Duke Carvan's office was spacious yet restrained, a chamber built not to flaunt extravagance but to whisper authority through discipline. Dark polished wood paneled the walls, gleaming faintly beneath filtered daylight that streamed in through tall arched windows. The light did not flood the room; it entered carefully.
Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, stacked with meticulously arranged documents and bound ledgers, their spines labeled in neat ink. The faint scent of parchment and dried ink lingered in the still air, mingling with the subtle aroma of polished wood. At the center stood a heavy mahogany desk, wide and solid like a quiet throne carved not for comfort, but for responsibility. To the side rested a low leather couch, worn slightly at the edges—proof that negotiations here were not always gentle.
"You've helped a lot, knights of Caldris. I will write a letter to your lord immediately," Carvan said, his deep voice steady, though beneath it lay the natural pride of a man who valued alliances.
Three knights stood before him, their armor bearing the crest of Caldris—a silver-green emblem shaped like intertwined leaves. They had come to assist in subjugating the monster attacks from the southern forest, and though they carried themselves with discipline, there was a subtle stiffness in their posture that Carvan did not miss.
"No need, Duke Therion. Our lord is probably busy because of the upcoming events," one knight replied, raising his hand politely to stop him.
Carvan's thick brows furrowed slightly. "Upcoming events?" His head tilted just enough to signal curiosity without suspicion.
"Yes. The war with Aure—"
"SHH!"
Before the knight on the right could finish, the one in the middle sharply cut him off, the hiss slicing through the air like a drawn blade.
Carvan's eyes widened almost imperceptibly as silence fell between them. The pieces began aligning in his mind, clicking into place like gears grinding toward revelation.
The war with Aurelyth? Was that it? His thoughts moved swiftly now. It makes sense. Aurelyth was merely waiting because of Eryndor. But how does Gemsh know about this?
The knight looked at Carvan again, but this time the politeness was gone. His gaze hardened, like iron cooled in water.
"If you've heard anything, please refrain from speaking of it. This is information from her majesty to only our lord," he said, his eyes narrowing. "If someone else knows it, they will be executed for sure."
The word executed hung in the air like a blade suspended above a neck.
Carvan felt the sunlight strike his eyes as he processed the weight of that statement. So much information had been dropped before him in mere seconds that even his seasoned composure trembled.
From her majesty? Why only Gemsh though? His mind raced. Is she favoring him? Is she pushing us to yield to Caldris? And if so… then me knowing this may indeed cost my head.
"I haven't heard anything. Rest assured," Carvan replied, shaking his head slowly while forcing a smile onto his face. It was practiced, measured—yet the slight tension at the corner of his eyes betrayed the storm inside.
The knight smiled back, though it did not reach his eyes. "Appreciate it. We will be leaving now. Please excuse us."
They bowed and exited, their armored steps fading down the corridor like echoes of something ominous.
***
Carvan still stood near the doorway, his own knights stationed around him. The silence that followed felt thicker than before, as if the walls themselves were listening.
Across from him, Vionette sat calmly in her chair, posture elegant yet relaxed, while Rose stood beside her pouring tea with careful grace. The steam rose from the cup like a ghost drifting upward.
Opposite Vionette, Noa sat in a way that would have scandalized any noble tutor—his chair facing forward, yet his body twisted sideways, legs draped over one armrest as though decorum were a rumor he had never heard.
"Ara," Vionette murmured, gazing into the surface of her tea where her reflection shimmered faintly. "I almost got amazed. Well… almost."
"He cooked for real," Noa added, raising an eyebrow, his tone amused.
Tough… he might've chosen the wrong opponent.
Noa knew that if he had been in Carvan's position, he might have taken the bait just the same. The trap had been well-laid, like honey left out in plain sight.
"Highfen and Caldris were the first ones to get out of suspicion simply because it was too obvious. So they used that against us. At least tried to," Noa explained, finally rotating his body to sit properly as Rose approached to pour him tea as well.
He gave her a cheerful thumbs-up, which Rose accepted with a tight smile that clearly meant do not test me.
Yeeeeaaa… Vionette is waaay better, he thought privately, glancing at the princess as if she were the standard by which all tea-serving was judged.
"Now, you all might be wondering why I called you knights here, right?" Vionette asked gently, her gaze sweeping across the armored men.
They remained silent, standing like statues, granting Carvan the right to speak.
"I agree, your majesty," Carvan said, nodding.
And so, Vionette began outlining her plan—her voice smooth as silk yet edged with steel—as she explained how she intended to eliminate both Gemsh and Aurelyth in one calculated movement.
"Now that I have stopped you, he should believe that I suspected you as the traitor and killed you. So," she placed her teacup down delicately and looked directly at Carvan, "you all have to die right now."
"???"
Carvan's head jerked back slightly, his eyes widening in disbelief. For a moment, he felt as though his life were a chess piece casually lifted between two fingers.
"Don't get me wrong," Vionette added quickly, waving her hand with a soft laugh. "You're only dying for the outside world. Inside, you have a special mission, as I said before."
