The Shadow of War's disappearance threw the surrounding undead into a silent panic.
The Black Mist became restless, and the shrill cries turned wild and unstable.
Garen charged down from the ship with his greatsword raised, with Quinn, Frey, and two hundred warriors right behind him.
They launched a counterattack against the remaining undead still lurking in the Black Mist.
The fighting continued.
But for the undead and the Iron Order, now that they had lost the Shadow of War's command, defeat was inevitable.
As time passed, the clouds overhead began to disperse, and dawn drew near.
The first ray of sunlight poured through, piercing the Black Mist as it fell, like the first hint of spring after a bitter winter.
The Black Mist began to retreat piece by piece, sweeping all the horrifying souls together into a single chaotic storm.
The dead, now out of control, devoured one another. Some attacked each other like mad, while others struggled to flee, following the Black Mist as it withdrew.
People lowered their weapons and watched it recede, returning to the depths of the sea.
Calm returned to the ocean.
But the marks of battle made it painfully clear to everyone what had happened there.
At that moment, everyone felt an overwhelming sense of relief, and a deep exhaustion rose from the bottom of their hearts.
They lifted their heads, greedily breathing in the fresh air, gazing up at the clear sky, and savoring the warmth of sunlight on their faces.
Their weapons loosened from their hands and fell to the ground.
Luke kept walking around the island without rest, stopping from time to time beside the wounded to tend their injuries.
At noon.
Dawnhold.
Inside the Hall of Valor, before a stone monument.
The names of the fallen soldiers had been engraved upon it, and countless people stood there in silent mourning, staring at the names on the stone.
Luke stood off to one side, his eyes fixed on the monument.
He knew the Harrowing had passed.
But those who were gone would never come back.
This time, because preparations had been made in advance, and because Garen, Sona, and the others had arrived with support at exactly the right moment, the casualties had not been especially severe.
Even now, the soldiers could still vividly recall everything they had experienced the night before.
If they had faced the Harrowing with no preparation at all, just imagining it made clear how great the disaster would have been, and how many more would have died.
After the memorial ended, Luke returned to the residence the port city had prepared for him.
He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling utterly drained in both body and mind.
Lying there, drowsiness soon crept over him. But the moment he closed his eyes, his mind kept replaying everything he had gone through the night before.
This was the first Harrowing Demacia had endured, but that kind of disaster happened once every year.
Hecarim had fallen to his sword, but was he really dead?
The Black Mist granted the undead endless undeath, and the root of everything lay on the Shadow Isles. If that source was never dealt with, would the Shadow of War truly die?
The truly dangerous time had not even arrived yet.
How long was it until that lovesick fool woke up?
Questions like those kept circling through Luke's mind, making it impossible for him to sleep deeply. His brows unconsciously drew together.
Before long, the door opened softly with a creak, and light footsteps slowly approached the bed.
Sona sat down at the bedside. Looking at Luke's sleeping face, a trace of tenderness flashed through her eyes, and the corners of her lips lifted without her meaning to.
Even the way he frowned in his sleep looked handsome. No matter what angle she looked from, she could never get tired of it.
She watched him in silence for a while. Then Sona slowly lowered her head, her water-blue hair spilling over him.
Just like that, she looked down at his sleeping face from above, their faces close enough to nearly touch.
Her long lashes trembled faintly.
Then her soft lips gently brushed against his.
Just a light touch on his mouth, and then she immediately pulled back in flustered panic. Only when she saw that his breathing remained even did she relax a little.
Feeling her heart pounding wildly in her chest, and the warmth that seemed to linger on her lips, a trace of delight and satisfaction flickered through Sona's eyes.
When she saw his brows relax, a beautiful smile bloomed on her lips, and she looked at him with quiet tenderness.
Then she gathered a little more courage.
She carefully lay down on her side beside him, just watching his sleeping face from up close.
Luke slept absurdly well through that rest, and he was completely dead to the world.
In his dream, he felt as though his head were resting on two soft, springy, wonderful things—basically the perfect pillow.
By the time he opened his eyes again, it was already the next morning.
If he were not so hungry his stomach was practically protesting, Luke felt like he could have slept even longer.
When he opened his eyes, the ceiling was the first thing he saw.
He was still in that dazed, overslept fog when he noticed a faint fresh fragrance beside him.
The scent was extremely familiar. Luke had only ever smelled it on Sona.
He sat up, glanced beside him, and stretched lazily.
He had slept too deeply the night before. If anyone had come in, he had no idea.
At that moment, a set of light footsteps sounded, and not long after, the door was pushed open.
Sona walked in carrying a breakfast tray. The moment she entered, she saw Luke looking directly at her.
Her cheeks flushed at once, and she guiltily averted her gaze, not daring to meet his eyes.
Luke's eyes filled with suspicion.
This girl was way too easy to read. She looked exactly like someone who had done something she felt guilty about.
But Luke was far too hungry, and the moment he saw breakfast, he gave up trying to think about it. After thanking her, he took the tray and started eating bite by bite.
Sona sat down beside him, her eyes unblinking as she watched him eat.
When he was nearly done, she took the initiative and passed her etwahl over.
