Everything in this world isn't well placed—gods, humans, magic, everything has lost balance and soul. I think this is the end of Astra Academy and its kingdom," Argus declared with a venomous sneer, his voice echoing across the barren field where the two forces had converged. He raised his hand, pointing accusingly toward Matthew, the King of Astra, who approached with his contingent of horsemen. The wind whipped through the air, carrying the distant cries of battle and the acrid scent of smoke from the burning remnants of nearby villages. Argus's eyes gleamed with a mix of triumph and madness, his dark robes billowing like shadows come to life.
Matthew dismounted his horse with deliberate grace, his armored boots crunching against the dry earth. He strode forward, his crown glinting under the overcast sky, a symbol of the kingdom's enduring legacy. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?" Matthew said, his tone steady but laced with an undercurrent of sorrow, as if addressing a wayward brother rather than a sworn enemy.
Argus let out a harsh, barking laugh that reverberated through the tense silence. "Matthew, I never knew you would come to me like this—begging, perhaps? Or is it desperation that drives you here?" He paced slowly, his hands gesturing wildly as if conducting an invisible orchestra of chaos. "Oh, how I've waited for this moment. You see, I've always hated the Astra Kingdom. From the day I was cast out, branded a heretic for daring to question your so-called 'balance.' Your precious academy, with its lofty towers and self-righteous scholars, preaching harmony while hoarding power like dragons on gold. You built your empire on lies, Matthew—lies about equality, about the gods' favor, about magic being a gift for the 'worthy.' But I saw through it all. Your kingdom crushed the weak, elevated the elite, and silenced anyone who dared to challenge the status quo. I was one of them, remember? Exiled for my visions, for my pursuit of true power."
He paused, his gaze boring into Matthew's, a twisted smile curling his lips. "And now, I'll make it bow to me. I'll shatter your academies, topple your thrones, and force every last citizen of Astra to kneel before the new order I forge. Your squads, your holy ones, your pathetic alliances—they'll crumble like dust. I'll unleash magics you've only whispered about in forbidden tomes, draw from the void where gods fear to tread. Astra will be remade in my image, a kingdom where the strong rule without pretense, where balance is enforced by my will alone. You'll watch as your people cry out for mercy, and I'll grant none, just as you granted none to me. Bow, Matthew—bow now, and perhaps I'll let you live as my slave."
Matthew's expression remained composed, though a flicker of pain crossed his eyes. "You are really lost, my dear friend," he replied softly, his voice carrying the weight of shared history. In that moment, a subtle hum filled the air—Gaius, hidden among the king's entourage but connected through royal magic, used a mind-communicating spell to reach Matthew. Be careful, Your Majesty, Gaius's voice echoed in Matthew's thoughts. Argus is up to something. His words are a veil; I sense dark energies coiling around him like serpents ready to strike.
Argus, oblivious to the silent exchange, tilted his head mockingly. "And where are your powerful squads, Matthew? Those legendary warriors who strike fear into the hearts of empires? Why aren't they at your side, shielding their precious king?"
Matthew smiled faintly, a gesture that didn't reach his eyes. "They have other duties to attend," he said, his tone even, revealing nothing.
Argus's laughter erupted again, sharp and triumphant. As soon as the words left Matthew's lips, Argus snapped his fingers with a flourish. A swirling magic ball materialized in the air between them, hovering like a malevolent eye. Inside its translucent surface, the images of Dante and Sylvester flickered into view—two of Matthew's most elite squad members, the pillars of Astra's military might. They were battered and broken, chained in some shadowy dungeon, their bodies marred with wounds that seeped ethereal blood, their breaths ragged and faint. They teetered on the brink of death, their once-formidable auras dimmed to mere sparks.
"Arguuuussss!" Matthew yelled, his composure shattering like glass. His face contorted in rage, veins bulging in his neck as he clenched his fists, the ground beneath him trembling slightly from the raw magic surging through him.
Argus's smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed sharper in the dim light. "Seems like I have angered you. Good. Let that fury consume you, old friend. It's the first step toward your downfall."
One of the king's commanders, a burly man named Thorne with a scar running across his cheek, urged his horse forward. "Please, step back, Your Majesty. I'm going to deal with him," Thorne growled, drawing his sword with a metallic ring.
Matthew turned to him, his eyes blazing. "Move forward. I'm at your back," he commanded, mounting his horse once more. The king's presence bolstered the troops, their formations tightening as they prepared for the inevitable clash.
In Argus's ear, a disembodied voice whispered urgently—a spectral advisor, perhaps a bound spirit or a distant ally communicating through arcane means. Argus, be careful. Matthew is already furious, and once he's furious, he can burn down this entire town.
Argus smiled wider, unfazed. "I know," he murmured back, his voice dripping with confidence. "That's exactly what I want."
