The Vault Beneath the Wing
The corridor behind the East Wing's war room was no longer just forgotten stone.
It was a threshold—an artery to something unspoken, accessible only by one living man. Not even Duke Alaric had walked this path.
Anya, Elmer, and Wendy followed Charles in silence. Only the soft crunch of their boots on rune-etched steps sounded as they descended. Lamps embedded in the walls flickered with spectral light, reacting to Charles's unique qi signature.
Anya's eyes swept the corridor with measured suspicion. "This passage… It's not on any of the estate blueprints."
"Exactly," Charles replied dryly. "Let's keep it that way."
At the foot of the descent was a monolithic obsidian wall—no keyhole, no latch. Seven glyphs wove across its surface, humming faintly—security pulses whispering not no entry, but no survival on entry.
Charles stepped forward. With one smooth motion, he pressed his palm to the center glyph.
Whirrrr. Crack. Clink.
The glyphs unraveled, disengaging in perfect synchronicity. With a hush of stone gliding over stone, the vault opened.
Inside was no ordinary treasury.
It was a sanctum of power.
The chamber breathed arcane security. Enchantment arrays overlapped across floor, wall, and ceiling, forged to repel teleportation, scrying, essence-probing, bloodline mimicry, and time-based espionage. Suppression fields older than Ziglar's records shimmered in the air.
And at the heart of it all—wealth.
No coin piles like a dragon's hoard lined the vault. Fifty-two reinforced chests stood stacked, each embossed with crests—some from fallen kingdoms, others from forbidden sects. Along the walls, trays of beast cores, mana-crystals, soul-bound relics, high-grade elixirs, and sealed scrolls floated in spatial stasis.
Wendy stopped dead, her breath hitching. "Th-that one has a Sable Empire mintmark—those haven't circulated in two hundred years!"
Charles said nothing.
Anya's eyes widened, voice barely above a whisper. "This… this isn't a treasury. It's a declaration of war in gilded form."
He flicked open a nearby chest. Rows of platinum and gold bars gleamed—each engraved with nullifier runes, a mix of currencies from at least six kingdoms, all untraceable.
Elmer let out a long, low whistle, eyebrows raised. "I've seen royal war vaults with less bite than this."
Charles merely offered a faint shrug. "This was built… differently."
What didn't he say?
There was no inherited fortune from forebears here. The wealth sheltered in this vault had been reclaimed—retrieved from criminals, corrupt officials, and shadowy tyrannical coffers. Charles had assembled it all using methods that broke the rules of both law and magic, purposefully taking back what had been stolen from the empire.
[SIGMA: An analysis shows that 92% of the vault's treasure comes from money that was stolen by criminal warlords, corrupt ministers, smuggling lords, and the treasuries of tyrants who were defeated. Each transfer was carefully made through shadow networks to leave no trace, making sure that these fortunes could no longer be used to bribe anyone.]
"I'm authorizing the East Wing to operate independently," Charles said finally, turning to the others. "From now on, funding for our operations—troop recruitment, estate upgrades, banquet, black ops—comes from here."
Anya hovered over a tray. "Enough to fund a private kingdom."
Charles's smile was sharp. "And yet it's still not enough."
He gestured for them to approach.
"You have access now. When needed—draw from here. Within reason."
Wendy whispered, still dazed, "But… where did you even—"
"I was very good at accounting," Charles cut in with a wink. "And the corrupt? Never good at passwords."
Elmer chuckled. "You didn't just take their money… You rerouted their empire."
Charles's voice dropped lower. "And this is just the beginning."
He moved toward a sealed alcove near the back of the vault. With a wave of his hand, a section of the wall slid open, revealing a rusted armory hall once used by Ziglar captains in wars long past.
"This old relic," Charles said, "will be reborn."
He looked at Elmer. "Redo this whole wing. Make the vault doors stronger. Add shelves. Prepare for intake—we'll stockpile weapons, armor, and skill books this year. Top tier. Charmed. Forbidden if necessary."
Elmer's eyes shone. "You're making a weapon."
"No. I'm making a future. A private army. Loyal—only to me."
Elmer straightened. "I'll begin recruiting blacksmiths and artifice cultivators immediately."
Charles nodded, then turned to Anya.
"Also—start a full-scale renovation of the estate's south kitchen. Tre Sorelle's elite catering team will be using part of it during the banquet preparations."
Anya blinked. "The restaurant from Duranth? The one run by Victor Sorelle?"
"The very same," Charles replied. "I've partnered with them. They'll elevate this banquet into legend, but we need our kitchen to match theirs. Reinforce it. Add qi insulation. Stasis prep zones. Rune-ready counters. Treat it like the beating heart of the feast."
Anya curtsied, excitement and disbelief in her eyes. "As you command, my lord."
Charles returned to the vault center. "We'll restock regularly. SIGMA is tracing imperial money flows. We strike quietly when corruption stirs; take quietly when injustice accumulates."
[SIGMA: The standing protocol is confirmed. The stream for reallocating wealth is open. Estimated monthly net gain: 217,000 gold-equivalent. Sources: extortion vaults, illegal tax holdings, and tribute siphons.]
Wendy was finally able to speak again. "Why go this far?"
Charles's gaze turned to steel.
"When war comes, we won't beg for coin or kneel for aid. We'll bleed for ourselves—and master our own storm."
