The carriage rumbled through the shadowed streets of Eterna Sagencita, the glittering capital of Keilname County, its wheels whispering secrets to the cobblestones. Inside, hidden in plain sight, the most dangerous strike team Westirifer had ever assembled moved like ghosts. Artemis, the Lady Commander herself, sat openly in her disguise as the stoic protector of Rowena and Maxwell—Lucifer's most trusted ministers. But the real shadows belonged to the others. A and C had cloaked their presences so completely that even the air forgot they existed, while Mara and Almyth had melted into the dark silhouettes of Rowena and Maxwell like living ink.
The town guards at the gates saw only what they were meant to see: a noble carriage carrying the formidable Lady Commander Artemis escorting two high-ranking guests. Not a single soul suspected the four elite spies riding with them. The carriage rolled on, straight toward Count Jeffrey's sprawling mansion.
Halfway there, A and C slipped out like smoke. They ghosted through the estate's outer defenses, silent as death. Two Welencia guards never knew what hit them—quick, precise strikes, and the men crumpled. In seconds, A and C had stripped them, donned their uniforms, and altered their features just enough to pass as routine sentries. By the time the carriage arrived at the mansion's grand entrance, the two "guards" were already waiting, faces calm, eyes sharp.
Artemis stepped down first, flanked by Rowena and Maxwell. A and C bowed crisply, playing their roles to perfection. "Welcome to Keilname Manor," A intoned, voice perfectly pitched. They escorted the trio inside without a single raised eyebrow from the household staff.
The group was led straight to the Count's private study. Inside, Count Jeffrey—young, proud, only twenty-three—stood beside his grandfather, Elder Guntor, the ancient SS-rank earth mage whose name still made lesser nobles tremble. The two were deep in heated discussion about the proposal Rowena had delivered days earlier… and how Jeffrey had boldly refused it. Now she had returned, bolder still, with reinforcements.
A soft knock echoed.
"Come in," Guntor called, his voice like grinding stone.
The door swung open. A and C entered first in their guard uniforms, followed by Artemis, Rowena, and Maxwell. C stepped forward with perfect deference. "Count Jeffrey, Elder Guntor… these three come from Westirifer and request an audience."
Guntor's sharp eyes flicked over the guards. "Stay," he ordered. "No other protection in the room today. We'll handle this ourselves."
A and C took attentive positions by the wall, hands clasped behind their backs, every inch the loyal sentries.
Artemis took one measured step forward, her presence filling the chamber like a drawn blade. "Count Jeffrey," she said, voice velvet over steel, "our Master once offered you alliance with Westirifer. You refused. This time we bring no such offer."
She let the words hang.
"This time we bring your final chance. Surrender. Become Westirifer's vassal state. Or…" Her eyes gleamed. "Your duchy may survive. But this bloodline—Sir Hombert's proud line that has ruled Keilname for centuries—will be erased. Completely."
Jeffrey's face stayed impassive, but Guntor exploded. The old mage's cheeks flushed crimson, his 309 years of arrogance igniting like dry tinder. "You dare threaten us, girl? A little duchy like Westirifer sends its whelps to intimidate Keilname County?" He slammed a fist on the table. "Get out. Tell your Master that before his army even marches, Keilname will ride out and burn Westirifer to the ground!"
Rowena, who had been silent as a grave until now, smiled sweetly. "Elder Guntor… Keilname's army will march on Westirifer only when they receive orders. But when you and the Count are no longer here to give those orders… who exactly will command them?"
The death threat landed like a hammer.
Jeffrey's eyes blazed with fury. He spun toward the two guards. "Seize that woman! Bind her!"
But A and C didn't move.
Artemis's lips curved. "Sir A. Sir C. Begin. Lady Almyth, Miss Mara… take the Count and the Elder. Alive. We're claiming this county and integrating it in our dutchy even before tonight."
The room ignited.
A and C's forms rippled like water. In the blink of an eye their guard uniforms melted away, replaced by the exact likenesses of Elder Guntor and Count Jeffrey—down to the last wrinkle and thread. The real Guntor and Jeffrey staggered back in pure shock. How? When had Westirifer planted spies inside their own mansion?
Guntor recovered first. "Insolent vermin!" he roared. His hands wove through the air as ancient syllables tore from his throat. The floor trembled. Cracks spider-webbed across the marble. From the earth itself, four colossal earth-spirit golems erupted—each one twelve feet of living stone, eyes glowing with malevolent emerald light, fists like battering rams. The room shook as the golems solidified, their heavy footfalls cracking the tiles. Guntor's SS-rank magic surged; the air grew thick with the scent of wet soil and raw power. "Crush them!" he bellowed.
But Artemis was already moving. She blurred forward, a whirlwind of controlled fury. The first golem swung a fist the size of a barrel. Artemis ducked, rolled, and drove her elbow straight into its knee joint. Stone exploded in a shower of shards. The golem staggered. Before it could recover, she leapt, planted both boots on its chest, and twisted mid-air. Her blade flashed once—clean, surgical—and the golem's glowing spirit stone shattered in her grip. It disintegrated into rubble.
The second golem charged. Artemis spun inside its reach, grabbed its arm, and used its own momentum to slam it into the third. The impact was thunderous. While they reeled, she vaulted onto the fourth's shoulders, drove her fingers into the seams of its neck, and ripped the core free in one brutal yank. The final golem lunged, but Artemis was already airborne, spinning like a dancer of death. Her heel cracked against its spirit stone with a sound like breaking glass. All four golems collapsed in a cascade of dust and stone, their magic snuffed out in seconds.
On the other side of the room, Jeffrey had already launched himself at Rowena, adamantine sword raised high. At twenty-three he was already an A+ rank hunter—fast, strong, and utterly ruthless. The blade whistled downward in a gleaming arc meant to cleave her in two. Rowena didn't flinch. She simply watched, calm as still water.
Mara appeared between them like a shadow given form. In one fluid, terrifying motion she rotated, body twisting with impossible grace, and delivered a single, devastating chop to the nape of Jeffrey's neck. The impact echoed like a whip-crack. Jeffrey's eyes widened in shock, his sword clattering from numb fingers. He crumpled mid-stride, unconscious before he hit the floor.
Almyth was already on Guntor. The old mage might have been SS-rank, but centuries had withered his body. Close combat had always been a mage's fatal flaw. Almyth's fist drove into his stomach like a cannonball. Guntor doubled over, blood spraying from his lips as he felt his insides rupture. Before he could gasp, Almyth's follow-up strike slammed into the base of his skull. The ancient earth mage dropped like a sack of stones.
Silence fell, thick and heavy.
A and C—still wearing the stolen faces of Guntor and Jeffrey—stepped forward. They knelt beside the real bodies, placed hands on their heads, and delved deep. Memories flooded them: every state secret, every alliance, every hidden weakness of Keilname County. When they rose, they knew the duchy better than its own rulers.
No alarms. No witnesses.
Almyth vanished in a streak of extreme speed, racing back toward Jointing City. Mara opened a shadow portal beneath the unconscious forms of Jeffrey and Guntor, shoving them through. On the other side, Almyth's hands emerged from the darkness, yanking them into Westirifer's heart. The entire extraction took less than thirty heartbeats. The study stood empty except for the disguised spies and the Westirifer delegation. Not a soul in the mansion had noticed a thing.
The bloodline of Keilname had just been stolen in broad daylight.
But as the false Count and false Elder straightened their clothes and prepared to walk out into the halls of power they now secretly controlled, one final, chilling question lingered in the air like smoke after a fire:
What would become of Keilname County… now that its heart had already been ripped out?