Leornars walked out of the room calmly, the metallic tang of blood still faintly on his tongue. He began to strategize as he walked, his silver-white hair swaying slightly with his controlled stride. He reached the privacy of a small, opulent bathroom adjoining the audience chambers. The moment the door clicked shut, his practiced composure shattered. He braced himself over the basin, a violent retch tearing through his chest. He vomited bile, the small amount of food he'd strategically ingested, and a sickening quantity of thick, dark blood. The Pollium was potent.
He ran the cold water, rinsing the gruesome mess from his mouth and chin until only a faint pallor remained on his features.
"As I thought, Pollium," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. His hand clenched the edge of the marble basin. The poison was meant to be subtle, a slow, debilitating internal attack, amplified by the anti-mana properties that would neutralize his body's natural magical healing response. But subtlety was a weakness he rarely afforded his opponents.
"I already have enough moves on her. If I play my games perfectly, I win." The strategy was in place, the variables accounted for. The vomiting was merely a controlled excretion, a forced expulsion of the minimal amount he'd allowed past a tightly constricted esophagus and a temporarily suppressed digestive system. It was agonizing, requiring intense, focused control over his autonomic functions, but it had saved his life.
He composed himself once more, his features settling back into their familiar mask of cold indifference. He walked out, his polished boots silent on the stone floor, heading toward the heart of the Elven Kingdom.
He was led through grand, verdant halls to a private receiving room. There, seated on a throne carved from polished white wood that seemed to still have life pulsing within its grain, was the Elven Queen Selalyndra. She was the picture of ethereal grace; her blonde hair cascaded over shoulders draped in fine emerald silk, and her jade eyes held an unnervingly ancient quality.
Leornars stopped a respectable, yet unyielding, distance from the throne.
"Welcome to my abode, Veiled King," she said, her voice like wind chimes played by a summer breeze, offering a slender, ring-adorned hand in a gesture of false cordiality.
Leornars did not move to shake it. His gaze was steady, piercing, and mildly disgusted.
"I didn't come here for... pleasantries," he said, his voice flat and cold, cutting through the room's warm air like an icicle.
The Queen's smile did not falter, but a subtle, dark amusement flickered in her eyes. It was a predator's smile, appreciating the tension.
"Ooh, and what have you come for, then?" she asked, leaning forward just enough to show interest, but retaining her regal posture.
Leornars went straight to the heart of the matter, bypassing any pretense of diplomatic formality.
"I need the locations of the Pollium drug routes and the identity of its major traders. I know you have them." His accusation hung in the air, blunt and unadorned.
Selalyndra pressed a hand lightly to her chest, feigning offense with dramatic grace. "My, my. What proof do you have that I, a graceful elf, would be associated with that vile thing? Such an accusation is an affront to the integrity of this sovereign nation, veiled king." She paused, her smile widening into a saccharine expression of innocence. "Perhaps your own intelligence is flawed. Perhaps your paranoia has poisoned your mind, much like you claim this substance poisons others."
"Graceful as a whore, that's true," Leornars retorted instantly, without raising his voice, his delivery perfectly calibrated to inflict maximum offense while maintaining his chilling calm. "Beauty hides both scars and darkness. Yours hides only darkness."
The Queen let out a soft, delighted laugh, a sound that grated on Leornars' nerves. "Such biting words. One would think you had a personal stake in this matter, or perhaps a rather poor estimation of elven morality."
"I have a poor estimation of your morality, Queen Selalyndra. As for a personal stake... you tried to poison me and my retainers, that is not sliding You tried to poison me," he stated, his jade eyes narrowed. He was deliberately vague, offering her nothing concrete about how much he knew or how much he had consumed.
"A king coming to another kingdom's court unannounced, making demands and levying accusations... surely that is the greater affront to morality, wouldn't you say? Perhaps the poison is simply an unsubtle suggestion for you to mind your own kingdom's affairs." She sipped delicately from a crystal goblet filled with a vibrant, glowing liquid. "I have heard much about your family, of course. The whispers about the true nature of your sister's affliction. A shame."
"How could you do such a thing to your own sister? Your own people? Your existence itself is but a disease in the world I'm trying to make," Leornars said, leaning into the disgust he felt. He wasn't talking about her sister now, but the Elven Royal Family's historical complicity in countless atrocities against demi-humans and lesser magical races—the very groups Pollium was designed to exploit.
