SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant

Chapter 439: Chapter 439: The Aftermath [III]

The corridor outside the chamber had already been secured.

Two Morgain soldiers stood at either side of the doorway, posture straight, expressions neutral. When Trafalgar stepped through with Aubrelle at his side. They simply shifted half a step aside, clearing the path without hesitation.

Word had spread.

Trafalgar walked without armor, without Maledicta at his side, dressed only in simple dark clothing provided by the healers. The absence of the black plate that had defined him hours ago did nothing to diminish the weight of his presence. If anything, it sharpened it. There was no barrier now between him and those who watched.

Just him.

His steps were steady. The heaviness in his muscles remained, but it no longer dictated his movement.

Beside him, Aubrelle moved with equal calm, one hand resting lightly in his. Pipin remained perched at her shoulder, pale wings folded, the faint thread of connection between them invisible but constant.

As they advanced, more soldiers stationed along the corridor shifted subtly out of the way. Eyes followed them, but no one spoke.

The battle had ended.

But its consequences were still deciding where to land.

’The heirs will be uncertain,’ Trafalgar thought, gaze fixed ahead. ’Their house still stands, but the foundation has shifted. If someone reaches them first, that influence will linger, I need to get first.’

He did not intend to threaten them. He intended to position himself. Not as conqueror. but as the one who had pulled them out when everything collapsed.

That fact would not disappear.

He glanced slightly toward Aubrelle.

”Aubrelle... do you know where the Thal’zar heirs are? And Kaedor’s wives as well?”

There was the faintest pause in her step, not hesitation but surprise at the direction of his question.

”I don’t know...” she admitted honestly. ”Pipin didn’t see much inside the inner quarters after the fighting ended.”

She tilted her head slightly, recalling. ”Actually... I did see someone. Darian du Thal’zar. He was walking alone.”

Trafalgar’s gaze sharpened a fraction.

”Darian? Where is he now?”

”Earlier he was near the outer repair zones,” she replied. ”The lycans were rebuilding sections of the castle and the tunnels. He was outside.”

A subtle shift of her fingers around his hand.

”If you want, we can head there. Maybe he’s still nearby.”

Trafalgar nodded once, the decision already made.

”Then I’ll leave it to you.”

Pipin’s wings unfurled with a soft brush of air, the pale bird lifting from her shoulder in a controlled ascent toward the corridor’s open archways ahead.

Pipin rose in a pale arc, wings cutting quietly through the corridor’s thinning air before slipping beyond the archway and into open sky. Light shifted as they stepped outside, softer now, filtered through dust and lingering mana residue that had not yet fully settled.

Through Pipin’s sight, the castle grounds unfolded.

Reconstruction was already underway.

Stone blocks floated under controlled mana, guided into place by lycans standing in coordinated lines. Beastkin hauled fractured beams across the courtyard, shoulders straining beneath weight that would have crushed ordinary men. The soundscape was steady—wood against stone, muted orders, the low scrape of debris dragged across ground still scarred from battle.

The destruction had not vanished.

Sections of wall bore fresh mortar like stitched wounds. Collapsed arches were half-raised, skeletal frames outlining what would soon stand again. Thal’zar banners still hung from the upper towers, torn at the edges but unremoved, fabric shifting in the wind as if refusing to acknowledge that anything fundamental had changed.

Aubrelle adjusted her grip on Trafalgar’s hand, subtle corrections guiding him along the clearest path between workers and scaffolding.

”Three steps forward,” she murmured quietly. ”There’s rubble to your left.”

He followed without hesitation.

As they moved deeper into the reconstruction zone, conversations faltered.

Lycans straightened slightly when they noticed him. Beastkin paused mid-lift, eyes tracking his approach. Some recognized him immediately; others recognized the posture before the face. The memory of black armor carved into the battlefield did not fade easily.

The looks were varied.

Caution.

Curiosity.

Measured calculation.

A pair of younger lycans stopped whispering as he passed, their ears angled subtly in his direction. Further ahead, an older beastkin held his gaze a fraction longer than necessary before returning to his task, grip tightening around the stone he carried.

