Dark clouds besieged the city. Deep within the royal palace, the last flickers of light were devoured by the encroaching gloom.
High above the shadows sat the throne—forged from obsidian and inlaid with silver filigree. It loomed like a waking demon, peering down at the world with cold, silent judgment. Within the grand hall, no one dared to move.
Only the Grand General remained, kneeling long upon the cold stone. He was like a heavy siege weapon under immense pressure—steady, yet strained to the absolute breaking point.
"Your Majesty." He spoke, his voice low and unwavering. "This servant... had no intent to harbor the traitors."
He slowly lifted his head, though he still did not dare look directly at the throne.
"Among those five, the silhouette of Princess Lunethia was nowhere to be found. I did not pursue them because I was simply... upholding my duty."
His voice sounded like heavy cavalry treading over frozen snow—sharp, internal, and carrying an undertone of bone-deep exhaustion.
Upon the throne, the Queen did not immediately answer. She stood in silence, as if suppressing a volcanic fury, or perhaps, delivering a silent sentence. The firelight reflected in her eyes, slowly coalescing into a burn.
"Utterly foolish," she finally spoke. Her voice was no longer explosive like it had been moments ago. It was colder now—thin and sharp, like a blade.
"The wolves. And that magical entity." Her gaze drifted down toward him. "I... was the one who personally unleashed them."
The air in the hall instantly froze. The General's pupils constricted.
"Not only did you interfere," she took a step down the royal dais. Her robes billowed like a surging tide of night. "But you dare speak to me... of 'duty'?"
An invisible gale seemed to sweep through the hall. The General fell silent for a heartbeat, then clenched his jaw.
"Your Majesty," his voice dropped lower, yet it remained firm. "Had I been informed beforehand, I would never have moved against them." His hand tightened slightly on the hilt of his sword. "If you had a deployment in place but failed to make it clear... then this accidental interference..."
He paused for a second. "I fear the fault... does not lie entirely with me."
The Queen had reached the bottom of the high steps. Her pace was not hurried, yet she drew closer with every breath. Each step fell like a hammer blow against the chest. Her gaze was frigid—like a serpent gliding through the bottom of a deep well, slowly locking onto its prey.
"You—" she looked down at him. Her tone was light, yet it chilled him to the marrow. "Are you questioning me?"
"I would not dare." The General lowered his head, the shadows of his brow masking his expression. But beneath his voice, the undercurrents had already begun to rise.
"It was merely the chaos of the battlefield. Had I remained a bystander—" He paused, his tone turning steady and hard as iron. "I fear the situation would have collapsed long ago."
"Enough."
She spoke abruptly. Her voice was like a blade drawn from its sheath, instantly severing what little remained of courtly etiquette and warmth within the hall.
"You and your men have squandered days, returning with nothing to show for it—" Her gaze was like a localized frost, pressing down upon him. "That is why I unleashed the magical beasts for a surprise assault."
She leaned forward slightly, her tone dropping inch by agonizing inch. "And the result? They were intercepted... by your own hand."
The Grand General's expression shifted. The emotions he had suppressed for so long finally splintered. He snapped his head up, his voice no longer restrained.
"Your Majesty's words... are unjust!"
The echo thundered through the grand hall.
"My forces had already established a heavy perimeter at Starfall Cliff! It was Your Majesty who failed to disclose this operation—" His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning a stark white. "It was that very silence that allowed the enemy to use the chaos of the beasts to slip away!"
His voice dropped an octave, the edge of his temper fully exposed. "If you insist on placing this burden entirely upon me..." He paused for a heartbeat, as if straining to maintain the last shred of decorum.
But in the end, he did not yield. "...I fear I cannot agree."
The air instantly froze. The surrounding torchlight flickered and dipped, as if suppressed by an invisible weight, plunging the room into dimness.
The Queen looked at him in silence. There was no fury in that gaze. No ripple of emotion. It was a stillness so absolute it was profoundly unsettling.
A moment later, she turned. Her robes brushed the stone as she walked back to the throne with measured steps. She sat.
