On the plains north of the Royal Capital of Lunaris, night hung low, thick with a grim, murderous tension. A cold wind swept through the camp, causing banners to snap and armor to clatter, as if an invisible martial intent were brewing in the darkness.
Inside the main tent, illuminated by flickering, dim light, the curtain was violently shoved aside. The Prime Minister strode in, his cloak still fastened, his face dark with barely contained fury.
"Allen Graven!" he barked, his voice sharp enough to cut the air. "You have stationed ten thousand troops north of the city—what is your intent? Could it be... that you truly intend to betray the Kingdom of Lunaris!?"
Inside the tent, Allen rose slowly, his expression as calm as still water. His gaze was steady and contained, a sharp contrast to the PM's volcanic rage.
"Prime Minister," Allen replied, his voice measured and unhurried. "Why such words? These men are not mine to command; they simply wish to know—from where did the 'groundless' charge against my father truly originate?"
The Prime Minister's face darkened, and he rebuked him harshly: "Absurd! Her Majesty the Queen passed judgment herself and ordered his execution. Do you dare to question it? If you do not withdraw your troops today, tomorrow will see the start of war!"
Allen did not respond immediately. He lifted his eyes to the deep night outside the tent as if pondering something, his voice low but resolute:
"I have never given the order to attack the city. These soldiers have merely taken 'mourning leave' for my father. They have gathered here simply to wait for one thing—a fair answer."
The Prime Minister scoffed, his tone dripping with sarcasm: "You think I believe such a ruse? I warn you—there are five thousand elite troops within the Royal Capital, more than enough to engage you. It is only because I wish to spare the common folk the horrors of war that I have held back."
His tone softened slightly as he said this, as if deliberately sheathing his blade to offer persuasion:
"The Winter Moon Festival is tomorrow. The court will be gathered in full. If you truly seek justice, you would be better off entering the city to talk. If we can reach a consensus, perhaps there is still a chance to turn this around."
Allen narrowed his eyes, his gaze sharpening: "Who can guarantee that this so-called 'gathering' is not a trap set by you?"
The Prime Minister looked him straight in the eyes, his voice low and powerful: "If your father stood where you are now, he would never fear such things."
The short sentence pierced the air like a blade.
"If you have truly inherited his courage—then come."
The tent fell into a brief, oppressive silence.
After a long while, Allen finally nodded slowly: "Very well. I will enter the city tomorrow morning."
The Prime Minister did not say another word. He cast one final, deep look at Allen and turned to leave. As the curtain fell, the night wind rushed into the tent again, bringing with it a biting chill.
Morning.
South of the Royal Capital, dust choked the air. Banners stood like a forest, and iron armor moved in waves. The Ember Alliance, led by Helan Blackwood, had arrived at the southern plains. The camp expanded rapidly, the military might of the force imposing and severe.
Before the tents were even fully secured, a scout rushed in to report:
"General! A commander from the Northern Lunaris forces requests an audience!"
Helan looked up, his brow furrowing: "Which commander?"
Before long, a rider arrived at full gallop. As the horse pulled to a halt before the camp, the young man vaulted from the saddle. His armor was slightly weathered, yet he stood straight, his expression calm and collected.
"General Helan," he said, clasping his hands in a formal salute. "I have heard much of your reputation. I am—Allen Graven."
Helan's gaze darkened slightly, his tone remaining cold and severe. "Graven... you are the son of the executed Great General?"
Allen nodded, his voice steady. "I am. My father was executed without a trial; there are too many doubts surrounding that event. I believe—there must be a misunderstanding."
Helan scoffed, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Queen Selphira killed your father with her own hands. Yet here you stand, guarding the Royal Capital for her?"
"We have not received formal orders," Allen responded, neither humble nor overbearing. "This journey is merely a group of my father's former subordinates acting on our own doubts. We have taken leave to gather north of the city—to mourn, and to seek the truth."
He paused, his voice dropping an octave.
"But if the Ember Alliance were to attack the city now... we could not simply stand by and watch."
Helan folded his arms across his chest and sneered. "I don't follow. You aren't here to defend the city, yet you won't let it be taken—what is it you are actually trying to do?"
Allen fell silent for a moment, as if carefully weighing his words, before replying:
"Today is the Winter Moon Festival. The Prime Minister himself came to our camp to invite me into the city. With all the officials gathered, this is the best opportunity to demand an answer regarding my father."
He lifted his head, locking eyes with Helan.
"Since you are here, General, I hope you will accompany me—and perhaps, we can discuss terms for peace between both sides."
Helan arched a brow, his tone laced with amusement and caution. "Enter the city? You certainly possess nerves of steel... Do you truly think this will make everything peaceful?"
"If words can halt the clash of blades," Allen said softly, "it is always better than letting blood drown this land."
Helan stared at him, his eyes deep and piercing.
After a long silence—
He suddenly let out a cold laugh, his tone dripping with undisguised cynicism:
"You and your father are truly cut from the same cloth."
"You speak of righteousness louder than anyone, saying things that sound better than anyone else's—"
He leaned in slightly, his gaze closing in like a dagger.
"—yet in your hearts, you are always harboring a different scheme."