Trafalgar felt the attention without turning his head.

’They’re staring too hard,’ he thought calmly. ’Do they think I don’t notice?’ His gaze remained forward. ’Well... it’s normal. After what I did out there.’

Above them, Pipin circled once, widening the view.

Workers filled the courtyard in structured motion, yet the space around Trafalgar parted slightly as he advanced, awareness trailing him like heat after flame.

Aubrelle’s voice remained calm.

”We’re approaching the area where I saw him earlier,” she said quietly. ”Near the outer wall, by the tunnel entrances.”

Trafalgar inclined his head once.

They continued forward beneath torn Thal’zar banners, their shadows sliding briefly across his shoulders as the wind shifted.

They were nearing the outer wall when the rhythm of labor shifted again.

Two lycans stood several meters ahead, straining beneath the weight of a fractured slab that had once formed part of an upper archway. One had white wolf ears and a matching tail, fur standing out against the dust coating his shoulders. The other was broader, darker-furred, jaw set tight as they maneuvered the debris toward a growing pile.

The distance between them was more than enough. Trafalgar’s Primordial Body picked up the exchange beneath the scrape of stone and muted commands, isolating their voices with quiet precision.

The white-eared lycan spoke first, tone lowered but steady. ”That’s him. The one in the black armor. The one who told us to fight beside him. I owe that human my life.”

The second lycan adjusted his grip, ears flattening slightly. ”You owe your life to a human? Have you forgotten what they were trying to do to us just days ago?”

”The war is over,” the first replied without hesitation. ”We lost. I’m still alive. And that’s because of him. Think whatever you want.”

He shifted the slab higher against his shoulder.

”He was a hero out there. Though... he didn’t look like one.”

A sideways glance.

”What do you mean?”

The white-eared lycan’s voice dropped further.

”He looked possessed. Like something was wearing him. The way he cut through the Void... it wasn’t normal.”

A brief silence followed, thick with remembered fear.

”Closest thing I’ve seen to Malakar du Zar’khael when he lost control.”

The second lycan froze mid-lift.

”You’re saying he was like Malakar? And he really held them back?”

”I told you. It was him. I’d recognize him even without the armor.” A strained breath left him as they forced the slab into position. ”And I’m not calling him a demon because of his face. I’m saying it because of how he moved. Like something inside him had already decided nothing would survive in front of it.”

Stone settled with a heavy impact.

Trafalgar absorbed every word without allowing it to reach his posture. The comparison lingered longer than the praise.

’So that’s the image,’ he thought. ’Not a hero. Something closer to a demon, a high opinion about me, to be honest.’

They moved on.

The noise of reconstruction resumed its steady rhythm behind them, stone grinding against stone, short commands passing between workers who pretended not to look twice. The air near the outer wall felt cooler, less crowded, the tunnel entrances yawning like dark mouths beneath reinforced beams.

Aubrelle’s fingers tightened slightly around his.

It was subtle. Almost imperceptible.

But she had felt it.

She gave a gentle pull at his arm, enough to slow him half a step.

”Are you alright?” she asked quietly. ”Your pace changed. You’re thinking about something, aren’t you?”

Trafalgar let out a faint breath through his nose. ”No. Don’t worry. Have you found him?”

Above them, Pipin adjusted his altitude, wings catching a rising current of air as he widened his arc. Through that elevated view, the repair zones stretched in layered movement—lycans along the battlements, beastkin near the tunnel scaffolds, scattered guards repositioning after the siege.

Aubrelle tilted her head slightly as the vision sharpened.

”No...” she murmured. ”We’re near where I saw him earlier.”

A beat passed.

”But he’s not here anymore.”

Trafalgar’s gaze swept the area ahead without turning his head too far, scanning entrances, elevated ledges, the half-shadowed gaps between structures where someone could stand unseen.

’Where would you go,’ he considered calmly, ’if your house still stood... but no longer answered to you?’

The wind shifted again, carrying dust along the stone.

’Where have you hidden yourself?’