Makara, with an exaggerated flourish, gave a deep, theatrical bow, almost toppling over in the process. "Your Majesties," he slurred, handing over the scroll with a tipsy grin. King Vio accepted the scroll, his eyes scrutinising the intact royal seal—a golden parchment embossed with the symbol of the High Council, a clear sign of its authenticity. This was not something to be taken lightly. Breaking the seal carefully, he unrolled the parchment. His eyes scanned the lines of text as King Dawnes and King Hersery leaned in, their faces drawn with anticipation and concern.

  Message Inscribed Upon the Scroll:

  To the Tri-Kings of the Eastern Region,

  With heavy hearts, we bring news both startling and grave. We regret to inform you that all attempts to dissuade King Azure from pursuing this war have proven in vain.

  Of his four children, three—the younger heirs—have pledged their full support to their father’s campaign. Only the firstborn, Prince Zhao, stood in open defiance of his father’s aggression. For his opposition, he has been placed under house arrest within his own province, near the borderlands of King Atlann’s realm.

  Know also this dire report: many villages and cities within the Azurian Kingdom, whether they resisted or not, have been mercilessly razed to the ground. Those who survived the slaughter now flee westward, beyond King Azure’s reach. A few scattered groups have slipped through his tightening grasp and are now making their way toward the eastern plains of Rohena, seeking shelter and protection under your benevolent care.

  Lastly, the scroll bears a whisper: certain members of the High Council secretly oppose King Azure’s relentless march to war, yet find themselves powerless to act against him.

  Thus concludes the message of the scroll

  The tent fell into a deep, contemplative silence as the kings absorbed the weight of this new information. King Hersery was the first to break the silence. "It seems that even within Azure’s own kingdom, there are those who do not support his reckless ambitions," he mused. "Prince Zhao... yes, I remember him from when he was a child. Strong-willed and with a good heart. If we could somehow reach him, he might become a valuable ally."

  King Dawnes nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. “And these refugees... it could be a ploy, but if they are indeed fleeing for their lives and willing to join our cause, we must be prepared to arm them and offer sanctuary. Desperation can breed strong fighters, but we must also remain vigilant for spies.”

  King Vio, still processing the contents of the scroll, folded it neatly and placed it back on the table. His expression was one of deep contemplation. "This war has just become more intricate," he said slowly. "If even King Azure's inner circle is divided, and still he persists in this path of destruction, then there is more at play here than we can see. We must tread carefully. Every decision now carries even greater weight."

  The kings then turned their collective gaze to Makara, their eyes narrowing as if trying to gauge what more he might know. King Vio’s voice broke the silence, “And now, let’s see what our messenger can tell us.”

  But Makara, oblivious to the tension in the room and their penetrating stares, was preoccupied with tipping his sake gourd to his lips, gulping down what remained of his drink.

  Outside the tent, the night was cool, the sky a blanket of stars, and the air carried the faint scent of smoke from numerous campfires scattered throughout the camp. General Mong led Shawn to a small campfire where a group of soldiers were preparing a simple meal. As the general approached, the soldiers immediately stood to attention, their hands snapping to their sides.

  “At ease,” General Mong said calmly. “Can I have a bowl for the young boy here?” he added, nodding toward Shawn. Without hesitation, one of the soldiers ladled some hearty stew into a bowl and handed it to the general.

  "Here," Mong said, passing the bowl to Shawn with a small nod. "Eat up. It might be a long night ahead."

  Shawn took the bowl gratefully, feeling the warmth of the stew seep through his fingers. As he began to eat, his mind raced with thoughts of what might be unfolding inside the tent. Suddenly, Shawn's thoughts were interrupted by the voice of General Mong. "So, what's your story, boy? And how do you know the drunk?" General Mong's tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp and probing.

  Shawn hesitated for a moment, recalling Makara’s warning not to reveal too much about his true identity. He knew he had to tread carefully. Keeping Makara’s advice in mind, he began his tale cautiously. "When the news broke out that King Azure was waging war, our village was attacked. King Azure's soldiers came without warning, and they... they slaughtered everyone. I lost my grandfather that day." Shawn paused, his voice thick with emotion, recalling the terrifying memories. "I was about to be killed too, but Makara... he saved me. Since then, I've been travelling with him."

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  As Shawn spoke, General Mong subtly activated his core ability, ‘Seek Truth’. This power enabled him to discern the sincerity of a person's words, to sense the currents of truth or deceit flowing within them. As the general concentrated, his aura shifted ever so slightly—a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer in the night air. Shawn sensed a change in the atmosphere around them, a shift in General Mong's behaviour.

  General Mong listened carefully, noting the quiver in Shawn's voice, the way his eyes darted as he spoke. The story seemed genuine enough, yet General Mong could detect gaps—pieces of truth wrapped in layers of omission. He could feel that Shawn was hiding something, perhaps out of fear or to protect himself from danger.

