Supreme Hunter of Beautiful Souls-Chapter 400: In a coma

The ritual room was in absolute silence.

Not a comfortable silence—but that heavy, dense kind that makes even breathing seem like a mistake.

In the center of the chamber, Kael lay suspended within an ancient containment circle. Ancient runes, older than the Witch Kingdom itself, shimmered in unstable shades of blue, violet, and white. The air around his body trembled slightly, as if reality were struggling to decide whether to still accept that existence there.

He breathed.

But each breath felt like a forced concession from the world.

Eleanor Scarlet stood at the edge of the circle.

The Witch Queen.

The last great living authority of her lineage.

Her ceremonial robe trailed across the polished obsidian floor, but she seemed oblivious. Her eyes—golden, ancient, too sharp to belong to a mortal being—were fixed on her grandson's body.

And, for the first time in decades…

There was fear in them.

"This…" Eleanor's voice came out low, restrained, but there was a dangerous tension beneath each syllable. "…is not ordinary exhaustion."

She reached out, without touching Kael. A tangle of arcane threads projected from her fingers, piercing the layers of containment and plunging into his body for direct reading.

The runes reacted violently.

They crackled.

They rearranged themselves.

Some simply… broke.

Eleanor frowned at the realization. "He underwent body reconstruction?"

"With this body…" she murmured. "That should already make him practically indestructible at this level."

She pulled the threads back abruptly.

The arcane report that formed before her was chaotic.

Unstable.

Terrifying.

Internal fractures that shouldn't exist.Collapsed energy flows.Authorities competing with each other within the same vessel.

"And, worst of all…"

"His existential core is… overwhelmed," she said, now aloud.

Exelia, who was a few steps away, stiffened immediately.

"What?"

Eleonor turned abruptly.

"Exelia." The Queen's tone wasn't loud, but it was sharp enough to cut steel. "Explain. Now."

Exelia swallowed hard.

Even as a veteran Archwitch, someone who had survived wars, purges, and entire eras of magical instability… standing before Eleonor Scarlet in that state was not something anyone could prepare for.

"We…" Exelia took a deep breath. "We were in Skaldi. After he purified the entire kingdom."

Eleonor didn't interrupt.

Her silence was worse than any scream.

"Kael started experiencing an absurd drop in blood pressure," Exelia continued. "Extreme headache. Loss of coordination. In seconds he began to fall from the sky."

She paused briefly.

"I managed to reach him before he hit the ground."

"And then?" Eleonor asked.

"His body was already wrong." Exelia clenched her fists. "Too much energy circulating without proper channels. Internal wounds that didn't match up with normal magical exhaustion. It was as if… something had forced his body beyond its safe limit."

Eleonor's gaze grew even colder.

"Forced how?"

Exelia hesitated.

"And that, in itself, was a mistake."

"Speak."

"Someone attacked him from behind," Exelia said at once. "A presence we didn't detect in time. He was pushed… thrown… directly into the core of Frozen Chaos."

The air in the room shifted.

The ceremonial flames around the walls flickered violently.

Some faded.

Others changed color.

"…repeat that," said Eleanor, slowly.

"He was thrown into the core, Your Majesty," repeated Exelia. "He didn't fall. It wasn't an accident. It was a targeted attack."

For a moment…

Nothing happened.

Eleanor just stood there, looking at Kael.

Then, the pressure exploded.

The Witch Queen's aura expanded through the chamber like an overwhelming tide. Ancient runes began to scream. The floor cracked slightly beneath her feet. Witches around her instinctively had to kneel to avoid being crushed by the pure authority manifesting.

"Who." The word came out laden with something far worse than anger. "Who dared?"

"We don't know," answered Exelia, struggling against the pressure. "Kael only said he felt someone watching. Then… everything happened too fast."

Eleanor clenched her teeth.

"An attack from behind…" she murmured. "In the midst of a world-class event. At the exact moment when he was most vulnerable."

She looked back at Kael's body.

His chest was rising and falling unevenly now.

The restraint was beginning to fail.

"He's only staying conscious by authority," Eleonor said. "Not by physical structure. Not by soul. This is… extremely dangerous."

Exelia felt her heart sink.

"He's going to…?"

"If this continues?" Eleonor clenched her hand in the air, involuntarily crushing a construct of energy. "His body could collapse before his mind even awakens."

