Egor returned to the underground city unwillingly, forced to admit that his "endurance" had been nothing more than empty words.
Klaus stayed behind at the estate.
The news spread fast.
Too fast.
The seizure. The executions. The blood.
By the next day, the first envoy arrived—from a middling high noble.
"I don't negotiate with pawns," Klaus said coldly. "If your master has something to say—whether he wants to join me or stand against me—he can come himself."
The messenger paled.
Klaus didn't even look at him again.
Over the next few days, he repeated those same words dozens of times.
It didn't matter who stood before him.
The answer never changed.
A handful of short-sighted nobles tried to negotiate openly.
The rest—
came crawling in the dark.
No crests.
No names.
No signatures.
Just letters carried by soldiers or hired peasants—disposable people, meant to take the blame if intercepted.
Klaus understood exactly why they did it.
He still found it irritating.
All this caution.
All this hiding.
All this wasted time.
Ignoring August's repeated objections, Klaus handed every single messenger a portal sphere linked directly to his temporary office.
August finally snapped.
"And what happens when one of them comes through and tries to slit your throat?!" he demanded.
Klaus didn't even look up.
"A portal won't carry more than five people," he said flatly. "What exactly do you think they can do?"
"You're getting careless," August shot back. "Worse—you're getting arrogant."
Klaus's gaze flicked up.
Sharp.
Cold.
"Listen to me carefully," he said.
"If anyone tries to kill me during negotiations, I will erase their entire bloodline."
A pause.
"Do you really think any of them are stupid enough to risk that?"
"I think," August said, voice tightening, "that you're underestimating how terrified they are of the king."
A step closer.
"We still don't know what he's planning. Three days—and nothing. No response. No move."
His eyes narrowed.
"That should worry you."
"He sent a messenger."
Silence.
August went rigid.
"…What?"
His voice dropped.
"Why am I hearing about this now?"
Klaus shrugged.
"I didn't ask what he wanted."
"You—what?"
"I gave him the same answer as everyone else."
A beat.
"If he wants to negotiate, he can come himself."
August stared at him like he'd lost his mind.
"You're insane," he said flatly. "Tell me you didn't give him a portal."
Klaus let out a quiet, humorless breath.
"No. I'm not that reckless."
A pause.
"If he wants something, he knows where to find me."
August dragged a hand down his face.
"I don't understand what you're doing anymore."
Another step back.
"I just hope you do."
Klaus's expression didn't change.
"I'm doing exactly what you always wanted me to do."
A pause.
"So what's the problem?"
"The problem," August snapped, turning away, "is that you've stopped thinking clearly."
He didn't get another word out.
A white flash tore through the room.
Both of them turned.
The portal opened.
Klaus smiled.
Slow.
Sharp.
"Welcome," he said, voice smooth as a blade, "to those brave enough to come in person."
Egor stood alone on the training ground.
Again.
Same drills.
Same movements.
Same empty routine.
Without Horalde—
it all felt pointless.
No corrections.
No insults.
No rare, grudging praise.
Just silence.
And failure.
With an irritated exhale, Egor tossed the practice sword aside and dropped onto the straw-covered floor.
From the holster at his belt, he pulled out the pistol Klaus had given him.
Light.
Too light.
He turned it in his hand.
Before sending him away, Klaus had handed it to him like it was the perfect solution.
A weapon for someone who couldn't fight.
The only problem—
Egor had no idea how to use it.
Not really.
Sure, he knew the basics.
From arcade games.
From shooting digital zombies.
None of that meant anything here.
A real weapon wasn't a game.
He had tried.
Five shots.
Five misses.
Not even close.
At this point, the only way he could hit someone was if they were the size of a building—
or standing right in front of him.
Close enough that missing would be impossible.
The real problem wasn't skill.
It was fear.
The moment his finger touched the trigger, his hands started shaking.
He stopped seeing the dummy.
Started seeing a person.
And then—
he couldn't pull it.
Couldn't.
The second problem?
Himself.
He'd always been like this.
Clumsy.
Hopeless with anything that required precision.
Back in school—
even in drafting class—
where the teacher passed anyone who showed up—
he'd been the exception.
"Gradov, what is this?" the man had groaned. "You have lined paper. A ruler. A compass. How do you manage to make everything crooked?"
Egor had never figured that out.
And he never would.
Weapons weren't for him.
Violence wasn't for him.
He slid the pistol back into its holster.
Honestly—
the best weapon for him was no weapon at all.
He wasn't built for killing.
And he didn't believe he ever would be.
He left the training hall and headed toward his room.
Their room.
Without Klaus—
it felt wrong.
Empty.
Too quiet.
"Egor!"
He turned.
A man was running toward him, out of breath.