Selalyndra's grin returned, sharp and unsettling. "You misunderstand the natural order, Leornars. You can't erase evil; it's a necessity. A foundation upon which your precious 'good' is defined. Without shadows, the light is meaningless."
"True, but evil can be repressed and mitigated. I can't kill evil, but I can kill the evil people. That's still a step," he countered, his logic cold and surgical. He didn't debate the philosophy; he affirmed his intent.
"So you choose murder as an excuse for your self-righteous crusade?" she asked, her voice laced with mockery.
"No, I choose it because no-one else will do it," he said. "The world is full of those who debate the morality of the act while thousands suffer. I choose the immediate, effective solution."
"That's foolish. You are no hero. Just a villain thinking he's right," the Queen scoffed, leaning back again, satisfied with her intellectual jab.
Leornars tilted his head slightly, a small, unsettling smile touching his lips for the first time. "My, my. Who said that I wanted to be a hero or a villain? I'm neither. I'm not a monster, either, Queen Selalyndra. I'm the clarity needed for the betterment of the world."
exposing the Supplier
"Let's abandon the philosophical distractions, Queen. They do not save your subjects from the truth of your actions," Leornars pressed, taking a purposeful step closer. "Let's discuss facts. Facts like the recent Pollium-related hospitalizations in the border towns."
Selalyndra waved a languid hand. "Minor incidents. The common folk are so often clumsy with their vices."
"Clumsy, yes. And yet, the records are quite clear. In the last three major poisoning waves—the one in the Black Sands district, the incident near the Grey Peaks, and the tragic market poisoning in Silken Hollow—the victims hospitalized were exclusively demi-humans, beast-kin, and human commoners. Not a single pure-blood elf was among the casualties."
He let the implication sink in before continuing, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. "Furthermore, the largest known manufacturing and storage facilities for the drug, the ones supplying the entire continent, are deep within the Elven Forest's protected, unmapped regions. Regions that can only be accessed with the express knowledge and tacit permission of the reigning sovereign."
He locked eyes with her, a cold flame burning in his gaze. "You didn't just 'associate' with it. You're not merely a trader. You are the source. The architect of the supply. You created the drug to deliberately target races whose bodies rely more heavily on ambient or internal mana for sustained health—races you deem lesser—while ensuring your own populace, who possess superior innate magical fortitude, remained largely immune to the systemic damage."
Selalyndra did not deny it. She straightened, a look of profound boredom settling on her exquisite features, as if annoyed her secret had been so easily uncovered. She admitted it nonchalantly.
"Oh, that. Yes. It's dreadfully effective, isn't it?" she said, admiring a jade ring on her finger. "It was quite the successful experiment. You should read the reports; the anti-mana effect is magnificent. It not only suppresses mana-based defenses but actively resists all magical healing. Watching how quickly the lesser races deteriorate without their crutch... it's quite compelling. A fun little project to pass the millennia."
She smiled, revealing a casual, utter lack of remorse. "It's all about maintaining control, Leornars. The common folk must be reminded, occasionally, that their suffering is merely a consequence of our amusement, our stability. Fear keeps the borders quiet."
Leornars felt a surge of cold fury, but his expression remained a masterpiece of controlled rage. He had what he came for: a clear, undeniable admission of guilt and conspiracy.
"I ingested the Pollium you had prepared for me," Leornars announced, his voice regaining its icy strength. "It was a poor attempt."
Selalyndra raised a perfect, sculpted eyebrow. "A poor attempt? You certainly look well enough, I admit, but I had reliable reports of a rather messy clean-up shortly after you entered my domain. The dosage was lethal. For any man."
"It was lethal, yes," he confirmed. "But when your poison-laced food crossed my lips, I did not swallow. I have spent my life mastering my body's functions. As I ate, I tightened my esophagus to a near-impossible degree. The entire meal was held in one contained, constricted place. I had to force my organs not to act, to suppress the autonomic reflexes that would have begun digestion and absorption."
He took another step, now towering over the foot of her throne, his shadow falling across her perfect form.