Allen did not defend himself. He simply offered a slight bow, his expression remaining placid.
Helan, however, had already turned to leave, his cloak billowing behind him. His voice carried a mix of arrogance and icy intent: "Very well. Since you have come to invite me personally—what do I, Helan Blackwood, have to fear?"
He paused, a sharp, predatory smile playing on his lips.
"Besides, I would like to see how many nobles are left in that Royal Capital. When we take the city, I want to ensure—not a single one escapes."
He glanced back over his shoulder, his gaze falling on Allen like a blade.
"But—if this is truly a trap set for me, I will ensure that you die before I do."
Allen smiled faintly, his expression unchanging. "Rest assured. Before the gathering concludes—not a single soldier will make a move."
Their gazes locked, clashing in the air.
No retreat, no fear.
In that silent moment, a deadly wager had been set. A court assembly, teetering between peace and betrayal—was about to begin.
After Allen departed, the tent returned to silence. Helan stared at the tent flap for a moment before turning around, his voice returning to a steady, composed tone: "Lord of Ember, stay here and command the army. I will accompany him into the city; it will allow me to provide support for the Prince and his party."
Albert Lucian furrowed his brows, stepping forward to block his path. "Commander Helan... are you not afraid that this journey is a trap?"
Helan smiled slightly, his tone frank and composed. "As long as you remain safely in command here, I have no fear, even if it truly is a trap."
He paused, his tone turning earnest.
"Furthermore, I must ensure the Prince's plan proceeds smoothly. Our objective in this campaign was never to conquer the Royal Capital of Lunaris—but to use this opportunity to incite civil strife within the Kingdom."
Albert's expression grew increasingly grave; he couldn't help but lower his voice. "But now the Lunaris army has assembled, totaling fifteen thousand. Even if there is internal strife... it will likely only erupt after they have dealt us a heavy blow."
Helan sighed softly, walking to the map on the table and tapping it gently with his fingertip.
"Don't be hasty," his voice was low and clear. "Since Allen came to invite me personally, it proves that—he and the inner circle of the Royal Capital are no longer of one mind."
He lifted his gaze, sharp as a blade.
"The current situation is, in essence, a three-way standoff."
"The Royal garrison may only number five thousand, but they hold the advantage of the city defenses; the Graven remnants are strong, but they still bear the title of the Kingdom's Army—poised between rebellion and loyalty, burdened by doubt. Even if they actually moved, they might not easily take the city."
He paused again, continuing.
"And while our Ember Alliance claims ten thousand—those I have personally trained, those capable of taking the field, are no more than three thousand."
Helan turned to face Albert, saying every word with deliberate weight.
"Our ideal outcome is to sit back and watch them destroy each other, then seize the advantage in the chaos."
"Not—a direct assault."
Albert still couldn't mask his unease and blurted out, "If that is the case... why must you attend the banquet? You are the Commander-in-Chief. If something goes wrong—"
He didn't finish. Helan suddenly burst into laughter, not immediately answering.
He took a step closer, reaching out to pat Albert's shoulder heavily, his tone calm yet firm:
"Even if I truly die within those city walls—it will not hinder the great cause of the Ember Alliance."
He stared at the young man before him, his gaze carrying a rare gravity.
"You are the Lord of Ember. As long as you remain, the morale of the army will not falter."
Albert was shaken to his core.
Complex emotions surfaced in his eyes—shock, guilt, and a long-overdue understanding.
For so long, he had believed Helan was sidelining him—keeping him a mere figurehead on the throne while hoarding real power for himself.
Only in this moment did he understand—the older man had placed him at the true heart of the cause all along.
Helan seemed to read his thoughts, offering a smile that was unburdened and frank. "You are the student I raised. You may lack experience and ruthlessness, but your talent—it is no less than mine."
His tone softened, yet it rang all the more sincere. "Even if I do not return from this, the Ember Alliance... will still have a future."
Albert bowed his head, his voice low and trembling. "Commander... I am sorry. I once misunderstood you."
Helan let out a hearty laugh, as if he had heard something truly amusing. "Did you think I delayed handing over military command because I wanted to seize power?"
He paused, the laughter fading into a long, heavy sigh.
"To be honest, I had hoped you would suspect me, maybe even take the initiative to challenge me."
He lifted his gaze, his eyes full of deep, layered meaning.
"If you could have led the men to capture me—that would have been the perfect outcome."
Albert was stunned, asking instinctively, "Why?"
Helan spoke slowly.
"The Ember Alliance gathered because of me."
"If one day they could—remove me—to follow you, then that would prove the army's heart belongs entirely to you."
He added softly, "At that moment, you would be the true Lord of Ember."
Albert stood frozen, wordless for a long time.
In the end, he only managed to whisper, his voice steady yet filled with reverence:
"I have disappointed you... Teacher."
Helan's smile faded, his expression settling into a calm tranquility. "No. This only proves that you remain a benevolent ruler. Your ambition may be lacking, but your virtue remains."
With that, he pulled his cloak over his armor. In that moment, there was no hesitation in his demeanor, as if he had long since put life and death behind him.
