Alfred and Ben returned to the palace under the cover of a moonless night, their faces grim, their clothes torn and smeared with mud and faint traces of blood. They bypassed the usual royal entrances, opting instead for a secluded servants' gate hidden behind overgrown hedges, moving with the practiced stealth of seasoned scouts. The air in the palace felt thick with unspoken anxieties, a stark contrast to the verdant, dangerous silence of the Whisperwood. Ben's left arm was crudely bandaged, a deep, angry gash from a bandit's blade still oozing faintly, while Alfred limped, his ornate rapier's hilt cracked where he'd used it to block a particularly brutal blow. The usual mischievous glint in Alfred's eyes was absent, replaced by a weary grimness Mark had rarely seen.
They found Mark still awake in the sprawling, dimly lit cartography room, surrounded by a fortress of maps, scrolls, and dusty ledgers. A single flickering candle cast long, dancing shadows that mimicked the unrest in the kingdom. Mark, who had been meticulously cross-referencing old land surveys with Ellaine's initial magical resource scans, looked up, his expression hardening at the sight of his two friends.
"What happened?" Mark demanded, his voice low, a sense of cold dread pooling in his gut. The state of his most trusted companions spoke volumes before they uttered a word.
Ben, his voice a low rumble, recounted the ambush with uncharacteristic detail, devoid of his usual stoicism. "It wasn't just monsters, Your Highness. It was Duke Alaric's men. Well-armed mercenaries, paid to attack our trade routes." He paused, his gaze fixed on Mark. "And they were working with the mutated wolves. Driving them, using them as a shield wall." He reached into a pouch at his belt, pulling out a small, bloodied silver insignia. The crest of Duke Alaric, intricately carved, its edges still sharp. "This was on their leader. I took it from his belt."
Alfred, usually quick with a jest, was unusually quiet, his eyes distant as if replaying the brutal fight. "They were organized, Mark. Too organized for common bandits. Their tactics, their equipment… this is more than just opportunism. It's systematic. It's… sabotage." He shuddered faintly, a reaction Mark noticed immediately. The casual pervy demeanor of Alfred was gone, replaced by a raw, indignant anger. "They almost had us, Mark. They weren't after coin; they were after blood, and to ensure those trade routes remained impassable."
Mark took the insignia, his fingers tightening around the cold metal. The truth, ugly and insidious, settled over him like a suffocating shroud. "So, Alaric isn't just resisting our reforms. He's actively undermining the kingdom's security to protect his own illicit gains, and perhaps even to further destabilize the crown's authority, paving the way for... what, exactly?" He looked at the crest, the symbol of a noble house twisted into a tool of treachery. The sheer audacity, the depth of the betrayal, stung. "This isn't just about economics anymore. This is treason. A direct act of war against the crown and the people." His voice dropped, barely a whisper. "He's willing to sacrifice etabsam for his own pockets. He doesn't just want to benefit from the chaos, he wants to create it."
Ellaine, who had been listening in horrified silence from her corner of the room, now covered her mouth with a trembling hand. Her earlier excitement about the coal discoveries was overshadowed by the chilling revelation. "But… Duke Alaric? He's one of the most powerful nobles in the entire kingdom! If this gets out without undeniable, irrefutable proof, it could tear the kingdom apart. Civil war, perhaps, if he can rally enough of his vassals. His family line is ancient, and his network of alliances runs deep." Her mind, so used to the logical patterns of magic and politics, struggled to reconcile such blatant, self-destructive treachery.
"Which is precisely why we move with extreme caution," Mark stated, his mind already racing, processing the new, terrifying variables. His managerial instincts, honed by years of navigating corporate espionage and internal conflicts, kicked in. "Ben, your wound needs proper tending by a Royal Physician, not a rough bandage. Alfred, your rapier requires the finest smith. These are immediate concerns." He then turned to Ellaine, his gaze piercing. "Lady Ellaine, your magic. Can you perform discreet surveillance? We need more than an insignia and a harrowing tale. We need undeniable proof: proof of communication, of payment, of their direct involvement in these attacks. Something concrete, something that even the most skeptical advisor cannot dismiss in a formal court."
Ellaine nodded, her face pale but determined, the clumsy girl momentarily forgotten. "It will be difficult, Your Highness. Divination spells are not always effective for eavesdropping on conversations, as they require immense mana and precise targeting. But I can attempt to trace magical signatures, look for unusual movements of mana around his estate or his known agents. Perhaps even identify the source of the monsters' unnatural aggression – a magical catalyst could explain their ferocity." She was already formulating complex spell arrays in her mind.
"Good," Mark said, his jaw tight with grim resolve. "And Ben, Alfred, as soon as your injuries are tended and you're back on your feet, I need you to return to the Whisperwood. Not for a fight, not to engage, but to find a living captive. One who can speak. One who can identify Alaric's steward, or perhaps even another high-ranking conspirator. Someone whose testimony can be cross-referenced, to ensure its reliability."
Ben hesitated, his eyes shadowed. "It will be dangerous, Your Highness. They'll be expecting us now. They'll have tightened their security, perhaps even laid traps. They know we're onto them."
"That's why you'll need to be ghosts," Mark countered, his voice firm, his eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight. "Invisible, unheard. We need a witness, a confession from their own ranks. Something that cannot be denied in court. We need proof from within their ranks." He knew the risks were immense, that he was asking his friends to put their lives on the line for a second time. But the stakes were higher than individual lives; they were the life of a kingdom. The battle for etabsam wasn't just in the ledgers; it was in the shadows, against enemies who wore noble crests and poisoned the very ground they stood on.