Meeting hall of Duke of Frostfell…

  The Paladins settled into their seats around the polished oak table, each studying the detailed parchment that had been placed before them upon their arrival. The documents bore the official seal of the Duchy, their contents outlining the dire situation that had prompted their urgent summons across continental distances. Captain Draven's weathered fingers traced the edges of his copy as his eyes absorbed the carefully documented reports of corruption spreading through the eastern territories.

  At the head of the table, Duke Frostfell sat with practiced composure, flanked by his trusted retainers. The Sword Saint Anthony maintained his characteristic stoic bearing, while Arcane Seer Aurelius occasionally glanced between the assembled Paladins and the magical instruments scattered across a nearby side table—evidence of the extensive divination work that had preceded this meeting.

  The atmosphere carried the weight of impending crisis. Sergio's spear rested against his chair as he read, while Rhoghar's war hammer lay within easy reach—habits ingrained by years of service in dangerous territories. Sierra kept one hand near her bow even while seated, her Dawnbreaker training evident in her constant readiness for action.

  The Duke waited patiently, allowing his guests time to absorb the full scope of what they faced.

  Captain Draven's seasoned hands set the parchment down with deliberate precision. The polite nods and diplomatic gestures vanished like smoke, replaced by the rigid posture of a man who had stared into abyssal corruption across three continents. His steel-gray eyes locked onto the Duke—no longer the gaze of a respectful guest, but the unflinching stare of a Tier 4 Dawnbreaker calculating threat assessments and battle plans. The muscle along his jaw tightened as his fingers drummed once against the oak table, each tap marking the mental shift from courtroom to battlefield.

  "Exactly how many days has this corruption been spreading?" Draven's voice carried the authority of someone accustomed to demanding absolute truth in crisis situations. His gaze returned briefly to the parchment as he set it down with deliberate precision. "This only states that sightings were discovered a week ago, and that you confronted the suspected mastermind—a Necromancer from the Dark Tower—yesterday."

  Duke Frostfell's composed facade cracked slightly, a deep sigh of exasperation escaping before he could contain it. The weight of uncertainty clearly pressed upon him as he formulated his response.

  "I am afraid we truly don't know when this... blight started," the Duke admitted, his usual commanding presence dimmed by the admission of ignorance. "According to Baron Ashworth—Lord of Stoneford, to whom Borov Woods belongs—they had heard rumors of sick wild animals attacking villages, but there was no evidence suggesting corruption. The earliest they realized the true nature of the threat was when a frenzied Earthrender attacked their town."

  "That's when you also received the warnings from the Elven Delegation, I presume?" Sergio interjected sharply, immediately connecting the timeline of events.

  Duke Frostfell, clearly unaccustomed to being interrupted mid-speech, managed to hide his discomfort in a fraction of a second before nodding affirmatively.

  Priest Ivan smoothly picked up the conversation thread, his scholarly demeanor evident as he referenced the documents before them. "After which Baron Ashworth deployed his soldiers to track down the cause of this anomaly?" His finger traced a particular line on the parchment. "I see that they requested assistance from the Stone-Root Kinship. I have heard of this Druidic Society." He turned toward his companions with the confidence of someone well-versed in organizational networks. "They usually operate on the Eastern Continent, but several of their members have had run-ins with other squads—mostly in cooperative ventures." A radiant smile spread across his features as he spoke.

  As the squad's Cleric, Ivan bore responsibility for logistics and information gathering within the Church hierarchy, granting him privileged access to the extensive archives. His encyclopedic knowledge of inter-organizational cooperation had proven invaluable countless times, and he had specifically made a research trip to the archives to gather relevant intelligence about Eastern Continent operations prior to their departure.

  Draven nodded approvingly at Ivan's assessment. "Then it's fortunate they have a Druid dispatched to the location. Finding a Necromancer's hiding place within corrupted woods would be troublesome indeed without a nature magic user."

  "Captain!" Sheryl interjected with obvious annoyance, her voice carrying a distinctive pout. "I can also use divination to find their location. Why don't you rely on my expertise?"

  Every member of the Paladin squad struggled to suppress knowing smiles at this familiar protest. Sheryl was their youngest member, undeniably proficient in Divination and Astral Magic, but her mischievous and headstrong nature often complicated missions. While her predictions had indeed saved the team from certain doom on multiple occasions, her pathfinding abilities frequently led them in elaborate circles through unfamiliar terrain.