It was as if everything that had just transpired was nothing more than a trivial, inconsequential spat. She raised a hand, rubbing her temple with a cold, detached air—almost one of boredom.
"Fine," she said softly. She didn't look at him. "It was my mistake. You are dismissed."
The General froze. A flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes, but he said nothing more. He rose slowly, his long cloak cascading to the floor. He turned and began to walk toward the great doors, step by heavy step.
The hall fell into a tomb-like silence, save for the rhythmic clank of his armor.
Just as he was about to cross the threshold, he stopped. His foot came down with a finality that suggested a decision had been made.
He turned his head slightly to look back. That single glance—sharp as a hawk scouting its prey—carried a hint of mockery so faint it was almost imperceptible.
The Queen's eyes narrowed. "You—" her voice chilled. "Is there something else?"
The General turned fully. He stepped back into the hall, his pace unhurried but heavy with an oppressive weight—as if every step had been rehearsed a thousand times in the dark of his mind.
He came to a halt beneath the throne. He did not speak immediately. Instead, he stood there as if making one final confirmation:
Whether or not to cross the line from which there is no return.
"Your Majesty."
He finally spoke. His voice had returned to its habitual steadiness, yet it possessed a new, jarring sharpness.
"Since the passing of the late King Evan... you have held the scepter alone." He paused briefly. "It has been, truly, an admirable feat."
The Queen narrowed her eyes. She did not interrupt.
"However—" He slowly lifted his head. His gaze remained restrained, but his words had already left the scabbard. "Your ascension was always a measure of expediency. For you... do not possess the Blood of Virselis."
Within the hall, it felt as if something—unseen and ancient—had quietly shattered.
A cold, thin smile curled at the corners of the Queen's lips. "And what is it you are trying to say?"
The General bowed his head once more. His tone was respectful, but his words cut like a flaying knife.
"The Princess has reached her coming-of-age. Yet she is naive, shielded from the world, and lacks the prestige to lead. Should she suddenly ascend the throne... I fear the masses would not be moved to obey."
"And so?" The Queen's voice was now devoid of all warmth.
He took a deep breath, as if pushing all his chips into the center of the table at once. "I have a strategy."
He looked up, his gaze unwavering. "If I were to wed the Princess—if my prestige were used to support her reign... we could stabilize the court. We could ensure the royal line... returns to its rightful orthodoxy."
He paused, his final words falling as light as a feather, yet heavy as a mountain. "It is... a solution that serves all."
Silence. A suffocating, leaden weight.
The Queen did not immediately respond. She sat upon her throne, her face as still as a dark pond. There were no ripples. Yet beneath that stillness, the ice was cracking. Blades were slowly being bared in the dark.
The General found his rhythm now. The restraint in his voice began to dissolve, losing its boundaries. That faint, glimmering light in his eyes was being fanned into something far more scorched: Ambition.
"Your Majesty," he said, his tone growing more composed, even touched by a confident smile. "I have assisted in the governance of this realm since the late King was alive. The ten thousand generals of our army—"
He paused for emphasis. "—all look to me as their North Star."
The moment those words fell, the very air seemed to sag.
"If the Princess were to be given to me in marriage..." his voice dropped to a conspiratorial low. "She would gain my authority. And the royal legitimacy would be made ironclad."
"...You have quite the nerve."
The Queen spoke in a low, dangerous whisper. Within her sleeves, her fists had clenched so tight they trembled. Her tone was heavy, like snow burying the earth, pressing her killing intent into the shadows, inch by agonizing inch.
"I am merely... stating facts."
The Grand General offered a thin smile. That smile no longer bothered with masks or pretenses.
"Even without true power, Your Majesty..." his tone was offhand, almost dismissive. "...you may still live out the rest of your days in comfort."
He bowed slightly—a gesture that looked like a salute but felt more like a sentencing.
"As for me—I am willing to offer everything. For the nation. For the Royal House."
Before his words could even settle, the Queen's gaze fixed upon the center of his brow. In that instant, her eyes became like the moon reflected in a deep well.
Still. Cold.