The vault door began to hum again, ready to seal once more. As the stone began to slide shut behind them, Charles looked over his shoulder—cloak catching one last glimmer of spectral light.
"If you need something," he said, "just ask. If it's necessary, take it. If it's war… prepare for it."
And with that, the shadows returned to silence, as the vault sealed.
Wind Unleashed
The mist still lingered as Charles summoned Wendy to the East Wing's garden—a space lined with lanterns, wind chimes, and starvine glowing faintly with residual qi. The air was calm, like the eye of a storm waiting to remember it was a storm.
Wendy glided down the cobblestone path in a fitted jade training robe, her Ziglar crest at her waist. She bowed with formal precision.
"You called, my lord?"
Charles stood beneath the bellflower tree, arms behind his back. His cloak flared in the breeze as he turned.
"Core Realm Rank 3 already," he said. "Didn't even wait for me to return."
Wendy tilted her head. "Should I delay progress for the ceremony?"
Charles chuckled. "No. Destroy everything in your path. Just checking."
She allowed the barest smirk. "Then I'm on track."
"Good," he said. "Because now, you're ready."
With a wave of his hand, the SIGMA interface flashed into existence—only visible to Charles. With a thought, a shimmering ripple broke open the fabric of reality beside him, revealing a long obsidian box engraved with whorls of wind and storm.
Wendy's gaze sharpened. "What is that?"
Charles said, "A gift. Acquired at the Duranth Auction House. You have earned it."
He took the box out.
Inside, twin crescent daggers glowed jade at their edges, condensed with wind essence. When Charles drew them, the air moved—not from action but from presence. In the sudden quiet, a soft whistle joined the chimes.
The wind in the garden changed.
Wendy blinked. "...They're alive."
"Windblade Daggers of the Silent Tempest," Charles said reverently. "Legendary grade. Soul-bound after synchronization. You'll never lose them."
He stepped forward and offered the hilts to her.
"Their blades channel wind into every strike—Gale Slash, Tempest Dance, Cyclone Throw. You'll know them all. Their edge moves faster than thought. The wind becomes your cloak, your blade, your echo."
Wendy took them.
The moment her fingers curled around the hilts, a pulse surged through the garden. The flower petals trembled. The wind paused.
Then—
Whoosh.
A sudden gust spiraled around her, lifting strands of her hair as her qi resonated with the weapons. The daggers pulsed once, then again, syncing to her core. Wind magic surged visibly through the carved motifs on their hilts.
Her eyes, wide with wonder, glistened in disbelief.
Charles grinned. "You like them?"
"They're…" She inhaled sharply. "They're perfect."
"No," he said with a glint in his eye. "They're you."
She startled, looking at him.
"I know what you are, Wendy. Not just loyal or strong. You're wind incarnate—graceful, lethal, impossible to catch." He paused. "I've studied your records. Lady Evelyne saved you during the Eastern Border War. Your real family—"
"Slaughtered in a purge. Framed for treason by Lord Odran. I was three."
"Do you want revenge?" Charles asked, calm as frost.
Wendy met his eyes, calm but trembling. "Yes."
"Then we begin your true path."
He turned and gestured toward the training platform. "You'll follow a customized cultivation track. One month, full immersion. I'll assign you a former assassin from the Empire for stealth mastery, and you'll train directly under the East Wing's elemental array to accelerate wind qi absorption."
He raised a finger.
"Week one: Wind and footwork. No daggers. Just breathe and step until you become invisible."
Week two: Integration. Every blade technique will be practiced blindfolded. You'll learn to feel the air, not see it."
Week three: Kill drills. Dummies, constructs, illusions. Kill with one strike or die trying."
"Week four: Silence and death. You'll infiltrate a mock fortress, eliminate guards, and extract a target—without alerting a single soul."
Wendy's eyes shone, not with joy, but with hunger.
"And after that?" she asked.
He stepped closer.
"After that, we hunt the Vehlmere bloodline. But not for retribution. For revelation. I want their secrets. Their allies. Their networks. You'll not only strike them down—you'll uproot their legacy."
The daggers shimmered again with a low hum. The jade had deepened to a viridian glow, and faint whorls of wind swirled around her boots.
"Each blade is keyed to your core," Charles added. "They evolve with you. At Ascendant Rank, they'll summon storms. You'll become a tempest no fortress can withstand."
Wendy bowed deeply, her voice steel.
"Then I will become a blade worthy of your name."
Charles gave a small nod and turned to leave.
Behind him, Wendy tested the Windblade Daggers for the first time.
One flick of her wrist—and the air split.
A breeze howled into the distance as the blades shimmered mid-motion, leaving phantom cuts across the surface of the pond in the garden. The water didn't splash.
It folded.
As if it had been slashed by thought alone.
Then she smiled. A real smile. One that was born not out of politeness, but out of purpose.
SIGMA chuckled softly from somewhere in Charles's mind.
[SIGMA: Yes. Assassin Class Spec Aptitude: 98.7%. Wind Affinity: Very Strong. Emotional resilience: sad but useful as a weapon. Optimization: Starting the path to an upgrade. That was also really cool.]
Charles smiled. "I thought so."
[SIGMA: You're messing with fate again.]
"Good," Charles murmured, gaze distant. "Because this world deserves a reckoning."
From the skies above the Ziglar estate, a distant rumble echoed.
Not thunder.
Not a storm.
But the wind's first whisper of a coming war—named Wendy.