The tent had barely settled after Rio's noisy exit when the flap opened again—this time without sound.
Klaus noticed it immediately.
Not the movement, but the absence of it.
A tall figure stepped in, and everything about him was controlled. His hands moved with quiet precision as he untied his cloak, removed it, and hung it neatly on the rack. No wasted motion. No unnecessary sound.
Klaus leaned slightly back in his chair, hidden beneath the shifting darkness of his cloak.
Clean… too clean, and sharp, he thought.
The man wore a deep purple robe, smooth and unwrinkled despite the travel. At his waist rested a golden stick—no blade, no shield, just stick. Yet something about it felt more dangerous than any weapon in the tent.
His blue eyes moved across the room, calm and warm, and then settled on Eason.
"Old Duke Eason," he said with a gentle smile, voice soft but clear, "it is a pleasure to see you again. Though I must admit… I wish it were under more festive circumstances."
Eason smiled back, relaxed as ever, fingers resting lightly on his cane.
"Oh, do not worry, Madlock," he replied smoothly. "Survive this little excursion, and I shall personally host the celebration."
Klaus watched them.
So that's Peter Madlock, the Omnipotent Druid… looks like a priest, talks like a noble, probably kills like neither.
Before the moment could settle, the flap opened again.
"Excuse me for the intrusion."
The second man entered just as quietly—but unlike the first, his presence had weight.
Not loud nor overwhelming.
Just… heavy.
He removed his cloak with care, dusted it once, then folded it neatly before storing it in his ring. Every action deliberate, efficient and clean.
Klaus' eyes narrowed slightly beneath the shadow.
The resemblance struck him immediately.
Arnold Ironfire…
Not the same man—but close enough to make the memory itch.
The posture, broadness, and face were uncanny.
The broad shoulders, the silver armor built more for endurance than speed, the black shield resting on his back like a wall, and the black mace at his side—solid, unforgiving.
Probably his son, Klaus concluded.
Eason exhaled softly, as if mildly inconvenienced by fate itself.
"I did not expect you to join us, Charlie."
The young man's gaze was steady, cold, and unwavering.
"I would not miss the opportunity," he said, voice calm but edged with steel, "to test myself against the creature that killed my father."
Klaus shifted slightly.
Not grief… not anger either. That's… purpose.
Eason tapped his cane once.
"Impatient," he said, then added with a faint smile, "but at least you remain rational. A trait your brother unfortunately lacks."
Charles did not respond.
Eason glanced around.
"And Peonome?"
Madlock clasped his hands lightly in front of him.
"Samantha went to persuade her," he said. "But her answer… is both simple and troublesome."
He paused briefly, choosing his words.
"She wishes to complete her research. The Goblin King does not interest her as much as the armor it possessed. If such artifact exists… she believes there may be more."
Eason sighed, though there was amusement in it.
"That girl," he muttered. "Always chasing what lies beyond reach, while ignoring what stands before her."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Still… caution has its uses."
Then, without ceremony, he gestured toward Klaus.
"This one," Eason said, "is Enigma. He will be assisting us in this raid."
Klaus gave a small nod but said nothing.
Madlock's eyes softened slightly.
"I see," he said. "A pleasure."
Charles, however, studied him longer.
Then—
"It was you," Charles said. "The one who lost control earlier."
The air shifted.
"You nearly caused a disturbance among the horses. Panic spreads faster than fire in a convoy."
Klaus shrugged lightly.
"Didn't mean to," he said. "Old man poked too hard."
Eason chuckled.
"I did," he admitted. "Curiosity, you see. A dangerous habit at my age."
Charles did not smile.
"Ensure it does not happen again," he said. "Next time, I will not assume it is accidental."
Klaus tilted his head slightly.
"Then I'll try not to give you a reason," he replied.
Madlock watched the exchange with quiet interest, as if observing a lesson rather than a conflict.
Before anything could escalate, voices approached from outside.
Then—
The tent grew crowded.
Samantha entered first, her presence sharp and immediate. Rio followed behind her, far less restrained, already scanning the room like he was looking for someone to punch.
Behind them came two captains—one in bronze armor, shoulders heavy, eyes tired like a man who had already accepted bad outcomes… and another in silver, straight-backed, scar cutting across his eye like a permanent warning.
Then the subjugators.
Elaine, of the Silksword, composed and refined.
Orlane, of Brotherhood, solid and grounded.
Helhound, of Tatterhide, silent and unreadable. He smirked as if he saw worthy opponents.
And Shane.
Klaus noticed it.
Just for a second.
Shane's eyes flickered when they landed on Charles.
Recognition. Maybe something deeper.
Then gone.
Interesting, Klaus thought.
Shane stepped forward.
"Old Duke Eason," he greeted simply.
Eason straightened slightly in his seat and looked around the now full tent.
"Good," he said. "Everyone is present."
He tapped his cane once.
"Let us begin."
Chairs scraped softly as thirteen people took their seats around the circular table. The map of Aegulus lay open at the center, its markings catching the lantern light. The fortress, the plain, the cliffs.
The air grew tight.
Heavy.
Everyone waited.
Naturally—they expected Eason to speak first.
Klaus didn't let them.
He leaned forward slightly, resting his arm on the table.
"Before anything else," he said calmly, "I need the slaves to have proper tents."
A pause.
Then he added,
"And remove their chains so they rest well. I hate when my soldiers' not in optimal condition."
Silence.
Then—
"What?"