A heavy, measured silence settled over the room after Tharionson finished speaking. It lingered, thick but controlled, as Tharion remained seated behind his desk, unmoving. His cold, unreadable eyes stayed fixed on his son, studying him in that same quiet, assessing way he always had.

"I hope you understand the weight behind the words you just spoke," Tharion said at last, his tone even and devoid of emotion. "Because as it stands, you have just declared your willingness to go against my judgment to protect a dark mage. In doing so… you are, in essence, committing treason."

Tharionson held his father's gaze for a moment before responding.

"That may be true in some sense," he said calmly. "But I have no desire to oppose you, Father. What I want… is for you—and for all those still bound to that old, corrupted doctrine regarding dark mages—to see what Serah saw… to understand what led her down the path she chose."

A faint frown touched Tharion's face as he looked at him.

"I see," he said simply.

Then, without another pause—

"This conversation is over, Marshal. See yourself out."

The shift in his words made it clear. The permission to speak freely had ended.

As bold as Tharionson could be, he understood where the line stood—and when not to push beyond it.

"Understood, Your Majesty," he replied with a slight bow of his head.

Without another word, he turned and made his way out of the study, leaving the king alone once more.

Outside the doors, Tharionson came to a stop for a brief moment. He let out a slow, controlled breath, standing still as the quiet of the corridor settled around him.

"…Funny," he muttered under his breath. "I expected him to lose his temper."

When he had brought up Serah, and Liam, he had fully anticipated some form of reaction. Anger, perhaps. Disapproval made clear. Something.

But that hadn't happened.

Instead, Tharion had remained composed… almost too composed.

And from that alone, Tharionson had drawn his conclusion.

The revelation, that Liam was not only a dark mage, but the son of Serah Magna, the very daughter Tharion had once sentenced to death, had clearly affected him. Even if he refused to show it outright, the cracks were there.

Subtle… but present.

From the way his father had listened… from the restraint in his tone…

Tharionson could tell.

King Tharion Magna no longer held the same unwavering conviction he once did, at least not when it came to the fate of his own grandson.

The one thing Serah had left behind.

The one thing that mattered more than all her titles, all her victories, and all her glory.

'…At least he's softened,' Tharionson thought to himself. 'That gives me something to work with.'

He exhaled quietly again, his expression settling back into calm focus.

'But I'll have to be careful… or he'll fall back on reason alone.'

Pushing himself off the wall, he began walking down the long corridor, his steps steady and unhurried.

"For now… Zone Nineteen comes first," he muttered. "I'll deal with Father later."

As he moved further along the hallway, his eyes landed on a figure stationed near the wall—a knight standing firm and composed in a royal commander's uniform. The man had dark blonde hair, a neatly kept beard, and calm blue eyes that carried both experience and discipline.

Zion Ardent.

Once, he had been the most trusted knight under Serah Magna herself, back when she held the rank of High Marshal.

The moment he saw Tharionson approach, Zion straightened and offered a respectful salute.

"Greetings, Marshal," Zion said.

"Greetings, Commander," Tharionson returned.

"How did it go with the king?" Zion asked, his tone measured.

"Not entirely well… but better than I expected," Tharionson answered.

"I see," Zion muttered. "That's still progress."

"Indeed," Tharionson said with a slight nod. "As for the situation in Zone Nineteen… I believe it's time I head there myself. It's not a matter of trust in my men, but two weeks without any report doesn't sit right with me."

Zion gave a small nod, his expression sharpening.

"I'm with you, Sir."

"Good," Tharionson replied. "We leave immediately."

With that, the two men turned and began walking down the corridor together, their pace steady and purposeful as they moved away from the King's study.

***

"What is this…?" Tharionson muttered under his breath, the words barely leaving his lips as he took in the scene before him.

Shock settled deep in his chest, cold and heavy.

He stood at the edge of a forest clearing, Zion at his side along with three other Solarian knights. The setting sun cast a dim, dying glow across the trees, its fading light stretching long shadows over the ground. It painted everything in muted reds and golds—making what lay before them all the more disturbing.

This place… was supposed to be a temporary base.

The squad deployed to investigate the incident in Corr, Zone Nineteen, had been stationed here.

But what stood before them now was no base.

It was a massacre.

