Supreme Hunter of Beautiful Souls-Chapter 441: Distant Future.

The smaller room in the Ainsworth mansion was silent, enveloped in a soft light that streamed through the tall windows and spilled onto the low table where a tea tray had been placed.

Amelia sat with impeccable posture, holding the cup between her fingers with distracted elegance, watching the steam rise slowly.

Irelia, seated opposite her, had relaxed enough to rest one elbow on the arm of the armchair, her other hand cupping the cup as if the warmth helped organize the thoughts still swirling within her.

The atmosphere was no longer as tense as before, but it wasn't light either; it was the kind of silence that only exists after a storm, when everything is still too damp to feign normality.

Amelia was the first to speak, breaking the silence slowly, her eyes still fixed on the clear liquid in the cup.

"Let's be honest," she said, in a tone too calm to be casual. "We both know he's going to end up having several women, right?"

Irelia didn't answer immediately. She brought the cup to her lips, took a small sip, and only then nodded, a slow, conscious movement.

"Yes," she finally answered. "We knew this even before all this happened. Kael was never… simple."

Amelia let out a low, almost imperceptible sigh.

"No," she agreed. "And he never will be." She looked up at Irelia. "But that doesn't mean we need to feign surprise every time the world decides to remind us of it."

Irelia tilted her head slightly, a short, ironic smile appearing at the corner of her mouth.

"Or pretend we don't care," she added. "Because that would be a lie."

Silence returned for a few seconds, but now it was different. More honest. Amelia set the cup down on the table and interlaced her fingers, thoughtful.

"The future won't be clean," she said. "Not organized. Kael is at the center of things that are too big, too dangerous. People will approach him for power, for self-interest… and some, because they really want to stay."

Irelia observed the reflection of the light on the surface of the tea.

"And some will be problems," she added. "Serious problems."

Amelia nodded slowly.

"That's why," she continued, "I think we need to decide now what really matters."

Irelia looked up, attentive.

"And what matters?" she asked.

Amelia answered without hesitation:

"That he doesn't face this alone."

Irelia leaned back in her armchair, crossing her arms, but without tension.

"I agree," she said. "Regardless of the choices he makes… we'll be there." She paused briefly. "Not blindly. But as support."

Amelia allowed herself a small smile.

"Exactly. Support doesn't mean accepting everything without thinking." Irelia returned the smile, now sharper.

"It means analyzing."

"Observing," Amelia completed.

"Judging," Irelia added, without any embarrassment.

The two exchanged a knowing, silent look, laden with a new, perhaps even dangerous, understanding.

"If he's going to get involved with other women," Amelia said, picking up her cup again, "then at least we'll know who they are."

"And why," Irelia added. "And what they want."

Amelia took a sip of tea, calmly.

"Some will pass," she said. "Others won't."

Irelia inclined her head, satisfied.

"And those who remain," she concluded, "will need to understand exactly where they stand."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tea cooled slowly, the mansion breathed silently around them, and, despite everything, there was a strange sense of stability—not because the future was clear, but because, for the first time since Kael's return, they were aligned.

Amelia broke the silence with an almost light tone:

"He'll hate knowing we're in agreement."

Irelia smiled slightly.

"Great," she replied. "Then we're doing something right."

Amelia let out a slow sigh, one of those heavy with more mental than physical exhaustion, and leaned back in her chair. The steam from the tea was barely rising, but she still held the cup in her hands, as if the gesture helped her stay focused.

"As if all this wasn't complicated enough already…," she murmured. "Now we have to deal with a swordswoman queen."

Irelia looked up immediately, the glint in her eyes having nothing to do with surprise.

"That," she replied, with a tense half-smile, "irritated me."

Amelia tilted her head slightly, observing her intently.

"I figured."

Irelia slammed her cup down on the table harder than necessary, the dry sound echoing through the silent room. She crossed her arms, her body leaning slightly forward, as if already preparing for an invisible battle.

"Not because she's powerful," she continued. "That I respect. What irritates me is the idea of ​​falling behind."

Amelia remained silent, letting her continue.

"Kael is changing," Irelia said, her voice lower but firm. "The world around him is becoming more violent, more political, more… cruel. And now someone has appeared who not only can keep up with him, but has been at that level for years."

She clenched her fists slowly.

"I won't be the one observing from a distance."

Amelia rested her elbow on the table, her chin in her hand.

"So what's the plan?" she asked.

Irelia let out a short, humorless laugh.

"Train more. Much more." She took a deep breath. "If I couldn't afford to rest before, now…" She shook her head. "I'll have to work three times as hard."

Amelia raised an eyebrow.

"Triple as hard?"