  Draven, recognizing the familiar pattern of one of Sheryl's spirited debates that could easily consume the entire morning, deftly steered the conversation back to operational priorities. His expression remained professionally neutral as he addressed the Duke directly.

  "Your Grace, we'll need transportation and a guide to the location so we can locate and resolve this threat as expeditiously as possible."

  The Duke's composure faltered slightly at the abrupt shift toward immediate action, his carefully planned hospitality suddenly rendered obsolete. "But surely you'll stay for lunch? I've arranged a proper banquet in your honor—"

  "With respect, Your Grace, such courtesies can wait until after we've resolved this crisis," Draven's voice carried the unshakeable resolve of a man who had witnessed too many situations deteriorate while officials focused on protocol over action. The Captain's steel-gray eyes remained fixed on the Duke with unwavering intensity.

  Duke Frostfell's disappointment was evident, but years of military and political experience had taught him when to defer to battlefield expertise. He nodded reluctantly, accepting the Paladins' sense of urgency despite his obvious preference for proper diplomatic ceremony.

  The Duke brought his hands together twice in a sharp, authoritative clap. An attendant immediately appeared at the chamber's entrance, moving with the practiced efficiency of palace staff accustomed to swift responses.

  "Usher in the Fourth Prince," Duke Frostfell commanded, his tone carrying both authority and a hint of resignation at the abbreviated proceedings.

  A youth bearing a clear familial resemblance to the Duke entered the chamber, his regal attire befitting his noble station. The signature auburn hair of the Duke's bloodline crowned his head, while a carefully maintained mustache spoke to his youthful attempts at projecting maturity. He offered proper courtesies to all present before turning his attention respectfully toward his father.

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  Duke Frostfell's expression brightened with paternal pride as he began the formal presentation. "Allow me to introduce the Fourth Prince of Frostfell Duchy, Giovanni."

  Prince Giovanni maintained his composed bearing throughout the introductions, having already received a thorough briefing regarding both the status of their distinguished guests and the grave nature of this audience during his journey to the meeting hall.

  After the formalities concluded, Duke Frostfell's gaze returned to Captain Draven. "I will have Giovanni accompany you on this journey as our representative. His personal retinue will follow your orders from this point forward." Giovanni nodded his head in firm affirmation of this arrangement.

  The Duke continued, "I have also prepared our finest steeds from the ducal stables suitable for such urgent travel. The journey will take approximately a day and a half, and should you decide to stop for rest, you should reach Stoneford on the eve of the day after tomorrow. I will write immediately to Baron Ashworth to accommodate you all and ensure the local military garrison cooperates fully with your investigation."

  The Duke rose from his seat, prompting everyone else to follow suit in respectful protocol.

  "I hope you will find the culprit of this tragedy, stop their evil plans, and root out whatever blight they have brought upon our lands." He placed his fist over his heart before extending his fingers skyward. "May the Light protect you."

  The Paladins performed the sacred salute in perfect unison, their voices joining in traditional response: "May the Light shine your path."

  Alph's consciousness settled into the familiar starry expanse of the Mind Garden, his eager mind immediately seeking out the celestial anomaly that had dominated his thoughts. The Tier 1 Hunter node hung suspended in the cosmic void, its position noticeably closer to his constellation than during his last visit. The drift was unmistakable, yet he couldn't determine whether the pace had changed from visual observation alone.

  "Shaper," he called out into the endless darkness, his voice echoing through the metaphysical space. "Has the Hunter node's movement accelerated since I was last here?"

  The ancient entity's presence stirred in the void, its attention focusing on the drifting star with calculated interest. "It appeared to have accelerated, albeit barely, some time ago before you entered," The Shaper replied in its usual stoic yet curious tone, the raspy quality of its voice carrying undertones of fascination.

  Alph felt a surge of excitement as the pieces aligned in his mind. "My conjecture seemed to be right."

  "What did you think of?" The Shaper's curiosity sharpened, its vast intellect clearly intrigued by whatever theory had formed in the young human's consciousness.

  "In the last few hours, I've trained three different skills from Tier 1 professions—Rogue, Druid, and Hunter paths respectively—despite not actually being any of those professions yet," Alph explained, his analytical mind organizing the evidence with lawyer-like precision. "Combined with what you just told me, it appears that intensive training stimulates the nodes somehow, causing them to move toward my constellation."

