Lydia stepped out into the quiet morning air and sat beside the man she had hypnotized—still under the spell, still convinced she was his wife. She leaned in gently, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder.
*"Husband,"* she said softly, *"tell me more about this place. Tell me about the South Kingdom."*
The man turned to her, his eyes distant, as though reaching deep into memory. Then he spoke, voice calm but firm:
*"The South is unlike the other kingdoms. They call us the Kingdom of Wisdom, Peace, and Truth."*
His gaze drifted toward the distant skyline, where soft hills met the edge of the sun.
*"We don't raise warriors from birth. We raise thinkers. Strategists. Seers. Our children are not burdened by duty—they are taught the power of stillness, the strength in silence, and the force behind every word. We believe that a mind sharpened with truth can cut deeper than a sword."*
Lydia's eyes narrowed slightly, the demon within her listening keenly.
*"But don't mistake our peace for weakness,"* the man continued, his tone darker now. *"We may not strike first, but when we do… it ends in bloodshed. Quick. Precise. Unforgiving. We fight with knowledge and the element of surprise. That's how we survived the Great Split."*
He paused and looked at her, more focused now.
*"They say our ancestors hid forbidden scrolls beneath this very kingdom. Secrets even the Hive Council fears. That's why the South is left mostly untouched—no one wants to disturb what sleeps here."*
Lydia smiled slowly. The demon of seduction within her coiled with satisfaction.
*"A kingdom that wears peace like a robe, but hides its blade beneath..."*
She reached out and stroked the man's hand.
*"Thank you, husband. You've told me all I needed to know."*
Inside her, the demon whispered, *"Now… it's time to find that blade."
At the east kingdom
Mortice and Aris sat in the back room of the bakery, their feet propped up as the aroma of fresh bread drifted through the air. The man they had enchanted moved mechanically—still under their control—his hands clutching a half-eaten loaf, crumbs scattered across the table.
*"Now talk,"* Aris said, his voice cold and sharp.
The man blinked slowly, then began to speak, his tone hollow yet honest.
*"The East Kingdom…"* he said, his voice catching slightly, *"is known across the Hive as the *Home of Health*. Not just because of our serene way of life, but because the best healers—true, gifted ones—are born here."*
Mortice raised a brow, intrigued.
*"Our children are trained from a young age to understand the balance between body and spirit. Most are born with the gift to sense illness, to channel energy, to mend flesh and bone. But don't let that fool you into thinking we're soft."*
He paused, his fingers twitching slightly as he fought the demon's influence—but not for long.
*"We train hard. Maybe harder than all the other kingdoms,"* he continued. *"Because we believe if we can heal our wounds… we can endure any battle. Our warriors can take a blade to the chest and still rise. Our minds are calm, our hearts steady. You'll rarely see panic in the eyes of an Eastern soldier."*
Aris exchanged a look with Mortice.
*"So… walking medicine cabinets,"* Aris muttered, chuckling.
The man nodded slowly.
*"We are peaceful people—but not defenseless. The East doesn't like war… but when our healers pick up blades, they do so with frightening precision. We don't fear death, because we know how to pull ourselves back from the edge."*
Mortice leaned back, impressed.
*"No wonder the Hive Council keeps a close eye on this place."*
*"Do they use elements too?"* Aris asked.
*"Not the way others do,"* the man replied. *"We manipulate inner energy more than external. Some call it spirit magic. Chi. Life force. Whatever the name, it runs through every healer in this kingdom."*
Mortice's eyes glinted with curiosity.
*"Then this kingdom might be more dangerous than it looks."*
*"Exactly,"* the man murmured, barely aware of the weight of his words.
*"Any weaknesses?"* Aris asked, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing with curiosity.
The bakery man blinked, as if some deep, ancient knowledge stirred beneath the surface of his enchanted mind. He looked around the dim room, as if checking for unseen ears, then spoke in a low, measured tone.
*"Every kingdom has its cracks,"* he began. *"Even one built on healing and peace."*
Aris folded his arms, waiting.
*"Our greatest strength—our compassion—is also our flaw. You see, we're trained to save lives… not take them. That hesitation, that flicker of mercy, it can be deadly in war. Especially when facing someone who doesn't blink before striking."*
Mortice tilted her head. *"So they'll hesitate to kill?"*
*"Some will,"* he admitted. *"Especially the younger healers. The training pushes them to their limits physically and mentally, but deep down, many are still children of peace. They've been raised to believe there's always another way—another solution that doesn't involve bloodshed."*
Aris smirked. *"Idealistic fools."*
*"And there's more,"* the man added. *"Because our magic is internal, it's also vulnerable. Disruption of flow—through fear, injury, or deception—can break a healer faster than any blade. If their concentration shatters, so does their strength. Panic is rare, but when it hits, it's devastating."*
Mortice nodded slowly. *"So emotional manipulation could work."*
Aris and Mortice exchanged a dark glance.
*"Thank you,"* Aris said, standing up and brushing crumbs from his lap. *"You've been... incredibly helpful."*
The enchanted man stared ahead, unaware of what he had just given away.