One of the remaining guards, his face pale beneath his iron helmet, walks quickly toward Duke Ferris. In his gauntleted hands, he carries a heavy, blood-stained clay brick, its rough surface dripping with fresh gore. He kneels before the Duke, presenting the object with a trembling arm.
Ferris's smile vanishes instantly. His eyes narrow into tight, cold slits as he looks at the bloody brick. Without a word, he raises his right hand, his fingers spreading wide as a pale, shimmering blue light begins to pulse from his palm.
"Reveal the weave," Ferris whispers.
A shockwave of faint, translucent magical rings expands from his hand, sweeping across the cobblestones and climbing up the walls of the surrounding buildings. The blue light cast by the streetlamps seems to flicker in response to the spell. Ferris's gaze locks instantly onto a specific, pitch-black alleyway opening at the edge of the square. He points a single, rigid finger toward the darkness.
"There," Ferris commands the guards standing ready behind him. "The source of the distortion is in that slot. Bring me whatever is breathing inside."
A squad of ten heavily armed guards, their iron halberds held at the ready, move forward in a tight, disciplined phalanx. They step past the line of manatite lamps, entering the deep shadow of the dark alley. The crowd watches their steel helmets disappear into the gloom.
One second passes. Then five. Then ten.
There is no sound. No shouting, no clash of steel, no footsteps. Only a thick, suffocating silence hangs over the opening of the alley. The guards do not come out.
Butler Eldric steps up to Ferris's side, his face rigid. He raises a long willow wand, his fingers tracing a quick glyph in the air.
"Illumination," Eldric intones.
A brilliant, burning sphere of white light ignites at the tip of his wand and shoots forward into the alleyway, hovering ten feet above the ground to banish the shadows. The light reveals a horrific scene. All ten guards are lying scattered across the blood-soaked cobblestones, their armor torn open, their throats crushed.
In the center of the bodies stands a creature unlike anything native to the valley. It possesses four elongated, segmented limbs that resemble the jointed legs of a massive desert scorpion, tipped with black, needle-like hooks. It has no eyes, no nose, and no ears; its face is a smooth, blank expanse of pale, grey hide that splits open from the center into a massive, four-part vertical mouth lined with rows of translucent, needle-sharp teeth.
The remaining guards at the edge of the square let out a collective gasp of terror. Two spearmen scream, throwing their heavy iron-tipped spears into the dark corridor. The weapons hiss through the air, but the creature moves with an unnatural, jarring speed, its scorpion-like limbs flexing as it springs straight up, clinging to the stone ceiling of the alley like an insect. A volley of crossbow bolts thuds into the brickwork beneath it, the creature dodging the missiles with a sickening, fluid grace that defies the layout of its bones.
From the front row of the gala, three high-ranking knights wearing formal ceremonial robes step forward. Their hands move in perfect synchronization, drawing their longswords as they channel the air around them. The wind begins to howl through the square, dust and fallen leaves whipping into a frenzy.
"Wind Cut!" the three knights shout in unison.
Three crescent-shaped blades of compressed, invisible air slice into the alleyway, ripping chunks of brick from the walls and shattering the stone frame of the opening. The blades strike the creature squarely in its chest, throwing it from the ceiling onto the ground with a heavy, wet thud. It lies perfectly still in the center of the light.
The knights lower their swords, their breathing heavy as they look at the unmoving shape.
"It is finished," the first knight says, though his brow remains furrowed. "But... logically, our Wind Cut should have sliced that thing into three distinct pieces. The hide remained completely intact."
Eldric turns his head slightly, his eyes never leaving the grey form in the alley.
"Maintain the Illumination," Ferris orders his butler, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low rumble. "Do not let the light drop."
Four spearmen from the secondary line advance slowly, their boots clicking against the stones as they approach the motionless creature, their spears extended to probe the body.
Suddenly, the creature's smooth hide twitches. With a violent, explosive movement, it springs upward, its four scorpion limbs driving into the chest of the lead soldier before he can raise his shield. The iron breastplate buckles with a sickening crunch, and the man is killed instantly, his body thrown against the wall.
The remaining three soldiers scream, lunging forward with their spears to pin the creature's central mass to the cobblestones. The iron points bite into the grey skin, holding it down. The creature's four-part mouth splits wide, letting out a silent, vibrating shriek that makes the crystal glasses on the banquet tables ring.
Without warning, dozens of long, black, needle-like spines erupt from the creature's back, shooting outward in every direction like a burst of iron shrapnel. The three soldiers attempt to dodge, but the speed of the projectiles is absolute. The spines pierce straight through their heavy iron armor, sinking deep into their flesh. The men freeze, their eyes rolling back as a dark, rapid poison turns their veins black. They collapse into the dirt, motionless and dead within seconds.
