A quiet tension hung over the royal capital. Even deep within the massive stronghold of the palace, servants whispered, guards moved with unease, and every corridor felt heavier than usual.
Far in one of the secluded wings, away from the noise of officials and ministers, a lone man sat in his private office.
He looked to be in his early thirties refined features, sharp jawline, dark hair combed neatly back. His clothes were tailored to perfection. Even without any emblem displayed, one glance at him was enough to confirm he was a noble born and bred.
His expression remained unreadable, a calm mask he had perfected over years of necessity.
The room was silent except for the faint scratching of his quill as he signed a stack of urgent documents. Each signature was precise, elegant, controlled. Even the air seemed careful not to disturb him.
Then three knocks echoed through the wooden door. The man paused mid-signature, lifted his eyes slightly, and placed the quill down with a soft clack.
"My lord," came the voice from outside calm, formal, but strained. It was his butler.
The noble exhaled quietly, straightening his posture.
"Come in," he said, voice smooth but cool.
The door opened and the butler stepped inside, a middle-aged man with graying hair tied neatly, bowing respectfully.
The room was dim, lit only by a faint glow from a light crystal in the corner and the thin sliver of daylight leaking through the tall window. Papers, books, and sealed documents overflowed from the drawers, stacked in uneven piles around the desk. The nobleman stood still behind it, his face unreadable.
Silence lingered heavy and suffocating until the butler, shifting nervously, finally spoke to break it.
"My lord… the investigation has concluded."
The nobleman said nothing, only waiting.
"The destruction of Thax Prison was… far worse than we initially believed," the butler continued, voice lowered. "We… lost many knights. Including two divine knights."
He swallowed and added with visible unease, "And we are still searching for the escaped convict."
The nobleman did not answer. His eyes fell instead to the document the butler had placed before him. He flipped it open and scanned the front pages with a cold, efficient gaze.
"So," he murmured, "the Reaper sighting is confirmed."
"Yes, my lord," the butler replied. "The report comes directly from Sir Leon and the surviving members of his squadron."
Still no reaction. The nobleman closed the file, set it aside, and slowly rose to his feet. His movements alone made the butler tense even more. The noble turned toward the window, staring out at the sunlit courtyard far below.
"The only thing more concerning than the Reaper…" he said quietly, "…is this mysterious seventeen-year-old who made my knights look like idiots."
This time there was unmistakable irritation cold, simmering beneath the surface.
"Maxwell went there to clean up his loose ends," he said sharply. "Yet now we can't even scrape together a corpse for burial."
He suddenly whipped his head around. The butler Albert flinched as the nobleman's cold gaze landed directly on him.
"Albert," he said, "it seems we are facing an unknown variable."
Albert bowed deeply. "My lord, we are trying our hardest—"
"No," the noble cut him off. "You are not." His voice hardened. "Even Muliad is involved now. If we do not take the utmost precautions, everything will turn sideways."
Albert swallowed. "What are your orders, my lord?"
"Withdraw the search party, send them to the city borders. The rebels will take full advantage of this commotion. Every knight is to patrol the streets and surrounding districts. And dispatch additional divine knights to the royal castle."
"…And the escaped convict, my lord?"
"Send the Blood Hounds."
Albert froze. He paled visibly. "M-My lord… the Blood Hounds are… still unpredictable. Even with all our attempts to control them-."
The nobleman's expression turned dreadful dark and suffocating.
"Are you doubting my decision, Albert?"
Albert immediately bowed his head. "No, my lord."
"Then you need not worry." The noble turned back to the window. "Cerian will handle them."
Silence settled again.
Albert lowered his head further. "I have received your orders, my lord."
He stepped back, opened the door quietly, and slipped out leaving the nobleman alone in the dim room, surrounded by the weight of a kingdom ready to crack.
As the man sat alone in the dim office, he drew in a slow breath and ran a hand through his brown hair, neatly sweeping it back. His sharp features relaxed for only a moment. Then his eyes turning cold, calculating lifted toward the ceiling. A faint glow flickered within them.
From the dark corner of the room, a whisper drifted outward. Not human. Not natural. A voice belonging to something that did not belong in the physical world.
"Sir Lyren," it murmured, its tone slipping across the walls like smoke, "you seem… bothered."
Driesten Lyren the nobleman, the duke, the one whose very name could stiffen the spine of lesser nobles did not flinch. He composed himself instantly. His expression settled into the calm mask he was known for. He lowered his gaze back to the document on his desk, the report detailing the mysterious seventeen-year-old who had turned Thax Prison upside down.
Every line of the report unnerved him, not because he feared the boy, but because he hated uncertainty. Every detail felt wrong. Every event felt too convenient. A divine knight dead. Another vanished. Leon forced to battle the Reaper. A prison destroyed. It was chaos. And chaos birthed opportunity.
"No," Driesten finally answered. "This is merely a small setback. And like always… I will use this event to further my plans."
A soft hum came from the corner, almost amused.
"The great Driesten Lyren," the voice whispered. "Ever ambitious. Ever calculating. You take advantage of every situation, I see."
"Of course." He closed the folder. "I did not rise to this position by being a posh nobody."
The faintest smile tugged his lips. He was not boasting it was a simple truth. In the kingdom of Rezia, he was not merely a duke. He was the head of the Lyren family, a power that even the royal family monitored closely. He was a man who could not be ignored. A man whose ambitions stretched beyond the throne itself. And anyone who dared obstruct him…
He would crush.
The voice in the dark spoke again. "Maxwell reported that he went to eliminate a black-haired child who escaped his raid years ago."
Driesten tapped the file lightly. "Yes. Which is why this entire situation reeks of absurdity. A child? Capable of killing Maxwell? Capable of destroying a prison?" His tone grew colder. "Highly unlikely."
"Yet you still have doubts," the voice murmured.
He paused for a moment. Then his jaw tightened.
"Whatever this is," Driesten said, "whoever is responsible ....I will cut them down."
His gaze drifted toward the window. Outside, the capital bustled under a sky that seemed unaware it was standing on the brink of chaos.
"It has been three days since the prison fell," he said. "There is only so far they can run."
The faint whisper seemed to curl with anticipation.
"You mean to unleash the Blood Hounds on them?"
"Yes," Driesten replied without hesitation. "Any unknown variable must be eliminated. That is how order is maintained."
He placed the file aside. His eyes gleamed.
"And when the Blood Hounds find them… there will be nothing left."