The breath Carvan had unconsciously been holding escaped in a heavy sigh.
"Noa said only to bring 100 knights. But if Gemsh intends to betray us, he will hide additional forces nearby and—" her lips curved slightly.
"Backstab us, killing our soldiers from behind, right?" Noa finished confidently.
"Precisely," she nodded. "So if Carvan is dead to the outside world, he and his knights will hide and eliminate Gemsh's hidden forces first."
Carvan hesitated, stepping forward slightly.
"B-but your majesty. They might even have equipment provided by Aurelyth. How can we win against that?"
It was a reasonable fear. Even equal skill could be overturned by superior equipment.
Vionette closed her eyes briefly and smiled—a calm, serene smile that felt oddly comforting in its certainty.
"Don't worry. I have my own way," she said softly. "They may gather their blades and fortify themselves behind walls of iron, but when everything settles, the result will remain the same. Just trust me. I won't let a single one of my side die."
It was not a request. Nor an order. It was a declaration—a promise carved in stone.
Within the knights' hearts, something stirred. Not loud. Not overwhelming. Just a small seed pushing through soil. Faith.
"That's all I wanted to say. You will be assigned rooms in the royal castle to hide in. Summon the knights left in Therion secretly here as well."
"By your will," Carvan knelt.
"You're dismissed," Noa added casually. "Rose, assign them rooms."
"Yes, my lord."
…
Once they were gone, only Noa and Vionette remained, seated across from each other in the vast council chamber.
"And now—"
"Yes," Noa interrupted with a grin. "It's dragon hunting time."
They looked at each other, thin cruel smiles stretching across their faces.
"Heheheh~"
"Hahahah!"
"HAHAHAH!"
"HAHAHAHAH!"
Outside the chamber, Rose paused mid-step.
Have they actually gone mad?
***
In the royal teleportation chamber, glowing sigils lined the circular floor. Noa stood at the center of the formation, hands in his pockets, scanning the room as servants adjusted crystals along the perimeter.
The door creaked open.
Vionette entered.
"You're late," Noa said without turning.
She lowered her brows and opened her mouth in exaggerated exasperation.
"Somehow got my sis to agree."
"Somehow?"
***
Twenty minutes earlier.
"Please please please please please! I wanna go too!" Vionette clung dramatically to Seliora's waist, her royal dignity completely abandoned.
"Get off," Seliora sighed, pushing her away gently. "Why do you even want to go?"
"He'll be going, so why not me too?" Vionette looked up with the most shameless puppy eyes imaginable.
"He'll only be gone for a month at most—"
"A month is long."
"Oho?" Seliora teased. "You're going to miss him for a month?"
Vionette froze. Then pressed her fingertips together shyly.
"Well… kind of."
"Okay then." Seliora's smile softened like waves under moonlight. "Just don't die, okay?"
Vionette was already halfway out the door.
"Don't worry. I don't plan on dying for at least another thousand years."
***
Present.
"Whatever," Noa muttered. "You got your stuff?"
"Yes. Right here." She pointed to her white crossbody purse that matched her hair.
"Is it ready?" she asked the servants.
"Yes, your majesty. We are ready to go to Cyradis, Count Fain's territory—Cerma—at any moment."
"Activate it."
Blue light erupted around them.
"Cyradis, huh," Noa murmured. "Haven't been there in a while."
His expression held no hatred, no fear—only quiet excitement.
"We won't go to the castle nor the capital city," Vionette said. "Let's finish our business quickly and return in time for the war."
"Yea."
Swoosh.
Space folded.
They arrived in Cerma.
The city was lively—far more than Blackmoor had been. Yet beneath the bustle was fear. Nearly everyone walking the streets carried luggage, heading toward the gates.
"Does the dragon attack here too?" Noa asked.
"Who knows?" Vionette shrugged. "It doesn't matter to us anyway."
"Yea," Noa said calmly, eyes drifting toward the distant forest. "Who cares if the city gets destroyed."
It wasn't cruelty born of trauma. Nor madness. It was simply their nature. Outside Crimvane, their masks fell away.
Now, something was about to begin in Cerma.
Noa placed his hands on his waist and scanned the streets.
"Let's get a place to sleep first."
Most shops were closed. The open ones failed to meet Noa's silent standards.
So the two of them began walking down the road together, side by side, as the sun dipped lower and the shadow of the distant forest stretched toward the city like the reaching claw of something ancient.
…
The further they walked, the thinner the crowd became, until the murmur of fleeing civilians softened into scattered footsteps and the distant creak of wagon wheels. The sun had begun its descent, staining the sky in hues of amber and bruised violet, and the long shadows of Cerma stretched across the stone road like dark fingers reaching for retreating light.
A wooden inn stood at the bend of the street, its sign swaying gently in the wind—a carved wyvern painted in fading green. The irony did not go unnoticed.
Noa stopped first, tilting his head as he examined the structure. "Not terrible," he murmured, as though judging livestock rather than lodging.
Vionette stepped beside him, her white hair catching the last threads of sunlight.
"You're being generous today."
"Don't push it."
The two went in.