Lord Joseph stepped forward and struck the captured man across the face.

The sound echoed through the chamber.

“What do you mean… unclean souls?” he demanded.

The prisoner lifted his head… and laughed.

“Your souls are rotten,” he said through bloodied teeth. “Filled with greed… wrath… and a hunger for power.”

“You nobles have clung to this land for generations… refusing to let go.”

He spat on the ground.

“Do you even remember why Atherian magic was bestowed upon your bloodline? You may be a branch family now… but your ancestors were once the royal family themselves. And yet you continue to enjoy the same privileges.”

His eyes burned with hatred.

“Do you remember the revolt two hundred years ago? Those filthy commoners stood beside you… believing you were liberating them. But nothing changed. They remained commoners… while you kept your power.”

“The King spared the noble blood after the war… but the common people were executed in the streets.”

He smirked bitterly.

“Houses Eisenhart and Valebard were once commoners too. They only rose because of their strength. Otherwise… they’d still be cleaning pig sties.”

Lord Joseph’s gaze hardened.

“You speak only half-truths,” he replied coldly.

“Houses Eisenhart and Valebard stood beside us… they rallied the people to fight for a better kingdom.”

“The corrupt nobles were not spared — they were stripped of status, forced into labor… many died for their crimes.”

He stepped closer.

“Those who call themselves nobles today are the ones who rebuilt the kingdom after the war… including families like yours.”

His voice turned sharp as steel.

“It is a shame you have twisted your ancestors’ legacy into hatred.”

“There are no ‘commoners’ in Aethria,” he continued. “Only citizens. Those who love this kingdom will be protected… and those who threaten it will face death.”

He turned and walked away.

Behind him… the RSF carried out the executions.

The prisoners’ screams echoed through the underground halls… slow… desperate… and filled with terror.

Later…

Lord Joseph reported everything to King Sigurd and Lord Heinrich of House Ignivar.

The name of the enemy… their ideology… their goal to purge the Three Great Noble Houses.

The threat was no longer a rumor.

It was real.

Meanwhile… the training continued relentlessly.

Sofie faced Reinhard in a one-on-one session.

“Water is not just defense,” Reinhard explained. “Used properly… it becomes one of the deadliest forces in existence.”

Under his guidance, Sofie learned to shape water like an extension of her body… turning it into blades… whips… and high-pressure strikes capable of cutting through steel.

Her magic grew sharper with every passing day.

Elsewhere…

Marco and Lukas lay flat on the ground… completely exhausted after their own brutal training.

Marco turned his head slightly.

“You know… I never asked… who exactly was your grandfather?” he said. “Was he some royal mage or something? How did he know all those spells he taught you?”

Lukas stared up at the sky.

“I don’t know if he was a royal mage,” he replied quietly. “But he was strong.”

“He used fire magic… but it wasn’t just destructive. It was warm… comforting.”

“He could heal with it… and fight with it.”

“That’s how I learned both healing and offensive magic from him.”

Marco raised an eyebrow.

“What was his name again?”

Lukas answered casually.

“Brandt… Brandt of Bachhiem.”

Silence.

Marco slowly sat up… eyes wide… voice shaking.

“Bra… Bra… Brandt…?”

“Brandt of Bachhiem?!”