The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic-Chapter 391

A woman walked down a narrow stone passage. Her cloak dragged faintly along the floor as the sound of her steps echoed in the dim light. At the end of the passage stood an old wooden door, heavy and carved with fading patterns from another age.

She pushed it open and stepped inside.

The place she entered looked nothing like a common inn. It was a secret hideout, hidden beneath its surface.

The walls were lined with candle holders made of black iron, their flames flickering and casting long shadows across the room. Heavy velvet curtains covered the windows, and the air smelled faintly of old wood, smoke, and wine.

The furniture was carved with intricate Victorian designs,chairs with tall backs, a large oak table, and shelves filled with dusty books and strange ornaments. It felt both grand and suffocating, like a forgotten hall from another era.

Her eyes adjusted to the dim glow as she removed her cloak.

A faint voice called from the shadows.

"Mariana, you are here?"

"Yes," Mariana answered with a soft bow. She slipped her cloak off her shoulders, revealing her pale face beneath the candlelight. Her eyes quickly fell on the figure sitting at the far end of the room.

Hidden under the veil of shadows,a woman sat there, draped in a dark cloak that almost swallowed her whole. Only faint strands of purple hair slipped out from beneath her hood, catching the light. Mariana lowered her gaze at once and bowed deeper.

"Lord, what orders do you have now?" she asked.

The cloaked woman stared at her silently for a few moments. Her presence alone was heavy, and Mariana could feel her heartbeat quicken.

Finally, the woman raised her hand.

A swirl of dust and faint light spun in her palm.

Slowly, it took form, shaping into a small box. The box was unlike anything Mariana had ever seen. Its surface was carved with intricate patterns that seemed to shift when the light touched them, as though it carried secrets too deep to understand. Just looking at it made her chest tighten.

"This," the cloaked woman said quietly. "You need to hand this over to him."

Mariana’s brows furrowed. Her lips parted as she asked, "Who?"

The cloaked woman stood and moved closer. She bent down until her face was level with Mariana’s ear and whispered the answer.

The moment Mariana heard the name, her entire body trembled. Her eyes widened in disbelief,and her breath caught in her throat.

"You mean..." Her voice cracked.

"Yes," the woman replied firmly.

"ARGHHH!" Mariana screamed in panic.

Her hands reached up to her hair, gripping it tightly as her body shook like she was about to break apart. "No... How is this possible?"

"It is real," the cloaked woman said calmly, watching her hysteria without moving.

Mariana’s chest rose and fell quickly. Her hands finally loosened, and she forced herself to take slow breaths. After a long moment, her gaze sharpened. Her eyes burned with a strange light, filled with both fear and determination.

"You are not lying to me, are you?" she asked, her voice low and sharp.

"Do you think I would joke about this?"

Mariana swallowed hard. Her throat felt dry as she looked at the box again. She reached out and grabbed it with both hands, holding it as if it was her very life. The weight of it pressed into her skin, and yet she clutched it tighter.

She straightened her back and bowed her head deeply. "Do not worry, Lord. No matter what happens, no matter the danger, I will make sure this reaches him. Even if it costs me my life."

The box shimmered faintly in her grip before vanishing into her cloak. Mariana rose to her feet, her eyes steady now, burning with resolve.

The cloaked woman looked at her for a while before speaking. "Do not let it fall into other hands. The weight it carries cannot be borne by anyone else."

"Yes!" Mariana’s voice was firm.

"You may leave."

Mariana gave a deep bow once more and walked toward the passage. Her steps echoed again as she disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.

The cloaked woman remained standing in the quiet room. She turned her eyes toward the heavy door and then glanced at the window, where a sliver of moonlight slipped past the curtain.

Her voice came out in a soft whisper, almost carried away by the still air. "I hope that in the Crown Games, you will finally face the regrets of your past and I hope you will come to terms with it."

She lifted her hand slowly, letting her fingers linger in the empty air as though reaching for something that was not there.