Then, a ripple of something unspeakable began to undulate within them. Microscopic runes blossomed silently deep within her pupils—wordless, yet undeniably real. One ring... and then another... radiating outward from the throne like waves on water. Intangible and weightless, they drifted across the hall and locked precisely onto his eyes.
The General's pupils flickered. His breath hitched for a heartbeat, then returned to normal. To a bystander, it would seem as if nothing had happened at all.
"Then..." the Queen spoke slowly. Her voice was so soft it was almost a ghost of a sound. "What is it you truly desire?"
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze deepening into an abyss. "Deep within your heart... what is it?"
"What I desire..." the General began.
But in the next second, his voice caught. A strange, jarring expression fractured his features. It was as if something inside him was being pried open by force.
"What I desire is..." His breathing grew ragged. The light in his eyes flickered violently, as if scorched by an internal flame. His sanity was peeling away, layer by layer.
"What I desire—!"
He snapped his head up! His voice suddenly spiked into a roar.
"Is that youthful, exquisite face!"
He laughed—a raw, naked, and manic sound. "She is the last of the Virselis blood! She is the bridge that will lead me to the summit! She is the key that lets me rule from behind the curtain!"
His voice became increasingly feverish, as if he were tearing out every hidden craving and hurling it into the open.
"I marry her—and I am King!!"
The air in the hall spiraled out of control.
"As long as she is mine—!" He spread his arms wide, as if already embracing the ghost of power. "I can command the armies! I can hold the Royal Lineage in my palm! I can possess... the beauty!!"
He erupted into a frantic laughter that echoed through the hall, piercing and distorted.
"Hahahaha—!!"
A moment later, his gaze slammed back onto the throne. All reverence had vanished. In its place remained only an insatiable, rotting greed.
"And eventually—"
He licked the corners of his mouth. His voice was husky, vibrating with a dangerous heat. "Even you, My Queen... you, too... shall be mine."
"This palace—!" "This bloodline—!" "All of it—!"
He threw his head back and roared with laughter. "It all belongs to me!!"
SHINK—!
A flash of light. It cleaved through the air, soundless and too swift for the eye to track.
In the next heartbeat, the world fell into a profound, absolute silence.
That head—still carrying the lingering echo of his manic laughter—was severed from its shoulders. It tumbled once through the air before hitting the ground with a heavy thud, rolling until it came to a stop at the foot of the great doors.
Thump.
Blood sprayed like spilled ink, spreading slowly across the white marble floor. Stroke by stroke, the crimson bloomed into a macabre painting.
The headless corpse remained standing for a singular, defying second. Then—it collapsed with a hollow crash.
Upon the throne, the Queen slowly withdrew her hand. Her expression remained detached, as if the thing she had just struck down were nothing more than a noisy insect.
"Guards." Her voice was terrifyingly calm.
The great doors opened without a sound. Guards entered like shadows, their movements synchronized and silent.
The Queen tilted her head slightly, her gaze frigid. "Take this stray dog's head—" She paused, a trace of a razor-thin smile touching her lips. "And hang it upon the city gates."
"By your command," the guards answered in unison.
The hall returned once more to a tomb-like stillness. The Queen's gaze did not linger on the corpse for long. Her tone remained level, as if she were merely issuing the most mundane of administrative orders.
"The Vice-General—" she murmured. "Promote him to Grand General immediately. He is to have an audience with me tomorrow."
The guards bowed, their heads low. Not a single one dared to steal a glance at the fallen man.
Moments later, she finally allowed her gaze to settle on the headless body. The blood was still creeping across the floor, a painting that had yet to dry. She watched it in silence, as if critiquing a play that had reached its final curtain. There was no emotion. No need for judgment.
"And..." she added, her voice still soft and light. "Clean this mess up."
She gave a small wave of her hand, her fingertips brushing the air as if flicking away an invisible speck of dust.
"Do not let it stain my floors."
The hall fell into a final, suffocating silence.
Deep in the woods, the beasts appear. Heavy is the mist, where the cries are heard.
