The heavy wooden door creaked shut behind him as Jevran stepped into Viscount Liam's dimly lit study. Dust motes floated in fragile beams of sunlight, casting a golden haze over the cluttered room. Without a word, Jevran pulled up a chair and plopped down hard, the scrape of its legs echoing in the still air.
"So," Jevran began, eyes narrowing with curiosity, "what's the plan here? And... what is this place? I didn't even know this city existed."
Alex's gaze flickered with the weight of recent truths. He folded his arms, considering how much to reveal.
"I don't know much," Alex admitted, voice low with certainty. "But from what I've pieced together, this entire city answers to the Royal Empire. The nobleman who once ruled it? Gone. Vanished without a trace. My suspicion? He's dead. A demon had taken his form—an impostor lurking in his skin. I killed the demon, but now this city is a shell without a ruler." He paused, then his lips curled into a confident smirk. "But there's a plan. One that could turn this mess around."
Jevran straightened, leaning forward as the crease of worry melted into a spark of hope. "Alright, then. What are we looking at?"
Alex rose from the table, energy crackling in his movements. From thin air, a shimmering clone emerged — a perfect facsimile, its soul burning with quiet power. With a wave of his hand, the impostor's form melted away, replaced by the unmistakable features of Viscount Liam. The clone stood rigid, strikingly real.
Jevran's mouth hung open, disbelief drowning his earlier apprehension.
"Incredible, Alex," he breathed. "With this, we can solve the leadership vacuum here. But what about the Royal Empire's invasion? How do you intend to handle that?"
Eyes flashing with steely resolve, Alex outlined the next step. "I have twenty-two deserters—soldiers who know the Empire's inner workings. They'll be our infiltrators. It won't be much against an empire's might, but it's what we have."
Jevran rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then a glint appeared in his eyes.
"I have a suggestion," he said.
Alex cocked an eyebrow. "Go on."
Reaching inside his robe, Jevran pulled out a folded piece of parchment, its edges worn but the ink fresh.
"Here," he said, handing over a newspaper. "Recent news from the capital—Theocracy of Lumen is growing restless with the Royal Empire."
Alex's eyes scanned the column. His thoughts darkened.
Another invasion brewing, he mused silently. The Verdant Wastes will be the battleground once more. No Clif this time to raise the shield...
"So?" Jevran pressed. "What do you make of it?"
"Soon," Alex said quietly, "the Theocracy will strike again. But their aim isn't the kingdom itself—it's the forest. The Verdant Wastes. Why, you ask?"
Jevran nodded.
"King Magnus fears that forest, and not without cause. For nine months, monsters—creatures beyond the skill of common adventurers—have been spawning there, creeping nearer to the Crimson Thicket. Magnus sought an accord: saints from the Theocracy purifying both forests monthly to hold back this darkness. King Greg refused. So, now, Magnus plans to seize the Verdant Wastes by force. That's the truth behind this shadow war."
Alex's lips tightened. Greg... proud and stubborn, he thought with a sardonic edge.
"This changes things," Alex finally said. "Our plan will hinge on the Theocracy's next move. When they invade, the Empire will rush to defend the forest, splitting their forces. I will send the Liam clone with a trusted infiltrator to deliver a forged request for help—claiming the Theocracy is attacking the Port of Mist."
Jevran nodded slowly, piecing the puzzle together.
"Divided and vulnerable," Alex continued. "Half the army stuck in the Verdant Wastes, half rushing to the Port. The Royal Palace itself stripped bare. That's where we strike."
He turned sharply to Noriyuki, voice commanding.
"You're in charge of the deserters—twenty-two in total, correct? I need two of your best to infiltrate the Empire's guards. They will take the place of sentries at the Empire gates, wearing their armor, delivering the false letter from Liam. Without them, the entire ruse falls apart."
"And after?" Jevran asked.
Alex's eyes gleamed with determination. "When the Empire splits its forces, we—the deserters, Noriyuki, Aiko, and I—will enter through the Empire's blind spot: the Obsidian Plain, their training grounds."
Turning, he faced Jevran, the final piece of the plan resting on his shoulders.
"You will fund us. New equipment, weapons sharp enough to cut stone. Open your purse—this mission needs every edge we can get."
Jevran's smile turned sly. "I'd also suggest picking up some war slaves. The black market here is ripe with them. I can secure the best fighters and outfit them."