"Just a little longer," she murmured. "And finally..."

Her words faded, leaving only the dim light of the candles and the silence of the old Victorian room, heavy with secrets yet to unfold.

.......

While not much time had passed in the outside world, in the Virtual Realm a full month had already gone by.

The situation of the human forces began to shift. It started small, with movements that were almost unnoticeable. Under guidance and subtle changes, the humans from the Western Front and Eastern Front slowly pushed ahead causing the Demon camps fell one after another.

At first, the demons ignored it. They thought it was nothing more than temporary losses. Their eyes were fixed on larger goals, not on these advancing soldiers. They had received no word of reinforcements being sent to either front, so they believed there was nothing to worry about.

But new reports changed everything.

The strength of the human side rested on two people. Martina De Luther, an S-rank fighter who led the Western Front. Roosevelt De Luther, a peak S-rank warrior fighting in the Eastern region.

There were even reports claiming that Roosevelt had already stepped into SS rank. The very thought made the demons restless.

Before they could act, a sudden joint assault fell upon them. Human forces and the Churches moved together, striking hard. The demons found themselves surrounded and pinned. For the first time in a long while, the demons were the ones struggling to answer the calls of their allies.

Amidst the chaos...

CRING!

An axe came crashing down, splitting open a demon’s skull. Black blood sprayed the ground as the monster fell.

Human soldiers surged forward, their cries echoing in the battlefield. Swords cut through flesh. Spears pierced through thick hides. Shields smashed against twisted faces. The air filled with the sound of steel clashing, roars of rage, and screams of death.

Men fought like wild beasts.

Some hacked down demons with all their strength, their armor stained in blood. Others used spears to hold the enemy back, pushing them into waiting blades. Arrows rained from behind the lines, striking wings, eyes, and open mouths. Holy chants from priests cut through the air, burning demons with light that seared their skin.

But the demons fought back. They roared and charged, their claws tearing through flesh, their teeth sinking into armor. A soldier’s chest was ripped open in a single strike. Another was dragged down by three demons and torn apart before his comrades’ eyes.

Blood dyed the ground red. Bodies fell on both sides. The cries of the dying filled the air. A young soldier screamed for his mother as a demon crushed his skull beneath its foot.

A knight tried to protect him but was cut down by a burning spear. On the other side, a demon general was brought down when a group of humans leapt on him together, stabbing and slashing until his body stopped moving.

By evening, the battle came to an end. The humans had won, but only barely. Their victory was thin and their losses heavy. The ground was covered in broken weapons, corpses, and blood that had already begun to dry under the setting sun.

Except for the handful of people,the entire battalion of humans was annihilated.

At the center of it all lay a broken figure. His armor was torn, his body was battered and his face became pale.

"Your Highness, are you alright?" A knight knelt by his side, his voice filled with worry. He held out a potion. "Please, drink this."

The Fourth Prince raised his weary eyes. He reached out with trembling fingers and took the bottle. For a moment he only stared at it, his gaze distant, then he lifted it to his lips and drank. The healing liquid slid down his throat.

Slowly, color returned to his pale face. The cuts and wounds across his body began to close.

"Your Highness!" the knight called again, his eyes bright with relief.

"Don’t be so sad. Casualties like this are normal in war. No one will blame you or the others for it."The knight spoke.

"Normal, huh? Then why is it that I never heard of such heavy losses when Mother spoke of battles?" His lips curled in bitterness. "If it had been my eldest brother, I am sure he would have crushed them without losing so many."

Silence fell between them. The knight lowered his head, unable to find words. Around them, the battlefield lay still. The air carried the smell of iron, smoke, and death. The setting sun painted everything in crimson light, as if mocking the thin victory they had achieved.

The Fourth Prince sat up slowly, his eyes sweeping across the endless bodies. His jaw tightened with a sigh.

"This... this is the weight of command This is what it means to fight as leader, carrying the hopes and deaths of many on the shoulders."