In the darkest depths of the dense forest, branches intertwined like gnarled fingers, and the damp air hung thick enough to swallow the light.
Suddenly—
"GWA—!!"
A strange, guttural shriek vibrated through the trees, shattering the silence of the woods.
Suddenly, a titan of a frog lunged from the shadows, its maw gaping wide like a bloody cavern!
Its tongue lashed out like a whip, a blur of muscle and speed. Wherever it struck, ancient trees were snapped like dry straw; branches exploded into splinters and leaves filled the air, sending a panicked cloud of birds shrieking into the sky.
"—Now!"
A figure burst from the thicket. Gareth landed with the predatory grace of a hawk, his movements crisp and practiced. He drew his bow—full draw.
Three arrows were loosed in a single breath!
SWISH! SWISH! SWISH!
The shafts blurred through the air, aiming straight for the beast's broad cranium.
Thud.
A dull sound of impact. The arrowheads hit home, but they could not bite. A thick, viscous layer of slime coated the frog's hide, instantly repelling the arrows before they could even nick the flesh.
"Tch..." Gareth hissed a low curse. "As I feared—standard strikes are useless."
A gust of wind swept past. Milia had already reappeared behind the beast's flank. Light as a shadow, she used the undergrowth to spring into the air, her daggers flashing like cold moonlight as she lunged for the leg joints!
"GWA-GUA—!!!"
The giant frog shrieked in pain. Its massive, muscular legs slammed into the earth, and it vaulted into the air like a falling star. A heartbeat later, it crashed down dozens of feet away.
BOOM!!
Several towering trees were crushed instantly. The ground fissured under the weight, sending a rain of dead leaves swirling into the air.
Gareth rolled to his feet, his eyes locked on the target. He gritted his teeth, his voice low and strained. "My apologies—I must have tripped its guard and woken the damn thing up completely."
Milia rose from the bed of fallen leaves, wiping sweat from her brow. Her breathing was ragged, but her eyes remained icy and analytical. "It's fine."
She scanned the situation. "Do you have any explosives left?" She frowned at the glistening, slimy hide of the beast. "That membrane is too thick. Blades and arrows won't get through."
Gareth gave a wry, bitter smile. "Used the last of them at Starfall Cliff." He shook his head. "Haven't had a chance to restock since."
Before the words could even settle—
"GWA-GUA—!!"
The frog leaped again! Its massive shadow blotted out the sky, plunging the two of them into darkness. Its target was unmistakable.
"Scatter!" Gareth barked.
The two slammed their palms together, using the counter-force to launch themselves in opposite directions just as the shadow descended.
"Do you have another plan?!" Milia shouted over the roar of the impact. "Poison is useless against this thing!"
Gareth rolled across the forest floor, instantly widening the gap between himself and the beast. His eyes remained locked on the giant frog.
"Its membrane is too thick—it's practically a natural gas mask!" He spoke with rapid-fire urgency. "Combine that with its leaping speed, and we can't suppress it head-on!"
He narrowed his eyes, his mind racing through tactical possibilities. "We have to gamble. Aim for the eyes or any other soft tissue!"
Milia rolled as she landed, using the momentum to spring back to her feet. she let out a long, measured breath. "I really wish the Boss or Rena were here." She gave a grim, dry smile, though her eyes remained shards of cold glass. "Just the two of us... taking down a magical entity of this caliber is a nightmare."
Gareth retreated in a zigzag pattern, simultaneously drawing his bow. An arrow whistled through the air, aiming straight for the frog's bulging eye.
However, at the exact moment of impact, the frog's heavy eyelid snapped shut!
Clack!
The arrow was unceremoniously deflected by the slick, oily membrane, spinning uselessly into the brush.
"Tch..." Gareth gritted his teeth. "The Boss's God-Fire..." he muttered as he kept moving, "if even a spark of that hit this thing, it would have been turned into a bonfire by now."
He paused, his tone shifting slightly. "But Rena... she uses a spear. Even her spearhead would likely be skidded off by that slime."
