"What's the meaning of this?" King Malzareth's voice thundered across the broken, corpse-littered ballroom. His sharp eyes turned to King Tharil, demanding an explanation.
Everyone stood amidst the wreckage — shattered chandeliers, splintered pillars, and the stench of death lingering in the air. Blood stained the once elegant marble floors.
"It was that traitor Allesio," King Tharil said quickly, voice trembling but forceful. "He brought those assassins and monsters upon us. He plotted to kill all the kings and take the throne for himself… to rule all four continents!"
Gasps echoed through the silent crowd.
"That's nonsense!" Julian stepped forward, his voice rising with fury. "We all saw it. He tried to stop that giant centipede. He was the one shouting to evacuate the palace and save people."
King Tharil's face turned red with anger. "You insolent little—"
"How dare you speak to my knight like that?" King Zarkhul's deep voice boomed for the first time, his usually composed face twisted with rage. His aura made the air heavy, even for other royals.
"If King Tharil's claim is true," Knight Zorayel interrupted, stepping forward, "we do have a way to confirm it."
"How?" asked King Kaldris, curiosity and tension battling in his tone.
"The cultists we captured. If we interrogate them, we'll know the truth." Zorayel's words were sharp and calm, but heavy with implication.
Tharil's fists clenched tightly. A thin sheen of sweat formed on his forehead.
King Malzareth narrowed his eyes. "If it turns out you had anything to do with this, Tharil... you're going to pay dearly."
King Zarkhul's voice turned cold. "We already doubt the so-called will of the previous king you presented… and Allesio killed his father…"
Tharil was visibly trembling now. Everyone noticed.
Later that night…
The iron door of the dungeon creaked open silently. Inside, three unconscious cultists lay chained. A figure cloaked in shadow stepped in, silent as death. No face could be seen — only a flash of steel under moonlight.
Within moments… He killed all the cultists.
That same night…
Deep in the forest, moonlight filtered through thick foliage. Aeron exhaled, dropping his weight onto a fallen log, utterly drained.
"Why do we always end up in the forest?" he groaned, rubbing his face with tired hands.
The boy who had saved them stood nearby, arms crossed, eyes watching the trees.
"Who are you?" Aeron asked, his voice low but curious.
"I'm Lu-" The boy hesitated. "I'm Arcane. Arcane Ashborn."
"Why did you help us?" Aeron pressed.
Arcane smiled faintly. "Saw you two were in trouble. Thought you could use some help."
"You do know we're wanted fugitives? Accused of killing a king?" Aeron asked, his tone turning wary.
Arcane's calm eyes met his. "I've met thousands of people. I can tell a murderer just by their eyes."
He smiled again, gently this time. "And yours… they tell me you're someone who protects others, not kills them."
Aeron blinked in surprise. "You feel different from everyone else," he said quietly.
Arcane chuckled. "That's because I'm one of my own kind." His voice was light, almost teasing.
Aeron allowed himself a small, rare smirk. "Also strange."
Arcane turned to Allesio, who sat quietly against a tree, staring into the darkness.
"He hasn't said a word. Is he okay?" Arcane asked.
Aeron glanced over. "He's mute. Can't speak."
Suddenly, Allesio flicked a pebble at Aeron. With his ability, Aeron snatched it midair.
Arcane grinned. "Nice reflexes."
"Thanks," Aeron muttered.
"Shall we move on?" Arcane asked.
"To where?" Aeron replied.
"To an inn, of course. You planning to sleep under the stars?"
Aeron looked at him, not answering.
Arcane raised a finger as if remembering something. "Oh right, forgot. You two are wanted — dead or alive. Mostly dead."
He smiled, not cruelly, just matter-of-fact.
"Don't worry, I'll handle it."
And so, they began walking together, deeper into the woods.
"Do you know anyone who can break this damned chain?" Aeron asked, holding up the obsidiansteel shackles still binding him to Allesio.
Arcane raised an eyebrow. "That's obsidiansteel, isn't it?"
Aeron nodded.
