The same day. 5:45 P.M.
They had arrived, slipping past the knight guards at the palace entrance with practiced ease. Now, shrouded in the deepening twilight of the Utility Magic Department's private chambers, the adrenaline of the day had faded, leaving only the grim aftermath.
Both G6 and Edmund sat in heavy silence, the room smelling sharply of iron, sweat, and the faint, musky scent of goblin. The uncomfortable state of their blood-drenched clothes was a minor annoyance, utterly irrelevant compared to the object between them.
G6 sat on the center couch, legs and arms crossed, her shaded gaze locked on the piece of black paper lying on the low table like a venomous serpent.
Opposite her, Edmund was a picture of coiled tension. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. His posture was one of deep thought and worry; his two index fingers and thumbs formed a steeple that supported his chin and forehead, as if he were physically holding his fears at bay.
"What… should we do about this?" Edmund finally asked, his voice cutting through the silent, dim room, lit only by the dying embers of the sunset.
"I don't know," G6 stated, her voice flat. "But we're sure that's the reason the natural mana was dampened. No—not dampened. Locked away."
"Indeed," Edmund agreed, his voice low. "But what could be the reason? If this is truly the work of a ranking demon… that is an impossible scenario."
G6 remained silent, her mind running tactical simulations that this world's logic couldn't accommodate.
Edmund sighed, the sound heavy in the quiet room. "As you know… only common monsters and lesser new-type demons roam the kingdom. True ranking demons are a myth to most, a horror story from another land. They are rarely, if ever, seen here."
He looked up, his eyes grave. "All high-ranking demons and the most bestial monsters reside in one place: the Charnel Lands."
Then, a new, terrifying realization struck him. The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale.
"What's wrong?" G6 asked, noting his sudden shift.
"All those who are powerful enough to create something like that," he said, gesturing a trembling hand toward the paper, "all who can write in that tongue… are in the Charnel Lands."
"Yeah? So?" G6 replied, her modern sensibility failing to grasp the geopolitical terror.
"The Charnel Lands lie at the center of four vast kingdoms: South, North, West, and East—which is our kingdom, Einston," Edmund explained, his words coming faster, edged with panic. "Each kingdom has a barrier town guarding the border. Ours is in the North—the very town we use as our alias. Scutum."
He stood up abruptly, unable to sit still. "There's a possibility… the barrier has been breached. That something has gotten through…" He began to pace, a hand running through his hair. "No. It's impossible. That barrier has stood for centuries. It's impenetrable. The expeditionary forces would have sent a report at the first sign of abnormality… unless…"
"Calm your wits," G6 commanded, her voice a sharp lash of irritation cutting through Edmund's panic. His anxiety was an unproductive variable.
"Even if your theory is right, and there is an inside job, the North is weeks away from the palace. It would take twenty days of hard travel to reach this forest from Scutum."
I did my research after you used that shit for my alias.
"I heard from Brenda this morning that the knights use teleportation tools in every town to return quickly. They activate them with their identification cards," she added, her tone clinical, dissecting his theory with cold logic.
Edmund slowly sat back down, his panic receding into stunned silence. He was continually surprised by how much strategic information his mistress absorbed without seeming to pay attention.
"Your conclusion is weak. Your theory is shaky," she stated flatly. "If I were to infiltrate a kingdom, I would start in the towns near Scutum, not bypass them entirely to plant a flag in the capital's front yard."
"You're right," Edmund conceded, the logic steadying him.
"I noticed something on the kingdom map in the Bastion," G6 continued, her mind connecting disparate data points. "The forests form a continuous wall throughout the domain. All the forests in the kingdom are connected."
"So… the goblins could have carried it here?" Edmund ventured, though he sounded doubtful. "But new-type demons are little more than beasts. Stronger, yes, but unable to think strategically."
G6's brows furrowed behind her sunglasses. "The one I fought wasn't just strong. It could think. Not brilliantly, but it moved with intent. Like a novice combatant." She paused, letting the significance hang in the air. "Let alone the fact that it used two elemental affinities."
"What?" Edmund asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"Its offensive long-range attack was a massive whiplash of air. A wind blade," G6 explained, her eyes flicking to the demonic paper on the table. A slow, unsettling smile touched her lips. "And it used hardened rock as a defensive shield."