"I must go," he said, his tone plain, yet it struck with the finality of a gavel. "If I have not returned by tonight... then it is my fate to perish within the Royal Capital."
Albert's fists clenched tight, his voice tight and pained: "If anything happens to you—I swear I will make the Lunaris Kingdom pay for it!"
Helan shook his head slightly, his gaze firm and cold. "You are not me."
He looked Albert straight in the eye, saying each word with deliberate weight:
"You are the Lord of Ember. You must prioritize the Alliance, not personal vengeance."
With that, he turned and strode out of the tent, never looking back.
One general ventured to the feast alone; one king stood to hold the army firm.
The night deepened, the winds began to churn, and the curtain of intrigue had silently, inevitably risen.
Within the Royal Capital, the night grew suffocatingly dense.
The streets were deserted. Dark clouds smothered the moonlight, and the entire city seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for a singular, impending moment.
Hunter leaned against the eaves of a dilapidated building, his figure swallowed by the shadows. He looked at the old farmer beside him and said in a low voice:
"It seems there is no way for you to leave. Find a safe place to hide."
The old farmer looked at him hesitantly. "Then what about you? Your wounds haven't healed yet..."
Hunter smiled calmly, though a sharp, keen light flashed in his eyes. "Rest assured, I've recovered enough. Regardless, my task is not yet finished."
The old farmer nodded, his eyes filled with undisguised worry and reluctance. "Then I'll go find an inn to hide away in... I only hope that war doesn't truly break out."
Hunter did not answer immediately.
He gazed deep into the Royal Capital. The towering palace walls, half-hidden in the night, felt as though they belonged to an entirely different world.
"I will do my best to prevent a total war," he said in a low voice. "Even if I cannot stop the external enemy... I must, at the very least, prevent the interior from collapsing first."
Before he could finish, a gust of night wind swept by, ruffling his tattered cloak. The fabric trembled in the wind, as if fate itself were shuddering at this very moment.
Deep within the Royal Capital, the cold moon hung like a hooked blade.
Inside the Queen's bedchamber, candlelight flickered, casting her shadow into long, erratic shapes. She paced back and forth, her expression anxious, muttering to herself: "Damn it... tonight is the night of the full moon, yet Lunethia remains missing."
However, the enchanted mirror—the one bound by a seal—reacted in a way that defied the norm.
The "her" in the mirror was neither mocking nor sarcastic. She simply stood there, watching the Queen with a faint, quiet smile.
"What are you smiling at?" The Queen whirled around, glaring at that face—a face so familiar, yet so strange. "Don't think you've won! I've laid my eyes and ears across the city—the moment Lunethia appears, I will finish her myself!"
The figure in the mirror sighed softly.
The sound was gentle, yet it carried an indescribable sense of pity.
"My sister... just give up."
She smiled slightly, her tone soft yet firm:
"I promise you—if you are defeated, I will not kill you. I will let you... continue to live."
The Queen was momentarily stunned.
For a fleeting instant, a complex emotion flashed through her eyes.
That smile, that tone, that tenderness which had not yet fully vanished... it felt as if it had traveled from a distant past, echoing softly in the depths of her heart.
But it was only for a second.
Her expression hardened, becoming cold and resolute once more.
"I will not be defeated," she said, her voice steady and grounded. "Tonight, everything shall be brought to an end."
She lifted her head, her gaze sharp as a blade.
"This nightmare, which we ourselves began—shall be ended by my own hand."
Outside the Royal Capital, snow blanketed the land, deep enough to reach the knees.
Despite the sun hanging high in the sky, the cold wind cut through the air like a knife, slicing into the skin. The world was a canvas of pale white, as if slumbering in an endless winter.
Rhine and Lunethia lay prone in the shadow of a small hill, gazing from afar at the frost-covered Royal Capital.
The city walls loomed high, flags snapping in the wind.
Even as the sunlight fell upon them, it could not dispel the heavy, oppressive aura of slaughter that blanketed the city.
"Tsk... troublesome." Rhine clicked his tongue, his expression heavy. "We're a step too late. With two armies already at a stalemate before the walls, the city's defenses will be tighter than an iron trap. Sneaking in undetected—it's near impossible."
Lunethia's brow furrowed, a trace of unconcealable regret tugging at her lips. "Are we... too late?"
After a brief silence—Rhine suddenly smiled.
It was a familiar look—bold, self-assured, with eyes burning like embers.
"No," he said. "We've arrived—at exactly the right time."
He gazed toward the distant palace with its golden roofs and white walls, his voice low and resonant. "Today is the Winter Moon Festival, the grandest day of the year for the kingdom. By tradition, every noble, general, and councilor—they'll all be gathered at the castle for the banquet."
He looked back at Lunethia, a flash of cunning and fighting spirit dancing in his eyes.
"So, there is no need to sneak around."
He paused for effect, his tone dropping, sharp and absolute like a command on the battlefield:
"We're going to walk right through the front door. Right under the eyes of everyone—we make our entrance."
The wind picked up, swirling the snow into a flurry. It felt as though fate itself had unfurled invisible wings high above.
The future of the Royal Capital—it was about to be irrevocably rewritten in the heat of this winter feast.