The capital of Hesmir, the Lumina Palace, in a vast conference chamber, a tense council between the royal family and the king’s loyal nobles is underway. King Rumi sits in silence, rubbing his temple as he listens to the two sides argue.

  “This is not merely a war but a rebellion of the merchants; sooner or later they will challenge the crown. My view is to unite with Greaton’s forces to form the most effective pincer attack to strike down Mornet. This is also Hesmor’s opportunity to purge those whose ideas are deviant and oppose the monarchy.”

  Hesmor Voga, speaking for the royal line, the loser in the previous True King contest, declares loudly. He has long coveted the profits the merchants have made; he wants to seize this chance to destroy the leadership of the three great houses, reduce their influence, and force them back into line.

  On the contrary, Starfor Melor, Count of Melor, appears composed. He replies gently:

  “Duke Voga makes everything sound simple. I know why you are anxious. Frankly, your domain lies between Hesmir and Mornet. In peacetime this is the lucrative link between the two largest economic centers of Hesmor, but in this period it becomes a war buffer. You fear that war will ravage your lands, so you need support from the border nobility and Greaton to ease the pressure. Am I right, Voga?”

  Voga says nothing; his silence proves Melor’s words true. Melor represents the nobility; his domain lies along the Seawall mountains, bordering Voga’s lands. Aster’s forces could bypass him entirely and strike directly at Hesmir. For Melor, loyalty to the king does not necessarily mean loyalty to Rumi. Anyone who can guarantee the interests and power of the nobility can be king. His only worry is whether Aster will maintain the monarchy when he seizes power, since those Aster collaborates with are cunning, veteran merchants.

  “Moreover, this is a civil war, Duke Voga; the Half-Mornet treaty only stipulates that Greaton will assist us if Golden invades. We do not have the right to demand Greaton send troops. I think what we need is negotiation, a peaceful resolution, Your Majesty.” Melor continues.

  “"Peace"? You just said the word "peace"?” King Rumi suddenly speaks. He stares at Melor as if seeing into his very soul, then stands and points at the map.

  “Do you know why Aster rebelled? It is precisely because of the word ‘peace’ that he rebelled. Do you really think he united all the opposition only for the two words ‘True King’?”

  “On the other hand, this is war, Melor! Anything can happen. Aster’s army might strike directly at Voga’s domain, but they might also split forces along Golden’s border to attack the upper wing along the Emerald River, or march the Seawall mountains to attack your land. They might even sail straight into Hesmir Bay. How can you be sure they will attack Voga and not take other routes?”

  This time Melor is silent; the count knows that Rumi has read something.

  “Aster’s forces far exceed ours; they are financially backed by the three great houses, and there are countless mercenaries from Noland and Break Island. A battle we cannot win, Aster can launch an attack without notifying us. He only announces because he doesn’t want to expend too much of his internal forces in the coming struggle. He wants to pressure the nobility into surrender. And when the nobles waver, a sweet cake is offered. Am I right, Melor?” Rumi sighs.

  Melor remains calm; he shows neither fear nor surprise. The strategic situation is clear. Aster’s troops outnumber theirs; Aster is the legitimate successor. In terms of sentiment and reason, this is simply a battle among royal houses.

  “Traitor! So you already knew beforehand, you knew Aster would not attack your lands, which is why you can be so calm.” Voga slams the table hard, his face crimson as he shouts in fury.

  “Traitor? This realm is still ruled by the Hesmor line. The True King must be worthy, and I simply choose to serve the worthy,” Melor replies calmly.

  “Guards! Arrest those traitors and throw them all in prison!” Voga cries, purple with rage.

  “Let them go, Voga! And shut up.” Rumi narrows his brows, ordering Voga to be silent.

  “But...”

  “I said let them go.” Rumi snaps angrily.

  The nobles walked out of the palace as if nothing had happened. One of them, drenched in sweat and trembling with fear, looked at Melor like a god. He hurried up to him and whispered,

  “Count Melor, how did you know King Rumi would let us go?”

  Melor looked at the man as if he were an idiot. His contempt was so great that he didn’t even bother to answer. He simply quickened his pace, lost in thought, calculating something in his mind.

  Meanwhile, inside the palace, Voga slammed the table in fury. The duke stared at Rumi in confusion and demanded.

  “Why did you let them go! They might join forces with Aster’s army to attack us! Capturing them could have frightened the nobles into submission.”

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  Rumi looked at him strangely, puzzled, and asked,

  “Were you really nominated to fight in the Battle of the Two Kings?”

  Voga flushed red. He knew he wasn’t very smart. The only reason he had been nominated was because he was strong, tremendously strong. He was the mightiest Battle King of Hesmor, the one who had once driven Gaiman into retreat during the purge of the Writers’ Guild branch in Hesmir.

  “Nobles don’t share much kinship, Voga like the way we do. Capturing them means nothing. They would simply elect another family head. Besides, doing so would truly turn the nobles from neutral to hostile. We still have a chance, Voga! As long as the nobles don’t intervene, we may not yet lose.”

  “You have a plan, Rumi?” Voga asked in surprise.

  “Of course. Send for the envoy of Greaton,” King Rumi replied calmly.

  Seabloom Academy, inside the principal’s office, an old yet elegantly beautiful short woman paced back and forth in agitation. Sitting not far from her was a bearded man gulping down mouthful after mouthful of liquor. Principal Velen of Seabloom frowned. She was a striking woman with violet-pink eyes, flowing black hair like a soft tide, slender brows, and a noble, high nose.

