A tense silence enveloped the great throne room of the new King of Men. The new ruler sat upon his throne, his cold gaze fixed on the map spread before him. His power had yet to be solidified, and his kingdom was unprepared for war. But that was exactly why he had chosen to act differently.
On that day, messengers were sent to every corner of the continent, calling upon all mercenaries, fortune-seekers, bandits, and those in search of glory and gold. In every tavern, on every market, and in every guild, royal proclamations appeared:
"By order of His Majesty, all those who seek glory, gold, and war are called to join the ranks of the temporary army. Payment—20 silver per day. Spoils gained in battle remain with the warriors. Full freedom of action within the scope of battle missions. The main rule—loyalty to the king."
It was more than favorable. It was too good to turn down.
In the taverns, mugs clattered loudly, mercenaries laughed as they perused the royal edicts. They knew exactly what it meant: plunder, impunity, wealth.
—"Twenty silver a day?!"—laughed a burly man, tossing the proclamation into the air. —"That's double what the best guilds pay! And no questions asked!"
—"And freedom of action..."—grumbled another warrior, sliding his finger along the text. —"It means the king doesn't even intend to control us. We can do whatever we want as long as we follow his orders..."
—"Plunder, slaughter, burn..."—smiled the archer, slowly rolling the paper up. —"This is the perfect field for us."
The mercenary guilds were divided. Some saw it as an opportunity to get rich. Others saw a potential trap.
—"He's gathering a crowd of cutthroats,"—said one of the senior members of the Guild of Battle Masters. —"He doesn't want an army, he wants a horde of marauders."
—"So what?"—raised an eyebrow another member. —"If we refuse, he'll find others who will agree."
That same day, a messenger arrived in Drahfenfest, delivering a message to Lenor Vilerian—the head of the Adventurers' Guild.
Lenor silently reread the decree, his face impassive. But in his eyes, a shadow of contemplation appeared.
—"Is this foolishness or genius?"—he muttered, tossing the parchment onto the table. —"He's not building an army… He's releasing hungry wolves. And once they've eaten their fill, they won't be able to be herded back into their cage."
Naira, standing nearby, folded her arms across her chest, watching him closely.
—"So, are we just going to watch, or do something?"—she asked.
Lenor looked at her, then at the open letter lying before him.
—"We wait."—His voice was cold. —"When the wolves tear their master apart, we'll decide what to do next."
When the terrible news reached the queen of a neighboring kingdom, she was filled with horror. She stood by the window of her chamber, watching the city, still living its ordinary life. But she knew the truth—this life was about to end, and no one would come to their aid.
She had underestimated her enemy.
She had provoked a catastrophe.
Her gaze fell on her only son—the heir to the throne. He still did not understand that everything was lost.
—"You ten,"—her voice was filled with steel determination. —"You will take my son and hide him in neutral lands. He will not return until he is ready to reclaim his kingdom."
The prince rushed to her, his eyes filled with tears.
—"Mother! I won't leave you!"
But she had already made her decision. She signaled to her servant, who brought a potion of sleep. One sip—and the prince lost consciousness.
"Take him and go,"—one of the ten men said as he left. —"Your Majesty, I cannot do this. I promised your husband."
—"I command you. I am still your queen for now."
He bowed to her, turned, lifted the prince over his shoulder, and left the throne room.
But in his thoughts, not everything was calm. "Forgive me, my friend, I won't be able to keep my promise. She is my queen."
The prince awoke far from the capital, on horseback, surrounded by ten warriors. They had ridden through the night, and as he felt a deep, icy chill in his chest, he knew he would never see his mother again.
The queen was left alone in her throne room. She had disbanded the army. She did not fight.
She understood—if she wanted to save her kingdom, she would have to become a puppet.
For the first time in her life, she would submit to someone else's will. She would follow all the orders of the new ruler, lose her pride, but save the lives of her people. And one day… when her son returned, she would prepare them for rebellion.
She sat upon the throne and waited. He would come for her honor. And she would allow it.
But deep inside her, one thought remained:
"I will not be broken. I will only bend… for a time."
The palace corridor was empty. Only the soft light of magical lamps illuminated the marble walls, casting long shadows. The king walked slowly toward his chambers when he felt someone grab his sleeve.
