The hall remained silent for a few seconds, before a heavy murmur spread around the table.
Mirac observed the elven woman with renewed attention.
'This woman knows about the Raid on Thalor Island and the Varkhul-Demon hybrid? But how does she know? Perhaps the President confided his secret to her as well, just as he did with me and Carmen, or maybe she was part of the team tasked with dealing with the Dungeon?'
The day before, during their private conversation, the masked boy had asked President Jun for permission to mention the metamorphosis that had occurred two years earlier in the volcanic Varkhul Dungeon, convinced that it would lend greater credibility to his own theory.
He certainly had not expected someone else—the green-haired woman—to anticipate him and bring up that subject before he could.
And yet, on second thought, he did not mind at all.
In fact, it had gone even better than expected.
If such an absurd story had come from the mouth of a masked boy who had only just arrived in the city, almost no one would have believed it. On the contrary, hearing that same testimony from a figure who was probably respected and well-known among the other Captains completely changed the situation.
Indeed, that revelation—deliberately partial, measured with the precision of someone who knew exactly what to reveal and what to keep to herself—had done exactly what was needed: it had turned the metamorphosis theory from the absurd speculation of a stranger into a concrete possibility that could no longer be taken lightly.
And judging by the looks of those present, the initial skepticism was beginning to crumble away.
"By all the gods… I-It can't be!" murmured Orlan, breaking the silence with a hoarse voice as he sank back into his chair. "So it's true? There really is something outside these walls capable of triggering these metamorphoses?! Of transforming human beings into… Rogthars?!"
Mirac turned toward him and nodded slowly.
"More than 'something,' we strongly believe it is all the work of someone. And in all likelihood, it is a Chaotic!" he exclaimed. "After all, the Rogthars have been sighted in two distinct places: first in the woods outside Raerno and then in the Carameo Mine. And now, thanks to Captain Hanaë's testimony, we know that this unsettling phenomenon is by no means new, but has a very specific precedent that occurred two years ago on a volcanic island. All of this makes it impossible to believe in the hypothesis of a spontaneous phenomenon or of an ancient curse awakened by chance. There must be a conscious mind behind all this. Someone who has orchestrated a precise modus operandi and has been carrying it out for who knows how long…"
Mirac let the weight of that accusation spread among those present before resuming in a more pragmatic and analytical tone:
"However, with the data currently at our disposal, we still cannot define with certainty the nature of their Anomalous Syntony. At present, the options before us divide into two clearly distinct paths, depending on whether or not one wishes to consider the events of these past days as connected to the case on the volcanic island two years ago."
He paused briefly, allowing the hall's full attention to converge on him.
"The first path assumes that the two cases are, precisely, entirely independent and disconnected from each other. If that were so, we would find ourselves facing the most reassuring scenario: the current Chaotic might be in Syntony exclusively with the Race of the Rogthars, or at most with Bealz, the Archaic Progenitor of their lineage. This power would allow them to act only upon the human race, and would offer a plausible explanation for why, until now, in all our recent reconnaissance, only Rogthars and no other demonic species have been sighted."
Mirac's tone shifted, and the expression beneath the mask suddenly grew darker.
"The second path, on the other hand, assumes that there is a single connecting thread, and that the mind behind the metamorphosis described by Captain Hanaë is the same one behind the Rogthar affair. If the two events were indeed linked, the implications would be drastically worse. It would mean that this individual's power is not limited to a single lineage, but is capable of corrupting and transforming any living being into a Demon: from humans, transformed into Rogthars, all the way to the monstrous creatures of the Dungeons, exactly as happened to that Boss on the volcanic island. This scenario would open the door to hypotheses of unheard-of gravity: a Syntony with Demons in the broadest sense, or even… a direct Syntony with the Desecrator!"
"WHAT?!"
This time the reaction from the audience was immediate, yet not loud.
