Dawn's pale light barely pierced the mist that curled over E-Naeul's eastern docks. Round, painted notices fluttered on weathered boards: "No-Go Zone: Submerged Ruins of Aelhara," they warned in stern, faded script. Rumor had it that an ancient city lay entombed beneath churning tides beyond the harbor breakwaters—its spires and statues swallowed by the sea centuries ago.
For weeks the Theocracy's envoys had shown no interest. Re-Estize adventurers had mounted small expeditions, lured by promise of lost treasure—but none returned. Fishermen swore spectral lanterns bobbed in deep water, and the few who brazenly dove into ruined halls vanished into silence. Eventually the kingdom declared the site off-limits: an underwater graveyard best left undisturbed.
Velkharion and Shuna, watching from mezzanine windows of the Adventurer's Guild, exchanged a knowing glance. "Shall we leave those fools to their fate?" Hans asked softly.
Shuna's lips curved. "Creating and spreading rumours of an underwater ruin sounded good but our target was the Theocracy who don't seem to show an interest at all. I guess we should let it remain a no-go zone."
That morning, beneath guild banners, a small party of Re-Estize adventurers assembled for the ruins hunt. Hans slipped from the hall, robe swirling, and watched as they embarked by boat—bright torches bobbing into the haze. Shuna trailed at his side, quiet as moonlight.
"Ye~ah, I mainly wanted to attract adventures though. I'd arranged 'guards' around the entry arches of the ruins," Velkharion murmured. "Once the adventures passed certain glyph-carved pillar, they'd trigger a teleportation spell." He tapped his finger. "Teleporting to the Eternal Dominion. Those we got will have to do."
Shuna nodded, recalling the dozen adventurers who'd never returned. "R&D will study them. Their bodies—every secret we can extract."
Velkharion's grin was faint but feral. "Yes. Let the ruins swallow those who think to plunder it. We'll harvest their knowledge and test our learn of the limits of the humans."
Late that afternoon, a battered rowboat returned to E-Naeul's docks, one adventurer afloat upon it—splotched and senseless, torn regalia clinging to brittle armor. Guards dragged him ashore. He babbled of endless corridors, drowned statues that whispered, and unseen hands pulling him into nothingness. But no others came back.
Soon the ruins earned a new legend: "The Siren City," cursed by sea-gods. All reputable captains refused passage. Sales of diving gear froze. Merchants pressed their coin into other ventures.
Behind the scenes, in deep caverns of the Eternal Dominion, R&D technicians hovered over shimmering crystals that housed adventurer souls. Zelefar watched them with golden interest, chanting to awaken the screens. "Extract their fear responses… chart their memory echoes… refine our life-binding anchors." Shrieks and pleas echoed until the coil of secrets snapped shut again. From those echoes came breakthroughs—whispers that a demigod's immortality could be replicated, if only in controlled vessels.
Three days later, Hans and Shuna stood before a polished carriage at E-Naeul's gates. At its door paused Lumina, draped once more in Baron Helmut's silken doublet, hair gleaming copper in the sun. Her posture was immaculate—reformed noble, champion of justice, and the kingdom's rising star.
Sythera had arranged an escort mission to the capital. "King Ramposa III requests Baron Helmut's presence at the Royal Masquerade," she'd informed them. "He values your counsel and requires safe passage."
Velkharion bowed as he helped Shuna mount, crimson runes faintly glowing through his armor's seams. His outward guise flickered between fallen noble and adventurer—each step measured to inspire both deference and curiosity. "My lady," he murmured to Shuna, "our rank will rise once we complete this escort. The capital's nobles will not forget Baron Helmut's protectors."
As the carriage rolled through narrow lanes, Shuna surveyed curious onlookers. Merchants lowered their wares as the entourage passed; children craned their necks to glimpse the noble's beauty. Even hardened soldiers snapped to attention.
In the carriage's interior, Hans discretely opened a ledger of bribe allocations. "We've funneled silver into the Merchant's Guild and copper plates into the Forgers' Consortium," he noted, voice low. "Rumors already credit Helmut's generosity for stabilizing E-Naeul's economy."
Shuna tapped a finger on the map. "I've blackmailed the minor lords of the western quarter—names taken from Mental Dominion. They'll pledge loyalty publicly to avoid scandal."
Hans nodded approvingly. "By the time we reach the capital plaza, Helmut's reputation will eclipse several entrenched nobles."
The Royal Capital of Ramposa rose like a dream of marble and spired towers. White banners fluttered against cerulean skies. As the carriage entered the Golden Gate, crowds parted, murmuring of the baron's return and his famed saviors.
Their destination was the Plaza of Masks, where the Masquerade's gates yawned beneath carved dragons. Costumed nobles drifted among fountains, their laughter tinkling like crystal. Hans and Shuna alighted, offering arms to Lumina.
Within the grand hall, candles burned in floating sconces. Music wound through arches like living silk. Individuals in elaborate masks glided past—some pausing to greet Helmut with reverent bows. At Shuna's side, Hans observed each glance, each brush of sleeve.
A slender, ember-haired courtesan pressed forward, curtsy impeccable. "Baron Helmut," she whispered, voice barely a sigh, "your reforms inspire us all." Lumina inclined her head graciously, oblivious to the dagger-gaze reserved by a rival house's envoy.
As the first wine goblets clinked, hushed conversations drifted through the crowd: "Have you heard of that duo, Momon and Nabe? Slaying monsters with preternatural ease?"
Hans's grip on Shuna's waist tightened. "Momon and Nabe," he echoed, voice low.
Shuna's head snapped up. "Something peeked your interest?"
A thrill raced through him. "It seems I've located one of my old friends… from Yggdrasil." He felt the stirrings of genuine excitement—and a trace of trepidation.
Shuna's brows knit with concern. "What will you do?"
Velkharion inhaled slowly, composing himself. "For now, we won't engage." He guided her down a satin-draped corridor. "Our priority remains fragile alliances and our puppet's elevation."
Shuna nodded, though the flicker in her eyes spoke volumes: pride in her husband's restraint—and curiosity at what fate lay in wait.
As the masquerade unfolded, Lumina moved among the courtiers—her every step graceful, her every word laced with royal obeisance. At the dais, an aide presented the first inked scroll of alliance—a pact between Helmut and the Merchant's Consortium to rebuild seafront warehouses. Applause broke like thunder.
Moments later, the Marquis of Teravell—his mask shaped like a hawk—approached. "Baron, might I request your counsel on controlling local thieves?" he asked, voice hushed.
Helmut accepted the request with a nod. From shadowed pockets, she produced an official ledger: the names of disloyal guildmasters were inked in crimson. "Present these at dawn," he advised. "Your city guard will act swiftly."
The marquis's smile was a hawk's glint. "Your wisdom knows no peer. I am forever in your debt."
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