"Excellent," Alex said, clasping his hands. "Noriyuki, have your best two deserters here by tomorrow."
Noriyuki nodded. "Already selected them."
The meeting wrapped up with a sense of urgency, the conspirators scattering back to the Red Palisade to rally the deserters and ready the weapons.
A day had passed.
Within the imposing walls of Liam's manor, Alex — now fully assuming the viscount's persona — haggled with a pair of slave traders near his polished desk.
"With this shipment," one trader said smoothly, "we can flood the markets, supplying every nation in the region. Your lordship's influence will spread far and wide."
Alex stroked his chin, weighing the offer. "We're not ready for mass shipments yet. But it's something to consider."
The traders nodded with understanding, gathering their wares and departing.
Exhaling quietly, Alex's mind raced; maintaining Liam's facade drained him. He lifted a hand, crafting a soul clone of himself, who shifted features smooth and regal — Liam's double now taking over the meetings. The real Alex slipped away, eager to check on Aiko and Kyria.
Through the grand hall's vaulted ceilings, he found Aiko immersed in an ancient, leather-bound tome.
"Aiko," he called softly, "where's Kyria?"
Closing her book, Aiko shrugged. "Last I saw, she was atop the roof, staring out over the grounds, lost in thought."
Alex nodded, stepping into the chill evening air of the backyard. The sky had deepened to indigo; stars beginning to prick the horizon.
Quiet footsteps traced the rooftop creaking beneath him. There sat Kyria — eyes distant, fingers gently tracing circles in the chilly air.
"Hey," Alex greeted gently.
Kyria turned, a faint smile struggling through the shadows in her eyes. "Hi."
"Why alone?" he asked, settling beside her.
"Just... thinking," Kyria replied, voice soft.
"Did you remember who you were?" Alex pressed.
She nodded. "Yes." Then, voice steady but haunted, she began her tale.
"A hundred years ago, I fought in a war—humans against the Demon King. I was just a child then... but on the battlefield."
Her memory unfolded before his eyes.
The elf commander's voice rang sharp across the clearing. "Demons are pouring in! Loose arrows and hold the line!"
Turning to her group, he commanded, "Kyria, take the platoon south. I sense a dark energy there. I'll fight up front—protect our rear."
Determined, Kyria responded, "Understood. Move out!"
Their march into the woods was met with a hellish tide—demons swarming from every shadow. Arrows flashed, steel clashed, and despite their courage, the elven forces faltered. Defeat pressed down, and at last, Kyria surrendered.
Amid the carnage, a high-ranking demon approached. His eyes glinting with cruel intellect, he introduced himself in a voice cold as ice. "I am Count Grimoi. And you?"
"Kyria," she breathed.
Grimoi's dark gaze shifted, seeing beyond her surrender—for power, potential. His demonic eye glimmered, shimmering with latent magic.
"You won't die yet," he murmured. "Your fate lies with the Demon King."
In a blink, Grimoi teleported them to the Demon King's forbidding citadel.
The throne room pulsed with twisted magic. Grimoi announced, "A rare soul graces us, Sire."
The Demon King's eyes shifted from black to fiery red as they landed on Kyria, who trembled beneath their burning gaze.
"Very well," he decreed. "This one shall serve our future wars… I will raise her as my daughter, imprint her with my mark. For now, imprison her."
A blazing sigil opened beneath them—a cage of pure arcane force mounting from the floor. Grimoi locked Kyria inside.
"Place this stone within—the essence of my power," the Demon King commanded, handing down a glittering obsidian orb and enchanted chains.
Bound within, Kyria sank into a deep sleep, bathed in the sinister magic that both guarded and enslaved her.
This girl is a rare talent, the Demon King thought, eyes narrowing.
Back in Liam's house, Kyria's story ended. Her voice was tinged with weariness.
"Since then... a long sleep. Until you freed me."
Alex looked to her left wrist, where a delicate magic circle pulsed faintly under pale skin.
"A mark from the Demon King..." he murmured.
Before Kyria could answer, the door opened.
"Alex, everything's ready," Noriyuki announced, stepping in with purpose.
The moment to move had come. The web was set, the pieces moving toward the heart of darkness itself. Now all they had to do was wait—for the shadows to fall, and battle to ignite.