The Hidden Monster of House Vale

Chapter 56: Chapter - 56 - I Arrived at the Perfect Moment

The streets of Valtheria had become a nightmare.

People fled in every direction, their screams piercing the smoke-choked air as thousands of shadow soldiers poured through the city like a plague of locusts. These creatures had emerged from the Shadow World—a realm most believed to be myth—and now they carved a path of destruction through the kingdom. The sky above had turned an unnatural black, as though the sun itself had been devoured by some insatiable darkness, leaving only a dim, oppressive twilight that seemed to pulse with malevolent energy.

Families scattered, trampling one another in their desperation to escape. Mothers clutched children to their chests while fathers fought futilely against the tide of shadowy forms. The creatures moved with an eerie fluidity, their bodies composed of living darkness that seemed to drink in the scant light around them. Their eyes glowed like embers, and their blades—forged from the same shadow-stuff—cut through flesh and bone with horrifying ease.

In the chaos, a little girl stood frozen in the middle of the road.

Her mother lay crumpled nearby, her eyes still open, staring at nothing. The child’s wails cut through the racket—high, desperate sounds that seemed to attract the attention of a shadow soldier. It turned its featureless face toward her, the empty space where its mouth should have been somehow twisting into a cruel approximation of a grin.

It charged.

Its sword rose high, the blade humming with dark energy as it prepared to strike down the helpless child. The girl screamed, her small hands raised in a futile gesture of protection—

A silver blur shot through the air.

The spear struck true, burying itself deep into the creature’s skull. The shadow soldier faltered, its momentum carrying it forward even as black ichor began to seep from the wound. It struggled, clawing at the weapon embedded in its head, but its movements grew jerky, uncoordinated.

The woman who had thrown the spear was already in motion.

She was young—perhaps in her early twenties—with raven-black hair that streamed behind her like a banner as she ran. Her silver armor gleamed despite the darkness, the royal crest of Valtheria emblazoned across her chest plate. Her eyes, the color of stormy seas, held a fury that burned hotter than any flame.

Lirael.

Daughter of the Royal Minister, yes. But titles meant nothing to her. Politics was a game played by cowards who sat in comfortable chambers while others bled. She had chosen a different path—the path of the blade, of duty, of true protection. As a Royal Guard, her sworn oath was to protect Valtheria, and today, that oath would be tested beyond anything she had ever imagined.

She reached the child in seconds, scooping her up with one arm while her other hand found the hilt of her spear. With a grunt of effort, she wrenched it free from the dying shadow soldier, black ichor splattering across the cobblestones.

”It’s all right,” Lirael murmured, pressing the sobbing girl against her armored chest. ”I have you. You’re safe now.”

She turned, surveying the carnage around her. Her heart ached—a physical pain that made it difficult to breathe. So many bodies. So much death. And for every shadow soldier she cut down, it seemed two more took its place.

”Focus on saving the people first!” she shouted to her soldiers, her voice cutting through the din of battle like a blade. ”Protect the civilians! Kill these wretched creatures only when you have to!”

Her guards moved to obey, forming defensive lines around clusters of terrified citizens.

Lirael’s eyes swept across the city. The dark clouds overhead churned, occasionally lit by flashes of something that might have been lightning or might have been something far worse. The air itself felt wrong—heavy and cold, as though the world was holding its breath.

She grabbed a passing guard by the shoulder. ”What in the world is happening in Valtheria? Did someone unleash demonic monsters?”

The soldier, a young man with a gash across his cheek, shook his head helplessly. ”We don’t have much information, my lady. There was a war brewing between the Mordric Family and the Alde Family. This place is close to their battlefield. I think... I think one of those families is responsible for these atrocities.”

Lirael’s jaw tightened. Of course. Politics. The endless squabbling of nobles who thought their petty feuds mattered more than the lives of the people they were supposed to protect. She had seen it her entire life, watched her father navigate the treacherous waters of court intrigue while her mother—a soldier herself—had taught her where true honor lay.

”Then let’s go,” Lirael said, her voice leaving no room for argument.

The guard blinked. ”Go? Where, Lady Lirael?”