"That's… impossible," Edmund breathed, the sheer absurdity of it overriding his fear. "Monsters don't wield affinities. Not even new-types…" The day's events were piling up, each one more bizarre than the last.
G6 fell silent. She wasn't an expert on this world's rules, only on what she needed to know to operate within it. But one thing was clear to her tactical mind: the operating parameters had just changed completely. Something was fundamentally, dangerously wrong.
The heavy silence was shattered by three sharp knocks on the door.
"Lady Reise? I am coming in," announced Felicia's voice. The door opened before they could respond, and the head maid stepped inside, her hand immediately finding the light switch.
The sudden illumination starkly revealed the two of them: clothes drenched in dark, drying blood, spatters across their skin, the lingering scent of battle filling the room.
Felicia's professional mask slipped for a single, shocked second before snapping back into place. "I… I will draw you a bath immediately, my lady," she said, her voice strained but polite. "We must have you presentable before you return to the West Villa."
"Let's continue our discussion later, Edmund," G6 said smoothly. In one fluid motion, her hand swept the black paper from the table and into a hidden pocket of her coat, concealed from Felicia's observant eyes before the maid could even process the movement.
Without another word, G6 stood and followed the flustered maid into her own adjoining bedroom to prepare for her return. Edmund waited until the door closed behind them before letting out a deep, weary sigh he'd been holding in. He ran a hand down his face, the weight of their discovery settling on his shoulders like a physical burden. The mystery was no longer just a mission; it was a potential cataclysm, and they were the only two who knew.
___
G6 stood naked before the full-length mirror, a forensic assessment of the damage. Her eyes, usually so cold, now traced the vivid purple and blue bruise blossoming across her ribs where the Hobgoblin's blow had landed.
"Tch. That overgrown pest got a lucky shot," she muttered to her reflection.
She turned, craning her neck to see her back. A network of fine, red scratches and darker bruises marred her skin—a map of her crash through the tree branches.
"Ugh. There too?" she whined, a rare note of genuine irritation in her voice. It wasn't the pain that bothered her; it was the incompetence it represented. She'd been careless. She gently prodded the swelling at the corner of her mouth. "Fuck. Not only did I get beat up by a flying log, I also reek. Do all monsters smell like a garbage dump? I smell like shit!"
She sank into the bathtub with a sigh, the hot water a welcome sting on her wounds. Felicia had done her job well; the water was clouded with fragrant, rosy foam, the cloying scent of roses and lavender already overwhelming the lingering stench of battle.
"I wonder what's happening with this kingdom," she mused, letting her arms rest on the edges of the tub, her hands limp. The steam curled around her. "Should I even bother? I haven't even solved my own problem yet."
She closed her eyes, trying to will away the images of demonic script and the memory of the forest's chilling silence. The politics, the monsters, the mysteries—they were all background noise to her primary objective: freedom.
But as the silence stretched, a single, traitorous thought slipped through her defenses:
That thing was smart. It used strategy. And it knew magic no one says it should. The forest's mana is back… for now. But whatever created that lock is still out there. If it's moving in the shadows… my 'freedom' might not exist for long if this whole kingdom falls apart.
The peaceful bath suddenly felt like a temporary ceasefire.
As she relaxed, G6 didn't feel a dead pull, but a strange, new sensitivity. With the mana restored and flowing around her, she could feel a faint, discordant echo—a residual "signature" from the black paper or the Hobgoblin's magic—like a wrong note in the palace's harmonious energy. It was faint, but it was there, clinging to her.
Her eyes snapped open. Her honed instincts, sharper than any knife, zeroed in on the pants pocket where the black paper was hidden. It was a faint pull, a whisper of that same discordant frequency calling to her.
She squinted, trying to decipher the new sensation, then realizing she'd been soaking too long, she stood up.
Water sluiced off her body in sheets, splashing carelessly onto the floor. She paid the mess no mind. The sight she presented was striking. Even mapped with the evidence of battle—the scratches across her back, the darkening bruise on her ribs—her form was undeniably powerful and alluring. It was a body built for both lethal grace and seduction, a paradox that explained the captivated stares she so often dismissed. It wasn't just beauty; it was an aura of dangerous magnetism that drew people in, even when her personality should have sent them running.
She walked to her discarded clothes, retrieved the black paper, and immediately wrinkled her nose at the faint, stinging, metallic-ozone scent it still emitted. "This shit," she muttered.