Torn fragments of tents were scattered across the clearing, their fabric ripped apart and caught on broken branches. The ground was churned and uneven, marked by deep impressions and splintered wood—clear signs of a violent struggle. Branches lay snapped, trunks scarred, and the earth itself seemed to have been clawed and crushed under immense force.

And then there was the smell.

Thick and rotting.

The unmistakable stench of blood and exposed flesh hung heavily in the air, clinging to every breath.

Across the clearing, bodies—what remained of them—were strewn without order. Limbs lay separated from torsos. Organs had been dragged out and left exposed, staining the ground in dark, drying pools. Eyes, intestines, fragments of bone and brain matter—everything was scattered, soaked in blood as flies gathered in swarms, buzzing relentlessly over the remains.

Some of the corpses had been hacked apart completely. Others were split open, ribs exposed, their insides spilling out as if they had been torn rather than cleanly cut.

"What… happened here…?" the female knight whispered, her voice trembling as she brought a hand up to cover her nose, trying to block out the suffocating stench.

Beside her, one of the male knights turned sharply away, barely managing to take a few steps before he doubled over and vomited. The third stood frozen, eyes wide, unable to tear his gaze away from the carnage.

Zion Ardent stood at the front, his posture firm despite the scene, though his gaze had hardened noticeably as he surveyed the destruction in silence.

Tharionson said nothing.

His eyes moved slowly, deliberately, taking in every detail—the placement of bodies, the direction of damage, the spread of blood. Every piece of it.

Then his gaze dropped.

At his feet… lay a severed head.

Split unevenly.

One side crushed, the other still intact. The remaining eye was wide open, frozen in what could only be described as raw, unfiltered terror—staring upward as if it had died looking at whatever had done this.

Tharionson's jaw tightened.

Slowly, he crouched down beside it. With two fingers, he reached out and gently closed the open eye.

"I promise…" he murmured quietly, more to himself than anyone else. "Your deaths won't be meaningless. Whatever did this… will answer for it."

He remained there for a brief moment before rising back to his feet, his expression now completely composed.

"Spread out," he ordered firmly. "Look for anything; claw marks, tracks, traces of myst, residue of any kind. I don't care how small it is. I want something we can use."

His voice carried weight—sharp enough to cut through the unease gripping the others.

"And whoever is responsible for this…" he added, his tone dropping slightly, "is going to regret making this their battlefield."

The knights straightened immediately, forcing themselves to push past the nausea and shock. One by one, they began moving through the clearing, scanning the ground, the trees, the remains—anything that might give them an answer.

Time passed.

The sounds of shifting debris, footsteps, and the distant buzz of flies filled the space as they searched.

Tharionson remained near the center of the clearing. After a while, he lowered himself slightly, studying the ground beneath him—examining the patterns of blood, the direction of movement, the lack of any clear escape trail.

Everything was too clean and controlled.

Footsteps approached from behind him.

Tharionson rose and turned, finding Zion walking toward him.

"Anything?" he asked.

"No, Marshal," Zion replied evenly. "Whatever did this was efficient. There's no clear trail, no lingering signature strong enough to track. The damage suggests a demon—likely an Advanced Horror… or possibly a Sync-class."

He paused, glancing once more across the clearing.

"…Though," he added, quieter now, "we shouldn't rule out the possibility of a human."

"You're not wrong," Tharionson said. "But I can't think of any human magic capable of producing this level of destruction… not like this."

His eyes narrowed slightly as he continued.

"If it is a demon… then there's only one that fits."

Zion's gaze shifted toward him, understanding already forming.

"…A Pureblood Blood Demon." 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

"Yes," Tharionson confirmed. "And given their nature… it likely took on a human form before carrying this out."

Zion gave a small nod.

"That would explain the lack of a clear trail. But if that's the case… tracking it becomes significantly harder."

"It does," Tharionson agreed. "But we still—"

He stopped mid-sentence.

A voice called out from across the clearing.

"Marshal! You need to see this!"

Both Tharionson and Zion turned immediately and moved toward the source without hesitation.

"What is it?" Tharionson asked as they approached. "Did you find something?"

The knight hesitated, his expression uncertain, as though struggling to choose his words.

"Well…" he muttered, glancing back briefly before looking at Tharionson again. "It's not exactly… something."

He swallowed lightly.

"It's… a person."