"I knew if I truly ate it, I would not have lived. I have not lived this long to be undone by a cheap, anti-mana party trick. I expelled it moments ago, contained and neutralized. You failed, Queen."
Selalyndra leaned back, her composure unshakeable, an annoyingly smug expression settling on her face. "A fascinating display of bodily control. Truly. But even your little trick doesn't change the facts, Veiled King. You got four people with you. I have a nation. Four against an army of the most magically potent people on this continent. Your theatrics are wasted."
Leornars let out a short, sharp burst of laughter—a sound devoid of humor, metallic and terrifying.
"Four? No. I have Stacian," he stated, his silver eyes flashing with absolute conviction. "And I am very sure that Stacian alone would wipe the floor with them all, from your weakest commoner to your strongest mage, just by an order. Your borders are open, your supply routes are mapped, and your primary asset is now a known vulnerability. Consider this my formal notice of intent. A deliberate attempt on the life of a neighboring monarch is an act of war. My sister is my direct heir. Her poisoning—and mine—warrants nothing less than annexation."
"Any attempt towards my nation of Avangard and I will burn your nation to the core of the planet,I assure you that clearly " he said in a threatening voice.
He did not wait for her reply. He executed a sharp turn and strode from the room, leaving the Elven Queen alone on her throne. The scent of ozone and implied violence lingered behind him.
Leornars returned to the same private bathroom. He looked into the gilded mirror, his reflection meeting his gaze. He saw his silver-white hair, his tired jade eyes, his carefully controlled, pale features.
But then, the reflection shifted.
It was a flicker of distortion, a sudden, horrifying reality overlaid onto the glass. The reflection was different.
It had black hair, dark as obsidian and matted with sweat and blood. The eyes were sunken, rimmed with purple shadows, and utterly depressed. The face was ravaged by exhaustion, lined with old scars that didn't exist on Leornars' real skin. The figure in the mirror was covered, head to toe, in a sickening sheen of blood, his regal garments ripped and stained. He looked like a man who had just crawled from a massacre, the victim and the executioner all at once.
The Veiled King in the mirror was broken, utterly exhausted, and haunted.
A deep, resonating voice that seemed to vibrate in the very bones of the room spoke from the reflection, mournful and prophetic.
"Gone is the time of old and rise the age of cries."
Leornars stared, his breath hitching, acknowledging the truth in the voice and the image. This was the cost of his control, the reality behind his facade. He was living on borrowed strength, powered by a necessity that was tearing his soul apart.
He closed his eyes, took a deep, shuddering breath, and when he opened them again, the blood-soaked figure was gone. Only the pale, silver-haired Leornars remained, looking marginally tired but otherwise composed.
He left the bathroom, burying the vision deep beneath his armor of icy resolve.
Leornars returned to the private meeting room where he had left his companions.
Stacian, was seated nearby, sharpening a dagger with unnerving calm. Zaryter, was standing over the small table where Shullah, the Elven Princess, sat. Zaryter was in the act of gently pouring liquid from a teapot into a delicate cup, preparing to feed Shullah. The princess looked up, startled by Leornars' sudden entry.
Leornars' eyes locked onto the teapot. Without a word, he crossed the room and snatched the ceramic pot from Zaryter's hand. With a powerful, unexpected motion, he slammed it against the wall.
The teapot exploded into shards, the dark, viscous liquid inside splattering across the pristine elven paneling. The strong, earthy smell of the liquid, a rare restorative broth, immediately filled the air—but so did another, more sinister, metallic odor.
Shullah recoiled in terror, and even Zaryter froze, his hand still extended in the feeding gesture.
Leornars looked at the group, his face a chilling tableau of cold victory and extreme fatigue.
"Pollium drug," he stated simply, his voice flat.
Stacian immediately sheathed her dagger, her gaze hard. "So I guess negotiations didn't work."
"Yes," Leornars confirmed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, the headache from the poison and the forced expulsion finally beginning to take its toll. "The Queen is the supplier. She admitted it. She tried to poison us."
"Now what?" Stacian asked, her eyes already scanning the room, assessing their defensive posture.
"Now," Leornars said, his voice regaining its kingly command, "we give Queen Selalyndra exactly what she asked for."
He paused, a dark, decisive finality in his tone.
"We prepare for war."