Chapter 426: Shadows That Won’t Depart
Shadows That Won’t Depart
"Now... please show yourself," Leon’s voice sliced through the stillness of the night like a honed edge, low but with a stiff edge of steel. His golden eyes slit, capturing the soft sheen of the twin moons, their light hardening his gaze to something both royal and menacing. "Or shall I use force?
The words lingered in the air. It wasn’t bravado or blowing smoke—it was the cold, plainspoken guarantee of a man who had already made the verdict on the finish before the game started. That quiet assurance pushed against the night itself, a burden that caused even the wind to pause.
Natsha tensed at his side, her instinct pulling at her back. Her short black hair slid against her cheek as she spun sharply around the same trajectory as Leon’s eyes. Her brow furrowed, lips clenched tight, dark eyes narrowing into an intensity to match his.
She extended herself with her senses, tapping the stream of mana until it thrummed weakly in the air. The wood around them was held back by her probing, the quietened even more as if it was also keeping its breath. Her breathing came a touch quicker as she swept each square inch of shadow, tracking for the stalker Leon had already indicated.
But there was nothing. No accelerated breathing. No quiet heartbeat. Not even the slightest tremor of aura disturbing the evening. It was as if the night itself had devoured whoever hid there.
Natsha’s lips opened, reluctance softening her face into something nearly vulnerable. "My lord, I... I don’t feel anyone."
Her voice was laced with confusion and dismay. She was Monarch Realm; her awareness blanketed far out into heaven and earth—yet she could not feel what Leon had perceived.
Leon did not respond. His eyes hardened, narrowing, jaw clenching until the muscles along his face appeared hewn from stone. The stillness between them grew thick, heavy as a weight, broken only by the softest whisper of wind moving through the grass at their feet.
Nothing stirred in the darkness. No answer returned.
Leon exhaled through his nose, the sound more tired than angry, tinged with disappointment.
"Appears my threat does not carry much weight," he muttered, his voice falling low, a thread of unspoken threat weaving through each syllable. The very air around him seemed to bristle, tense with the presence of implied menace.
He stepped with a measured calm, slow as to make every movement feel chosen, every breath calculated. His right hand came up, fingers extending, the palm unclenching like he was calling the very air into submission. A soft red light started to writh in his hand, thumping like a pulse. It wasn’t light—it curled, alive, crawling across his skin in agitated power, famished, restless. Symbols of flame seared themselves along his arm, dancing inches above the surface as if chiseled out by some phantom craftsman. Each rune grew hotter with each heartbeat, a blade-sharp gleam, cutting the air between him and the intangible threat.
"Then don’t blame me for being ruthless."
The words landed like lead, leaving no allowance for misunderstanding, heavy as liquid iron. His determination became colder, the kind that didn’t vacillate. Slower, he straightened his arm, the runes’ glowing hand directed at the intruder no other saw. The warmth of the runes caressed his skin, but he felt nothing but focus, the heady rush of power controlling coursing through him. His lips twisted into a soft, commanding smile, and the softest whisper of a word escaped them—soft, sharp, and absolute, with the force of fire itself.
"Ashes to inferno, flames obey my will!"
The syllables inflamed the night like sparks against dry tinder. Heat burst forth immediately, the air shuddering, crackling, as though the universe itself stood poised to burn at Leon’s command. The runes blazed a bloody red, his aura bursting out like a storm long held back—
"Leon! Stop! It’s me!"
The voice had echoed before the spell could take flame. Soft, musical, but with a fleeting sense of urgency that cut through the darkness like silver.
Leon’s eyes snapped open, his jaw tightening in a hard line of disbelief. Next to him, Natsha stood stock-still, her breath suspended as a spark of recognition awakened something deep within.
That voice. it was unmistakable. Both of them recognized it, and the crush of memory weighed heavily between them.
Leon’s hand was still raised, but the incandescent runes stuttered, shaking in his palm as his focus honed on the darkness before them. The air itself appeared to ripple, shuddering as though the night could not keep its form.
From the quivering shadows, a presence started to rise—tall, wearing a cloak of black. The hood was low, devouring their face, their very essence shrouded in mystery.
Natsha’s eyes narrowed, her sight slicing through the gloom. The energy that rolled off of this stranger tugged at her instincts—familiar, heart-wrenchingly so—but dressed in layers of cover that made her question her own conviction.
The figure moved forward, slow and deliberate, each step sinking into the gravel of the desolate border road with a soft crunch that seemed to ring out in the silence. Then, as if to prolong the instant, they brought up one hand. Pale fingers, nearly radiant in the moonlight, curled over the edge of the hood.
With a calculated elegance, they thrust it back.
The cloth dropped.
Dazzling green eyes sparkled out of the darkness, surrounded by black hair that cascaded loose down the night.
Leon’s spell fell apart like a thin veil, the runes breaking apart like weak glass. His sharp, unyielding face wavered, disbelief slicing across his features like a gash.
".Nova?" His deep, rough voice came out amid confusion and an edge. "What in the hells are you doing here?
At his side, Natsha grew rigid, her mouth open but no sound escaping. Her eyes, like his, reflected shock, immobile with the horror before them.
Nova cocked her head, the hint of a wry smile flickering upon her lips. Her voice held annoyance, yet there was humor that underscored it. She clicked her tongue, shaking her head slowly as if chastising a child.
"Tsk, tsk. That’s the first question you have? Not even a greeting?" Her eyes reflected the light, shimmering bright and mirthful. "Why don’t you tell me first—how did you even know I was following you?"