  General Mong, however, did not press further. He had heard enough to understand that the boy had indeed suffered greatly and that his journey had been fraught with peril. He could sense the boy’s fear and loss, but also a spark of resilience that had kept him moving forward. The general’s expression softened slightly, a rare show of empathy breaking through his otherwise stern exterior. He realised this young boy had endured more pain and despair in a few days than most experienced in a lifetime.

  “You've been through a lot for someone your age,” General Mong said quietly, his tone unexpectedly gentle. "War spares no one, not even the young." He paused, then added, "But remember, in these times, it's best to keep your wits about you and trust wisely to move forward."

  Shawn nodded, grateful for the general's words, and continued to eat his stew, feeling a bit more at ease. The campfire crackled, sending sparks up into the dark sky, casting dancing shadows on the ground around them. The warmth of the fire was a small comfort in the cool night air. After some time, a soldier who stood guard entered the tent, and a few seconds later, he emerged from the large tent and hurried towards General Mong and Shawn. He spoke urgently, "General Mong, the kings are calling for you and the young boy." Without a moment's hesitation, General Mong and Shawn quickly made their way back to the tent.

  Inside, the atmosphere was tense. The Tri-Kings stood together, their expressions inscrutable but tinged with a strange amusement. Shawn's eyes darted around the room, searching for Makara. He spotted him in a corner, his usual bravado replaced by a look of shock and unease. It was clear something had happened in the short time they were away.

  Just moments earlier, when the Tri-Kings had turned their gaze towards Makara, he had been in the middle of drinking from his sake gourd. King Hersery leaned in closer to the other two kings, his voice barely a whisper but filled with a contemplative edge. "If he can deliver a message to us under these unpredictable circumstances," he muttered, "perhaps he's not just any ordinary messenger. He might be more resourceful than we realise."

  King Vio and King Dawnes exchanged thoughtful glances, considering King Hersery's words. They could make sense of what he was saying. To navigate the dangerous territory between the kingdoms and arrive at their camp with an intact royal seal spoke of someone either incredibly lucky or exceptionally skilled.

  King Vio, his eyes still fixed on Makara, nodded slowly. "You might be right," he said softly. "A man who can move between enemy lines with such ease might just be what we need right now. And if he truly is just a messenger, well, we have a use for his talents."

  The three kings turned their full attention back to Makara, who, sensing the shift in the air and the weight of their stares, slowly lowered the gourd. Makara had a sinking feeling that he was about to find out just how much the kings intended to make use of his skills, whether he wanted to or not.

  Makara, suddenly feeling cornered, cleared his throat nervously and tried to lighten the mood. "Your Majesties," he began with a forced chuckle, "I’m just a humble messenger, nothing more." His words were meant to be reassuring, but they came out strained. The grin on his face faded as he noticed the Tri-Kings exchanging glances, each of them wearing a knowing smile, as if they shared a secret. Their collective gaze returned to Makara, sizing him up as if he were prey.

  King Vio finally spoke, his tone cold and deliberate, "Just what we wanted." The implication of his words hung heavy in the air, and Makara's face drained of colour. His bravado crumbled, and a look of fear crept into his eyes. "No, Majesties," he stammered, his voice shaky. "Not that. Please, not that." But the kings remained unfazed, their expressions unyielding. It was clear they had made up their minds, and whatever fate they had in store for Makara, it wasn't one he would be able to talk his way out of.

  The tension in the tent was thick enough to cut with a blade, and Shawn, now standing at the entrance with General Mong, felt it press down on him like a physical weight. He glanced sideways at General Mong, whose expression remained impassive, though his eyes held a flicker of concern. Sensing the boy's hesitation, General Mong gave a slight nod toward King Vio, silently communicating that he believed the boy and his companion could be trusted.

  “Step forward, young boy!” King Hersery commanded, his voice sharp and authoritative, slicing through the silence. Shawn hesitated, his heart hammering in his chest. He could feel every eye in the tent on him, judging him, weighing him. General Mong, sensing his unease, gave him a gentle nudge forward. Swallowing hard, Shawn took a deep breath and stepped toward the centre of the tent, feeling the gravity of the moment.

  King Hersery's gaze never wavered as he spoke, his tone a mixture of urgency and command. “You and the drunken messenger over there....,” he began, nodding toward Makara, who had by now steadied himself into a more sober demeanour, “....are to make your way to the coastal city of my kingdom in the east, which is a night’s horse ride from here. When you reach the docks there, show this medal…”—he produced a small, intricately designed medal, engraved with the crest of his kingdom—“..to anyone there. They’ll recognise it as my order and arrange for a boat to take you to the Kingdom of Atlantis. You are to deliver this scroll to King Atlann of Atlantis in person.”

  He paused for a moment, his gaze locking onto Shawn's, letting the importance of the task sink in. “And that’s not all,” he continued. “Once you’ve delivered the scroll to King Atlann, you are to find Prince Zhao’s kingdom, and there you will deliver this second scroll to him.” King Hersery handed over another scroll, this one sealed with the royal insignia of all three kings, a rare and solemn sight.

  Sword Master.

  Sword Master