”To the source of this monstrosity.” She adjusted the child in her arms, already calculating the safest place to leave the girl. ”If the nobles have unleashed this nightmare, then I will make them answer for it.”

Delian stood at the edge of the camp, her sword dripping with black ichor, her eyes fixed on the nightmare before her.

Her soldiers were dying.

The shadow soldiers were relentless—stronger than average realm masters, their bodies resistant to most conventional attacks. The creatures had poured out of the rift in waves, and though Delian’s forces had fought valiantly, the cost had been devastating. Bodies lay scattered across the field, both human and shadow, and the wounded cried out for aid that was slow in coming.

But the shadow soldiers were not the problem.

No, the problem was the monster that now stood before her, its massive form blotting out what little light remained.

The Shadow Scale Dragon was a creature of pure nightmare. Its body was the color of pitch, save for silver scales that gleamed along its chest and underbelly like cold stars against the void. Its wings, tattered and torn, still managed to generate enough force to stir the air around it. Red eyes, burning with ancient hatred, surveyed the battlefield with an intelligence that made Delian’s blood run cold. Dark smoke—shadow-stuff, she realized—rose from its body like steam from a dying fire.

If it wasn’t stopped, it would destroy all of Valtheria.

”Hold the line!” Delian shouted, her voice carrying over the chaos. ”Do not let those creatures breach the perimeter!”

She moved without thinking, her body flowing through the familiar forms of combat. Her blade cut through shadow soldiers like they were made of paper—to her, at least, they were little more than an annoyance. But her soldiers did not have her strength. They did not have her decades of training, her years of bloodshed and survival.

She would mourn them later.

Now, she had to focus.

”Astral Severance!”

Her blade glowed with ethereal light as she brought it down on the dragon’s flank. The attack was one of her most powerful—capable of cleaving through enchanted armor and mystical barriers alike. It should have carved a wound deep into the creature’s hide.

Instead, the blade passed through the dragon like it was striking smoke.

The dragon roared, a sound that shook the very earth, and swung its massive claw. Delian barely managed to throw up an astral shield, the barrier of golden light absorbing the brunt of the impact. She was sent flying backward, her body crashing through a tent before she finally skidded to a halt.

She rose, gasping, her mind already analyzing what she had just witnessed.

Shadow creatures.

It was a term she’d heard in old texts, in whispered warnings from scholars who studied the forbidden arts. Creatures born of the Shadow World, entities that existed in a state between life and death. They were immune to most physical attacks, resistant to projectile weapons, and—

”Immune to almost everything,” she thought, wiping blood from her lip. ”Physical attacks will not work. Neither will projectiles.”

She had to try something else.

Delian surged forward, her blade trailing frost as she prepared her next attack. The dragon was massive, but it was also relatively slow—a fact she could use to her advantage. She leaped, landing on a fallen column, then pushed off, bringing herself level with the creature’s neck.

”Ice Heaven Slash!”

The blade connected, and this time, she felt it bite.

The dragon’s roar was one of genuine pain. Ice spread across the wound, fracturing the shadow-stuff that made up its scales. It was not a killing blow—not even close—but it was something. A wound. A weakness.

The dragon’s red eyes flared with rage, and Delian knew she had made a terrible mistake.

Shadow fire erupted from the creature’s maw, a stream of black flames that seemed to consume the very air around it. Delian recognized the attack instantly—it was not just fire. It was a force of annihilation, capable of burning things from existence entirely. A single touch, and she would be erased, body and soul.

She was too close.

The fire was coming too fast.

In the moment before impact, something slammed into her, knocking her out of the path of the flames. She hit the ground hard, rolling, and came up in a crouch to see—

Lirael.

The silver-armored woman was already moving, her spear in hand, her expression one of pure fury. Behind her, a blinding light erupted from the sky, slamming into the dragon with the force of a divine judgment.

Callista Mordric stood at the edge of the battlefield, her hands raised to the heavens. The light that surrounded her was warm, golden, filled with the unmistakable power of the Divine Church.

”Are you all right, Lady Delian?” Callista called out, even as she continued her assault on the dragon. Her voice was strained—this was taking everything she had.