Wrapping herself in a plush robe, she exited the bathroom. The transformation began. The wild, battle-ready aura of G6 Arcadia was tucked away, and the polished, icy veneer of Reise Worthon was meticulously applied.
Her ritual started. First, the practical: she secured her tactical thigh belt, its hidden pockets a comforting weight. She slid the ominous black paper into one and a sleek dagger into another. Then came the dress—a elegant black gown that was a weapon of social warfare in its own right.
She frowned. The dress was backless, designed to showcase, not conceal. The scratches and bruises on her back and the faint reddish ache on her shoulders would be on full display.
She rolled her eyes, her gaze then catching the swollen corner of her mouth in the mirror. "Exhausting," she mused, the word a sigh of profound annoyance.
Sitting at the vanity, she became an artist of deception. With practiced skill, she applied cosmetics, layering foundation and powder until the bruise on her face vanished beneath a flawless facade. As she carefully lined her lips with a dark, blood-red color, the motion triggered a sudden, jarring flash of memory.
It was hazy, fractured—a piece of that lost, drunken night in the liquor storage. The cold press of an ornate table against her cheek... the world spinning... Then, a shadow blocking the light. The faint scent of sandalwood and expensive soap. A warmth too close. The sudden, searing brand of her tattoo flaring to life like a live wire—a pain so sharp it briefly cut through the drunken haze. Her eyes had fluttered open to the blurred, close-up view of Dio pulling away, his expression a chaotic mix of panic, guilt, and something else she'd been too drunk to place.
'It's fucking burning.' Her own voice, a slurred, disgusted mumble.
Her eyes widened in the mirror. The blood-red lipstick slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the vanity.
"THAT FUCKING SNOW WHITE! HE LIED?!" she yelled, the sound echoing off the tiled walls.
That stupid walking premium cement! He dared to omit that crucial detail when I interrogated him?!
The weight of demonic incantations and kingdom-ending secrets was instantly forgotten, replaced by a pure, incandescent fury.
"Tch. As if it wasn't bad enough," she seethed, staring at her reflection. "He does it while I'm drunk and unconscious? What is he, a common s** offender?" The violation of it sent a fresh wave of rage through her. Her first kiss in this world—stolen by the person she loathed the most.
"I'm going to kill him."
A new thought, cold and analytical, cut through the anger. Wait—was that the missing data point? Was that the reason the tattoo felt like it was on fire? The connection between his action and her body's violent reaction was a mystery almost as pressing as the black paper.
That disgusting piece of trash. I need to shower in acid. The thought alone is making me sick.
She stormed out of her adjoining room to find Edmund waiting, looking perfectly composed and ready to depart.
"Lady Reise. It is nearly seven in the evening. Shall we?" Edmund asked, ever the picture of propriety.
"Uhuh. I need strong alcohol," she stated, her voice a low promise of violence. She turned to Felicia, who was gathering the ruined clothes. "Felicia, do something about these. If they can't be saved, make me a new set. Exactly. The. Same." Without waiting for a reply, she strode out of the private chambers, a storm contained within a silk dress.
Her mind, once occupied with the fate of the kingdom, was now singularly focused on a new, personal mission: vengeance.
_____
[West Villa's]
"I wonder what is keeping Lady Reise so late this evening," Brenda fretted, her pacing wearing a path on the expensive rug. The dinner table was set, the food growing cold.
"You are correct. She is typically here before six without fail," Earl noted from his seat at the table, his index finger tapping a slow, thoughtful rhythm on the polished wood.
"Maybe I should go check on her?" Keith suggested, already half out of his chair. His expression was one of genuine concern, mixed with the simple desire for his favorite—and only—playmate to arrive.
Dio's head snapped up, a frown etching his features. "Why would you need to check on my fiancée?" he asked, his tone sharper than intended. He, too, had been silently counting the minutes, a knot of unfamiliar worry tightening in his stomach.
"Perhaps she was simply immersed in her studies at the Utility Magic Department," Eliza offered softly from her seat at the far end of the table, trying to soothe the suddenly tense atmosphere.
"Reise? Immersed in utility magic?" Keith repeated with a snort, plopping back into his chair. He leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eye. "The only magic she's interested in is the kind that lets her punch something. She'd rather spend an afternoon smashing training dummies to splinters than learning how to polish one. Honestly, I'm surprised she hasn't turned the entire department into a combat gym yet."
