The council chamber of the Korvath Guild Hall was not designed for comfort. It was built of stone—heavy, old, and unyielding, just like the men and women who gathered inside it now. The rectangular table at the center was carved from a single slab of mountain rock, too massive to move, too ancient to replace. Sunlight streamed through narrow arrow-slit windows, dust drifting in its beams. Outside, the city bustled with the routine of quarantined life. Inside, the future of Ostoria was being carved into shape.
Iroko Ryusei stood at the head of the table. He did not raise his voice, nor did he strike any dramatic posture. He simply looked at each person in the room one by one, and the silence that followed felt like the moment before a sword was drawn.
Kouki Nozomi, the Guildmaster of Ostoria, stood at his right side, arms folded, his expression thoughtful yet grim.
Across the table sat Tamaki Yume, Mayor of Korvath—hair pinned back tightly, hands resting, but one foot tapping ever so slightly beneath the table. Beside her sat Mako Shirusekai, the mayor of Orleaf, tired from travel and visibly worn from weeks of managing unrest. Seiko Nakahara, the poised and composed mayor of Reflynne, sat silently—her posture straight, her eyes sharp. She carried the look of someone who knew exactly how thin a line held her city together.
Standing along the far side were the guild managers: Yaguro Aka of Korvath, Kaisei Aoi of Reflynne, and Ryoku Midori of Orleaf. They did not sit—they stood at attention, as though awaiting judgment.
Iroko broke the silence at last.
"We face not one enemy," he began, his voice low, "but four. A betrayal, a weapon of mass slaughter, a foreign command structure uniting monsters, and a phenomenon beyond our understanding. The situation has changed. War is no longer at our doorstep. It is inside our walls. We act now, or we fall."
The words carried no fury—only certainty.
A map was unrolled across the stone table, held in place by iron weights. Four cities were marked with ink-black sigils. To the untrained eye, it was only cartography. To those present, it was the shape of a noose.
Iroko continued:
"First priority: civilian protection."
He looked to Tamaki.
"Begin discreet construction of underground shelters beneath the guildhall basements and old Korvath storage tunnels. Keep it quiet. Not a word is to reach the common square."
Tamaki nodded once. No hesitation.
"We will need space for at least fifteen thousand," she said, already calculating timber, nails, fresh water tanks. "I'll need engineers and miners."
"You will have them," Iroko replied.
He moved his finger across the map to ring the city streets.
"Stockpile two weeks of rations—dried grain, brined meat, medicinal supplies. The stores are to be centrally located, guarded, and sealed."
He turned to the assembled guild managers.
"Any dispute?"
None dared speak.
"Next."
He tapped the map where the city walls circled outward like a protective shell.
"All military units will adopt Sector Defense protocol. This is not a temporary posture. This is our standing formation from this moment forward."
His voice sharpened—not loud, but honed.
"Northern Wall will be held by Jitsumu Zankyō and his heavy infantry unit, with fifteen soldiers under his direct command."
A good choice. The northern gate was the highest elevation and the most likely to withstand siege—but if it fell, the city's core would be exposed.
"Western Wall will be under Yakesake yakitori and his squad. They will have fifteen soldiers. Their ranged scout and anti-infantry tactics are the best match for the western wilderness."
A small flicker of reaction—Mako Shirusekai exhaled slowly. The west was closest to Dargath.
"Eastern Approaches will be monitored by Hanah Kyouka, with ten soldiers accompanying."
"Finally," Iroko concluded, "Southern Gate will be manned by rotating mixed adventurer teams. It is our public-facing defense. It must appear normal."
That last word landed heavily.
They were not only defending the city—
They were defending the illusion of stability.
Iroko finished his segment with simple finality:
"If panic takes root, Korvath falls from within long before any army reaches us. There will be no public announcements. The official cause of lockdown remains a plague quarantine. Nothing more."
Seiko Nakahara, mayor of Reflynne, spoke softly:
"You're asking us to lie to our cities."
Iroko met her eyes.
"I am asking us to survive."
No one argued further.
Kouki stepped forward then, placing a long wooden pointer over the map. If Iroko was the shield of Ostoria, Kouki was the knife—sharp, quiet, decisive.
"We cannot defend Korvath if our guild coordination collapses. So, we are restructuring the guild leadership system into three branches."
His tone was deliberate—almost like reciting commandments.
"Yaguro Aka—you will take command of the Red Branch, based here in Korvath. You are the Defense Hub. Every adventurer marching to the walls will answer to you."
Yaguro bowed from the waist, no theatrics—only acknowledgment.
"Kaisei Aoi—you will oversee the Blue Branch in Reflynne. You are now our political liaison network. Diplomatic communication, rumor suppression, message routing—everything goes through you."
Kaisei placed a fist over his heart.
"I will keep the cities steady," he affirmed.
Kouki nodded once, then turned to the final guild manager.
"Ryoku Midori—you will oversee the Green Branch in Orleaf. Logistics and recruitment. Our food, supplies, and future manpower depend on you."
Ryoku swallowed once—then straightened his shoulders.
"Yes. I will not fail."
Kouki drew in a quiet breath.
"This is not delegation. This is not convenience. This is trust. Do not break it."
Silence followed—thick, like the air before a storm.
Tamaki spoke next, voice low:
"Once the shelters are built… once the defenses stand… what then?"
The room waited for Iroko.
He answered with the weight of inevitability:
"Then we wait for the enemy to come."
The words were soft. But they felt like a funeral bell.
No one raised objection. No one questioned the plan. The unity in the room was not loud, nor passionate—it was committed, born from the shared understanding that every person present had seen the edge of disaster and refused to step off.
Iroko rolled up the map.
"Meeting dismissed."
Chairs scraped back. Cloaks and armor shifted. Boots stepped across the stone floor.
One by one, they left—each carrying their burden with them.
Kouki remained a moment longer, exhaling through his teeth.
"It begins," he murmured.
Iroko did not look back as he walked.
"It already began."