scar remembering the fire that made it.

A voice stirred ahead.

Soft.

Familiar.

"...You let them die."

Leon froze.

The space widened.

He stood now in a throne room.

Not his.

But someone’s.

And it was burning.

Flames clung to the columns like weeping vines. The roof sagged with smoke. Shadows moved where people should have stood.

On the throne sat a figure.

Tall. Armoured. A sword across their lap, blackened with root-rot and age.

Their helm was missing.

Because it wore Leon’s face.

Only older.

Harder.

Cracked.

The double looked up.

"I remember you," it said. "I was you. Once."

Leon clenched his jaw. "Is this the test?"

"No," the other-Leon said. "This is the truth."

The throne cracked beneath his weight as he rose.

"You made the same choices. You bore the same shard. You burned the same path. But when it mattered, you chose silence."

Leon stepped back. "I didn’t—"

"You did," the echo snarled. "When they begged for help. When they reached for your hand. You turned away. You hid behind duty. Behind fate. You let the kingdom bleed because it was easier than bleeding with them."

Flames roared to either side, a corridor of fire forming between them.

The echo stepped into the blaze and drew its sword.

Leon didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

Because part of him agreed.

"How do I stop becoming you?" he whispered.

The echo paused.

Then tilted its head.

"You don’t."

It surged forward, blade swinging.

Leon ducked left, drew his own blade, and parried just in time—but the impact sent a jolt through his entire body. This wasn’t illusion. Not entirely.

This was the shard remembering how he might break.

The echo pressed harder.

Strike. Strike. Slash.

Each blow came with a scream—some his voice, some others’. Every time he blocked, a new memory flashed behind his eyes.

Emily’s hand slipping from his in the dungeon.

Elena’s back turned during the siege.

His father, silent in the fire.

He roared and pushed back, forcing the echo to retreat a step.

"I made mistakes," Leon spat, "but I still stand."

The echo raised its blade again. "So did I. And look where I led them."

Leon lunged. The sword in his grip burned hotter—red and gold now, lines pulsing down the blade like veins.

They clashed again, metal screaming.

Leon pushed harder.

"You’re not my future," he growled.

"You’re not my past," the echo snarled back.

And then—Leon drove the blade through its chest.

The echo choked.

But smiled.

"Then prove it," he whispered.

And vanished in a shudder of flame and dust.

Leon dropped to one knee, panting, the shard pulsing like a drumbeat inside him.

The fire receded.

The throne crumbled.

And a path opened ahead.

Not stone. Not memory.

But light.

Waiting.