Path of the Unmentioned: The Missing Piece-Chapter 114: The Crown Princess [1]

The royal chambers were bathed in the dim glow of enchanted lanterns.

Their soft golden light casting long shadows across the marble floor and tall bookshelves.

The flickering flames danced quietly behind crystal glass. Doing little to chase away the heavy silence that filled the room like smoke.

King Sylas D’Argent sat in his tall. High-backed chair behind a wide desk carved from dark oak.

Papers and scrolls were scattered across its surface. Though most had been pushed aside.

A few reports still lay in front of him. Stained with ink and marked with red wax seals.

He stared at them. But the words didn’t register anymore.

—

Casualties: 4,872

Survivors: 3

Princess Eleanora D’Argent – condition stable

—

His jaw clenched tight.

A sharp snap echoed in the quiet as the quill in his hand broke in two.

Thick, dark ink spilled onto the parchment. Spreading like blood over the names and numbers.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even seem to notice. His mind was somewhere else.

Far from this room. Far from the palace. He was in a hospital room. Where his youngest daughter was lying in bed, wounded and pale.

Wounded.

His little girl.

The fire inside him burned slowly, deeply.

Not the wild, shouting kind of anger. But the cold, quiet one. The kind that built with each passing second. The kind that only ended in destruction.

They dared to touch her. The cultists. The demons. Whatever monsters had attacked that train. They thought they could harm her and walk away.

They were wrong.

He would find them. He would tear them apart, piece by piece, until not even ashes remained. And he would do it without raising his voice.

A knock at the door pulled him back.

He didn’t look up. "Enter."

The door opened with a soft creak. A tall young woman stepped in.

Her hair was long and black. Tied into a sharp ponytail that didn’t move even when she walked.

Her eyes were a deep crimson, focused and sharp. She wore a black and silver uniform that marked her as a royal guard.

But she wasn’t just any guard.

Anastasia D’Argent. His firstborn. His heir. And one of the strongest awakener the Solvayne Academy had ever produced.

She paused just inside the room. Her gaze drifting over her father’s face.

She didn’t need to ask what he was feeling. She could see it in his eyes. The tight line of his shoulders, the shattered quill and spilled ink.

"They’ll pay for this," she said. Her voice calm and certain, like it was already decided.

Sylas let out a slow breath through his nose. "That’s not why you’re here."

"No," Anastasia said as she walked closer. She moved with smooth, silent steps, the same way she fought. With control and purpose. "I came to talk about Eleanora."

The name made his expression soften just a little. Only someone who knew him well would’ve noticed.

"She’s strong," Anastasia said, stopping by the desk and leaning against the edge. "Stubborn too. She’ll recover."

"I know," Sylas said, rubbing at his temples. "But that’s not what worries me."

She watched him for a moment. Then she sighed.

"You’re thinking of sending guards."

"It’s not a thought," he said. "It’s an order."

She raised an eyebrow. "And how do you think she’ll react to that?"

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. They both knew. Eleanora had inherited too much of her father’s stubbornness and her mother’s fire.

The moment she noticed she was being followed by royal guards. She’d either disappear on them or fight them off herself. Possibly both.

Anastasia smirked. "Exactly."

She stood up straight, crossing her arms.

"That’s why I’m taking a temporary leave from my duties."

Sylas looked up sharply. "What?"

"I’m going back to Solvayne. As an assistant professor," she said, her tone casual. Like she was talking about a weekend trip.

"You’re leaving the capital?"

"I’ve already cleared it with Principal Lucian," she said.

"He was more than happy to have me return. Said something about how the current students lack discipline."

Sylas stared at her, surprised. But before he could say anything else, she raised a hand.

"I know what you’re going to say. The council will complain. The court will gossip. I don’t care." She gave him a small, confident smile.

"This way. I can keep an eye on Eleanora without making her feel like she’s being watched."

There was a pause. Then, after a moment, Sylas chuckled. It was low and brief, but real.

"You planned this whole thing."

"Obviously."

He shook his head slowly, the lines on his face easing just a little. "You don’t have to do this."

"I know," she said, softer now. "But I want to."

Their eyes met across the desk. In that moment, all the titles.

King, princess, crown heir.

Meant nothing. It was just father and daughter, both trying to protect the same person.

Anastasia stretched her arms above her head with a lazy sort of grace. "Besides," she said.

