As Orimo turned to leave, a faint, muffled sound reached his ears.
"MMMM—!"
He stopped.
His gaze snapped toward the shadows.
There — a figure bound against the stone wall.
Princess Amelia.
Her wrists were cuffed high above her head. Ankles restrained. Waist chained tight. Her mouth sealed with tape, eyes wide with terror as she struggled weakly.
Orimo stepped closer and ripped the tape away in one motion.
"Please—" she gasped.
"I know," Orimo said calmly.
Aegis Mantra surged.
His arms turned pitch-black as he crushed the restraints one by one — metal snapping, chains shattering, cuffs breaking like brittle glass.
Amelia collapsed forward.
"Thank you," she whispered, tears trembling in her voice, before running toward the exit without looking back.
Orimo didn't follow.
He turned the other way.
Each step echoed.
Heavy. Absolute.
The drums of revenge thundered inside his chest.
{Meanwhile — Ashryn Witherfall}
Ashryn walked through the streets, his ash-gray skin catching the morning light.
Thread-like scars traced his arms, neck, and face.
Behind him, his long black coat fluttered like a funeral banner.
Pale yellow eyes stared ahead — not at the people, but at the future he intended to carve.
"It's planted," he murmured, lips curling faintly.
He reached the square.
A wooden stage awaited.
Ashryn raised one hand.
Silence fell.
Then, in a deep, commanding voice, he spoke.
"Today is the day."
People leaned in.
"Today, we march to the royal palace and force the king from his throne."
A pause.
"And reclaim our freedom."
For a heartbeat, nothing moved.
Then—
Cheers erupted.
Cries, fists raised, voices roaring in blind faith as the crowd surged forward, marching toward the palace.
Distance: 15 Minutes
Orimo Kuzan moved through the island.
His path was clear.
His target decided.
Two forces were marching.
Only one would decide the battlefield.
{Obsidian Crown — Unknown Castle}
Four black thrones stood beneath a dim, violet glow.
Sora Nithel spoke first, his voice cold and measured.
"Do whatever you like. I chose you because you're the master of politics."
The Empty Throne sat above them all.
A black, smiling mask. Cloaked in darkness.
Its voice echoed — mechanical, calm, terrifying.
"Today, we claim our first kingdom."
"Today, we become an organization capable of challenging the World Dominion."
Ryvos Thorn laughed loudly.
"I bet they're trembling — hiding behind women! Wororororororo!"
The Empty Throne cut through the laughter.
"Do not underestimate them."
Silence followed.
The board was set.