  “Both of you, get out of my office right now!” Velen shouted in frustration.

  “Oh my, someone’s grown bold! You’re kicking an old lady like me out now? What if I don’t go, huh? I can take ten of you any day!” Xevia replied arrogantly.

  “Oh, so you’ve dropped the act now, Xevia?” Renes sneered.

  Boom!

  A psychic blast from Xevia sent Renes flying, smashing through the wall and hurling the bearded man far outside.

  “Hey! Hey! Stop wrecking my office already, you two! I’ve received the report!” Velen massaged her temples, clearly, this sort of thing had happened more than once.

  “If my guess is right,” Velen said thoughtfully, “Aster’s army won’t attack.”

  “Huh? Why not?” Xevia frowned in confusion.

  “Aster’s forces outnumber everyone else. If he truly intended to start a war, he wouldn’t need to make a nationwide announcement or leak it to the press. What he wants is to win without fighting, to preserve as much strength as possible. Soon, the nobles will abandon Rumi, and he’ll be forced to surrender.”

  “So that means the war won’t reach us, right?” Xevia laughed.

  “For now, yes,” Velen sighed. “But once Aster becomes the True King, the real war will begin. By then, we’ll likely have no choice but to return.”

  Although they had only come here on assignment, time had tied them to this place. They had grown fond of its people. Xevia grew silent; she wished she could stay just a little longer. Returning to the Sky Tower always felt unbearably dull.

  “On another note, we’ve received a notice from the Alliance. They confirmed that the Eighth Relic has descended, the bearer of the final Wish has appeared. The Lone Walkers are stirring again… war will once more sweep across the continent.”Velen said sternly, little did Velen know that the one who possessed the final Wish was right here, within her very own academy.

  “Welcome, envoy of Greaton,” Rumi smiled.

  He raised his hand politely to greet a refined-looking man with a curled mustache and a monocle. The man wore an elegant suit adorned with the insignia of “Archmage.” Clearly, he was a powerful individual, Oracus, the Thunder Voice, a lightning-element mage of the rarest kind and Greaton’s official envoy.

  “You’re far too courteous, King Rumi,” Oracus replied.

  He sat down opposite Rumi, completely at ease, as though he were at home even though the man before him was the king of a nation. Rumi pretended not to notice and poured tea for Oracus himself.

  “You already know the situation of our kingdom, Mr Oracus,” Rumi began. “My nephew, Aster, has started a civil war, and ..."

  “I am truly sorry to hear that, King Rumi,” Oracus interrupted, sounding impatient. “But the terms of our treaty make no mention of assisting you in a civil war. You’ll have to manage this on your own.”

  Rumi fell silent for a moment. He didn’t appear offended. Instead, he stood, hands clasped behind his back, and spoke slowly.

  “I know the treaty doesn’t require Greaton to send troops in an internal conflict. However… Greaton can still offer support in another way, one that wouldn’t violate the agreement.”

  “Oh? And what exactly do you mean?” Oracus asked, intrigued.

  Rumi took a sip of tea and began recounting a story every child knew by heart.

  “Since the age of Madenes, a god once appeared. He created the Undead and spread them across the land like a plague, bringing terror to all of Veynar. At that time, to resist such dreadful power, an Alliance of races was formed to destroy that mighty god. Drumrak, the Thunder God, king of the dwarves, forged ten legendary weapons for the Champions of each race. Helion, emperor of Greaton back then, was the Champion of human, the first wielder of the Flame Sword Fearless. Together, they succeeded in slaying Madenes. But not every race was noble enough to sacrifice for a greater cause. One such race was the Naga. Syra’Manthe, the Voice of the Tide, agreed to the alliance only when Greaton ceded an island to the east, now known as Syra Island. After the battle, Greaton kept its word, and since then, the eastern seas of Greaton have never been attacked by the Naga again.”

  Oracus frowned. He knew exactly where Rumi was heading, but he kept silent whatever accusation came, he wouldn’t admit it.

  “Strange, isn’t it?” Rumi continued. “The Naga have never once attacked Greaton’s eastern coast, yet they strike at Mornet Bay of Hesmor, a place far farther from the Deep Sea. Stranger still, each year, Hesmor pays Greaton a hefty tribute, merely for ‘protection’ against the Naga.”

  “You’ve told quite a tale, Rumi,” Oracus smiled faintly. “But it’s nothing more than speculation. Amusing? Yes! but if that’s all, perhaps we should end our discussion here.”

  “Amusing?” Rumi chuckled softly. “Then tell me, Oracus! If I were to say that Aster’s rise as True King would break the Half-Mornet Treaty, would you still find it amusing? Every Greaton merchant would once again be taxed, crushed beneath local competition or expelled entirely from Hesmor’s markets.”

  Oracus’s smile faded. Something dawned on him. His expression shifted from doubt to certainty, and then to grim silence.

  “That’s right, Oracus,” Rumi said coldly. “Aster will wage a full-scale war against Golden, and this time, Golden will be the victim. Hesmor will no longer need Greaton’s protection because Hesmor itself will become the invader. The treaty will be broken.”

  The air grew heavy. Both men locked eyes, unmoving, waiting for the other to speak first. Whoever broke the silence would lose. At last, Oracus spoke quietly:

  “You know, King Rumi… Greaton truly cannot aid you directly. Doing so would indeed violate the treaty. However…”

  Rumi smiled. He knew he had already won.