"Hmm. Then we'll need to head to Moltenforge Town. Blacksmiths there work with rare metals. If anyone can do it, they can."
Aeron sighed, long and tired.
"Another journey... I miss Earth."
The next day…
Inside the grand palace's meeting room, the atmosphere was tense and heavy. Four kings sat around an ornate table, each bearing the weight of last night's bloodshed. Behind them, five knights stood beside their king like shadows—alert, silent, ready.
"What's the meaning of this?" King Zarkhul asked, his cold gaze locked on King Tharil.
King Tharil leaned forward, trying to keep his composure. "Someone broke into the prison last night… and killed all three cultists."
Zarkhul's voice darkened. "You mean someone infiltrated a prison guarded by a thousand men, killed three prisoners, and slipped out without a soul noticing?"
His expression twisted with fury. His tone was enough to make the entire room feel colder.
King Tharil swallowed hard. "We… we are still trying to understand the situation," he said, desperately searching for words, anything to shift the suspicion from himself.
"That son of a bitch Aamon…" Tharil cursed inwardly, fists clenched.
Aamon, stepped forward. "Some of your own soldiers were stationed near the prison. Why didn't they catch the intruder?"
The room fell quiet.
King Malzareth slammed his hand against the table. "How dare you speak without permission!" His voice echoed like thunder.
Aamon didn't flinch. "Then perhaps you should lower your voice and speak like a civilized man."
Gasps rippled across the room. Luthein, knight of King Malzareth, instinctively reached for his sword.
"Luthein—no." Malzareth held up his hand, stopping him.
He turned back to Aamon. "Is this how you speak to a king?"
Aamon bowed slightly, but his eyes stayed sharp. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. But I will not let my king be disrespected."
Zarkhul had heard enough. He stood, tall and intimidating. "King Tharil, order your knight to leave the chamber."
Tharil opened his mouth, but Aamon answered first.
"I cannot leave my king alone in a room filled with hostility."
"Then so be it," Zarkhul said, standing to his full height. Instantly, Julian, Nih, and Luthein drew their swords, eyes locked on Aamon.
Zarkhul's hand glowed as he began casting a spell.
Aamon smiled faintly and unsheathed his blade, unfazed by being outnumbered.
Just as tension reached a boiling point—
Everything froze.
A chilling energy swept through the room. Time itself seemed to hesitate.
Then, a voice—old, sharp, and commanding—pierced through the silence.
"Stop this nonsense at once."
All heads turned.
An old figure stepped into the room. He looked over a hundred years old, his long white beard flowing like silk, his eyes glowing faintly beneath heavy lids. A golden cloak embroidered with divine runes shimmered around him. He walked with a staff—each tap of it on the marble floor resounded with power.
"We're sorry, Your Majesty." All four kings stood at once, their knights quickly sheathing their weapons and bowing.
King Tharil, pale and shaking, stammered, "What brings you to our empire, Great King?"
This was the King of Azorath, ruler of the capital continent—the most powerful and wealthiest land in the known world. His presence alone silenced empires.
"I heard about what transpired last night," he said. His voice was calm, but every word carried weight—demanding truth.
"I… I can explain," Tharil stuttered.
The King of Azorath raised a hand. "I want to hear it from Zarkhul."
Zarkhul stepped forward and bowed his head. "Six cultists and a Venomspike Crawler infiltrated the party. It was a coordinated attack, Your Majesty."
"What was their purpose?"
"We… we don't know yet, Your Majesty."
"It was that traitor, Allesio—"
"Silence!" the King of Azorath roared, his voice shaking the very walls. Tharil fell back into his chair, stunned into silence.
"You have three months." His voice was cold and final. "Three months to uncover the truth. If you fail…"
He paused.
"…I will strip you of your rule."
With that, the King of Azorath turned. A brilliant golden light enveloped him, and in the blink of an eye—he vanished.
The King of Azorath was one of the ten most powerful beings in the world. His ability allowed him to teleport to any place across the globe in an instant. But with age, that distance had become limited, and the casting time longer.
Still—the world fear to fight against him.