The moment Luke touched it, Sona's voice reached him through it.
"Is it good?"
Her watery eyes looked at him with a little anticipation.
"It is. Make me another serving."
Luke nodded with a smile and handed the food container back.
Sona instantly brightened with delight as she took it.
"Okay~!"
Then she happily hurried out of the room again.
Watching Sona leave, Luke rubbed his half-full stomach and leaned back against the bed, waiting at ease.
That breakfast had obviously been homemade by Sona.
And the taste really was not bad.
She would sometimes come stand beside him and watch whenever he cooked, picking things up here and there. It seemed she had learned a fair bit.
At that moment, Luke lowered his head and looked at the etwahl lying beside him.
The pale golden ancient stringed instrument clearly bore the marks of time, yet it did not look worn out in the slightest.
Thinking back to the night before, Sona's support had arrived at an incredibly crucial moment.
That mass crowd control had directly interrupted Hecarim's trump card.
Otherwise, even Luke had not been sure he would have had a way to deal with it.
And it was precisely because of that clutch lockdown that Luke had found his chance and sent Hecarim straight to hell in one move.
Thinking of the shock Hecarim had shown when he saw the etwahl in Sona's arms, Luke began to ponder.
Judging by the centaur's reaction, he seemed to recognize this ancient instrument with over a thousand years of history.
And the fact that all those undead had shown such obvious fear toward it only further suggested that the origin of the instrument was far from simple.
And that ancient instrument was tied directly to Sona's past.
Not long after she was born, Sona had been abandoned at the gates of a monastery, left there together with the instrument.
Since then, her birth parents had never returned for her, and eventually, after Noxus invaded, Sona was taken to Demacia.
If Hecarim had seen this instrument before, or had once seen the person who used it, then that very likely meant it was also connected to Sona's origins.
Had it come from the Shadow Isles?
Or from some nation a thousand years ago?
Why had Sona's parents abandoned her back then?
As Luke thought it over, he felt that if the chance ever came, he might need to visit the Shadow Isles and find out for himself.
With nothing else to do, he silently said, "Sign in."
Congratulations, Host. You have obtained Rare Exotic Fruit — Crimson Gem Grapes.
Congratulations, Host. You have obtained Training Card (Three Days).
After glancing over the rewards from the system, Luke let out a yawn that he did not really feel and went back to leaning against the wall in a daze.
Not long after, Sona returned with another serving of breakfast.
She handed it to Luke, then sat beside him again, watching him eat one bite at a time, a sweet smile on her face and a thoroughly content expression in her eyes.
After he had eaten his fill and chatted with Sona for a while, Luke headed outside.
Apparently, he had been the only one to sleep in that day.
Cithria, Quinn, Vayne, and Frey, along with a number of personal guards under their command, had already started their daily morning training.
Poppy's tiny figure had blended right into the group as well, carrying that hammer of hers everywhere she went and joining in the training.
After seeing Luke, Garen strode over and said, "Your Highness, the capital already knows what happened here."
Luke nodded and asked, "Did the Black Mist come back at all last night?"
Garen shook his head.
"No."
Luke relaxed a little, now certain the Harrowing had passed.
If the Black Mist had returned again last night, there was no way he would have been able to sleep until this late.
Still, just to be safe, he planned to remain there another two days.
He simply could not be sure whether that thing might come back again.
Even though he knew a little about it, experiencing it personally had been something else entirely.
Even for Demacia, the impact of the Harrowing was an extremely serious event.
And just like that, two days passed in the blink of an eye.
September 13. Clear skies.
Outside Dawnhold's harbor, the sea had returned to complete calm, and warm sunlight poured down.
Luke stood at the coastal port, looking out over the blue water and the fishing boats sailing back out to sea, while preparing for the journey back to the capital.
Three nights had passed since the Harrowing.
And in those three nights, there had not been the slightest sign of the Black Mist returning, so it could now be confirmed that the Harrowing had indeed ended.
The next Harrowing would not be for a long time.
At that moment, Vayne and Frey stood aboard a ship about to depart and said their farewells.
"We probably won't make it back in time for Lux's birthday. Wish her a happy birthday for us."
"All right."
Luke nodded. Looking at the relic crossbow on Vayne's wrist, he could not help feeling a little wistful.
By the next time he saw her, she would probably already have a new look.
Before Lamins died, he had entrusted the relic weapon to Vayne and told her to go to a city called Eze.
So Vayne and Frey had decided to make the trip.
That city lay at Demacia's southernmost coast. Even by ship from here, it would take four or five days to reach, and once the return journey was counted in, the trip would take at least half a month.
"When you get there, if you run into any Sentinels of Light, help me deliver this letter to Lucian."
Before the two of them left, Luke handed them a letter he had written to Lucian.
Lucian's whereabouts were unpredictable. Only the Sentinels of Light had any real way of getting a letter into his hands.
The letter contained a report on some of what had happened during the Harrowing, as well as the things Lamins had asked to be passed on.
"I know."
Vayne accepted the letter, then waved goodbye to Quinn, Cithria, and the others who had come to see them off at the port.
They watched as the ship gradually disappeared into the distance.