"It’ll be fun. I haven’t terrified a bunch of first-years in ages."

Sylas snorted. "Try not to break too many students."

"Try being the key word," she said, already heading for the door.

Just before she stepped out. She looked over her shoulder.

"Oh, and Father?"

"Hm?"

Her red eyes gleamed with something dangerous.

"Leave the demons to me."

Then she was gone. The door closed with a quiet click.

Sylas leaned back in his chair again. His gaze drifting to the ceiling above.

———

Kyle lay on his bed in the quiet of his academy quarters. The familiar walls offering some comfort after the chaos of yesterday.

The hospital had discharged him. But the weight of everything that happened still pressed down on him.

He picked up his phone absently, scrolling through social media. Every post, every headline was about the attack.

He tapped on a news video.

"The mana train to Eldermere was attacked by demonic cultists," A reporter’s voice announced, grave and urgent.

"Out of approximately 4,875 passengers, only three survived. It is speculated that Princess Eleanora D’Argent was among them."

"The identities of the other two survivors remain unknown, but sources confirm they are students from Solvayne Magic Academy. They were rescued by the Void Empress, Seris Voidcrest."

"The primary suspect was the notorious criminal Jorren Veyn, who—"

Kyle switched off the phone and tossed it aside, exhaling sharply. He didn’t need to hear the rest.

He lay back, staring at the ceiling. His fingers absently pressed against his chest. Where his mana core pulsed steadily.

’I ranked up.’

The realization settled over him. He could feel it.

The denser mana circulating through him. The increased strength in his limbs. He hadn’t even noticed in the chaos of recovery, but his body had changed.

Curious, he pulled up his status screen.

======[STATUS]======

[Name]: Kyle Valemont

[Age]: 18

[Class]: Swordsman free𝑤ebnovel.com

[Blessing]: Echoes of the Roaming Storm

[Mana Core Rank]: Silver

[Mana Core Grade]: Grade 3

[Affinity]: Lightning, Wind, Ice, Water

[Soul-bound Spirit]: Zalrielle (Dormant)

[Ability]: Stormborne (Temporarily Awakened)

===================

Kyle blinked.

"Huh."

An Ability?

That wasn’t supposed to happen yet. As far as he knew. Abilities only awakened after completing Ranking Trials.

Special challenges the System imposed to push Awakeners to their limits.

But here it was.

’Stormborne.’

His status screen flickered suddenly. The text shifting before his eyes.

——

[Ability]: Stormborne (Locked)

——

Kyle frowned.

’So it was temporary.’

That made sense. During his fight with Jorren. He’d felt something.

A surge of power beyond his normal limits. Like his body had tapped into something deeper.

It must have been his Ability activating under extreme stress.

’Is it connected to my Blessing?’

That was the only explanation. His Blessing. Echoes of the Roaming Storm.

Maybe it had triggered the Ability prematurely.

But his mana core wasn’t strong enough to sustain it yet.

Seris had warned him. His core had nearly cracked from the strain. If she hadn’t arrived in time.

If she hadn’t used her [Soul Heal]...

He shuddered.

’I got lucky.’

Kyle’s fingers absently traced the smooth black surface of the ring on his finger. In its dormant state. Zalrielle felt almost weightless.

His grip tightened slightly.

’Never again.’

The memory of Jorren’s blade flashing toward him, of being powerless against that overwhelming strength. It burned in his chest.

He’d survived by sheer luck and Seris’s timely intervention. Next time, he might not be so fortunate.

’First step: awaken Zalrielle properly.’

The academy’s forbidden section was his best bet. There had to be records about spirit weapons. About bonds between wielders and their manifestations.

But sneaking in wouldn’t be easy. The restricted archives were guarded by both physical barriers and magical wards.

Not to mention the ever-watchful eyes of the faculty.

A frustrated sigh escaped his lips. Even planning the attempt felt exhausting. His body still ached from the ordeal.

Muscles protesting at the slightest movement. The healers had done their job, but full recovery would take time.

The Zalrielle pulsed faintly against his skin, as if responding to his thoughts.

’Tomorrow’, he promised silently. ’We’ll figure this out tomorrow.’

His eyelids grew heavy. The weight of the past days finally catching up to him. The questions could wait.

The plans could wait. For now, his body demanded rest.

———