✦❘༻ Chapter Five ༺❘✦
Deep within the Red Forest, where the wisdom of the vampires reigns, whispers echoed among nobles and warriors:
"Martin has not grown weak; he remains as he was—that is the terrifying truth."
Meanwhile, across the kingdoms of the world, kings, sorcerers, and armies pondered:
"If he still holds such power, what does this mean for the future of Middle Earth?"
But far from palaces and kingdoms, in Wisteria, in a dim corner of a small tavern barely large enough for its patrons, another game was being played—a game not of armies, but of minds, grudges, and betrayal.
Men gathered around an old wooden table, at its center a half-empty bottle of wine and untouched glasses. The air was thick with the scent of tobacco and danger.
The first man spoke in a low voice, sharp as a dagger's blade:
"The plan won't be delayed any longer. The leader won't wait five more years to claim what he desires."
He glanced at one of the seated men with hesitation, then leaned forward, his voice quiet but full of concern:
"But, have you heard what people say? It is said he stood toe to toe with the Queen of Blood. Time has not weakened Martin; he remains the monster we feared decades ago."
Silence reigned for a moment before the first man laughed shortly, tinged with disdain:
"That is exactly why now is the right time."
One raised an eyebrow and asked skeptically:
"How so? If he is as strong as ever, doesn't that mean we are in greater danger?"
The first man tilted his head, looking at their faces one by one before saying with a faint smile:
"Don't worry, I have a plan."
One of the men approached cautiously, narrowing his eyes:
"And what do you intend to do?"
He took a sip from his glass, then slowly set it down, speaking confidently:
"I will seek support from that man—he owes loyalty to our leader, the Fourth Elf Minister."
Their eyes widened slightly, exchanging glances. There was no need to mention the name; everyone understood who was meant.
One whispered, a mix of fear and astonishment in his voice:
"You mean that man?"
The first man smiled but said nothing.
At that moment, the tavern seemed to grow colder.
As tensions rose, the door opened with a hoarse wooden creak. A mysterious figure entered, well concealed, walking slowly toward the table under suspicious gazes.
One of the seated men shouted nervously:
"Here he is."
It was the leader of the Dark River Mercenaries, a man known for his ruthlessness, fueled by deep hatred for Martin and bound by dubious loyalty to the Fourth Elf Minister.
He sat heavily and looked at those present with the gaze of one deciding their fate before speaking.
One man hesitated briefly but chose to speak cautiously:
"Mercenary leader of the Dark River, the Fourth Elf Minister receives his orders from the Great Lord himself—our revered King and Emperor, the Chosen One, King of the Elves and Lord of the World, Philbatah."
The name alone was enough to instill awe in the hall, yet the mercenary leader showed no respect.
He added, "That means the Fourth Elf Minister is a sharp man who dislikes mistakes."
Silence fell again until the unexpected happened.
Suddenly, the mercenary leader unleashed a dark aura filled with rage and contempt, almost suffocating those seated. Cups trembled on the table, and everyone felt the air grow heavier, as if death had drawn a step closer.
He said in a powerful voice:
"I am Iber the Tall. Do you think I am less than the Fourth Elf Minister? Your tongues have brought you death, and I will cut off your heads."
Before he could grasp his blade, a calm voice interrupted:
"Arara, Iber, it's been a while. You are still as greedy as ever. What's with this anger? Didn't the price please you? Or has your fury towards humans faded?"
It was the Fourth Elf Minister himself.
His eyes showed no fear but regarded the mercenary leader as a master would a wild dog no longer obedient.
Iber clenched his fist, but instead of attacking, he laughed slowly—a laugh as sharp as a stab:
"Fool, if you don't teach your followers good manners, you will lose them for sure."
Everyone exchanged looks; the tension was thick. The edge of a sword was close to a neck, yet no one dared to move first.
That tavern was too small to hold history, but it held men who would change it forever:
The Fourth Elf Minister, the leader of the Dark River Mercenaries, and some elite Elf knights.
That night, there was no victor or vanquished, only an unwritten pact, a conspiracy woven in darkness—a decision that would topple the balance of Middle Earth.
Outside, the night was darker than usual, as if the stars had withdrawn in fear of what was happening inside.
After that night, the world would never be the same.
A new history would be written...