"Yes," Irelia confirmed. "Body. Technique. Mentality." She stared directly at Amelia. "It's not enough to be strong. I need to be dangerous."

Amelia's gaze softened slightly, though her expression remained serious.

"You know you don't need to compete with her."

Irelia replied without hesitation:

"It's not competition." A short pause. "It's survival."

Amelia sighed again, this time more quietly, almost resigned.

"Kael really does have a special talent for surrounding us with absurd people."

Irelia allowed herself a small smile.

"He does," she agreed. "And if this is the world he's going to live in…" She stood up, picking up the sword resting beside her chair, the gesture natural, almost intimate. "…then I'll make sure my place in it is unquestionable."

Amelia watched her for a few seconds, then nodded.

"Then let's go ahead," she said. "But on one condition."

Irelia stopped.

"What?"

Amelia stood up too, facing her firmly.

"You're not going to do this alone." For a moment, Irelia seemed surprised. Then, a small, genuine smile appeared on her face.

"I hadn't even thought of that."

…

Kael woke with an unsettling feeling of emptiness even before opening his eyes.

The sheet was too cold beside him. Too heavy. When he finally blinked, the first thing he saw was the high ceiling of the room, too ornate for that oppressive silence. The bed was large, too large to contain just one body. He turned his head slightly, then his entire torso, and confirmed what he already knew before even looking: Irelia and Amelia weren't there.

Only him.

Kael let out a slow sigh, running a hand over his face, trying to push away the suffocating feeling that still gripped his chest. His heart was beating erratically, too fast, as if he had run miles while sleeping. He stared at the ceiling again, but no longer saw stone or ancient symbols.

He saw blood.

The dream was still there, clinging to his mind like a blade that refuses to be removed.

It wasn't an ordinary dream. It had no beginning, no warning. Just flashes—broken, violent, relentless. Screams echoed across a devastated field. The sky was covered in black smoke. The ground was cracked, soaked in red. Kael found himself advancing among bodies, recognizing no flags or faces, only the constant feeling of being late.

Always too late.

The first body was Amelia's.

She was kneeling among the wreckage, her armor broken, her eyes still open when he reached her. There was a deep wound in her abdomen, blood trickling between trembling fingers that tried, in vain, to stop it. She smiled when she saw him, a weak, broken smile, too absurd for that scene.

"You've arrived…," she tried to say.

Kael held her in his arms, pressing his hand against the wound, shouting orders to soldiers who didn't exist, to healers who never came. The warmth of her body faded too quickly. He felt life slipping away, felt the dead weight fall against his chest, felt something inside him break with a dry snap. The scream that tore through her throat didn't sound human.

The second flash was worse.

Irelia stood, surrounded. Alone. The sword still in her hand, broken almost to the hilt. Her body covered in cuts, some too deep to allow any hope. Even so, she fought. Even so, she pressed on.

Until she fell.

Kael arrived just in time to see her fall to her knees. He caught her before her face touched the ground. There was blood in her hair, on her lips, in her still fierce gaze even as life ebbed away.

"Don't you dare…", she murmured, her voice faltering. "Don't you dare… lose."

She died with her hand still clasped in his.

In the dream, Kael screamed. Wept. Begged.

And then… something changed.

The world fell silent.

Not a peaceful silence, but the kind that precedes a massacre.

Kael rose slowly, still holding their bodies in his arms, and something inside him simply shut down. There was no more pain. No more hesitation. No more limits.

The war ended there.

He advanced alone against entire armies. Each step cracked the ground. Each movement took lives. Swords shattered at the touch. Bodies were thrown into the air like weightless puppets. He crushed skulls with his bare hands, pierced chests, tore armor like wet paper.

There was no honor. There was no pity.

Soldiers tried to flee—he caught up with them. Generals shouted orders—he silenced them. Mages erected barriers—he crossed them along with those behind them.

The field became a slaughterhouse.

Blood rose to his ankles. The smell of iron permeated the air. Kael walked among the corpses like an inverted force of nature, something created only to destroy. His eyes had no gleam. Just emptiness.

When no one was left, he stood still, alone, surrounded by silence and death.

And then he woke up.

Kael brought his hand to his face, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Tears streamed down his face without him realizing when he had started to cry. The room was intact. Silent. Alive.

But the weight of the dream still crushed him.

"No…" he murmured, his voice hoarse. "No."

He sat up in bed, bending forward, elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. The sobs came heavy, restrained, full of anger and fear—not for himself, but for what he had seen, for what he had felt, for what he knew he was capable of doing if it became real.

When he finally took another deep breath, his eyes were dry.

And there was something different about them.

Determined.

Kael looked up, staring into the emptiness before him.

"That's not going to happen," he said in a low but firm voice. "Never."