Duke Ferris steps to the absolute edge of the plaza, his face twisted into an expression of pure, unadulterated rage. He does not hesitate. He raises both hands, his palms glowing with a blinding, roaring orange flame that completely overpowers the blue manatite light.
"Focus," Ferris snarls, a small red magic circle appearing over the creature's distorted head. "Ignis!"
A massive, compressed sphere of roaring fire erupts from his hands, tearing through the alleyway with the force of a battering ram. The spell follows the red marker, piercing straight into the center of the creature's torso. A deafening explosion rocks the plaza, blowing a cloud of black smoke and masonry dust into the air. The creature is engulfed in flames, its grey hide blackening and burning as it lets out a high, scraping scream before falling flat against the stones, completely motionless.
Before the smoke can clear, a sudden, freezing chill drops over the entire square. The heat from Ferris's fireball vanishes in an instant, replaced by a breath so cold that frost begins to form along the edges of the silver platters and the leaves of the orange trees.
The crowd falls into a stunned, breathless silence as a figure steps through the front line of the nobility.
Maeve Wintersong possesses the sort of beauty that silences conversation rather than invites it. Her skin is as pale as winter moonlight, creating a stark, breathtaking contrast with the heavy cascade of raven-black hair that falls in thick, softly curled waves all the way down to her slender waist. Her sharp, ice-blue eyes carry a composed, almost intimidating intelligence beneath long, dark lashes, scanning the scene with zero trace of fear. Tall and elegantly slender, she moves with an effortless, regal poise; every slight tilt of her chin, every measured glance, and every whisper of her deep blue velvet gown projects the quiet certainty of a woman born to command and utterly accustomed to being the center of any room she enters.
She raises a single, gloved hand toward the burning alleyway, her fingers flicking downward with an icy precision.
"Freeze," Maeve commands, her voice like the cracking of winter ice.
A wave of solid, blue frost surges from her boots, racing across the cobblestones and instantly coating the burning remains of the creature in a thick, unbreakable block of solid ice. The flames are snuffed out under the glacial crust, locking the beast into a frozen tomb.
"Guards," Ferris barks, his face tight as he gestures toward the ice block. "Use the axes. Chop it into pieces. Ensure there is nothing left to breathe."
Six heavy executioners step forward, their heavy iron axes rising and falling in rhythmic, heavy thuds, shattering the frozen beast into tiny, unblemished grey shards that scatter across the wet stone.
Maeve Wintersong steps closer to the Duke, her ice-blue eyes reflecting the blue manatite lamps as she looks down at the fragments.
"This is an Outlandish," Maeve announces, her voice carrying clearly across the silent plaza, reaching the ears of every trembling noble. "A creature born from the dark flesh of the Demon King."
A wave of low, terrified murmurs ripples through the crowd of aristocrats, women clutching their pearls while men grip the hilts of their decorative swords.
Maeve turns her head slowly, her gaze fixing on Ferris.
"This specific species has been in a state of deep hibernation ever since the Demon King was defeated six hundred springs ago," Maeve explains, her tone analytical. "It does not wake on its own, Ferris. Perhaps... someone within our borders has intentionally awakened it. We should cooperate to investigate this matter immediately, for the total security of the kingdom of Heilop."
Ferris steps forward, his face serious as he extends his hand to grip hers, confirming the alliance with a firm, sharp shake.
"Agreed," Ferris says. "The north will not stand for—"
He is cut open by a series of low, rhythmic scratching sounds echoing from every single dark alleyway surrounding the square.
Suddenly, the darkness seems to move. From the mouths of five different streets, dozens of the grey, four-limbed Outlandish creatures emerge, their scorpion legs scraping against the stone walls as they spill into the blue light of the plaza.
"Evacuate the square!" Ferris roars, his voice cracking with the strain. "Form the shield walls! Fall back to the upper tier!"
The plaza erupts into absolute chaos. The refined nobles throw over the banquet tables, spilling wine and honeyed pastries into the dirt as they scream, running in every direction in a desperate attempt to reach their carriages. Despite the rising panic, the ducal guards remain calm, coordinating their efforts in tight lines, using their large iron shields to form defensive walls to funnel the fleeing crowds away from the alleyways.
"Move! Now!" Aldo shouts, his voice snapping his team out of their paralysis.
Aldo, Onaga, Comtois, and Hano spring from their bench, sprinting toward the western exit of the plaza. They clear the first row of tables when a massive Outlandish leaps from the roof of a nearby townhouse, landing with a heavy, wet thud directly in front of their path, its four-part mouth splitting wide to reveal its teeth.
Before the creature can strike, three brilliant beams of pale blue ice hiss through the air from behind them. The beams strike the beast in perfect succession—chest, left flank, right flank—instantly locking its limbs in place and freezing its entire body solid within a second.