He gestured vaguely in Dio's direction. "She's got the vigor for it. Especially lately. She's been defying you with more… creative energy more than ever."
Dio's frown deepened, but he had no retort. Keith's assessment was brutally accurate. The image of a docile Reise patiently studying household charms was utterly absurd. The image of a furious Reise reducing a training ground to rubble was terrifyingly plausible.
The unspoken truth hung heavily in the room: her prolonged absence was a mystery they couldn't solve. She was in her domain, a world separate from theirs, and all they could do was wait for the storm to decide to come home.
While the nobles waited in the dining hall, the quiet of the West Villa's front yard was broken by the sound of carriage wheels. The vehicle came to a smooth stop, and two figures waiting by the entrance—Tina and Lilia—lit up with relief.
Edmund hopped down from the coachman's seat and moved to open the door with practiced grace.
G6 emerged, and her appearance gave them pause. She was swathed in a coat that was both familiar and utterly foreign. Its design was functionally the same as the one she and Edmund used for their outings—fastened by a tie at the neck and featuring a deep hood. But that was where the similarity ended. This was no practical, raggedy garment. This was a masterpiece crafted from sumptuous, jet-black fur, impeccably tailored to drape elegantly over her shoulders and back. It concealed her injuries perfectly while accentuating the sophisticated black dress beneath it, transforming a utilitarian design into a statement of severe, high-fashion elegance. Adding to the imposing ensemble were a pair of full-length, princess-style black gloves that swallowed her arms whole.
"Lady Reise! Welcome home!" Lilia chirped, rushing forward to greet her.
"Good evening, Lady Reise," Tina said, her eyes sharp and analytical, missing no detail of the new outfit. "It seems you've had a long day. You are… unusually covered today."
"Yeah," G6 said, a faint, smug smirk playing on her lips. "It was made by me."
"It is beautiful, Lady Reise!" Lilia exclaimed, her smile genuine.
As if. Of course, Felicia was the one who sewed this in record time and claimed it as my work to the others. Who would have thought her quick thinking would become so handy today?
"Anyway, the others are already waiting for you in the dining hall. They've been… anxious," Tina informed her, gesturing toward the villa.
At the mention of the waiting nobles, the memory slammed back into G6's mind with the force of a physical blow.
Right. Snow White.
Her smirk vanished, replaced by a look of such icy, focused fury that both maids took an involuntary step back. Without another word, she turned on her heel and marched into the villa, her heels clicking a sharp, staccato rhythm of impending doom on the marble floors. She didn't walk; she stalked. She moved with a single-minded purpose, bypassing everything and heading straight for the dining hall.
She didn't bother with the handle.
BAM!
The double doors to the dining hall flew inward, slamming against the walls with a sound that made everyone in the room jump violently. Brenda let out a startled yelp. Keith nearly fell out of his chair. Earl's tapping finger froze mid-air. Eliza's gentle smile vanished.
And in the doorway, backlit by the hall's light, stood Reise. The elegant fur coat and long gloves made her look less like a noblewoman and more like an avenging aristocrat from a dark fairytale. Her gaze swept the room once, a predator scanning for its prey, before it locked—sharp, cold, and deadly—directly onto Prince Dio.
The room fell into a silence so deep one could hear the dust settling.
Wait. If I cause a scene right now, it could jeopardize my future plans. A public accusation without proof is a tactical error.
The cold, calculating part of her mind reasserted control, wresting the reins from her white-hot fury. G6 collected herself, taking a heavy, deliberate inhale and exhale. In the span of a breath, the avenging fury in the doorway was gone, replaced by the familiar, icy mask of Lady Reise.
"Reise… I know we're rich, but please think of the doors," Keith said, breaking the stunned silence with a nervous chuckle.
"Lady Reise! I'm so glad you're home!" Brenda exclaimed, rushing forward. Her critical eye scanned the new outfit, and despite herself, she was impressed. "Your coat and gloves… are truly beautiful," she admitted.
"I apologize for keeping you all waiting." No, I'm not. "And thank you. It was a piece I've been crafting in my sessions there," she lied smoothly, gliding toward her usual seat at the head of the table as if she owned the entire villa.
"Good evening, Lady Reise," Eliza greeted with her customary gentle smile.
