Far away from the ruins, beyond lands stripped bare by time and disaster, a wasteland stretched beneath a colorless sky. Cracked earth and drifting ash surrounded the broken remains of what had once been a prosperous city—its towers collapsed, its streets swallowed by sand and silence.
Amid that desolation, a single stone door stood alone.
It did not belong.
Beyond it, stone corridors wound deep underground, their walls carved with ancient patterns, half-lit by flickering torches that burned with unnatural steadiness. The air was cold, heavy with mana and old intent. Those corridors opened into a small chamber—simple in shape, yet suffocating in presence.
At its center rested a stone throne.
Seated upon it was a blond-haired lord.
His hair fell loosely over sharp crimson eyes, his expression calm, almost bored. He lounged against the throne as if it were nothing more than a chair in a quiet study, posture relaxed, confidence absolute. His white coat was spotless, untouched by dust or decay, its fabric catching faint torchlight. At its center was an embedded emblem—a lion, carved with authority and pride.
Too clean. Too composed.
Before him stood a pillar of glowing red energy, pulsing slowly like a heartbeat.
His territory core.
A faint smile crossed the lord's face as he watched it glow, eyes reflecting its light.
Yes.
Without question, without doubt—
he was a lord.
Another shadow shifted within the chamber.
From beside the throne emerged a second figure—taller, composed, and impeccably dressed. A rabbit-headed butler stepped forward, his long ears neatly facing upwards, his posture flawless. In one gloved hand, he carried a crystal glass filled with blood-red wine.
"My lord," the rabbit butler said smoothly, bowing. "The beasts are restless. They are ready to surge at any moment."
The blond-haired lord laughed—a short, dismissive sound—and took the glass from the butler's hand without looking away from the glowing pillar.
"Ready to attack, hmm?" he said lightly, swirling the wine. "That's what they exist for, isn't it?"
He took a slow sip.
The butler hesitated, ears twitching almost imperceptibly. "There is… a complication," he said carefully.
The lord froze.
The wine glass stopped midair. His smile vanished, crimson eyes sharpening as he finally turned his gaze toward the butler.
"…Go on."
"One of our beasts has been slain," the butler reported. "We have yet to identify what killed it."
The lord frowned. "Which beast?"
"A troop unit, sir."
For a moment, silence hung heavy in the chamber.
Then the lord exhaled—and leaned back into his throne, relaxing once more.
"Honestly," he said with a sigh, waving a hand, "you worry too much. A single pest dies, and you act like the world is ending."
"But sir—" the butler began.
"Enough," the lord cut in smoothly. "Relax. My plan is flawless." His lips curled into a confident smile. "A design this precise will not fail me."
The rabbit butler lowered his head. "As you say, my lord."
The lord glanced at him, amused. "You doubt me, Jeeves?"
"No! Of course not, sir!" Jeeves replied instantly. "Such a thought would be absurd."
"Hah. I thought so."
The lord turned back toward the glowing pillar, its crimson light reflecting in his eyes. "You may go."
"My apologies," Jeeves said, bowing once more.
Yet as he turned away, a quiet smirk formed beneath his composed expression.
(Enjoy this confidence while it lasts, brat.)
Out loud, he spoke gently.
"Your plan is absolute, Lord Leon."
Far away, beneath the late morning sun, wooden walls stood firm against the jagged silhouettes of fallen buildings. Kairo's territory was quiet—but it was the kind of quiet that pressed against the chest, heavy with anticipation.
Dust lingered in the air as half-finished stone walls rose from the ground, their foundations still rough. Within the perimeter, movement never stopped. Kobolds patrolled in steady rotations, weapons clutched tight, their eyes sharp. Flint barked orders as he moved among them, adjusting formations, correcting stances. They all knew it. Whatever was coming wouldn't be small.
Inside the Tier 1 house, the tension thickened.
Theo and Lilian lay sprawled on the wooden floor, catching what rest they could. Kairo sat near the round table, arms crossed, his gaze locked onto the softly glowing orb resting at its center. Beside him stood Shiri, straight-backed and silent, with Onyx looming just behind, his presence immovable.
The orb shimmered—and a familiar voice emerged.
"…You should have called sooner."
Claymond's tone was calm, but the weight behind it was unmistakable.
Before Kairo could respond, another voice cut in, sharp and unrestrained. "Sooner?" Lyra snapped. "He didn't think it was important to inform his partners that there was a potential threat—to him and the alliance as a whole!"
There was a pause. Then, more quietly, she added, "What if you hadn't survived? I-I mean Who would've warned us about the beasts then?"
Kairo looked away, even though none of them could see him. "…I didn't want to rely on you," he admitted. "Not this soon."
Silence followed—brief, but heavy.
Then it shattered.
"Hahaha!" Varen's laughter burst from the orb, loud and unrestrained. "Rely? Is that what this is about?" A sharp slap echoed, like a hand striking a knee. "You make it sound like calling us is some kind of emotional confession!"
"Varen," Claymond sighed.
"What? I'm serious!" Varen shot back, excitement bleeding through every word. "Tier 3 beasts as the weakest? Slave crests? A monster tide?" He whistled. "This is good stuff! We finally get to stretch our claws!"
"This isn't a game," Lyra snapped.
Varen chuckled. "Never said it was. Just said I'm looking forward to it."
Kairo smirked softly, tension finally easing from his shoulders. "Sorry," he said quietly, sincerity clear in his voice. "I should've trusted you all more… from the start." His gaze hardened with resolve. "So—now that we're in this together—tell me. What's our next move?"
Claymond's voice cut through the moment, sharp and grounded. "Not so easily."
Kairo's smirk faded. His posture straightened as Claymond continued, tone firm but controlled. "You said there was slave magic involved."
"Yes," Kairo replied after a brief pause. "But we haven't identified who cast it."
A beat of silence followed.
"So there's another force?" Varen asked, the excitement in his voice dimming just a little. "Not just beasts running wild?"
Lyra folded her arms, eyes narrowed. "If slave crests are involved, then this isn't a natural monster tide." She exhaled slowly. "This could be something far bigger than we can handle alone."
The question lingered in the air.
"Can we really do anything against something like that?" she asked quietly.
"Yes," Claymond answered without hesitation.
The weight behind his voice was unmistakable—the tone of someone who had led before, and survived. Everyone instinctively waited for him to continue.
"But if we're going to do this," he said, "we need a real plan. No half-measures. No acting alone."
Kairo, Lyra, and Varen listened closely.
"We are going to win this," Claymond said, conviction settling into every word. "And for that, I need all of you."
Varen leaned closer to the orb, eyes lighting up. "All of us… in one place?"
"Yes," Claymond replied.
Kairo blinked. "Wait—aren't we already doing that right now?"
A soft chuckle came through the orb. "This?" Claymond said. "This isn't a meeting."
Kairo frowned. "Then what are we supposed to do?"
Claymond's voice grew serious again, edged with anticipation.
"Kairo… in two days, we gather."
A pause.
"At the center of the ruins."
To be continued....