"What's the meaning of this?"
The roar cracked across the vast royal hall like thunder striking a mountain peak.
Kahen Aurelyth—father of Cassian and king of the Aurelyth Kingdom—glared down from his throne at Alena, who had returned with his son battered and humiliated. His voice did not merely echo; it commanded the very pillars to tremble.
He was a tall, muscular, battle-worn king with dark red tousled hair and intense crimson eyes that burned like embers buried beneath ash. He sat confidently upon an ornate throne carved from black stone and gilded with gold veins that twisted like captured lightning. A scar cut across his brow, a pale reminder of a war long won. His rugged features held a stern, commanding expression that did not tolerate weakness.
He wore a black and deep crimson royal coat embroidered with gold, structured shoulders accentuating his broad frame. A high-collared tunic wrapped his neck like armor, and a heavy fur-trimmed crimson cape spilled over the throne's back like a pool of fresh blood. A solid golden crown rested upon his head, weighty and unapologetic, matching the heavy rings on his fingers as one arm leaned dominantly on the throne's armrest.
Before him stretched a vast royal hall—towering obsidian pillars, black banners embroidered with Aurelyth's blazing sigil, and dim golden chandeliers casting a molten glow. The air smelled faintly of incense and steel. Authority pressed down from the ceiling like gravity itself.
Cassian and Alena knelt in the center of the hall, one knee to the ground, hands resting formally. Cassian's armor bore dents; dried blood darkened the edge of his sleeve. Alena kept her head bowed.
"Forgive me, my lord. I wasn't able to protect Cassian." Alena's voice was steady, but shame lingered beneath it like a shadow that refused to fade.
While she apologized, Cassian's thoughts drifted elsewhere.
What happened that day? Did I really get knocked out by a commoner?
His jaw tightened.
That has to be a lie. Even if it's not… it was a sneak attack.
He clenched his teeth slightly, as if grinding down the truth until it became easier to swallow. The prince of Aurelyth—armed in high relic-grade equipment, trained by elite knights, raised beneath priests' blessings—had been defeated by someone who did not even emit an aura.
His pride could not digest that.
"Alena," came a calmer voice, sharp and controlled, "explain what happened carefully first."
It was Demor Aurelyth, the crowned prince.
Unlike his father and younger brother, Demor's build was leaner, not as thick—but the air around him carried weight. His aura was refined, condensed, like a blade sharpened countless times. If Cassian was fire, Demor was a silent furnace.
After receiving the order, Alena began her explanation of what occurred at Eryndor.
…
"Vionette. That Vionette?"
Kahen's brows furrowed deeply. Confusion rippled across his face. The Vionette he knew was quiet—almost invisible among rulers. A princess who followed her mother's commands and rarely spoke beyond necessity. She was not even known widely among other kingdoms.
"And… another man?" Demor muttered under his breath.
Even he could knock Cassian unconscious with ease—but he had never heard of anyone in Crimvane possessing that kind of strength, even if Alena claimed it was still beneath his own.
Could he be a mercenary hired recently?
"Have you asked for his name?" Demor's red eyes settled on Alena.
"I'm afraid not, Your Highness."
"A nameless fool hurting my son?" Kahen's fist tightened against the armrest, veins rising like coiled serpents. "This can't be tolerated."
"Father," Cassian interjected quickly, lifting his head. "It was just a sneak attack. She didn't even have any knights with her. We will give that humiliation tenfold when we crush Crimvane itself."
His words were oil poured over flame. Cassian wanted revenge while Kahen wanted territory. The seed Vionette planted is starting to grow.
Thuck—Thuck.
Heavy boots echoed against marble. A knight rushed forward and knelt beside Alena.
"Sire, I bring word that Eryndor has made an alliance with Crimvane."
Silence swallowed the hall, but only for a moment before Kahen's mouth curved upward.
"Hahahah!"
His laughter rolled like a landslide down a cliffside.
"So they finally made a move."
He leaned back in his throne, eyes lifting toward the vaulted ceiling as if listening to fate itself chuckle in response. Then his gaze dropped to Demor.
"Demor. Are our knights ready?"
"Yes, Father." Demor stepped forward slightly. "They have been fully trained. All standard units have been equipped with low relic-grade armor. Commanders carry mid relic-grade weapons. The mages have high-class potions and low relic-grade equipment. According to our spy in Crimvane, one of our normal soldiers can take on at least three of theirs. Moreover, the High Priests have arrived."
"What about the numbers?" Kahen asked, giving him a sharp side glance.
Demor smiled fearlessly.
"Doubled theirs."
Hearing that, Kahen leaned back again and closed his eyes, satisfaction settling across his features like a king already watching victory unfold.
Then he leaned forward, spreading his hands as though blessing a sacrifice.
"Then it's decided. I declare war on Crimvane—the cursed land."
Yes, Eryndor had joined Crimvane. But they had anticipated that possibility from the beginning. Eryndor was a mercenary kingdom. Loyalty bought with coin rarely changed the tide of destiny.
According to their 'spy,' Crimvane possessed barely any mages outside the throne's immediate circle. No priests. Inferior equipment. Weak formations.
To Aurelyth, victory was already written.
***
Present—
"What do you mean, Your Majesty?"
"A war?"
Shock rippled across the council chamber like a pebble cast into still water.
Everyone reacted—except Noa, Vionette, and…
Vionette slowly covered her mouth.
Her lips curled upward. Her eyes widened—not in fear, but in something far more unsettling. Delight flickered there, malicious and predatory. It was not the smile of a princess.
It was the smile of someone who had just found a missing piece.
Found you.
