The Faubley Summit had become a nightmare.
Queen Mirellia Q Melromarc stood at the window of her temporary quarters, watching the sunset paint the foreign city in shades of gold and crimson. It should have been beautiful. Instead, it looked like the sky was bleeding.
Behind her, on the desk, lay the twenty-seventh diplomatic communiqué she'd received that day. This one was from Siltvelt. It was not, to put it mildly, friendly.
The Council of Elders views Melromarc's unilateral action as a deliberate provocation. The theft of three Cardinal Heroes rightfully destined for other nations cannot be interpreted as anything other than an act of aggression. We demand the immediate transfer of the Sword, Spear, and Shield Heroes to their intended nations. Failure to comply within ten days will be considered grounds for military action.
Mirellia had read it three times. The meaning didn't change.
Siltvelt was ready to go to war.
And they weren't alone. Faubley's ambassador had stopped speaking to her entirely—communication now flowed through curt, formal notes delivered by junior staff. The northern confederation had recalled their delegation "for consultations," which was diplomatic code for "we're preparing to mobilize." Even minor kingdoms she'd spent years cultivating relationships with were suddenly distant, wary, treating her like a pariah.
They all thought she'd planned this. Her and Aultcray, working together to seize power, to humiliate the other nations, to position Melromarc as the dominant force in the region.
If only they knew.
Mirellia closed her eyes, pressing her forehead against the cool glass. Four days. Four days since the Wave had struck. Four days since she'd rushed to Faubley, expecting a straightforward summit about disaster response and Hero summoning logistics.
She hadn't even made it to the first session before the news arrived.
Melromarc has summoned all four Cardinal Heroes.
The memory still made her stomach clench. The silence in the great hall. The faces of her fellow monarchs turning toward her—shock, then suspicion, then outright hostility. The Faubley representative's scream of outrage. The Siltvelt delegation walking out en masse.
She'd spent the next ninety-six hours fighting fires she hadn't started, defending actions she hadn't authorized, paying for choices she hadn't made. All to stop the destruction of her own country. It had worked... somewhat.
And she still couldn't go home.
The thought tasted like ash. Her kingdom was in chaos. Four young men from other worlds were trying to survive in a political powder keg. Her husband was... doing what? Celebrating? Scheming? Preparing for the consequences he must have known would follow? And she was trapped here, forced to smile and negotiate and pretend she had any control over the situation.
A knock at the door.
Mirellia straightened, composed her features, and turned. "Enter."
Her attendant slipped inside with a quiet bow. "My Queen. Your Shadows have arrived. They're waiting in the antechamber."
Finally. Some news she could actually use.
"Send them in."
The figure that emerged from the shadows was small, unremarkable, utterly forgettable—exactly as a Shadow should be. They knelt immediately, remaining motionless until Mirellia settled into a chair and gestured for them to rise.
"My Queen." The voice was soft, genderless, trained to reveal nothing. "We have completed our initial observations of the summoned Heroes."
"Report."
The Shadow produced a small folio from within their cloak, handing it over with both hands. Mirellia accepted it, scanning the contents as the Shadow spoke.
"The first two days were... complicated, my Queen. The Church deployed their own operatives immediately after the summoning. They saturated the castle and surrounding areas, making it impossible for our people to establish observation without risking exposure."
Mirellia's eyes narrowed. "The Church moved that quickly?"
"Faster, my Queen. It appears they had operatives ready before the summoning ritual concluded. Our people could only observe from extreme distance during the first night."
The Church had been prepared for something—and that something had happened exactly as they'd anticipated. It must be because they have direct access to the Dragon Hourglass. A massive oversight from her part.
"On the first night, the Church's surveillance presence abruptly withdrew from the Heroes. We were able to establish proper observation from that point forward—but only for a few hours."
Mirellia looked up. "What happened?"
The Shadow's hesitation was longer this time. When they spoke, their voice carried something unusual—uncertainty. "We are... not entirely certain, my Queen. Our people established a position near a location commonly called the slum district, observing the Bow Hero and his party. They maintained maximum distance, standard protocols, passive observation only."
"And?"
"The Bow Hero detected them."
The words landed like stones in still water.
Mirellia leaned forward. "Explain."
The Shadow drew a breath—a rare sign of agitation. "Our operatives were positioned approximately one hundred meters distant, concealed by multiple layers of shadow magic. There was no visible line of sight. No sound could have carried. By all known principles of surveillance, they were undetectable."
"But he detected them."