It was a shock that manifested first in bodies rather than in voices: shoulders that stiffened abruptly, hands that clenched instinctively, chairs that creaked, gazes that shifted with almost nervous rapidity toward the nearest colleagues, as if seeking confirmation that what they had just heard had actually been spoken.
"A-A-A Chaotic in Syntony with Demons… or with their Patriarch?!" repeated Captain Orlan, incredulous, with a note of unease he could not entirely conceal. "Young man, are you perhaps insinuating… a possible return of Him?!"
The Great Extermination, the world conflict that had raged more than a thousand years earlier, had been nothing less than a demonstration of the destructive power of the Apostles of Chaos…
And among those fearsome tyrants, there had also been him:
The Desecrator.
His true name had long since been devoured by the flames of history and buried beneath layers of dark legends.
Yet even now, his mere mythological figure was enough to strike terror into the hearts of the bravest warriors.
He who once held absolute hegemony over all demonic races.
A being whose will brought the fiercest creatures to their knees.
A superhuman entity whose mere presence corrupted the earth and darkened the sky.
Some modern speculations had even traced his blood back to that of the Sinner.
In the end, it was only thanks to the combined power of the Seven Deities that those two supreme beings—and others of their same terrifying caliber—had been defeated once and for all, bringing the war to an end.
Following Orlan's question, no one dared speak for several seconds, as if uttering even a single additional sound might somehow awaken what had been buried a thousand years earlier.
Mirac, still standing, maintained a composed expression, though the weight of that atmosphere pressed upon him.
"What I have shared with you remains, for the moment, mere speculation," he clarified firmly, answering Orlan directly yet addressing everyone present. "The return of the Desecrator—the Father of All Demons—certainly represents the worst possible scenario… And it is exactly what we must prevent, at any cost!"
He paused briefly, allowing those words to settle.
"Regardless of the nature of this Chaotic's Anomalous Syntony, we can presume that they have not yet unlocked the full potential of their power. Which means we still have a window of time in which to act before it is too late! Or at least… that is what we can hope."
Mirac's final words, spoken with a veil of grim honesty, failed to fully dispel the tension.
On the contrary, for many that sentence sounded like scant consolation.
Observing their faces in that moment—the heavy gazes, the clenched jaws, the silence of those who had just heard something they still could not entirely digest—the masked boy felt a pang of unease.
'Damn… Maybe I should have kept that last comment to myself, or at least phrased it more convincingly…' he thought to himself as he slowly sat back down in his seat.
Despite having spent years at the castle refining the art of conversation and diplomacy in preparation for what was to be his future role as sovereign, this had been the first time he had found himself speaking before an official assembly.
And when the President had informed him the day before that he would lead the first part of the meeting, with the task of explaining in precise detail the information on the case and his theories regarding it, Mirac had understood that it was not a mere formality, but a true test of his capabilities.
'I wonder if I measured up to the task…' Mirac wondered.
While that thought continued to bounce around in his mind, Jun directed a cordial nod toward him, almost as if wanting to indirectly dispel that doubt. "We thank you for this detailed report, young man."
The masked boy turned toward him.
Those simple words, accompanied by a sincere smile, touched him deeply.
In Mirac's mind, that praise resonated with a sweet and protective note, as if it had been spoken by a father genuinely proud of his son. A warm, unfamiliar sensation that brushed his chest before fading away…
In that moment, he felt proud of himself in a completely alien way, allowing himself a brief inner quiet before composing himself again.
"Don't mention it. I simply carried out my duty…" Mirac finally replied.
Nothing more and nothing less, concluding the exchange with the President with an equally courteous nod.
Suddenly, a muscular man who until that moment had remained silent raised his hand to ask for the floor.
Mirac had no need to read his nameplate, for he had recognized him immediately at first glance.
[ Simner Tharion – Captain of the Guild "Imperial Phoenix" ]
He was Joren's father, and the man who a few days earlier had put an end to the quarrel between his son and the masked boy.
