Return of the Mythic Bloodline-Chapter 424: Three days truce

A/N: Extra Chapter for crossing 125 golden tickets

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The news of the Elite Knights’ and Rhaegar’s deaths spread like wildfire across the army camp of the Empire.

At first, the news was dismissed as mere rumor, but when the Emperor himself declared two days of mourning for the death of the Sword of the Empire, fear surged through the army’s ranks, their morale dropping to an all-time low.

The image of Taranis became fixed as an absolute calamity deep within their hearts, his name alone sending shivers down their spines.

When Taranis declared the Second Ultimate War, most of the Empire’s soldiers had thought of him as a reckless and foolish prince who did not know his place.

But now, they had realized that the one they had deemed imprudent was, in reality, a god among men, burning with fury and vengeance.

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"Your Highness, the armor has been fixed," Titan said, offering a storage ring to Taranis.

Taranis, who was already dressed in a tunic and trousers, wore the armor over his body, hiding his face behind the long, white-haired helm once again. A black cloak was attached to the upgraded armor, and the left arm piece had been removed from it.

After donning the armor, Taranis summoned all the key figures to the front of the fortress.

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"Has all the preparation been completed?" Taranis asked, climbing onto his dark horse.

"Yes, Your Highness," Tartaglia replied.

"Alright then, alert the soldiers. The Emperor will attack us today," Taranis revealed, adjusting his helm.

"But Prince, the Emperor has declared three days of mourning for the death of Rhaegar," Sylvaris said, voicing her doubt.

"I have a way to make him attack right now," Taranis said before bolting forward on his horse.

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"Your Majesty, someone is approaching from the direction of House Ironvale," a knight informed Kharos, who was seated on a throne inside his camp, his hand massaging his wrinkled forehead in stress.

The death of the Sword of the Empire, Rhaegar, and the unknown whereabouts of his second son, Adam, had struck him deeply.

Only a day had passed since Jason returned with the corpses of the Elite Knights, yet Kharos already seemed to have aged several years due to the stress and worry.

His once fiercely sharp amber eyes were now only half-open under the weight of sadness and anxiety.

"Your Majesty," the knight called again, as Kharos seemed lost in his thoughts.

"Y-yes, what is it?" Kharos replied, his focus returning.

"The scout team has detected a strange one-armed knight wearing dark armor, approaching from the direction of Ironvale Fortress," the guard reported again.

"Why are you informing me of something so insignificant?" Kharos muttered. "If he is an enemy, strike him down. If he is an ally, send him back. We are not so desperate as to recruit handicapped knights into the army."

"B-but Your Majesty, the arm he is missing is the left one, and his entire body is covered in black armor," the knight said, trying to imply something without daring to voice it outright.

Kharos’s eyes widened as he understood what the knight was trying to convey. A missing left arm and a body fully clad in armor...

Could it be Rhaegar?

The conclusion was not baseless. The corpse they had received of Rhaegar was unrecognizable. They had only identified him because of the armor fused into his flesh. Not to mention, the appearance of the mysterious knight matched Rhaegar’s.

For the first time since the previous day, Kharos’s expression changed, a flicker of excitement appearing in his eyes.

With hurried steps, he rushed outside the camp and flew toward one of the many watchtowers built by the army to keep an eye on the surroundings.

The other Dukes, along with Hector, were already stationed at the watchtower, having been informed of the approaching mysterious knight.

The moment the Emperor arrived, the Dukes dropped to their knees in greeting.

Kharos nodded, acknowledging them before asking, "Where is the mysterious knight?"

Hector pointed toward a narrow path in the distant valleys of the Ironvale Duchy, from where a dark horse clad in black armor sprinted forward at an unnatural speed, a one-armed dark knight riding upon it.

The distance was vast, so only the Dukes, the First Prince Hector, and the Emperor himself, who were at the Eternal Sage Realm, could see the knight with their naked eyes.

"I-is that really you, Rhaegar?" Kharos murmured inwardly, his heart racing with anticipation and excitement.

Besides Voltrex, Rhaegar was the only man whom Kharos considered a friend. Rhaegar had been his personal knight when Kharos was still a prince and later became the Kinguard and the Sword of the Empire after Kharos ascended the throne. They had been companions for more than a century.

Just as the knight was about to reach the plains, he suddenly changed direction, steering his horse toward the final valley of the Ironvale Duchy.

Upon reaching the summit, the knight dismounted and moved his hand sideways, retrieving something from thin air.

As Kharos focused his enhanced vision on the round-shaped object in the knight’s hand, a chill ran down his spine, and he instinctively staggered a few steps back.

For the first time in a long while, his breathing grew heavy, his hand clutching his chest as his heart pounded like war drums.

The Dukes and Hector rushed toward him in concern.

"Father, are you alright?" Hector asked, holding him by the shoulder. It was the first time they had seen the Emperor in such a state.

Due to the vast distance between the dark knight and the watchtower, the other Eternal Sages at early and mid stages could not see what the knight held in his hand.

While the Dukes remained focused on Kharos, the dark knight drew his arm back, golden lightning flickering around it.

In a sudden motion, he hurled the object through the air at blinding speed.

After traveling several kilometers, it slowed and landed directly into Kharos’s hands.

With trembling fingers, Kharos raised his hand, holding the severed head of his son, Adam, its hollow eye sockets and twisted expression revealing the depth of the suffering he had endured before death.