"He did more than detect them, my Queen." The Shadow's voice tightened almost imperceptibly. "He activated some kind of technique. Our people reported seeing crimson markings spread across his eyes—a blood-red pattern that seemed to glow in the darkness. Then he turned and looked directly at their position."
Mirellia felt a chill run down her spine. "Directly?"
"Directly. He held their gaze for a long moment. Then he spoke. His exact words were, 'They wouldn't dare.'"
The room was silent.
Mirellia stared at the Shadow.
A newly summoned Hero—barely two days in this world—had detected her best operatives at one hundred meters, through multiple layers of concealment magic. Had locked onto their position with something that turned his eyes crimson. Had delivered a message that was simultaneously a threat, a dismissal, and a warning.
They wouldn't dare.
Not "you." They. As if he knew exactly who was watching and was addressing them through the operatives.
"And then?" Mirellia asked quietly.
"Our people withdrew. They had no choice—the Bow Hero had made it clear they were detected, and remaining would have been... provocative." The Shadow paused. "They reported feeling an overwhelming pressure during the moment of eye contact. As if they were being weighed and found... insignificant."
Mirellia sat back in her chair, her mind racing.
This was not a normal Hero, that much is clear. This was not even an unusually perceptive young man. This was something else entirely.
"The Church's Shadows," she said slowly. "They withdrew the same way."
"Yes, my Queen. We believe the Bow Hero confronted them as well—though our people could not observe directly. The timing suggests he dealt with them first, then detected our operatives when they moved into the vacuum."
A young man who could detect and neutralize two separate surveillance operations within hours. Who could identify Church operatives versus Crown operatives. Who could deliver a message that made trained Shadows feel insignificant.
Who was this boy?
"The Bow Hero," she said. "Tell me everything you were able to observe before the detection."
The Shadow nodded, visibly relieved to return to factual reporting. "Noritoshi Kamo. He claims to be the heir of something called the 'Kamo Clan' and a 'Jujutsu Sorcerer.' His exact age is unknown—his appearance suggests late teens or early twenties, but he carries himself with the bearing of someone far more experienced."
"His actions?"
"He was the first to assert himself upon arrival. When the Heroes were brought before the King, he manifested two spheres of compressed blood and refused to stand down until the King provided guarantees of safety. He negotiated from a position of strength despite being outnumbered, out of his world, and entirely unfamiliar with his surroundings."
Compressed blood. The crimson markings on his eyes. A pattern was emerging.
"During the party selection ceremony, he caused a significant scene. When no adventurers chose the Shield Hero, the Bow Hero stepped forward, publicly criticized the assembly's judgment, and physically led the Shield Hero from the throne room. His exact words included the observation that 'no one here is smart enough to realize that the Shield Hero is a hero equal to the rest of us.'"
Mirellia felt her lips twitch despite everything. A Hero who stood up for the outcast. Who had the courage—or the recklessness—to defy the entire court on his first day.
"And the Shield Hero?"
"Naofumi Iwatani. Twenty years old." The Shadow's voice shifted, carrying a note of something almost like respect. "He has been systematically isolated since his arrival. The party selection was manipulated—adventurers were instructed not to choose him under threat of blacklisting. The King's ministers have actively spread rumors about his uselessness. The Church's influence has been... significant."
Mirellia felt cold settle into her chest. "My husband? Did he..."
"He presided over the selection, my Queen. He did not intervene."
The cold deepened. Aultcray. Her husband. The man she'd loved for years, watching while an innocent young man was publicly humiliated.
"What happened after the Bow Hero's intervention?"
"The two Heroes have formed an alliance. On their second day, they traveled together to the slave trading district, accompanied by the Bow Hero's party. They entered an establishment run by a slave trader named Beloukas."
Mirellia's eyes narrowed. "Beloukas… he runs the largest slave operation in the kingdom."
"He does, my Queen." The Shadow paused, and when they continued, their voice carried something unusual—respect, perhaps, or simply acknowledgment of extraordinary capability. "Our people maintained observation throughout the confrontation. They witnessed everything."
Mirellia leaned forward. "Tell me?"
"The Bow Hero engaged three of Beloukas's battle slaves in combat. All three had undergone Class Up—their levels were estimated in the mid-forties. By all reasonable assessment, a newly summoned Hero should have been overwhelmed within seconds."
"But he wasn't."
"No, my Queen." The Shadow's voice was carefully controlled, but the weight of the words was unmistakable. "He defeated them. All three. Without taking significant damage."
Mirellia sat very still.
Three Class Up fighters. Against a Hero who had been in this world for less than two days.