"Not necessarily." Milia vanished into a patch of deep shadows, her form nearly merging with the gloom. Her voice drifted from the darkness, low and clear. "Her Chakra control is the most refined among us—second only to Gerald. Her physical strength and reaction speeds are in a different league entirely."
She paused for a fleeting second. "In a one-on-one... she might have been able to pin this monster down."
Before the words could fully fade—
"GWA-GUA—!!!"
The giant frog erupted in fury! Its massive frame launched into the air once more, the sun-blotting shadow descending like a hammer of judgment.
BOOM!!!
It crashed down with earth-shattering force. The ground buckled and fissured instantly. A violent shockwave rippled outward, shaking the ancient trees and sending a tidal wave of dead leaves swirling into the sky.
"Ugh!"
Both Gareth and Milia were thrown off balance by the tremor, stumbling as the earth heaved beneath them.
In the next heartbeat, the frog unhinged its maw. Its crimson tongue shot out like a bolt of red lightning—aimed directly at Milia!
Gareth's pupils constricted. There was no time to aim, no time to think. He lunged, grabbing a jagged hunk of shattered rock from the ground and hurling it with every ounce of his strength.
CRACK!!!
The stone slammed into the side of the lunging tongue. Though it couldn't stop that terrifying momentum, it carried enough force to jerk the trajectory off course.
SHINK—!
The crimson tongue whistled past Milia's shoulder, missing her by a hair's breadth!
Taking advantage of the momentum, Milia rolled back to her feet. Without a second's hesitation, she vanished once more, melting into the dense thickets and shifting shadows. Her presence vanished; her trail went cold.
Target lost. The giant frog let out a frustrated, low croak.
A heartbeat later, its predatory gaze locked onto Gareth.
"...Crap," Gareth muttered under his breath.
"GWA-GUA—!!"
The tongue erupted toward him again like a fired harpoon!
Gareth lunged into the air. In mid-flight, his eyes sharpened with a sudden, daring resolve. If I can't pierce through it, I'll use it! He extended his leg, aiming his toe to plant firmly on the lashing tongue, intending to use it as a springboard to close the distance to the beast's head.
However—
"It's too slick!?"
The moment his sole touched that layer of viscous slime, his footing vanished. He lost all center of gravity instantly.
THUD!!!
He slammed hard into the dirt, tumbling several times before coming to a stop.
"Cough... damn it..." He lay flat on his back, a pained, wry smile tugging at his lips. "I was actually trying to look cool for once..."
In that exact moment—
"GWA-GUA—!!!"
A shrill, agonizing shriek tore through the forest!
Gareth froze. He pushed himself up with a start. "...Huh? What happened?"
He looked up. The giant frog was thrashing in a violent, uncontrollable frenzy, its massive body colliding with trees as it spiraled out of control. Blood—bright and hot—was geysering from its hind leg, drenching the forest floor in crimson.
Then, a figure stepped slowly out from the shadows.
Milia.
The dagger in her hand was still dripping with fresh blood. Her breathing was slightly labored, yet she stood with newfound stability. She walked over to Gareth's side, a faint, irrepressible smile playing on her lips—the look of someone who had just confirmed a miracle.
"I did it," she said softly.
Gareth stared at her, stunned. "You...?"
Milia looked down at her hand, as if making sure the sensation was still there. "Just now... I tried to channel my Chakra into the blade." She lifted her eyes, her tone dancing with an excitement she couldn't quite hide. "And it... it sank right into its back leg."
Gareth's expression froze. He blinked in disbelief. "Wait... are you saying... you've already learned how to use Weapon Imbuement?"
Milia nodded. A faint flush of red crept onto her cheeks—half embarrassment, half-triumph. "It was just a sudden spark of inspiration," she whispered. "I thought... if I could use Chakra to push back that layer of slime..."
Her fingers tightened around the hilt. "I thought... maybe I could just push through."
"You... you're a natural, aren't you?"
Gareth let out a soft cough. His gaze lingered on the dripping dagger in her hand, his expression a complex tapestry of shock, envy, and a flicker of frustration he didn't care to admit.