Maeve Wintersong glides up beside their group, her blue velvet gown unsoiled by the chaos around them. Her sharp, ice-blue eyes fix instantly onto Aldo's face, a faint, mocking smile touching her lips.
"Still avoiding my gaze, Captain?" Maeve asks, her voice smooth and unhurried despite the screaming crowds nearby. "A pity. I was quite looking forward to our reunion this week, especially given your upcoming... reassignment to my northern borders."
Aldo doesn't waste a second on conversation. He drops to his knee before the frozen creature, reaching into his boot to pull a long, serrated hunting knife. With two swift, practiced strokes, he carves through the frozen skin at the base of the beast's neck, pulling a large, blood-red stone from its flesh. The crystal pulses with a faint, sickening heat.
He stands up, handing the stone directly to the Duchess. Maeve takes the warm crystal between her gloved fingers, her eyes narrowing as she studies the core.
"There is undoubtedly someone behind this," Maeve notes, her voice dropping into a dark murmur. "A minion of the old Demon King, using these stones to break the hibernation. But... considering this entire Outlandish attack has strictly targeted the high tables of the nobility... it is highly probable that we are dealing with a different faction entirely."
Aldo wipes his blade on his trousers, his eyes tracking the movements of the monsters across the square.
"They... didn't target the commoners," Aldo notes, pointing toward the western gates where the poor citizens are fleeing without being pursued by the beasts. "They are passing right by them."
From across the plaza, Ferris's voice echoes out as he orchestrates a massive magical barrier to safeguard the retreating VIPs. "Maeve! Secure the northern perimeter! The primary residue leads toward the gatehouse!"
Maeve gives Aldo a lingering, unreadable look before turning on her heel. "Keep your head down, Captain. I expect you alive when your papers clear." She glides away, rallying a detachment of silver-armored knights to reinforce the Duke's defensive lines.
"The heavy hitters are occupied," Hano says, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps as the high-level elites lock down the main avenue. "Let's get out of here before more of those things show up!"
The four conscripts turn down a narrow, dark residential alleyway, attempting to escape the perimeter of the plaza. They sprint past dark windows and locked timber doors, the sound of the battle fading behind them.
They reach a small, enclosed courtyard near the outer wall when the exit is suddenly blocked. From the shadows of the surrounding buildings, several Outlandish creatures slide down the brickwork, blocking their retreat. At the same time, from the front entrance of the courtyard, dozens of human figures emerge.
These are not the Duke's guards. They wear thin, heavily scratched iron armor that looks as though it has been dragged through mud and war. Their weapons are ancient—unrepaired iron swords, dented pikes, and notched cleavers. Most notably, every single man has his face entirely covered by a thick red cloth wrap, and tucked firmly into the side pockets of their coats are small, leather-bound red notebooks.
Hano stops dead in his tracks, his arms shaking as he looks at the wall of iron and grey hide surrounding them.
"We're doomed," Hano whispers, his face turning a pasty white. "We're completely doomed. Look at how many there are."
Comtois drops his heavy axe slightly, his shoulders sagging as he looks at the rusted weapons pointed at his chest. He lets out a long, exhausted sigh.
"Hey, everyone wait a moment," Comtois mutters, his voice trembling as he begins to lift his hands. "Don't be impatient now. I'm... I'm preparing to surrender here. There's no point in getting sliced for a Duke who isn't even paying us."
Beside him, Onaga is visibly trembling, his fingers clenching his charcoal pad so tightly the paper rips between his thumbs, his knees knocking together under his tunic as the line of masked men steps closer.
Aldo stands in the center of the group, his mind racing at a frantic, chaotic speed. He looks at the Outlandish creatures, then at the masked men, his hand gripping the hilt of his short sword.
What do I do? Aldo's mind screams inside the silence of his thoughts, his eyes darting from the rusted pikes to the red notebooks peeking out from their pockets. If we fight, we're dealing with dozens of seasoned fighters and monsters without any backup. If we surrender... who are these people? Are they the Red Demons Watkins talked about? If they think we're the Duke's personal henchmen, they'll kill us anyway.
The lead masked man steps forward, his unrepaired iron sword raised as his eyes glare through the slits of his red cloth mask.
"Eliminate them," the leader commands, his voice rough and cold. "They wear the gear of the fortress. They are nothing but the Duke's loyal henchmen... they are not worth keeping alive in our new world."
Aldo remains completely at a standstill, his boots glued to the cold stone floor. His mind is caught in a violent, paralyzing dilemma, torn simultaneously between two impossible thoughts: Fight or surrender... fight or surrender... as the red-masked rebels close the distance, their blades gleaming under the pale moonlight.