?Chapter 11: The Silence of the Baits and the Eclipse of the Valerius

  ?The trail of Ren Valerius didn't simply vanish into thin air; it was drowned in a mixture of blood, mud, and a level of cunning that none of the Valerius family expected from a band of roadside mercenaries. Thirty minutes. For a civilian, half an hour is the time it takes for a leisurely meal; for someone like Ren, who in his past life lived through the chaos of a terrorist attack in Tokyo and served in the army learning that every second in a conflict zone is the border between survival and oblivion, thirty minutes are an eternity. When the news of the massacre at the fourth carriage finally reached the main group, the world seemed to stop for Iris Valerius.

  ?The Marquise did not scream. The silence that emanated from her was far more terrifying than any war cry. As she dismounted, the vegetation beneath her boots turned white and brittle under an instantaneous frost that expanded in concentric circles. The "gentle mother" was buried under layers of pure, unadulterated killer instinct: the Eternal Frost had awakened. Without a word, she plunged into the dense woods toward the east, leaving behind a trail of ice and a promise of total extermination.

  ?Arthur Valerius acted with the cold precision of a general. Revealing his leather armor beneath his noble robes, he gave an absolute order to Leon and Kael: "Bring your brother back." Arthur set off at superhuman speed toward the Royal Capital. There, he confirmed with the King that the trail led to the Vancort lands. The monarch revealed that the territory was under Crown custody following the fall of the former Duke. Arthur felt a tactical relief; he didn't yet know the Duke was the mastermind, but knowing the kidnapper was fleeing into a zone guarded by the Crown was the advantage he needed.

  ?Meanwhile, Zhask was operating his masterpiece of deception. He hadn't just divided his men; he had betrayed them with surgical precision. To the eastern group, Zhask had promised he would be with the western group. To the western group, he had sworn to be with the eastern. His subordinates set off firmly believing their leader was covering their backs in the opposite direction. Accompanied only by his four most loyal companions—long-time friends who shared his world view—Zhask returned via the main road, hidden in a common hay cart.

  ?Noticing that the boy in his arms was turning dangerously pale, Zhask felt a cold irritation. He poured half a medium-grade healing potion over Ren’s leg wound. It wasn't out of kindness; it was pragmatism. A corpse had no trade value. The wound closed into an ugly, irregular scar, stanching the bleeding, though the fever of shock still consumed the child's body.

  ?The Extermination in the East

  ?Iris reached the first group in a clearing. Seven frontline men advanced; before they could cover ten meters, thick pillars of ice erupted from the earth, narrowing into giant needles that transfixed their torsos, hoisting them off the ground. Seven lives reaped in a single pulse of mana. The five archers in the rear were next, mutilated by ice shrapnel before they could even draw their strings.

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  ?Six remained. Trapped by ice up to their waists, they watched the Marquise approach. She stopped before the first, whose life was leaking away through the cold, and asked in a voice that blew like the wind from a tomb:

  ?"Who leads this pack of rats?"

  "Z-Zhask..." the man stammered through chattering teeth. "Zhask promised we’d be rich!"

  ?Iris tilted her head, processing the infamous name. With a sharp flick of her wrist, a stalactite pierced the informant's chest. She moved to the second.

  "Where did Zhask take my son?"

  ?The man, believing the lie his leader had told him, swore he had gone west. Iris repeated the question to each of the survivors. One by one, they were executed while giving the same false but sincere answer. When she reached the last one, the man screamed in panic, begging for his life and confirming the western route. Iris listened intently and, for the first time, smiled. It was a smile of pure gratitude and divine beauty, which made the bandit let out a gasp of hope. Under that welcoming smile, Iris moved her hand with terrifying softness, and the man’s head was separated from his body in an imperceptible stroke of ice. She now had a name and a direction, even if it was the wrong one.

  ?The Judgment in the West

  ?To the west, Leon, Kael, and Maya reached the other seven bandits. Two died in combat. The remaining five were forced to the ground. Leon, consumed by urgency, demanded answers. The men, also deceived by Zhask, swore: "The boss went east! We saw him leaving with the larger group!"

  ?Leon felt the weight of time slipping away. If his mother was in the east and the kidnapper supposedly was too, he needed to surround them.

  "Kael, Maya... fechem os olhos," Leon ordered.

  ?The soldiers' blades took the heads of the five prisoners all at once. Blood washed the grass, and Leon’s innocence was buried there as he ordered the group to gallop east, crossing his mother’s path in a fruitless search, exactly as Zhask had planned.

  ?Zhask’s Blind Triumph

  ?By the end of the day, the family reunited at the point of origin. The massacre had been total, but the frustration was absolute. Iris and Leon realized, too late, that they had been played—tossed from one side to the other by lies planted in men who died thinking they were telling the truth. Zhask had used the loyalty of his subordinates as a smoke screen.

  ?Zhask, for his part, was already crossing the border into the northern lands alongside his four faithful friends. He looked at the towers of Vancort Castle with a triumphant smile, unaware that the Duke had been deposed. Inside the cart, Ren fought against the fever, but his eyes focused on the gaps in the tarp. He had seen William's sacrifice, and now he felt enemy soil beneath the wheels.

  ?The fear was there, but a spark of hatred began to react with his internal mana. He was no longer just the child prodigy; he was a survivor. And he swore that when he returned, there would be no potion in the world that could save Zhask from his vengeance.

  ?A cobra n?o apenas fumara; she was now hiding in a nest that was about to become her own death trap.