His figure was imposing, dressed with an elegance that conveyed authority without any need for theatrical gestures.
Beside him sat a younger man, with a rigid posture and a cold, analytical gaze.
His golden nameplate read:
[ Castan Tharion – Vice-Captain of the Guild "Imperial Phoenix" ]
'Castan Tharion…' Mirac thought, observing him. 'The surname is the same, and the resemblance to Simner is obvious. There is no doubt: that must be his son. And therefore, he is certainly the older brother of that idiot!'
After obtaining permission to speak, Simner Tharion lowered his hand and rested his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers.
"If I may express my opinion, Mr. President, I fully agree with the young man," he said, in a deep and controlled voice, resting his steady gaze on Mirac for a moment. "If what he has set forth so far corresponds to the truth, then it is more than reasonable to suppose that this Chaotic is building an army of demonic creatures and equipping it with dangerous weapons forged by the blacksmith Derek. Whether the latter is being held against his will or is actively collaborating with them is, in the end, a secondary detail: what matters is that behind these activities lies a project of vast scope."
He paused briefly before continuing:
"I do not believe, however, that their objective is to launch an open war against the kingdom in the immediate future. After all, if the Chaotic were truly gathering an army for an armed conflict against us, they would already have taken into account that they would have to face the greatest defenders of our nation: the Seven Infernal Knights and Grand Knight Leonard Vualdovinos. Therefore, it is logical to suppose that they are still accumulating the necessary forces and a sufficient number of fighters to succeed in the enterprise. And it is precisely for this reason that we must act as soon as possible! Waiting would only mean granting the enemy further time to complete their preparations, and thus we must intervene swiftly, before it is too late!"
Beneath the black, scarred mask, Mirac could not hold back a certain surprise.
'Wow!' he thought, seeing Simner in a different light than he had a few minutes earlier. 'I was ready to bet he was a braggart exactly like his son… Instead, he seems to have his head firmly on his shoulders.'
While his thoughts raced, Captain Tharion's words remained suspended in the air of the hall, slowly echoing in the mind of the masked boy.
'The Chaotic… An army… A sufficient number of fighters…'
Mirac narrowed his eyes behind the mask.
'An army…'
That term, pronounced with such naturalness, suddenly seemed to stir something in the recesses of his consciousness.
A scattered detail, a piece that for days had stubbornly refused to fit with the rest of the picture…
He stared into the void for a few moments, allowing the inner silence to act as a filter, before letting his gaze drift across the neatly arranged dossiers in front of him.
'Of course, what an idiot! How did I not think of it sooner?!'
The masked boy stretched out his hand and immediately began rifling frantically through the files, rapidly running his fingers over the pages of the reports and demographic data—included as standard procedure every time a Dungeon potentially threatening to the region appeared, in order to map the civilian population exposed to the danger.
He continued rummaging through the papers until he found exactly the section he was looking for.
'Just as I thought!' he exclaimed inwardly.
Without further hesitation, he raised his hand, fully extending his arm.
President Jun, noticing the gesture, immediately granted him the floor with a nod.
The boy straightened his back, speaking with a clear and sharp voice that at once captured the attention of everyone present:
"If I may be allowed to add one fundamental detail to what Captain Tharion has just said, I would like to point out an inconsistency in the official data," Mirac began, brushing the open file with the tips of his fingers. "When analyzing the registers of missing persons in Raerno and the surrounding urban centers for the current year and the previous one—excluding, of course, the isolated case of the Carameo Mine—an unexpected fact immediately stands out: the overall number of disappearances has remained incredibly low."
The hall remained silent and attentive, while several Captains furrowed their brows.
"If the Chaotic in question were truly building an army of their own, the data would inevitably show a dizzying spike in disappearances," Mirac continued, carefully enunciating each word. "But it is clear that, wishing to act in the shadows, this person could not afford to attract too much attention with an excessive trail of human abductions. And since the data show that the number of missing persons has instead remained limited, it is evident that human conversions can account for only a small fraction of their army. Consequently, their forces cannot consist solely of transformed humans!"