He spun around sharply. Before him stood a maid, but her eyes—dark, cold, intelligent—belonged to no ordinary servant. A half-human, the voice of the secret Order.
—"We need to talk,"—she whispered and, without waiting for permission, dragged him into the nearest room.
Making sure no one was listening, she lowered her hood and narrowed her eyes.
—"What have you done?"—her voice was icy. —"We agreed that the queen would be executed. Publicly. Along with her son. To strike fear into the whole world. And you… you decided to play the lover?!"
The king sighed, running a hand through his hair.
—"I have everything under control."
—"Under control?"—she smiled, but there was no warmth in her smile. —"You have hundreds of whores. And you're chasing after one like a lovesick fool? Have you lost your mind? And if you lose it physically?"
The king clenched his teeth.
—"I will conquer the greatest kingdom with minimal losses. Only a few nobles will die, and everything will be settled without unnecessary bloodshed."
The half-human remained silent for a few seconds, then suddenly turned and walked toward the door.
—"You think you control this game. But it's only just begun."—She glanced back over her shoulder and threw the final words at him: —"It all begins today."
She left, leaving the king in confusion. What did she mean? What "today"?
But there was no time for reflection. He had to continue his game.
Night fell over the world, as if it had been swallowed by an endless darkness. The magical lamps in the camp flickered weakly, casting long shadows that swayed like ghosts. The air was heavy, thick with a suffocating staleness, as though a storm was coming but had not yet dared to strike.
Kano slept. His body was exhausted after the grueling journey, but as soon as his mind slipped into the darkness of sleep, he was pierced by an unbearable sensation of pain. He jerked his eyes open—the agony in his chest was indescribable, like a searing blade piercing him from the inside. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his heart pounded so fast it seemed ready to explode.
—"What… what is happening?!"
His fingers clenched the blanket in a vice, and his body jerked, as though it were bound by an invisible chain. But this wasn't just pain. It was the echo of something terrible happening far away.
On a neutral continent, amid ancient ruins covered in centuries of dust, a ritual had begun. Black figures, draped in cloaks, stood in a circle around a stone altar. At the center—a goblet of pure gold, filled with the blood of all the races: humans, elves, dwarves, demons, beastfolk.
Their bodies already lay nearby—lifeless, hollowed out, offered as sacrifices.
The leader of the cult, his face hidden by a deep hood, raised the goblet above his head and then slowly lowered it over a large black crystal. Its surface was perfectly smooth, like glass, but inside it seemed as if something was alive, waiting for freedom.
—"The time has come…"—his voice echoed like wind in the graves.
The first drop of blood fell onto the crystal.
And the world trembled.
The earthquake spread in waves, sweeping across the continents. Majestic mountains trembled, ancient cities shook, rivers burst their banks. But this was only the beginning.
The sky erupted in light.
Lightning cleaved the air, striking the ground and scorching it. But there was no rain, no thunder—only the furious flashes that tore apart the fabric of reality itself.
Kano writhed in agony. His body emitted light that pulsed, faded, and then flared again. He felt something ancient, something powerful, stirring, struggling to awaken.
Lianel, who had been sleeping in her small house, felt the tremor. She woke up, her ears ringing from the silent scream that echoed in her mind. Something was terrifying the very fabric of the world.
When she ran outside, her eyes instantly found Kano. He lay on the ground, writhing in convulsions. His face was twisted in pain, and on his head… a helmet.
It flickered. Appeared and disappeared, as if the world itself couldn't decide if it should be on Kano. Lianel instantly understood—this could not be shown.
Tearing her cloak from her shoulders, she covered his head, hiding the explosion of light. Her hands trembled, but she gripped the fabric tightly, waiting for the storm to subside.
—"Quiet… quiet…"—she whispered, pressing the cloak against his face. —"Just a little longer… just a little longer..."
The sky raged for a while longer, but soon everything fell silent.
In the ruins, the cultists stood frozen. The earth no longer trembled, the storm had quieted, and the black crystal…
It was glowing.
A dark reflection ominously rippled across its surface, and from within, a voice began to emerge. Deep. Ancient. The kind that made the blood freeze in one's veins.
"I… have returned."
The one who had once been sealed away had returned to the world.