The footsteps rumbled heavily as Trail walked across the stone floor, each step echoing through the long corridor leading to the king's chamber. The sound carried authority, yet beneath it lay intent—quiet, controlled, and dangerous. Several soldiers stood on duty, their armor gleaming faintly under the dim light. Some guarded the hallway, while others stood rigidly beside the king's door, eyes forward, hands tight around their weapons. Trail stopped before the door and knocked once, firmly.
Inside, the king was writing something, fully immersed in his thoughts. He did not notice Trail at first. His quill scratched against parchment with hurried strokes, his brows furrowed. When he finally folded the letter, pressed a stamp onto the wax, and tossed it into one of the cabinets beneath the table, only then did his eyes lift. He noticed Trail standing there, motionless. Sweat trickled down the king's face, his expression stiffening. Trail's posture was calm, but something about him felt off—mischievous, unreadable, as if he carried a secret too heavy to speak aloud.
"Oh… Trail," the king said, forcing a smile. "Why are you standing there? Come, sit." His voice tried to sound normal, welcoming even, but the tension betrayed him. Fear lingered behind his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.
Trail sat down slowly, his movements deliberate. The king clasped his hands together and began to speak. "I may not have much time left," he said quietly. "At any moment, I could be killed, Trail—"
A sudden knock interrupted him.
The king froze. His breath caught. The door opened.
It was Grover.
He entered the room without hesitation. His eyes glimmered sharply as they scanned the chamber. Trail was already seated. For a moment, Grover's eyes met Trail's—cold, assessing—before shifting back to the king. One of Grover's soldiers dragged another chair forward and placed it beside Trail. Grover sat, composed, unbothered, as if he owned the room.
Trail thought to himself, Grover Garfield… why is he here? To protect the king? So I cannot kill him? Or is this something else? If so, then my plan was already ruined before it began. His jaw tightened. But there is something heavier here… something deeper.
Grover spoke calmly. "The same talk, I assume," he said, "the kind that ends without answers, isn't it, King?" He placed his gloved hand on the table, then slowly removed the glove. In his palm lay a single coin. He set it down between them. "This may be your fate." His gaze hardened. "What I want now are answers."
Grover turned his head slightly toward Trail. "And you, Commander Trail. I have heard of your fearlessness. Indeed, you are a respectable and prestigious man." His tone shifted back to the king. "But right now, I am busy."
The king swallowed hard. "I don't have any answers," he said. "They are the same as that day…" His voice faltered. Fear crossed his face, the same fear he had worn back then, surrounded by a crowd yet utterly alone.
Grover exhaled sharply, frustration flashing across his features. "Huh. I gave you three days. Three full days." He shook his head. "I suppose this is fine." His voice dropped. "I thought I would give you a quiet death, alone."
There was no warning.
In an instant, power surged. The king's body collapsed from the chair, falling lifelessly to the floor. The room fell silent. No blood touched Trail. No sound followed. Just emptiness where a ruler once sat.
Grover stood slowly. "It may be the same for you, Trail," he said coldly. "But you are no longer the commander."
Trail smiled faintly. "And the same thing will happen to you," he replied calmly, "just like what you did twenty seconds ago." The air thickened. An overwhelming force pressed outward, carrying threat and certainty.
Grover stared at him. There was no humor in Trail's eyes. Only seriousness. No joke. No bluff. "There is no longer a king in Wingman City," Grover said. "Everything has fallen apart. The money, the order—everything is gone."
Trail stood and walked toward the door. "I don't want to interfere in your business," he said without turning back, "but don't cross your limits. I am not one of those who likes to spare."
Grover smiled faintly. "Indeed," he said, "you all are mere pieces of chess. And I will play with my own hands, moving every pawn with my fingers."
Men surrounded the room in a circular formation. Trail turned his face slowly, then his body, back toward Grover. "Do you really think you understand what you are about to do, Trail?" someone asked.
Then—
A presence.
The window burst open as cold wind rushed inside, curtains snapping violently.
Luxorious sat beside Grover.
A chill ran down every spine in the room. One of the soldiers trembled. Luxorious… why is he here? the man thought. So it was all real… Confusion, fear, disbelief—all tangled together. No one spoke. No one moved.
Grover smiled wider. "Indeed. That is why I came prepared." The coin on the table began to move. Slowly at first, then faster, spinning wildly. Everyone stared as it trembled, rattled, and whirled with unnatural speed.
It slowed.
Stopped—
BOOM.
A blinding explosion erupted, bright enough to be seen from outside the city. The room vanished into mist. Walls shattered. Sound ceased. When the light faded, Grover stood alone on the broken ground, his men lifeless around him.
Before him stood two figures.
Two beasts.
One wielding daggers.
One holding a sword.
Their presence alone felt like a nation standing against him.
Grover narrowed his eyes. "Eagle. Reinfal. Steel. Gloth." His voice echoed. "All elites. All here." More figures emerged, armed, disciplined—at least seventy-three in total. "And more commanders as well." His gaze flicked around. "But not Celitha."
Grover laughed madly. His glasses flickered in the light. "Now let's see what you two can do," he said. "These are moments I will remember."
Trail stepped forward, calm as ever. "Be ready, Luxorious," he said quietly. "It's two versus seventy-three."