"Likewise," G6 responded, her tone flat and dismissive.
The usual game for the seats beside her began. This time, Prince Dio moved with uncharacteristic speed, claiming the chair to her left before Keith could even push his back. Earl, ever-composed, was already settled on her right.
"JERK!" Brenda hissed under her breath, shooting Dio a venomous look before sitting next to Earl.
"Tch, this annoying prince," Keith whined, slumping into a chair next to Dio
Eliza offered Dio a faint, wounded look before quietly taking the seat next to Brenda.
"So, it appears you're taking to your studies with… newfound vigor," Earl began, his tone carefully neutral as he gestured to her attire.
"Yes. Aren't I simply the best?" G6 replied, her arrogance a perfect shield. She preened slightly, openly claiming the praise for work that wasn't hers.
"I'm glad to know you're coming to like it there," Dio said, leaning slightly toward her. His voice was strangely, genuinely warm, which only fanned the flames of her irritation.
"Shut up," G6 said, her glare so sharp it could have cut glass. Dio recoiled slightly, a flicker of genuine confusion in his eyes as he wracked his brain for what he'd done wrong this time.
"Anyway, you can't go to the department tomorrow. The knight recruitment gathering begins mid-morning," Earl informed her, deftly changing the subject.
Yeah, I was so intending to go. I'm going to drop my proposal to that witch-queen about splitting my time.
"Okay," G6 said, agreeing with an unsettling lack of fuss.
"Whoa. You're oddly agreeable today," Keith blurted out, leaning forward to study her face.
"That's even more frightening," Earl murmured, a sense of foreboding washing over him. A compliant Reise was a Reise planning something catastrophic.
"Let's just settle on the fact that I'm far too tired to deal with your collective stupidity tonight," G6 stated, leaning back in her chair with an air of exhausted finality.
"So, Reise—" Prince Dio began, determined to re-engage her.
"I said shut your mouth," G6 interrupted, her voice dropping to a low, venomous drone that brooked no argument. Her glare promised unimaginable retribution if he tested her again.
Keith couldn't hold back a snort of laughter. "Reise… don't be so harsh on His Highness," he teased, delighting in Dio's discomfort.
"Shut up, Keith. I'll have you mucking out the royal stables for a month," Dio shot back, effortlessly redirecting all his frustration and embarrassment onto his cousin.
"You wouldn't dare! Reise, tell him!" Keith cried, turning to her for support, playing the victim.
G6 picked up her fork, examining the gleaming silverware as if it were a newly issued weapon. "If he doesn't," she said, her voice dangerously calm, "I will. Now, can we please eat? Or do I need to start throwing things to get a moment of silence?"
"Lower that, black lady," Alistair's gruff voice cut through the tension as he and his wife, Janin, entered the dining hall, guiding their serving carts as usual.
Tch. His timing is as impeccable as his annoyance.
"Good evening, everyone," Janin said with a warm smile, her presence a soft contrast to her husband's bluntness.
G6 didn't speak. Instead, she harshly put her utensil down and leaned back in her chair with a frustrated, forceful slump. The action was a mistake. A sharp, seizing pain flared across the bruised muscles of her back, a violent reminder of the Hobgoblin's strength. "Fuck!" she yelled, the curse a raw burst of agony that shattered the dining hall's fragile peace.
"What's wrong?" Prince Dio asked, his worry immediate and obvious. Her reaction was unmistakably one of sharp pain.
"Lady Reise, are you hurt?" Brenda echoed, her face etched with concern.
Edmund remained a silent statue at G6's side, his expression neutral but his eyes sharp. He alone knew the true extent of the battering her body had taken.
"I'm… fine," G6 ground out through clenched teeth, her pride wounded more than her back. "Just this stupid chair. The carving is digging into me." It was a weak excuse—the ornate chairs were designed for aesthetics, not comfort, but they weren't weapons.
"I will have them all replaced first thing in the morning," Dio stated, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Alistair chose that moment to serve G6, placing a plate before her with a generous cut of medium-rare steak, creamy mashed potatoes, and strangely, a small goblet of a dark, murky green liquid.
"This will help," he mused, his voice so low it was almost inaudible to anyone else. It was as if he knew exactly what her body had endured.
"What?" G6 said, her eyes narrowing.