  The Shaper absorbed this hypothesis with evident relish, its ancient consciousness turning over the implications. "How fascinating indeed. The inactive nodes appear drawn to the energy signature of your constellation when you train—though of course, it would have to be familiar energy emitted by your existing Tier 0 nodes." The entity's presence shifted, directing Alph's attention toward other points of light. "Observe how the Rogue and Druid Tier 1 nodes have begun their own slow drift toward your constellation."

  Alph's enhanced perception traced the celestial movements The Shaper had indicated, noting the barely perceptible drift of those distant stellar points. The Rogue and Druid nodes moved with glacial slowness compared to the Hunter node's more pronounced migration, but the pattern was undeniably present—a cosmic choreography responding to his earthly training efforts.

  As his initial enthusiasm settled into thoughtful analysis, Alph addressed the ancient entity with measured consideration. "At least we've determined what's causing such drastic changes. However, the ultimate consequences remain unknown at this point."

  "Do you wish to accelerate the process, or continue at the current pace?" The Shaper's question carried no judgment, merely clinical curiosity about which path the human would choose.

  Alph took a long moment to weigh the implications, his consciousness drifting through the starfield as he considered the risks and potential rewards. When he finally spoke, his voice carried decisive resolve. "I shall accelerate it."

  "Commendable courage," The Shaper replied with what might have passed for approval, though internally the ancient entity mused with satisfaction that its toy seemed to be returning to the path of fascinating developments it craved after millennia of tedious existence.

  "Until next time," Alph said, preparing to withdraw from the Mind Garden, unaware of The Shaper's true motivations. Even if he had known the entity's self-serving nature, he likely wouldn't have been surprised—after all, what morality could one expect from an ancient consciousness that had endured solitary confinement across countless ages?

  The evening shadows stretched long across the forest floor as Alph made his weary way back toward the camp, his body aching from hours of intensive training. The familiar sounds of military activity grew louder as he approached the perimeter, but something felt different about the atmosphere. Soldiers moved with purposeful urgency between the tents, their faces bearing expressions that puzzled him—a mixture of agitation and unmistakable relief that seemed contradictory given their dangerous posting.

  Confusion gnawed at him as he navigated through the organized chaos toward his squad's section. Men packed equipment with efficient haste, their movements suggesting preparation for departure rather than the routine evening preparations he'd grown accustomed to over the past few days.

  He found Lukan inside their shared tent, methodically folding his belongings into his travel pack with the practiced efficiency of a veteran soldier. Alph stepped through the tent flap and set down his gear on his assigned bedroll, the soft thud of his equipment drawing his tentmate's immediate attention.

  Before Alph could voice the questions forming in his mind, Lukan looked up with evident relief. "Glad you're back in one piece, lad." His weathered face creased into something approaching a smile. "I know what you're about to ask. The sergeant relayed new orders to retreat back to garrison this afternoon."

  The news struck Alph like a physical blow, his tired mind struggling to process this unexpected development. "Retreat?" The word emerged as barely more than a whisper, bafflement clear in his voice.

  Lukan continued, shaking his head with a mixture of disbelief and resignation. "I know, I was surprised too. But rumor has it that some bigshot is coming from the capital to solve this crisis. Us low-rung conscripts aren't required for this operation, it seems."

  "Even bigger than the elder from before?" Alph asked, his mind immediately conjuring the image of Beramund and wondering what kind of authority could supersede such a distinguished figure's involvement in this critical situation.

  Lukan nodded affirmatively, continuing to fold his spare clothing with mechanical precision. "That's what they're saying. Word came down from the top—we're to march at the break of dawn tomorrow, straight back to Stoneford." He gestured toward Alph's scattered gear with a veteran's practicality. "Best get your belongings sorted now, lad. You know how the sergeants get when someone holds up the march."

  Alph began gathering his equipment, his movements automatic while his mind raced through the implications. The unexpected retreat would force him to completely adjust his training plans, but perhaps returning to Stoneford would offer different opportunities for training. The irony wasn't lost on him—just as he'd begun to understand the mysterious forces affecting his constellation, circumstances were pulling him away from the ideal training environment he'd discovered in the corrupted woods.

  He folded his spare tunic methodically, already calculating how to adapt his accelerated development strategy to whatever conditions awaited them back at the garrison.