He paused briefly, allowing the reasoning to sink in among those present.
"It is far more plausible, instead, to hypothesize that the Chaotic has had the Rogthars breed among themselves in order to swell their ranks. But even here another problem arises: even if they had begun having them reproduce among themselves immediately after the events on the volcanic island two years ago, at the biological growth rate of the Rogthars—completely identical to that of humans—those specimens would today be little more than newborns. And yet, every specimen we have faced so far was fully grown, mature, and operational."
The silence in the room grew heavy.
"Consequently," the masked boy summed up, "we cannot rule out the possibility that the mind behind all this may be relying on one or more accomplices, each entrusted with a specific role within the plan. At this point, it would no longer be an isolated action, but the coordinated plan of a sect or a secret organization. And therefore, the presence of a second Chaotic, whose Syntony is capable of manipulating biological processes, would perfectly explain the age discrepancy of the sexually reproduced Rogthars."
Beneath the mask, Mirac felt a sudden flash of insight race up his spine.
'And in all likelihood, that is precisely why those Rogthars were only three months old!' he exclaimed inwardly, thinking back to the three specimens they had faced in the woods outside Raerno to save Blake.
At last, a logical explanation had emerged for that anomalous detail that had left him perplexed for so long.
Despite the satisfaction at that realization, Mirac maintained a façade of absolute composure, straightening even further to capture the attention of those present.
"All of this," the masked boy continued, turning slightly toward Simner with a deferential yet firm nod, "brings us straight to a conclusion that I would like to place alongside the one already expressed by Captain Tharion. The Captain has rightly hypothesized that the enemy is accumulating the necessary forces in the shadows, without any intention of launching an attack in the immediate future. Well, in light of what has just been set forth, I believe it is necessary to partially correct that forecast…"
A light murmur died away among the benches as the boy, lowering his voice only slightly, delivered the final blow:
"After all, if my deductions about the accomplices and the accelerated biological development are correct, the time at our disposal would prove drastically shorter than we imagine. Concrete proof of this fact lies in the way the conspirators struck the Carameo Mine so openly, completely disregarding the anonymity they have maintained until now. In conclusion, the attack carried out to seize the raw iron necessary to arm their troops is not a mere gamble or a strategic error, but rather the glaring signal that their preparations are by now almost complete. And that means it will not be long before they deliver the decisive blow!"
For several seconds, no one spoke.
Then, like a dam breaking, the hall erupted into a whirlwind of overlapping voices: Captains and Vice-Captains leaned toward one another, exchanging low comments, alarmed looks, and hurried conjectures about that terrifying yet irrefutable deduction.
Mirac's theory had struck home, and for a moment the hall seemed to have lost its composure.
'Indeed, everything fits perfectly…' Even Hejik remained silent for a few seconds, weighing the masked boy's reasoning with the sharp gaze of one who recognizes the validity of an impeccable analysis.
For his part, President Jun reserved for the masked boy a slow and respectful nod: a tacit recognition that made Mirac's chest swell with pride beneath the mask.
Afterward, the most powerful man in the room spoke:
"Order."
Suddenly, every murmur in the hall fell silent.
President Jun slowly straightened in his chair, interlacing his hands on the table as his gaze grew increasingly stern.
"As you will by now have understood, we find ourselves facing an unprecedented case," he explained, in a voice that had no need to rise in order to fill the room. "In light of what has emerged so far, the Raid on the Rogthar Dungeon, and inevitably also on the Carameo Mine, can no longer be considered ordinary operations, but the response to a danger that is all but imminent!"
One final silence.
Then he placed his open palms on the table and fixed his gaze on the empty space before him, with the fierce intensity of one who already had the enemy in his sights.
"Therefore, let us waste no more time, and discuss how to face this threat!"