"And then?" she asked quietly.
"The Bow Hero allowed Beloukas to flee. Pursued him. Cornered him in an alley." The Shadow paused. "Our people expected the confrontation to end there. It did not."
"What happened?"
"He offered Beloukas a choice. Death, or enslavement to one of the Heroes." The Shadow's voice shifted almost imperceptibly. "Beloukas chose enslavement."
Mirellia smirked at this. A slave trader, enslaved. The irony was sharp enough to cut.
"To which Hero?"
"The Shield Hero. Naofumi Iwatani now legally owns Beloukas and, by extension, his entire operation." The Shadow paused. "The transfer occurred immediately. Our people witnessed the crest being applied."
Mirellia's mind raced. The largest slave network in the kingdom, now controlled by a Hero who had been publicly humiliated, isolated, and dismissed as useless.
"Has the Shield Hero done anything with this... acquisition?"
"We… have no further info regarding this. And it's because of the previously mentioned Bow Hero awareness."
Mirellia frowned at that. "I see."
Truly, who was this boy?
"The Bow Hero," she said. "Do you have any other info on him?"
The Shadow nodded, visibly relieved to return to factual reporting. "He treats his party with respect. Listen to their expertise. Thank them for their help. During the confrontation with Beloukas, he prioritized minimizing casualties—the battle slaves were subdued, not killed. He offered Beloukas a choice rather than simply executing him." A pause. "He also, according to our sources, cannot cook to save his life. His party finds this endlessly amusing."
Despite everything—the exhaustion, the political nightmare, the weight of three days of disaster—Mirellia felt her lips twitch.
"I see. And what has happened since then?"
"We have maintained distance. No further attempts at close observation. However, we have gathered intelligence through secondary sources—servants, merchants, others who interact with the Heroes and their parties."
"Tell me."
"The Spear Hero, Motoyasu Kitamura, is enthusiastic and charismatic. He has gathered an all-female party and spends most of his time leveling in the plains. He appears genuinely well-intentioned, if somewhat... easily influenced."
Mirellia nodded. Predictable.
"The Sword Hero, Ren Amaki, is cautious and analytical. He has gathered a party of experienced adventurers and has been observed visiting the Cathedral multiple times. He appears to be gathering intelligence rather than seeking spiritual guidance. However..." The Shadow hesitated.
"However?"
"He accepted a sparring match with a young knight named Aldric—the son of Baron Harvel. He won the match, then immediately announced the score to his defeated opponent's face. Multiple times. The nobles present have begun whispering about arrogance."
Mirellia closed her eyes briefly. A brilliant young man who couldn't read a room. That combination had destroyed more careers than she could count.
"The Shield Hero," she said. "What of him?"
"He has been observed visiting a small demi-human girl—a child from Lurolona Village, now in Beloukas's custody. He spends time with her. Talks to her. She follows him everywhere." The Shadow paused. "He also appears to be working on something. Our sources indicate he has been in frequent contact with Beloukas's people, though the nature of their discussions is unknown."
Interesting. A Hero who sought out a traumatized child. Who spent time with her when there was no political gain, no audience, no reason except kindness.
"There is one more thing, my Queen." The Shadow's voice shifted again. "Regarding the Church."
Mirellia's attention sharpened. "Go on."
"Since their operatives withdrew, the Church's activities have intensified. Private meetings with noble houses. Late-night consultations with the King's ministers. And..." The Shadow hesitated. "The Pope has been seen entering the royal chamber on three separate occasions. Always late at night. Always alone."
The chill returned, deeper now.
Her husband. Meeting with the Pope. In secret.
While she was trapped here, dealing with the consequences of his actions.
"Maintain observation," she said quietly. "Priority on the Church's activities. I want to know who they're meeting with, what they're planning, and how it might affect the Heroes."
"It will be done, my Queen."
The Shadow hesitated—longer this time. A rare tell that made Mirellia's instincts hum with warning.
"There is one final matter, my Queen." The Shadow's voice dropped even lower. "It concerns your daughter. Princess Malty."
Mirellia went very still.
"Speak."
"Shortly after the Heroes' arrival, the Princess created a persona. 'Myne Sophia'—a common adventurer seeking to join a Hero's party. She presented herself during the selection ceremony."
Mirellia closed her eyes. Of course she did.
"Which Hero?"
"The Bow Hero, my Queen. She is now a member of his party, traveling with him daily, fighting beside him, building trust."
The room felt very cold.