He took a deep breath. There was no need for further words. He readjusted his longbow, closed his eyes, and centered his mind.
"If you can do it..." he murmured to himself, "then there's no way I can't."
He began to draw. He reached inward, attempting to guide that raw, unfamiliar current of Chakra toward his fingertips—and from there, into the arrow.
The first attempt. The energy scattered like mist. The second attempt. It slipped through his mental grasp like water.
The Chakra was fluid, rebellious, and difficult to bind. It fractured and dissolved between his fingers time and again.
"Again..."
He gritted his teeth. Beads of cold sweat began to form at his temples.
On the third attempt—at the very tip of the arrowhead—a faint, ethereal blue light flickered into existence. It was unstable, trembling as if it might vanish at any moment, yet it was unmistakably real.
Gareth's eyes snapped open! "Got it!!"
THrumm—!
The bowstring roared. The arrow left the bow like a bolt of thunder, tearing through the air.
THWACK—!
The shaft buried itself into the frog's shoulder without resistance, sinking deep into the raw muscle. That slick, impenetrable membrane—for the first time—had been utterly bypassed.
"GWA-GUA—!!!"
The giant frog let out a shrill, agonizing shriek. Its massive frame thrashed violently as it tried to pivot, desperate to launch a counter-assault. But the hind leg Milia had crippled could no longer support the weight. Its balance was gone; its movements were sluggish and broken.
"Now!" Milia barked.
Her silhouette blurred as she closed the distance once more.
Their offensive became a synchronized dance of blades—one from afar, one up close. One swift, one steady. Arrows continued to find their mark, while the daggers continued to tear.
BOOM!!!
Finally—the colossal body slammed into the earth. The ground heaved. Dead leaves swirled into the air like a localized storm.
A low, guttural whimper escaped the frog's throat. It struggled for a final few seconds before, at last, falling into an absolute silence.
It was over.
The only sound remaining in the woods was the sighing wind and the heavy, ragged breathing of the two survivors.
Milia remained standing beside the carcass. She did not stop. Her dagger rose and fell—once, twice—continuing to strike. Her movements weren't fast, but they were possessed by an eerie, obsessive persistence. It was as if she weren't merely confirming the kill, but venting something deep and unspoken.
Gareth watched her, a wry smile tugging at his lips despite the exhaustion.
"Milia..." he called out softly. "Don't you think you're... getting a little too excited?"
Her movements stiffened, then slowly came to a halt. It was as if she were being jolted awake from a trance.
Milia looked down at the blade in her hand, her breathing gradually finding its rhythm again. She sheathed the dagger with a quiet, practiced click.
"Forgive me..." she whispered.
She fell into a brief silence, as if carefully gathering the scattered pieces of her composure.
"It's just..." she began, her voice barely audible. "This is the first time. The first time I've killed a magical entity... using my own strength. With my own hands."
She lifted her head. Her eyes were clear, yet deep within their depths, heavy shadows swirled in the gloom.
"It felt as if..." Her voice grew even softer. "As if all the humiliation, all the terror I've endured over the years—" She tightened her grip on the hilt of her dagger. "I was finally giving it back. Stroke by stroke."
Gareth went silent. The teasing remark he had been preparing died in his throat. He watched her for a moment before asking in a low voice:
"Are you talking about... before you met the Boss?"
Milia gave a small, slow nod. "Yes."
Her gaze seemed to drift through the dense canopy of the forest, wandering back to a distant, fractured past.
"Back then... Rena and I were still scrounging through the ruins of the Empire." Her tone was calm—yet that very stillness only made the weight of her words feel heavier. "We lived by stealing. We survived by running. We hid from people, and we hid from the monsters."
A faint smile touched her lips. It was fragile, like a petal clinging to a branch in a high wind.
"Every morning I woke up, I truly didn't know... if I would make it to the next day."
A gust of wind swept through the trees, carrying away the scent of blood, but unable to brush away the memories.
She looked up once more, her gaze far more resolute than before.
"Now... I finally have the chance to strike back."
No more fleeing. No more hiding.
Now, she was the one holding the blade.