SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant-Chapter 381: The Night Before the War [I]

It was the day before the full-scale assault on Thal’Zar territory.

The meeting was held in a border city under Sylvanel custody—large, orderly, and unnervingly quiet. Streets that should have carried daily noise stood empty. Doors were shut. Windows barred. The population had been instructed to remain inside, not as punishment, but as precaution.

Lycans moved through the avenues in small patrols, their presence unmistakable even in human form. Beastmen—men who could become animals—stood at key intersections, disciplined and alert. None of the inhabitants had committed any crime. Still, no one was allowed to wander. Not today.

Inside one of the central buildings, the leaders of the allied houses were seated around a wide table.

Elenara au Sylvanel sat with composed authority.

Valttair du Morgain occupied the opposite side, posture rigid, attention sharp.

Representatives of Rosenthal, Watercaller, and Lady Seris were present, along with the Stonehearth matriarch—broad-shouldered, runic jewelry resting heavy against her armor—and Vaelith from the Moonweave family, the elven lord whose expression carried a quiet, enduring weight.

Thaleon was the first to speak.

"It is a genuine pleasure, Valttair du Morgain," he said, voice cordial but measured, "to have your house fighting alongside us against Thal’Zar. With Morgain involved, this operation should proceed far more smoothly."

Valttair did not return the sentiment.

"We cannot afford to lose focus," he replied. "Thal’Zar possesses a void creature whose strength rivals many seated at this table. And Icarus is not a presence to be treated lightly."

The Stonehearth matriarch gave a short nod.

"You need not worry on that front, Lord Valttair," she said. "Our house has supplied the finest equipment we can produce. We may not field the greatest warriors, but our craft will not fail you."

Vaelith Moonweave spoke next, his tone restrained.

"I only ask that no one forget what is at stake," he said. "I have already lost much in this war."

Nothing more needed to be said.

Elenara au Sylvanel lifted her teacup. A root rose from the floor, guiding it smoothly to her hand. She took a small sip before speaking.

"I am glad you are all here," she said. "You already know the plan. We will advance in groups. Morgain will lead the assault. Sylvanel will support the vanguard. The rest will follow in sequence."

Her gaze moved around the table.

"Thal’Zar’s stronghold is a labyrinth. Multiple entrances. Multiple exits. We will need to strike from several points at once."

She set the cup down gently.

"I expect each of you to lead your forces well."

The war plan was set.

The heirs had been gathered in a different hall, removed from the council chamber and its weighty decisions. This space was no less refined—high ceilings traced with silver inlay, polished stone floors reflecting warm light from mana lamps—but it lacked the authority of command. It felt like a waiting room before judgment.

Trafalgar stood apart from the others, as he usually did.

He faced one of the tall windows, hands loosely resting at his sides, eyes fixed on the city below. From this height, the streets looked orderly, almost peaceful. Too peaceful. Buildings stood intact, doors closed, no movement beyond the occasional patrol passing at measured intervals. A city held in suspension. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

It reminded him of a breath drawn and never released.

There was a strange calm to it. The quiet that came before something broke.

Lysandra stood beside him, close enough that he could sense her presence without turning. Unlike most of the others, she hadn’t tried to fill the silence.

After a moment, Trafalgar spoke.

"What did you talk about with Father after I left?"

The question caught her slightly off guard. Lysandra turned to him, brows lifting just enough to show surprise.

"Why do you ask?" she said.

"I thought it was strange that he stopped you," Trafalgar replied. "That’s all."

Lysandra studied him for a second longer than necessary, then looked back toward the window.

"He told me to be careful," she said. "And to make sure you were careful too."

She paused.

"We won’t be together during the battle. He’s assigned me elsewhere."

Trafalgar nodded. He had expected that.

Then Lysandra added, almost hesitantly, "After this... if we make it through, we could take a day. To celebrate your birthday. Properly. Even if it’s late. Even if it’s just once."

Trafalgar finally turned to her.

"If we come out in one piece," he said, "then sure. We can do that."

Lysandra smiled faintly and nodded. Before she could say more, a few other heirs approached, calling her name. She gave Trafalgar one last glance before stepping away to greet them.

The space beside him emptied again.

As conversations resumed elsewhere, Trafalgar returned his attention to the window. No one approached him. No one ever really did. He occupied the edges, the blind spots—by habit more than choice.

Alone, watching the city wait.

So was he.

He sensed her before he saw her.

The rhythm of footsteps was different. Slower. Careful. A cane touched the polished floor in a steady pattern, not hesitant, but precise. Trafalgar turned just as she came into view.

Aubrelle au Rosenthal walked toward him with quiet confidence, her free hand relaxed at her side. A white cloth band covered her eyes, not a symbol of weakness but of adaptation. Resting on her shoulder was Pipin, pale-feathered and still, his small body radiating a presence far greater than its size. His red eyes glowed softly as they fixed on Trafalgar, sharp and knowing.

Through those eyes, she saw him.

Aubrelle’s lips curved into a smile the moment her head angled toward him, as natural as if sight had never been denied to her.

"I missed you," she said simply.

There was no drama in it. No attempt to soften the words. Just truth, spoken the way she always spoke it.

She stepped closer, the distance closing until she had to rise onto her toes to reach him. Her hand found his collar, light but certain, and she kissed him. Brief. Familiar. Enough.

Trafalgar returned it without hesitation.

Around them, a few glances lingered longer than politeness allowed. Whispers did not follow, but recognition did. Their engagement was no secret. It had been acknowledged, accepted, weighed by those who mattered. This was not scandal. It was fact.

When they parted, Aubrelle remained close, her expression calm, content in a way that felt earned.

Then the air shifted.

Another presence entered the edge of Trafalgar’s awareness, sharp and composed. Karon au Sylvanel stood a short distance away, tall and refined, his features carved with the restraint of someone who had never needed to raise his voice to command attention. He looked young by human standards, but the weight behind his gaze told a different story. Authority clung to him like a well-worn mantle.

The fourth child of Elenara au Sylvanel approached and watched them without interruption, without judgment.

Trafalgar met his eyes for a brief moment. Aubrelle felt the change and Pipin’s head turned slightly.