Mirellia had known Malty was terrible. Had watched her eldest daughter blossom into something monstrous—petty in ways that defied belief, her capacity for cruelty rivaled by no one except perhaps Mirellia herself in her younger years. The same arrogance, the same manipulative instinct, the same casual delight in others' suffering. Malty made decisions based on one question above all others: how much pain would this cause? Racist to her core, incapable of seeing demi-humans as people, she had always been a psychopath wrapped in a princess's smile.
She resembled Mirellia so much it sometimes hurt to look at her.
The difference—the only difference, the one thread of hope Mirellia had clung to for years—was that Malty had never learned pragmatism. She could scheme, yes. Could manipulate, could destroy. But she did it for the joy of it, not for any larger purpose. There was no strategy behind her cruelty, no endgame beyond the immediate satisfaction of watching someone break.
It was, Mirellia had always believed, the one thing that would ultimately limit her. A psychopath without pragmatism could only go so far.
But this...
This was different.
Creating a persona. Infiltrating a Hero's party. Biding her time, building trust, playing the long game. This wasn't Malty's usual petty cruelty.
Which meant one of two things.
Either Malty had finally learned to channel her worst instincts toward a genuine goal.
Or someone was guiding her. Teaching her. Showing her how to be patient.
Neither option was comforting.
Mirellia stared into the darkness. That smile. Those eyes. The way she'd always looked at Melty—her sweet, kind, utterly unprepared younger sister—like a rival to be eliminated rather than family to be loved.
She had hoped. Foolishly, it seemed.
Malty had done exactly what Mirellia would have done at her age.
She had found the most powerful asset available and attached herself to it.
"Her objectives?" Mirellia asked, though she already knew the answer.
"The Bow Hero is... formidable, my Queen. As you have heard. If the Princess can secure his loyalty—his affection, perhaps—she would have a weapon no one could oppose. The throne would be hers by default." The Shadow paused. "Her sister Melty has no such ally."
Mirellia opened her eyes, staring at nothing.
"Does the Bow Hero know?" Mirellia asked quietly. "Who she really is?"
"We cannot be certain, my Queen. He is... perceptive. Unusually so. If anyone could see through the Princess's disguise, it might be him." The Shadow hesitated. "But he has given no indication. He treats her as he treats all his party members—with respect, with distance, with careful observation."
Careful observation. That was something, at least.
"And if he doesn't know?"
"Then the Princess has successfully embedded herself with one of the most powerful individuals in the kingdom. Her influence will grow. Her access will expand. And when the time comes to make her move..." The Shadow trailed off, the implication clear.
Mirellia pressed her fingers to her temples.
Aultcray, meeting with the Pope. The Church, scheming in the shadows. Malty, playing her own game with the Bow Hero as her chosen piece. And she was here, three nations away, unable to intervene in any of it.
"My Queen?" The Shadow's voice was soft. "What would you have us do?"
Mirellia was quiet for a long moment.
"Watch her," she said finally. "Carefully. Discreetly. I want to know every move she makes, every word she speaks to the Bow Hero, every plan she formulates." She paused. "But do not interfere. Not yet. If Malty believes she is succeeding, she will eventually reveal her true intentions. When she does, I want to know about it."
"And the Bow Hero? If he is in danger—"
"He is not in danger." Mirellia's voice was certain. "Not from Malty. My daughter is clever, but she is not subtle enough to deceive someone who can detect Shadows at one hundred meters. If the Bow Hero hasn't exposed her yet, it's because he chooses not to."
The Shadow considered this. "You believe he knows."
"I believe he knows everything that needs to be known." Mirellia allowed herself a small, weary smile. "And I believe he is waiting to see what she does. Just as we are."
The Shadow bowed. "It will be done, my Queen."
"And send word to our people," she said slowly. "No further attempts at close observation. Maintain maximum distance. If the Bow Hero can detect our Shadows at one hundred meters, I want to know how far his awareness extends—but I don't want him to feel threatened."
"And if he approaches them?"
"Then they are to deliver a message. Tell him the Crown's Shadows are not his enemies. Tell him we observed, and we withdrew, and we will not interfere unless asked." She paused. "And tell him... we are watching the Church. If he needs information, we may be able to provide it."
The Shadow bowed. "It will be done."
They melted back into the darkness, leaving Mirellia alone with her thoughts.
Siltvelt was ready to go to war. Faubley had stopped speaking to her. Every nation on the continent believed she had orchestrated the theft of three Cardinal Heroes.
And she couldn't go home to fix any of it.
If she left now, the summit would collapse entirely. The other nations would interpret her departure as admission of guilt—or worse, as preparation for war. Siltvelt would mobilize. Faubley would follow. The continent would burn.
