Cyrus walked through Rajwak's narrow side streets with steady steps… though anxiety chewed at him from the inside.
A bundle of reports rested in his hand—anonymous letters, rumors from merchants, frightened whispers.
All of them spoke of one thing.
The monster.
And every report ended the same way:
"Total devastation. Ash… nothing but ash."
He reached the tavern where the city's rabble packed themselves every night.
The moment he pushed the wooden door open, a wave of liquor, spice, and tangled voices washed over him.
He raised his hand slightly, voice slicing through the noise:
"Does anyone know anything about the monster? Tell me… what kind of creature is it?"
For a heartbeat, the tavern froze.
Then came the whispers:
"Great… another idiot ruining our night."
"We came here to drink, not hear nightmares."
But a merchant at the bar glanced his way.
He lifted his cup, emptied it, then said grimly:
"You don't know? That title's been around a while… It's Sereen."
He glanced at Cyrus, took another sip from his cup, and said plainly:
"And I heard her next destination… is here."
Cyrus froze.
"W–what?"
He bolted out of the tavern, heart hammering.
Thoughts screamed inside him:
"They aren't human…
They destroy cities with ease…
They kill in ways no one can explain…
And if the monster really is Sereen… then Rajwak is doomed."
He didn't stop running until he burst into the throne hall.
Nobles filled the place like a sea of silk and jewels, while King Victor lounged on his golden chair, laughing loudly as wine sloshed in his cup.
Cyrus moved straight through the crowd, ignoring the guards and the disgusted looks.
"Your Majesty! Please, listen to me!"
The hall went silent.
Victor's gaze turned sharp and cold.
"What is this intrusion? Have you forgotten your place?"
Panting, Cyrus forced the words out:
"My lord… it's confirmed. Sereen—the one they call the monster—is heading toward Rajwak. We must act now before it's too late!"
A brief silence… then nobles burst into mocking laughter.
Victor waved his hand dismissively.
"Sereen? Already? Advisor… don't embarrass yourself. She's in Port Azuri. She's months away."
Cyrus steadied his voice.
"My lord, then let me reinforce the defenses. More soldiers at the gates, towers stocked with oil and arrows—at least that!"
The king's face tightened with annoyance.
"Reinforcements? Shall I waste gold on rumors from drunk peasants?"
"My decisions stand. Rajwak is safe."
Cyrus's temper snapped.
"You're sending the city to its death! If Rajwak falls, the blame will be yours alone!"
Victor's voice cut like a blade:
"Silence. Guards—remove him. I don't want to see that arrogant face again."
The guards lunged.
Cyrus hit the floor hard. Boots slammed into his ribs until the taste of blood filled his mouth.
Nobles laughed—entertained.
Dragged outside, doors slamming behind him, Cyrus pushed himself up slowly.
Wiping the blood, he whispered:
"I won't give up."
---
Hours later, he slipped into the private wing, avoiding the throne hall entirely.
Victor was eating a late meal when he entered. The king's expression darkened instantly.
"You dare return? Into my private wing?"
Cyrus bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the floor.
"My lord… I bring a deal. A way to increase your personal wealth—without touching the treasury."
Victor's glare loosened. His fork stopped mid-air.
"Speak."
"We launch an 'emergency military auction' for advanced weapons. Nobles and merchants will pay a fortune to prove loyalty.
Then we buy cheap weapons. The difference… goes to you, my lord."
A slow, greedy smile curved Victor's lips.
"How much can we gather?"
"A great deal, my lord. Enough to cover your recent losses."
Victor leaned back, satisfied.
"Very well. Make it happen. And do not miscalculate."
---
Cyrus moved quietly, weaving corruption through the city.
Gold poured in from nobles tripping over each other to appear loyal.
A portion went to Victor.
But Cyrus diverted the rest into mountains of gunpowder—turning Rajwak into a silent trap.
On a moonless night, he oversaw the final shipment in an abandoned warehouse near the northern wall.
Three workers hauled barrels of gunpowder from a cart.
One muttered nervously:
"Advisor… if one spark hits this, the whole northern gate will vanish."
Cyrus nodded, reaching to help—only for his foot to slip.
The barrel rolled toward him.
Two workers grabbed him, shoving him aside.
"Careful! You're not built for lifting."
He brushed dirt off his clothes… then froze.
A voice rose behind him—calm, cold, familiar:
"That was a very poor move, Advisor."
King Victor stepped from the shadows, guarded by a wicked smile instead of laughter.
"You overplayed your cunning. The broker was cheap—he spilled everything for a handful of coins."
Victor's eyes pierced Cyrus.
"Cyrus of Rajwak, you are guilty of high treason."
He raised his hand.
"Guards, arrest him."
A dozen soldiers stepped forward, spears ready.
"Take him to the dungeon. He hangs at dawn."