Leon blinked once, as though pulled back into himself. The flash of surprise faded, becoming something more solid, something more peaceful. He released a slow exhalation, lips twisting into a faint curve caught between a smirk and resignation.
"I sensed your presence," he asserted calmly, his voice filled with understated assurance. "Regardless of how skillfully you hide, regardless of what trappings you employ... eyes such as mine don’t miss a shadow following me. Let it suffice to say my perceptions are keener than the average."
Natsha’s brows furrowed in confusion, incredulity drawing her face taut. She shook her head as if under compulsion, speaking softly as if attempting to persuade herself, "Impossible... I’m Monarch Realm, and I felt nothing. And yet you..." Her sentence faltered, her eyes remaining on Leon with a combination of amazement and trepidation.
Within, her heart shook with a confession she would not speak. He is really not ordinary. Despite power greater than his, I was blind. But him... he knows everything.
Nova smiled weakly, though the gesture held more substance than humor. Something heavy hung in her green eyes as she looked at Leon, like she was compelling herself to meet his stare.
"Annoying, isn’t it?" Her voice came soft, almost as though she was speaking to herself. Then, with a sharper click of her tongue, she let the words bite harder. "Do you know how long I tried to hide what I am? How carefully I masked myself? And still... you sniff me out like some damned predator. It’s—" her lips curled, tension flashing across her face, "—frustrating."
Natsha’s head jerked back to her at that comment, eyes sharpening, but Nova didn’t glance her way. Her gaze remained fixed, unbroken, on Leon.
Leon straightened, shoulders squaring as the first shock of recognition dissipated. In its stead came something harder, colder, a clarity that blazed behind his golden eyes. His voice lashed the air, with an edge of steel.
"Games over, Nova. You’ve shown yourself. Now..." His eyes moved beyond her, cutting through the shadows behind. His voice grew harsh and commanding. "The rest of you. Drop your hoods. All of you. If you came after me that far, I’d like to see your faces."
Natsha’s eyes blinked in surprise. "The rest?"
Nova didn’t stir, but the slightest of smirks played at the edge of her mouth, subtle and deliberate, as though she had long anticipated the question. Her very presence seemed to warp the shadows around her, quiet but authoritative, and the night paused in its breathing.
The road dropped into heavy silence. The sort of hush that crushes against the breast and makes even the quietest noise sound like a scream. And then, slowly at first, the blackness behind Nova started to move. Forms shifted, smooth and purposeful, moving through the darkness with a beauty that was nearly inhuman. Clad, hooded, silent—they appeared as if the darkness had spawned them, specters stepping out from the border of a dream.
They approached one by one, until the silver glow of the moons illuminated their silhouettes. Ten men in all, each a towering figure, commanding, exuding an implied power. Together, they dropped their hoods at exactly the same moment.
Faces stepped out of the darkness, faces that made the very air seem denser.
Leon’s breath was caught, his golden eyes widening infinitesimally, darting over each figure as if committing them to memory in a single flash of time.
Captain Black.
Ronan.
Johny.
And behind them, several guards from his own troop, men loyal to him... and a few unfamiliar faces, clearly hand-picked but unknown.
Shock flashed across Leon’s face before hardening into something colder. His voice dropped, low and heavy, like a blade sliding from its sheath.
"...You’ve got to be kidding me."
The soldiers reacted as if struck by instinct. They lowered their heads in perfect unison, fists pressed firmly to their chests.
"Lord Leon," they chanted as one, their voices firm and trained, ringing hauntingly in the air.
Leon’s golden eyes flexed until they were narrow slits of molten metal. A flash of frustration ripped across the serene mask he always wore, like a fault in burnished steel.
"I warned you all not to come after me," he said, each word measured, clipped. "And yet here you stand. Disobeying me. Why?"
The ensuing silence was oppressive. No one was brave enough to look up at him. Their eyes remained fixed on the ground as if the gravel would somehow provide them with protection.
Leon’s jaw clenched. A small throb of his aura arose around him—not feral, but tightly restrained—bearing down on the assembled soldiers like the creeping roll of an oncoming storm.
"You had your orders," he said again, his tone quieter now but far more dangerous. "So why? Why defy me?"
No answer came. Only silence, heavy and suffocating.
Natsha’s eyes darted from one face to the next, and with each look, her chest constricted, a slow, spreading pain that anchored her where she stood. The space between them wasn’t filled with rebellion or rage. No, it was denser than that—filled with guilt, shame, and a soft, unspoken burden that weighed upon their shoulders. Each of them appeared smaller under the gaze, shrinking in the presence of something they could not identify.
Leon’s hand jerked once at his side, the motion controlled, strained, before he willed it unmoving. His eyes raked over them with merciless intensity, cutting through the shadows like light slashing a tunnel. No mercy lay in that glance, but judgment, tempered by a control that seemed more threatening than fury. Even the slightest inhalation was treachery under his scrutiny.
Natsha saw the uncertainty in their bodies—the stiffening of shoulders, how eyes avoided meeting hers, how each fleeting move bore the burden of fear. They did not merely keep quiet; they feared speaking, feared even movement, lest it expressed a thought, a secret, a truth that they were not prepared to confess.
The night itself breathed not, the road lying far and still before them. The twin moons in the sky gave a cold, pale light, watching with a patient, uninterested eye, as if the heavens themselves held their breath for this tenuous strain to break. Somewhere in that stillness, the unspoken things leaned in, heavy, inexorable, and the silence dragged on long enough to make hearts beat in solitary, frightened rhythm.
The highway kept its quiet, the double moons looking down, as if the skies themselves held their breath for how this would shatter.