A gloved hand clamped over his mouth. Another seized his wrists with practiced efficiency. Ether-suppressing restraints snapped into place before he could channel even a flicker of energy. Arceus, who wasn't a fighter and merely a 2-star Spirit Warrior, couldn't defend himself at all.
The carriage resumed movement.
Inside the dim cabin, Arceus struggled violently, fury flashing in his eyes.
The soldier holding him spoke calmly.
"Forgive us, Young Master. You are simply… too valuable."
These men were not ordinary escorts.
They were long-buried agents of House Mist, planted within Silver Manor years ago. For five years, they had served faithfully under House Silver's protection, earning trust while awaiting activation.
That command had come from Theron Mist the moment news of Silver Manor's destruction reached him.
The timing was perfect.