An hour later, the ship returning to the capital was also underway.
Five days later.
At noon on September 18.
Luke led his personal guard unit back beneath the walls of the capital.
After returning, there was no time to rest. Luke and Garen went straight to the palace without delay.
Quinn took Poppy back to the personal guard camp, while Sona headed home.
Thirty minutes later, Luke and Garen stopped in front of the palace gates.
Swinging down from their horses, they immediately set off toward the council chamber.
Inside, Jarvan III, Jarvan IV, Tianna, Roy, Lev, Wenward, and a number of other ministers had already received word in advance and gathered once again to wait.
The moment the two of them pushed open the doors and entered, everyone's eyes turned toward them.
Jarvan III looked at Luke with unmistakable pride in his eyes.
Jarvan IV looked at him as well, proud of how he had performed this time, but also a little moved.
Without anyone really noticing, Luke had already built up a considerable record of achievements.
Between the cultists and beast tide last time, and this Harrowing now, Luke's role in both major incidents had been absolutely critical.
It would not be an exaggeration to say he had affected the entire outcome.
News of the Harrowing at Dawnhold had already been sent back a few days earlier by letter.
For a Demacia facing this kind of event for the first time, it was being treated with the utmost seriousness.
Because it meant that behind the long peace and stability Demacia had enjoyed, a dangerous enemy had now appeared.
And at the same time, the most alarming thing was the unknown.
To Demacia, those undead legions were terrifying precisely because they were unknown.
Tianna looked at the two of them and recalled the words Luke had spoken before leaving.
She had not expected that it would turn out exactly as he had said—the Black Mist really had been an omen of something bad.
"Father."
Luke stepped up beside Jarvan III and bowed.
Jarvan III's gaze softened as he patted Luke on the shoulder.
"At the customs border this time, your merit was beyond question. We'll discuss rewards later. For now, explain everything in detail first."
"Yes."
Luke answered, then looked around at the ministers. After a brief thought, he began speaking.
He recounted everything from his departure for the island to the Harrowing on the return voyage.
He downplayed Lamins's identity as a Sentinel of Light, only mentioning him briefly as a noble soul who had remained righteous even within the Black Mist.
When Luke finished, it was Garen's turn.
Garen described the Harrowing that had struck the shore.
The ministers listened in silence to the full account, and all of them could imagine just how dire the danger had been for the forces involved.
After hearing it, they were all full of admiration for the defenses Luke had prepared in advance.
Just like last time, if not for Luke making preparations ahead of time, the consequences would have been unimaginable.
And the sense of crisis the Harrowing brought this time was even greater than the last incident involving the cultists and beast tide.
More and more faces gradually became grim.
Those nearly unkillable undead were, by all accounts, an extremely troublesome enemy.
Where had they come from?
Why had they come?
How did they possess that kind of power?
None of those questions had any known answer.
Soon, the ministers began discussing exactly that point.
And most of the discussion centered on the origin of the Black Mist.
"We cannot remain completely ignorant of the Black Mist."
"Will it come back? And if so, when?"
"We must find out where the Black Mist comes from!"
"Your Majesty, I advise sending people to investigate it thoroughly!"
"But who knows what dangers lie at the source? And who would we send?"
The hawkish faction believed that Demacia ought to send a force westward and thoroughly investigate the source of the Black Mist.
They wanted to go straight to its origin and uncover the truth.
The cautious faction, on the other hand, felt that such a move would be far too rash.
After all, no one could guarantee what might be waiting for them at the source of the Black Mist.
The two sides clashed fiercely over the issue.
Throughout the debate, Jarvan III, Tianna, Roy, and several other key figures had yet to voice an opinion.
As the discussion continued, support for the hawkish side gradually began to grow.
No one could accept the idea of an unknown enemy lurking behind Demacia.
Finally, at the octagonal table, someone raised a hand.
"I propose sending a force of five hundred men to the source of the Black Mist to determine the cause."
The speaker was the noble representative, Tourt Chambers. He raised his hand slightly, making his position clear.
Then another hand went up.
It was the head of the Mageseekers, Eldred.
"I also support investigating the source of the Black Mist."
As the two finished speaking, more and more ministers around them raised their hands in agreement.
"I agree as well."
"The Black Mist must be investigated!"
"If five hundred isn't enough, then send a thousand."
Luke watched as the ministers' opinions gradually shifted toward investigating the source, and he began to think.
The source of the Black Mist was the Shadow Isles, wasn't it?
And that was absolutely not a place you just went to.
Most of Demacia's troops were elite, so they had always relied on quality over quantity.
Back at Dawnhold, a force of barely four thousand had managed to hold back the Black Mist's invasion.
But no matter how many elites you sent, if you went to the Shadow Isles, you were still just delivering bodies.
So after a moment's thought, Luke raised his hand and spoke.
"Allow me to say a few words."
The moment he opened his mouth, the room fell quiet, and every eye turned toward him.
Tianna looked at him as well, wanting to hear what he had to say.
"As someone who personally experienced this incident, I believe I have the right to speak."
Luke swept his gaze around the council chamber and said, "My recommendation is that we abandon the investigation."
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