The throne room of Mura was a monument to conquest.
Massive stone pillars stretched toward the ceiling, carved with the names of battles won and enemies crushed. Banners hung from the walls—blood-red and sun-gold—each one bearing the sigil of the Great Bakar's victories. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of incense and iron, as though the room itself remembered every warrior who had knelt here, every oath sworn, every head that had rolled across its stone floor.
At the center of it all sat King Bakar.
He did not sit like other kings—draped in silk, surrounded by advisors, lounging in false comfort. No. Bakar sat like a mountain. Unmoving. Unyielding. His massive frame filled the throne as though it had been carved specifically for him, and his presence pressed down on the room like a physical weight.
Today, he was not alone.
To his right stood Master Scholar Tour, cloaked in his usual luxurious indigo robes, his scholar's hat casting shadows across his weathered face. His hands were folded calmly behind his back, his expression serene but watchful.
To his left stood Adviser Toure, Tour's cousin and official strategist. Taller than Tour, leaner, with sharp features and eyes that never stopped calculating. He wore robes of deep crimson embroidered with gold thread, marking his status as one of the king's most trusted confidants.
Both men stood in silence, waiting.
Tour stepped forward slightly, inclining his head. "Your Majesty. I have completed the initiation of Prince Rachid."
Bakar's dark eyes shifted to him, unreadable. "Report."
Tour's voice was calm, measured. "The prince has been successfully initiated into the Scholar Route. He is now a First Grade Initiate. The ritual was completed without complication. His soul has awakened, and the link to the astral has been established."
Bakar leaned back in his throne, his massive hands resting on the armrests. "And?"
"His aptitude is exceptional, Your Majesty," Tour continued. "He absorbed the teachings with remarkable clarity. His memory, his interpretive ability, his emotional regulation—all have been enhanced significantly."
Bakar's expression did not change. "Will he be useful?"
"Yes," Tour said without hesitation. "With proper training, he will become a formidable strategist. Perhaps one of the finest Mura has ever produced."
Bakar's gaze remained cold, unimpressed. "He is still weak."
"In body, yes," Tour acknowledged. "But not in mind. The Scholar Route does not require physical strength, Your Majesty. It requires clarity. And the prince has that in abundance."
Bakar grunted—a low, dismissive sound. "Good. Make sure he does not disappoint."
"As you command, Your Majesty."
A brief silence fell.
Then Bakar's eyes narrowed slightly. "When is Minister Babidi arriving?"
Tour inclined his head. "He should be here momentarily, Your Majesty."
As if summoned by the words themselves, the heavy doors at the far end of the throne room groaned open.
Two palace guards stepped aside, and a man entered.
Minister Babidi walked with measured confidence, his robes a blend of deep brown and gold, his posture straight despite the weight of the king's gaze settling on him. He was middle-aged, his face sharp and intelligent, his eyes gleaming with the hunger of someone who had clawed his way into the king's notice through sheer cunning.
He stopped ten paces from the throne, clapped his hands three times—sharp, deliberate sounds that echoed through the chamber—and bowed deeply, his forehead nearly touching the floor.
"Your Majesty," he said, his voice steady. "I present myself before you."
Bakar did not acknowledge the bow immediately. He let the silence stretch, let it press down on the minister like a hand around the throat.
Finally, Adviser Toure spoke.
"Minister Babidi," Toure said, his tone formal but not unkind. "During the last royal conference with the ministers, you presented an idea. An interesting one. His Majesty has decided to give it further consideration."
Babidi's heart leapt.
He straightened slowly, careful to keep his expression neutral despite the surge of exhilaration flooding through him.
Finally.
He had worked for years to earn this. To be noticed. To be summoned not to a crowded court filled with ambitious fools, but to a private audience with the king and his closest council.
This was a privilege. A recognition.
And if his proposal was accepted—if his thoughts were woven into the fabric of Mura's strategy—then his position would be cemented. His influence would grow.
Toure continued. "You are here to present your idea once more. In detail. And to take part in the discussion."
Babidi bowed again, this time with genuine gratitude. "It is an honor, Your Majesty. Adviser Toure. Master Scholar Tour."
Bakar's voice cut through the room like a blade. "Speak."
Babidi took a breath, steadying himself.
Then he began.
"Your Majesty," he said, his voice clear and deliberate, "the kingdoms of Nubia see us as brutes. Gold Land, Ankh, Ace, Fairyland—they all think of Mura as warriors who act with their fists before their minds. They expect us to be predictable. Brutal. Direct."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"But we know the truth. We act this way because it is part of our identity. Because it serves us. But we also know when to be smart."
His eyes gleamed. "And that is where we gain our advantage."
He took a step forward, his voice growing more confident. "I propose, Your Majesty, that we launch an attack at a time when they least expect it. When they are least prepared. And then, at the moment they brace for a full-blown war—when they gather their forces, when they fortify their borders—we halt."
Babidi's lips curved into a faint smile. "And we send them a proposition."
Toure's eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued.
"We reach out to people within their kingdom," Babidi continued, "people we know might betray them. People who are ambitious. Desperate. Resentful. We offer them power. Security. A place in the new order."
He gestured broadly. "This strategy gives us two outcomes, Your Majesty. If they accept the proposition, if they surrender, if they turn on their own rulers—then we win without further bloodshed. But if they refuse..."
His smile widened. "Then there will be internal conflict. Chaos. Suspicion. And while they tear themselves apart from the inside, we can launch a full-blown attack and crush them."
He paused, then added, "And Gold Land is the perfect target. Our research indicates that their internal structure is shaky. The king is naive and impulsive. The princess is young and inexperienced. Her stepmother schemes in the shadows. The nobles are fractured. Betrayal is not just plausible, it is inevitable."
Babidi's voice grew more animated. "As for Ankh—"
"Hmm."
The sound was soft. Barely audible.
But it stopped Babidi mid-sentence as though a wall had materialized in front of him.
Bakar's gaze shifted slowly to Tour and Toure. "Thoughts."