The scene shifted abruptly, as if the winds of fate themselves were turning the pages of this unfolding saga. We were transported to a rooftop overlooking the chaotic battlefield, where Jason and Gaius stood vigilantly, their cloaks fluttering in the breeze. The view below was a tapestry of destruction: Astra's forces clashing with invaders, magic bolts arcing through the sky like falling stars, swords clanging against shields in a symphony of war. Jason, with his keen eyes scanning the horizon, broke the silence first. "Look at that—the Silver Kingdom has joined the fight against Astra. Their banners are unmistakable, those silver eagles soaring over the fray. Which means they've collided with this new group, this shadowy alliance that's been stirring up trouble from the borders."
Gaius nodded slowly, his brow furrowed in thought. He adjusted his spectacles, a habit when piecing together puzzles. "Argus is down there with King Matthew, and it seems things are getting bitter. The air is thick with tension; I can feel the magic humming like a storm about to break."
Jason leaned against the parapet, crossing his arms. "Do you think Argus came here just for a fight? It feels too straightforward, too... theatrical. He's always been one for grand gestures, but this? Parading captured elites, taunting the king personally? There's a deeper play here."
Gaius paused for a minute, his mind racing through possibilities. He stared out at the distant figures of Argus and Matthew, the magic ball still hovering like a grim omen. "I don't think so," he finally responded. "There are too many situations unfolding in Astra right now—raids on the borders, whispers of rebellion in the academies, strange disappearances among the holy ones. It's hard to connect them all, but they feel orchestrated, like threads in a web."
Jason nodded, his expression grave. "You're quite right. Something isn't right. The timing of the Silver Kingdom's involvement, the capture of Dante and Sylvester—it's all too convenient. And let's not forget the destruction at the academy; reports say it's in ruins, yet the holy ones are fighting alongside the prefects as if they expected this."
Gaius continued, building on the thought. "You're trying to insist that there's a traitor among us? Someone feeding information, pulling strings from the inside?"Jason turned back to the view. "Look, the king's forces are advancing. This could escalate quickly."
Gaius peered down. "Argus is toying with them. He's buying time—for what?"
Jason mused, "Reinforcements? A ritual? The traitor's next move?"
Gaius replied, "Or to force Matthew's hand, draw out his full power and exhaust it."
Jason countered, "But Matthew's fury—it's a double-edged sword. Burns enemies, but could consume allies too."
Gaius nodded. "We must intervene if it tips too far. But from here, we gather intel."
Jason sighed. "This traitor's shadow looms large. Who else suspects? The prefects? The squads?"
Gaius thought. "Perhaps Sylvester and Dante knew something—that's why they were targeted."
Jason's eyes lit up. "If we rescue them, they could name the betrayer."
Gaius agreed. "A plan forms. But first, survive this day."
The scene shifted once more, plunging us into the heart of the destroyed Astra Academy. Rubble strewn the once-pristine grounds, towers toppled like fallen giants, the air thick with dust and the metallic tang of spilled blood. Amid this apocalypse, the holy ones fought valiantly alongside the prefects—ethereal figures in flowing robes hurling bolts of divine light, while armored prefects wielded enchanted blades, cutting through waves of shadowy invaders. Screams and incantations blended into a cacophony, fires raging unchecked, illuminating the faces of the weary defenders.
Through this maelstrom walked Paul, his steps measured and unhurried, as if strolling through a serene garden rather than a war zone. His expression was a mask of indifference, his dark eyes scanning the chaos without a hint of emotion. He paused suddenly, his gaze locking onto a figure ahead: Liorion, Prisca's brother and a fellow holy one, his silver hair matted with grime, his robes torn but his stance resolute.
Liorion approached with equal poise, their faces cold and calculative, like chess masters sizing up an opponent. "Seems like you aren't bothered about this war going on," Liorion observed, his voice smooth but probing, eyes searching Paul's for any crack.
Paul's reply was ice-cold, delivered with the precision of a scalpel. "Bothered? This is merely the inevitable unraveling of fragile illusions. Wars come and go; only the prepared endure."
Liorion arched an eyebrow. "I see. Pragmatic as ever." He glanced around at the battling figures, then back to Paul. "You should work with me. I see this war here as a distraction—a veil over something far more insidious."
Paul's expression didn't shift, but his mind calculated the angles. "I thought the same," he admitted flatly, giving nothing away.
Liorion pressed on, his tone conspiratorial yet guarded. "I've been investigating Kain's death since the beginning. Something isn't right—the wounds, the timing, the lack of traces. It's as if the killer knew every ward, every secret passage."
Paul remained calm, his silence a deliberate void, inviting Liorion to fill it while he assessed threats and escapes.
Liorion studied him for a long moment, the chaos around them fading into background noise. Then, with a calm that matched Paul's, he said, "You were the one behind all this, right?"