THE PERFECT VILLAIN: Another chance with a system
Chapter 37: The White Order

Chapter 37: The White Order

Somewhere in Warstone, the carriage stopped at a large house with gardens and a fountain, the kind fit for nobles and royalty. Cael stepped out of the carriage and moved toward the house.

Inside, a woman sat on a pristine chair before a mirror as a maid combed her hair slowly. She tilted her head slightly toward the door as he entered. "You’ve returned, dear. How did it go? Did you find the demoness?"

"No, I didn’t, but someone else did, and they got away. However—" He crossed to the chair and took a seat. "He was a B-rank, and not only did he drive off two demonesses, he managed to chop off one of their hands."

"A B-rank did that? Are you certain he wasn’t lying about his rank?" she asked, turning to face him fully.

"Well, for what it’s worth, he passed out moments after the fight. But also—he was carrying Aurelian’s blade." Cael looked directly at her, still finding it difficult to accept the story Vael had told him.

"Aurelian’s blade," his wife echoed, stilling the maid’s hand mid-stroke. The maid gave a polite bow and slipped away. Umar’s fingers tightened around her robe until her knuckles whitened. "How did he get it? We gave that to the demons, didn’t we?"

"If my memory serves, we did." Cael sank fully into his seat, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"Then how did he get it? Did he say?" she pressed, desperation threading through her voice.

Cael went quiet for a moment, the words sitting heavy on his tongue. Without turning his head, he finally answered. "He said an old man gave it to him. Said it was the reason he came to Warstone—to deliver a message, too."

"An old man? A message? What message?" She stared at her husband.

He met her gaze at last. "Three things cannot be long hidden. The sun, the moon, and the truth. That was the message from the old man—or so he claimed."

"The truth?" she murmured to herself. Her grip tightened further, fear settling over her features. Of course she was afraid—they’d hoped the truth had died along with the sword, the blade itself unbreakable, its disappearance meant to close the door on the past for good. Now it had wandered back into the world. She was terrified. After all, she was a hero too. The hero Umar.

They’d kept their relationship hidden from the party for years, and when she’d been carrying their child, she’d stepped away, returning only just before Aurelian’s execution. Cael had kept the others occupied with quest after quest to buy her the time, and it had grown harder to manage—until Aurelian’s trial gave them the perfect distraction. They’d seen it as their chance at freedom. Only after his death had they made their relationship public. And now the past was clawing its way back up.

She looked at him, fear plain in her eyes. "What—what do we do? Do you think it meant something?"

"It definitely means something. We need to find out who this old man is—if he’s even an old man at all. Whatever he’s planning could ruin us all."

Cael muttered, rising to his feet and heading toward the hallway. A young girl with long black hair tied in a ponytail, no older than two, came running toward him, arms outstretched.

"Father!" Her small voice lifted his mood instantly as he scooped her into his arms. "Lana, you seem rather cheerful today."

"Father, come see my room!" Lana said, beaming.

"Oh, alright." His hand drifted to her hair, straightening the bow holding her ponytail in place. He started toward her room, but Umar’s voice stopped him mid-step.

"—And do you intend to tell the White Order about this?" she asked, not looking at him.

Cael fell silent for a moment, then kept walking as he answered. "I’ll let them find out on their own."

She watched the direction he’d gone until he vanished into the hallway, then finally let out a breath, releasing her grip on her robe. She reached for the comb the maid had left behind and began brushing her own hair.

---

Somewhere in the forested edge of Warstone, high near a cliffside, Dreece clenched her newly healed arm and released it again, testing the movement. Then she glanced up at Lambadack, seated at the cliff’s edge.

She rose and walked over, settling beside her, and together they stared out at the pyramid in the distance.

"It’s still bothering you, isn’t it?" Dreece asked, eyes still on the pyramid.

"It is," Lambadack sighed. "It’s a unique skill, Dreece. No two unique skills are ever truly identical. It was mine."

"That much is obvious. But do you think he copied it?" Dreece asked. Lambadack answered with a nod. Something about it didn’t sit right with either of them. Authorities were widely known to number twenty across both worlds, but only fifteen names had ever been confirmed and agreed upon. Only the wielder ever truly knew the name of their own authority.

Lambadack looked back at Dreece, unable to answer the question fully. If such a thing were even possible, then their father, Cronos, might not be the most fearsome being they knew after all. And since so little was known about abilities like this, they’d need to tread carefully from here.

A thought crossed Lambadack’s mind, and she paused. She hadn’t tested her own ability since watching him use it. A flicker of fear gripped her. What if he hadn’t copied it—what if he’d taken it? Was that even possible?

She stretched her hand toward a tree nearby and aimed. In one swift motion, she unleashed her attack, splitting the tree clean in half. Only then did the tension in her shoulders ease. It really was just a copy.

She turned back to Lambadack. "It’s definitely a copy ability. But the real question is how long he can hold onto it, and how much he can actually copy."

The question sat between them in silence as they both stared out at the pyramid. If he posed as much of a threat as they now suspected, they needed to understand, at the very least, how his ability worked—and whether it was another authority history had simply failed to name.