"It is a new kind of herbal tonic to help more, strengthen your body," Alistair declared aloud for the benefit of the table, layering the half-truth smoothly over its real purpose of mending bruises and reducing inflammation. "But you must drink it after your meal. Here. You need your strength." He added another half-slice of steak to her already full plate.
"Isn't that rather heavy?" Earl asked, peering at the large portion with concern for her digestion.
"For someone as busy as her, it is not nearly enough," Alistair retorted, his words laden with a meaning only G6 and Edmund could fully decipher.
The steak looked incredibly juicy. Despite her pain, G6 felt a primal hunger stir within her.
"I will request a salad, Alistair. I will skip the meat for now. Lady Reise, we will proceed at our own table," Edmund said abruptly, his face slightly pale as he made a swift retreat to their corner. The sight of the bloody steak had undoubtedly reminded him of the carnage they had left behind in the forest.
"I will eat meat!" Lilia chirped to Alistair. She then turned to G6. "Lady Reise?" she said, gesturing happily toward their corner where Tina was already setting their table.
"Edmund never changes. He has always had a weak stomach," Alistair commented casually as he finished serving the others. The comment hung in the air, a seemingly innocent remark that felt like a coded message.
Did Edmund tell Alistair? G6's thoughts raced. Or does the old cook just see everything?
"If you want more, just send one of the girls to the kitchen. We'll be taking our leave now," Alistair said directly to G6. He gave a short, respectful bow before he and Janin wheeled their carts out, leaving the nobles to their meal.
"Let's eat," Prince Dio started, watching as G6 finally picked up her knife and fork, her movements still slightly stiff.
The table began eating, the clink of cutlery filling the awkward silence. After a few moments, Dio cleared his throat. "The knight recruitment begins tomorrow at the main palace arena grounds. I expect it will be a long day," he said, making polite conversation.
"I checked the records. Almost every eligible Adventurer has taken interest," Earl responded, taking a bite of his meat.
"Why does this work only fall to Bastion? Tch." Keith whined.
"Maybe because Bastion is the ground of offense and defense, you dimwit," Brenda retorted, losing her patience.
"Shut up, nerd!" Keith barked back.
"Well, I am kind of excited. I heard this is the first time the Palace has decided to accept knights who are not of noble birth," Eliza added, gently entering the conversation.
"I wonder what is going on with the kingdom from the North…" Earl mused, his thoughts returning to the sudden summons that had arrived a week prior.
Then G6, who had been silently slicing her meat, froze. Right. The reason for this rushed recruitment is a preemptive move against whatever the North is planning.
Does this have to do with that land Edmund was referring to? The Charnel Land?
Dio noticed G6 drowning in her thoughts, her gaze locked blankly on her plate. Yet, he said nothing, fearing she would snap at him if he disturbed her.
The light chatter between the nobles continued but was cut short by a firm knock at the door. It opened to reveal Leo, the Queen's personal butler, standing with solemn grace.
"Good evening, Your Highness, and to the esteemed Pillars," Leo greeted from the doorway, offering a deep, respectful bow. "Excuse the intrusion… I am here to deliver a message from Her Majesty."
All conversation ceased. Forks hovered mid-air. Every eye turned toward him.
"All of you are requested to attend a meeting in the Main Palace Meeting Hall two hours before the recruitment begins," Leo stated calmly.
"The recruitment starts at ten in the morning. You want us at the palace by eight?" Dio clarified, his tone a mix of surprise and disbelief.
"It was stated… as a pressing matter," Leo replied, his expression grave.
Hmm. That was fast. G6's thoughts referring to the information from the Guild sent to the Palace.
Confusion rippled through the room. What could possibly be urgent enough to warrant a summons that early, delivered personally by the Queen's own butler?
Only two people did not look confused.
G6 merely took another slow, deliberate bite of her steak, her face an unreadable mask.
Edmund, seated at the smaller table with Tina and Lilia, met her gaze for a fraction of a second before looking away.
They knew.
The Palace had received the guild's report. The "pressing matter" was the new type—hobgoblin demon and horde of goblins that had appeared inexplicably on the capital's very doorstep. And though they had concealed the true depth of the horror—the dead mana zone, the demonic incantation,—the mere fact of such a breach was alarming enough to warrant a royal summons.
The game was escalating. And as the nobles speculated in worried whispers, only two people in the room understood just how high the stakes had already risen.
— To be continued… —