But if she stayed, her kingdom would continue to spiral. Aultcray would continue his quiet war against an innocent young man. The Church would continue its scheming. The Heroes would be left to navigate a political minefield with no guidance, no support, no protection.
And the Shield Hero—the one everyone had dismissed, the one her husband hated, the one who spent time with a traumatized child when no one was watching—would be alone.
Mirellia pressed her fingers to her temples.
Decades, she thought. Decades of building, of negotiating, of trying to make things better. And in a mere few days, it could all come apart.
She thought about her daughters. Melty, sweet and kind and still being prepared for the cruelty of the world. Malty, occasionally sharp, but foolish most of the time, a snake in all senses of the word, and ambitious. What kind of mother was she, to be here while her family fractured?
She thought about Aultcray. The man she'd married. The hero who'd stood beside her through war and peace. The husband who'd held her when she wept, who'd laughed with her when there was still something to laugh about.
The stranger who now met with the Pope in secret while she was here, trapped three nations away.
She thought about the Heroes themselves. Four young men, pulled from their worlds, dropped into a nightmare. The Spear—enthusiastic, shallow, probably harmless. The Sword—brilliant, isolated, already making enemies without realizing it. The Shield—quiet, determined, surprisingly gentle. The Bow—mysterious, powerful, and dangerous in ways she didn't yet understand.
They deserved better than this.
They deserved a ruler who could actually protect them.
Mirellia walked to her desk, pulled out a sheet of paper, and began to write.
To the Heroes of Melromarc,
I am Queen Mirellia Q Melromarc. By now, you have likely heard my name—perhaps in contexts that paint me as complicit in the chaos surrounding your arrival. I want you to know that I was not. The decision to summon all four Cardinal Heroes was made without my knowledge or consent, while I was en route to Faubley to negotiate the very agreements that decision has now shattered.
I am currently trapped here, forced to manage the political fallout of actions I did not authorize. The other nations believe I planned this. They are wrong. But convincing them of that will take time—time I do not have, and time you cannot afford to wait for.
I am writing to you directly because you deserve to know that someone in power sees you. Not as pawns. Not as weapons. As people.
To the Spear Hero: Your enthusiasm is a gift. Do not let anyone convince you otherwise. But be careful who you trust. Charm is not the same as loyalty, and there are those who will use your openness against you.
To the Sword Hero: Your mind is sharp. Use it. Information is as valuable as combat power—sometimes more. But remember that people are not puzzles to be solved. They have feelings, hopes, fears. If you forget that, you will make enemies without meaning to.
To the Shield Hero: I know what you have endured. The isolation, the humiliation, the whispers. I know it was orchestrated. I know my husband played a role. I cannot undo what has been done, but I can tell you this: you are not what they say. The child you visit, the kindness you show when no one is watching—those are the actions of a true hero. Hold onto that. Let it guide you.
To the Bow Hero: She paused, considering her words carefully.
To the Bow Hero: You know my Shadows were watching. You sent them a message. They received it. I do not know who you truly are, or what power you wield that lets you detect what should be undetectable. But I know this: you chose to protect the Shield Hero when no one else would. That alone tells me more about your character than any report could.
If you can detect my people, know that they are not your enemies. The Church's operatives have withdrawn. Mine will maintain distance—but if you ever need information, if you ever need a message carried, if you ever need an ally in the shadows... they will be there.
I will return to Melromarc as soon as I am able. Until then, I leave you in the care of my Shadows. They will not interfere unless your lives are in danger. If you need to reach me, leave a message at the Slumbering Boar inn. The innkeeper is trusted.
Be careful. Trust slowly. And know that somewhere in this chaos, you have an ally.
—Queen Mirellia Q Melromarc
She sealed the letter with her personal crest and set it aside. It would be delivered through channels—carefully, discreetly, in a way that wouldn't expose her Shadows or compromise the Heroes.
Mirellia turned back to the window. The city below had fully darkened now, lights flickering to life in a thousand windows. Somewhere out there, ambassadors were plotting, nations were preparing for war, and four young men were trying to survive.
And she was here. Trapped. Powerless.
For now.
But she was still the Queen of Melromarc. Still the woman who had negotiated peace between nations, who had built bridges where there were only walls, who had spent decades of her life proving that change was possible.
She would not stop now.
Not for Siltvelt's threats.
Not for Faubley's anger.
Not even for her husband.
The Heroes needed her. Her kingdom needed her.
And she would not let them down.