”I’m fine,” Delian said, rising to her feet. ”But it seems physical attacks won’t work on this dragon. My Ice Heaven Slash barely scratched it.”

Lirael moved to join her, her spear ready. ”I noticed the same. The creature is made of shadow—it’s resistant to almost everything.”

”Only heavenly and divine attacks will work on it,” Delian confirmed, nodding toward Callista. ”You’re from the Divine Church, Callista. You’ll need to be the one to finish this.”

Callista’s face paled. ”I don’t think I’m enough to completely defeat this dragon, Lady Delian. My power is limited, and this creature is ancient. It would take an army of priests to destroy it completely.”

”We don’t need to defeat it,” Delian said, a plan already forming in her mind. ”We just need to hold it off until reinforcements arrive.”

Lirael raised an eyebrow. ”You’ve already called for backup?”

”Of course,” Delian said. ”So let’s do our best. Keep it distracted. Buy time.”

The battle that followed was one of desperation.

Delian flew through the air, using her astral energy to propel herself around the dragon’s massive form. She rained down attacks—none of them powerful enough to truly harm the creature, but each one drawing its attention away from the civilians below. She was a nuisance, a buzzing fly that the dragon could not ignore.

Lirael, meanwhile, moved like a ghost through the shadows. Her spear was a blur of silver as she threw it again and again, striking the dragon’s sensitive spots—its eyes, its nostrils, the soft flesh of its throat. Each attack was designed not to wound but to distract. To make the creature focus on her while Delian pressed her own assault.

”Rift Slash!”

The attack caught the dragon’s face, a horizontal cut that seemed to tear at the fabric of the darkness itself. The dragon roared, and Lirael used the moment to vault onto its back. She ran along its spine, her spear finding purchase in the shadow-stuff of its scales, until she reached its head.

She drove the spear into its skull.

It was not a killing blow—she knew that. But it was enough to make the dragon rear back, its attention fully on her now. As it moved, Delian took her opening.

”Heaven Crescent!”

The attack was devastating. A crescent of dark and light energy, infused with the power of her astral core, slammed into the dragon’s face. The creature screamed, its body convulsing as the energy sought to tear it apart.

But it wasn’t enough.

”Divine Purge!”

Callista’s voice rang out over the battlefield, and a beam of pure divine light descended from the heavens. The attack was beautiful and terrible in equal measure—a column of radiance that seemed to burn away the very shadow-stuff that made up the dragon’s body.

The dragon’s scream was deafening.

It thrashed, its wings beating uselessly against the divine assault. Scales cracked and fell away, revealing the raw darkness beneath. For a moment, it seemed as though Callista might actually succeed in destroying the creature.

Then the light faded.

Callista collapsed, her astral energy completely depleted. The Divine Purge had taken everything from her, and now she lay on the ground, unconscious and helpless.

The dragon rose.

It was angrier than ever. Its wounds—the ones from Callista’s attack—had healed, but the pain remained etched in its expression. Its eyes burned with hatred as it looked at the fallen priestess.

It began to move, drawing the shadow soldiers around it. The creatures melted into its body, feeding it, healing it. The dragon grew larger, more powerful, its wounds closing completely. And then it smiled—a terrible expression on a face that should not have been capable of such emotion.

It started to fly.

”Shadow fire!” Delian shouted. ”Get down!”

But she was too slow. The dragon was already in the air, moving toward Callista with a speed that belied its size. Its maw opened, shadow fire gathering in its throat—

Lirael was already moving.

She ran toward the dragon, dodging its claws with a grace that seemed almost supernatural. Her spear struck out again and again, each blow a desperate attempt to draw the creature’s attention. But the dragon was focused. It knew who had hurt it.

”Callista!” Lirael shouted, but the priestess could not hear her.

The fire erupted.

Lirael screamed, but she could not reach Callista in time—

And then everything stopped.

The fire was gone, as though it had never been. And standing between Callista and the dragon was a young man with blonde hair, his expression one of utter indifference.

”Judging by your faces,” he said, his voice calm and unhurried, ”I arrived at the perfect moment.”