She took a deep breath.

And then she made a decision.

"Call Elion," Eleonor said, "She's the only one who can do something now."

…Exelia hesitated but, "Yes…" she said as she looked at Kael's body.

Three months had passed.

In the Kingdom of Witches, time was never a straight line—it was a cycle of rituals, moons, silent decisions, and ancient secrets. Still, those three months felt like a constant weight, a waiting that wouldn't dissipate.

The room was warmed by soft thermal crystals embedded in the white stone walls. There were no candles, no aggressive symbols of restraint. Only runes of preservation, stability, and rest, traced with extreme care by Eleonor herself.

In the center of the room, Kael lay on a ritual bed of living wood.

His body was… whole.

But that didn't mean he was alright.

Sylphie sat beside him, a basin of warm water resting on the floor. Her movements were delicate, almost ceremonial. She dipped the towel, wrung it out carefully, and slowly wiped Kael's arm, cleansing almost invisible marks—residues of energy that sometimes appeared on his skin like cracks of extinguished light.

"…you should stop absorbing everything on your own," she murmured softly, more to herself than expecting a response.

Kael didn't react.

His chest rose and fell at a steady pace now, very different from the first few weeks. In the beginning, each breath felt like a struggle. There were days when Eleanor had to intervene directly to prevent his authority from crushing his own unconscious body.

Today, at least, he breathed like someone… asleep.

Sylphie ran the towel around his neck, then over his shoulder, carefully avoiding the fine arcane lines that still occasionally appeared under his skin—signs that his body was slowly reorganizing itself to support what he had become.

"Three months…" she whispered. "You're really unfair, you know?"

A small, sad smile appeared on her lips.

"Just disappear like that… and drive everyone crazy."

She carefully wiped his hand, interlacing her fingers for a moment longer than necessary, as if to remind the world that he was still there.

On the other side of the room, Irelia watched silently, leaning against the arcane window. Her arms were crossed, her posture rigid, but her eyes… her eyes never left Kael.

"He's better," she said, breaking the silence. "His blood pressure isn't fluctuating as much anymore."

"He's better, yes," Sylphie replied. "But he's still not waking up."

Irelia closed her eyes for a moment.

"Elion said the problem isn't his body now."

Sylphie nodded slowly.

"I know."

The problem was never just physical again after the third week.

When Elion finally arrived—summoned hastily by Eleanor that night—the first thing she did was silence the entire room. Not with authority, but with understanding.

She had stared at Kael for long minutes.

Too long.

And then she said something that no one there forgot:

"He's not in a coma because he's injured."

"He's in a coma because his mind hasn't decided to come back."

Since then, everything has changed.

Amelia entered the room silently, carrying a small bottle of calming essence. Her face was tired—everyone's was. Three months of vigil, shifts, stabilization rituals, and restrained expectations were taking their toll.

"Eleanor asked us to reduce the frequency of the infusions," Amelia said softly. "She said that forcing it too much might… push him deeper."

Sylphie took a deep breath.

"As if pushing him deeper were possible," she murmured.

Amelia looked at Kael.

"You were there when he fell," she said. "You felt… it."

Sylphie hesitated.

Felt it.

Felt it too much.

"When I held him…" she began, choosing her words carefully. "It wasn't just weight. It was as if he were… distant. Not fading away. Going somewhere else."

Irelia frowned.

"Somewhere else?"

Sylphie shook her head.

"I don't know. But it didn't look like death. It looked like… someone holding a door shut from the inside."

The room fell silent again.

Outside, the Witch Kingdom remained in a state of restrained tension. Kael's existence in that state was a secret guarded by blood and iron. No outside observer could sense his authority now—an almost impossible feat, continuously upheld by Eleanor.

The Witch Queen was, at that very moment, in another chamber, looking at records that no other living being was allowed to access.

Records of Irregulars.

Of Anomalous Entities.

Of cases where the world… failed to classify someone.

But there, in that simple room, all that existed was the body of a boy who had endured an entire Era alone—and paid the price.

Sylphie finished cleaning Kael's body and covered him with the light sheet, adjusting it with excessive care.

"Hey…" she murmured, leaning closer to his face. — If you're listening… stop being an idiot.

One second.

Two.

Nothing happened.

She smiled anyway.

"Everyone's still here. So you have no excuse to stay hidden." She walked away slowly.