Egor didn't recognize him.
The man clearly recognized Egor.
"Thank gods I found you—can you contact the captain? Or Lord Klaus? Right now?"
Egor's stomach tightened.
"What happened?"
"The prisoner—the one Lord Klaus brought—he—"
The man swallowed.
"He escaped."
Egor froze.
"…What?"
"That's impossible. He had a suppression collar."
"I don't know!" the man said desperately. "Just—come!"
The cell was empty.
No prisoner.
No collar.
Nothing.
"How?" Egor muttered.
He turned—
The man behind him was gone.
A voice came from the doorway.
"Looking for something?"
Egor's blood ran cold.
Abel stood there.
Smiling.
The collar still around his neck.
He stepped inside.
Egor instinctively backed away.
Five more people entered behind him.
Spread out.
Blocking the exit.
"What are you doing?!" Egor snapped. "Seize him!"
No one moved.
Of course they didn't.
Abel tilted his head.
"You didn't know what my gift was?"
"I know," Egor said, forcing his voice steady. "But that collar—"
"Careless," Abel interrupted lightly.
A flick of his fingers.
"You sent non-mages to bring me food."
A pause.
"Bind him."
They moved instantly.
Egor fought.
Pointless.
Three men.
A heavy woman.
A pale, thin boy who moved faster than any of them.
They forced him down.
Twisted his arms behind his back.
The rope bit deep into his wrists.
Too tight.
His fingers went numb almost immediately.
"Let me go!"
"Anything else?" Abel asked mildly.
Egor forced himself to breathe.
"How did you disable the collar?"
Abel smiled wider.
"Next time you rely on someone else's invention," he said, "try understanding how it works."
A pause.
"If any of you live long enough to learn."
"What are you talking about?"
"The rope inside this collar drains magic," Abel said casually, tapping the metal ring. "But to do that—it has to release energy."
His eyes gleamed.
"If you force it to activate again and again…"
A slow smile.
"…eventually, it runs dry."
He tilted his head.
"Becomes nothing more than decoration."
Egor's stomach dropped.
"Thanks to my dear brothers," Abel added lightly, "I had plenty of time."
"You're not getting out," Egor said, forcing the words through a tightening throat. "You're underground."
"Am I?"
Abel laughed softly.
"I think it's worth testing."
He pointed.
"And you're coming with me."
A pause.
"Don't struggle. Save your strength, anti-mage."
He gestured to one of the enthralled townspeople.
"Bring me a non-mage soldier."
Cold sweat slid down Egor's spine.
Of course.
Soldiers.
He'd take control of them.
Walk straight out.
The communication stone hung at Egor's neck.
Useless.
His hands were bound.
The pistol rested at his hip.
Also useless.
Even if he were free—
would he have pulled the trigger?
Would he have been fast enough?
No.
"Why take me?" Egor asked, forcing calm into his voice. "To trade me?"
Abel laughed.
Loud.
Sharp.
"Trade you?"
He stepped closer.
"I don't need leverage."
A grin.
"I'll leave without it."
A pause.
"No—you're for something better."
His eyes darkened.
"Revenge."
Egor didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
"I've heard the news," Abel continued. "My brothers have done an excellent job provoking His Majesty."
A tilt of the head.
"I think he'll reward me."
Another step closer.
"For delivering something… valuable."
His gaze locked onto Egor.
"Like you."
"You're insane," Egor said. "The king will kill you the moment you show up."
"Watch your mouth!" Abel snapped.
The air shifted.
Sharp.
Dangerous.
"My uncle is the only one who ever saw what I was worth."
A step closer.
"Don't you dare speak about him like that."
He leaned in.
Slow.
Measured.
"I don't know what you are to Klaus," he said softly.
A smile.
"But you matter."
A pause.
"He had plans for you."
Another.
"Plans that are never going to happen."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"In a few days, you'll be kneeling at the mercy of the true King of Isorobia."
"He won't let you reach the capital," Egor said.
Barely steady.
"He'll find you."
"How?"
Abel smiled.
"How will he know—if no one alive knows I escaped?"
Egor's pulse spiked.
"You won't keep it hidden."
"Won't I?"
Abel tilted his head.
"Let's see."
A pause.
"How long until my brothers return?"
Another.
"I heard Klaus gave them two weeks."
A slow, widening grin.
"How far do you think we can get in eleven days?"
Egor went pale.
He was right.
Klaus wouldn't come back for eleven days.
And when he did—
what would he think?
That Egor had been taken?
Or that he'd run?
Gone back to his own world?
No.
No—
that couldn't happen.
Abel couldn't escape.
He couldn't.
But tied.
Surrounded.
Hands numb.
Heart pounding—
what could he do?