Noa turned toward her and caught that expression instantly. He smirked in response, a quiet mirror of her satisfaction.
So she found him.
Judging that there was little point in listening to waves of complaints and panic, Noa leaned forward and spoke.
"Okay, that's enough. Everyone sit down and shut up."
The words were not loud.
The words were not loud, but they struck like a hammer. It was not a request; it was an order, delivered with casual certainty.
Valric's fingers tightened subtly around the edge of the table. He knew better than to challenge that tone.
Are we really going to war? Kaelen's thoughts churned like a storm-tossed sea. His hand instinctively brushed the hilt at his side.
All eyes shifted to Vionette.
She sensed it.
"As I told before," she began calmly, "he is my partner. So follow his orders as if they were mine."
The abnormality of that statement weighed heavily on the room. Slowly, the nobles settled back into their seats, unsure how to respond.
"Lucien," Noa called.
"Yes, my lord?"
Lucien rose immediately, posture straight, eyes shining. The opportunity to prove himself stood before him like an open gate.
Though others trembled at the news of war, Lucien did not. That was the faith Vionette had carved into him.
Noa pointed at him, one eye closed playfully as if sighting along an invisible arrow.
The nobles watched in uneasy silence.
"Go to Eryndor and deliver a message directly to their king. You're being given full authority." He leaned forward slightly, purple irises gleaming. "Tell him: 'Don't prepare an army nor try to fight back. We will defeat Aurelyth on our own, so we ask you to step aside and watch the show.' Be respectful when saying it."
The corners of his mouth lifted subtly. Respectful—not threatening. He did not rule with hollow intimidation. He understood when dignity was required.
"Then, please excuse me."
Lucien bowed to both Noa and Vionette, ignoring the stunned nobles, and turned to leave.
"Oh, one more thing," Vionette added smoothly.
Lucien paused.
"Tell Nymira to finish our requests before the war begins. Take Kaelen with you and make the same request for both of you—with an additional one too. We will be needing it."
Hearing his name, Kaelen stood at once.
"Excuse me too then, Lady Vionette."
"I will," Lucien replied.
They left together.
The door shut.
What are these two doing? Even rejecting Eryndor's help…
Are we truly going to be okay?
Fear crept like frost along the nobles' spines.
"Okay then," Noa turned back to the dukes, gaze unwavering. "Each of you will assign only 100 of your best knights and 30 mages to Eryndor, where the battle will most likely take place. That's all. You're dismissed."
He knew little of politics.
But war strategies from countless novels were etched into his mind like sacred scripture.
He didn't know how many relic-grade weapons Aurelyth possessed. He didn't even know weapons had ranks.
What he did know was this: They had to win overwhelmingly.
If Vionette's abnormal decisions were to be accepted, victory must be absolute. Crushing. Mythic. They had rejected Eryndor's help for that reason. And he refused to let unnecessary soldiers die.
Thus, only the elite. Only the best 500 of each dukedom were selected.
Frozen in silence, the dukes rose one by one, bowed to Vionette, and exited.
"Wait," Vionette's voice halted them. "Carvan, you stay. I have an important mission for you. Gather your knights too."
Carvan froze mid-step.
"…By your will."
Refusal was not an option, especially not with Noa seated there.
He signaled his knight beyond the door.
…
Twenty knights stood straight around the table shortly after. Their armor clinked softly in nervous rhythm.
Even Kaelen, once a captain, hadn't seen Vionette's face before this recent shift. The pressure was natural.
Only Vionette, Noa, Rose—and Carvan with his knights—remained.
What is going on? Did I disrespect Her Majesty earlier? Carvan's thoughts raced. Is this punishment?
Silence thickened.
To him, it roared louder than battle drums.
"Carvan Therion." Vionette stood.
"Yes, Your Majesty?"
Hearing his full name sent a subtle tremor through him. Even the knights twitched subtly.
"Did some abnormal things happen around Therion's borders in the last few days?" she asked, slowly walking around the table.
"I'm afraid so." His jaw tightened. "There was human trafficking near the Highfen-Therion borders. Royal knights resolved it."
"Good, good. So you're informed." She gave him a side glance, eyes glinting. "That makes it easier."
She walked past the knights, gaze drifting downward, then upward again. They straightened instinctively.
"You know, if the information is correct, all incidents occurred around Highfen. It was… almost as if someone was trying to frame him, no?"
"Y-yes. It seemed like an attempt to create internal conflict."
She's different. Way different from before. He swallowed.
She returned to where her chair was and leaned forward, hands resting atop it.
"But it's too obvious, no?"
"Mmm-hmm," Noa nodded casually, arms folded, smiling.
…I have no idea where she's going with this, but fuck it. Let's just go with the flow.
"East—Gemsh's dukedom—doesn't connect to Highfen. That eliminates him." She tilted her head. "Which means only Blackmoor and Therion remain. And Blackmoor is already under my control with Lucien's loyalty."
Snap.
Noa snapped his fingers and pointed at Carvan like an arrow loosed from a bow.
"Which means the only suspect is Therion."
"Yes." Vionette nodded calmly.
Carvan's face drained of color.
"N-no. Your Majesty, this must be a misunderstanding."
Ignoring him, she continued.
"And… when I announced the war, you were the only one who wasn't surprised."
"…That's because—"
"But," she began walking around the table again, voice soft as silk, sharp as a dagger, "what if… just what if… the enemy wanted us to think like that?"
She smiled at him—it was not warm.
"Ah-hah," Noa chimed in lightly.
whaaaat?
"Tell me, Carvan Therion," she stopped before him, gaze piercing. "Who told you about the war? Who gave you that slight hint?"