"Alexander, guard the door." "Got it." The Warrior Jar, too massive to fit inside anyway, crossed its arms and dropped into a horse stance before the entrance. As the door thudded shut, Throne leaned against the windowsill, fingers drumming against weathered wood. Dusk painted the sky in bruised purples. Below, Night Sorcerers shuffled down the narrow staircase like robed ghosts in single file.
No sign of Raya Lucaria. The wandering merchant's tip had checked out—no pointy-hatted academics in any tavern or marketplace. His knuckles rapped a staccato rhythm against the sill. Made sense. Stormveil's cliffs stood between Liurnia and Limgrave like a drawn blade.
Did those bookish fools think they could swim the channel after Malenia's departure? They'd probably drown trying to cast stealth spells mid-stroke.
"Time runs short. Do you intend to waste it staring at shadows?" Ranni's voice cut through his thoughts like moonlight through fog.
He'd set her doll on the table with care, propped atop a stack of tomes like a tiny sovereign holding court. "Not wasting. Planning." The lie tasted bitter. She'd watched him all day—bought some ashes, gathered scraps of gossip, then boozed and bragged his way through every tavern in town.
Why bother monitoring him? Simple. Even an Empyrean gets bored staring at tower walls. Sleep brought comfort, but Throne's misadventures offered entertainment. "Your Highness, that stare could flay a man alive. I'm working, truly." He flashed a grin that didn't reach his eyes.
They barely knew each other. Let her think him a fool for now. "The Night Sorcerers are hunting something. Their mines bristle with fresh guards. Sellen's warning must have reached them." He pieced it together from yesterday's whispers and today's observations.
"The Primeval Sorcerer's emergence rattled Sellia's cage, yet they know not which among them wears the traitor's face." Ranni's deduction came swift as a drawn blade. "What concern is this of yours?"
"Patience, Your Highness." He leaned closer, voice dropping. "No Raya Lucaria mages in town. They must've sent word another way—warned Sellia to guard Lusat's prison. My teacher confirmed it: no magic in these lands carries voices across such distances." Pigeons? Runners? Didn't matter. The trail would be cold by now.
"You'd exploit this blindness to sow chaos."
"Wisdom worthy of the stars themselves." His flattery landed with practiced ease. His gaze flicked to the doll's mud-spattered dress—remnants of their Rotkin skirmish. The stains itched at his fingers. He could wash it, have it pristine by dawn...
"Your scheme?"
I want to scrub those stains until the fabric bleeds white. The words lodged in his throat. He coughed instead. "Recall the Rotkin I slew yesterday?"
"By now, the corpse stinks to high heaven."
"I've prepared my alibi. If Raya Lucaria's here, they'll take the blame. If not..." His smile turned jagged as he tapped his spirit-calling ring. Two items materialized: an Olivinus Glintstone Crown and a sorcerer's robe—his old archive disguise. Every witness to that persona lay dead save Sellen.
"Academy garb?"
"What are you trying to do?" Ranni's voice carried genuine astonishment, as if she'd already braced for Throne's next reckless scheme.
"Simple." Throne snapped his fingers. Armor clattered to the floor. The robe settled over his shoulders. The headgear completed the transformation. When he lifted the Academy Glintstone Staff, an Olivinus sorcerer stood where the warrior had been—only the low murmur of his voice betrayed him.
"The enemy's unknown. Time's tight. So—"
"Let them come find me."
From Liurnia to Caelid, not even switching magic towns could curb Throne's appetite for chaos. To this day, no one knew how he'd torched the archives while surrounded by sorcerers. Ranni studied the man's unshakable confidence and felt something unfamiliar—curiosity.
He'd bypassed the obvious tactic of using villagers as fodder. Instead, he'd dug an actual pit. A complex plan. A risk.
"You're certain about this gamble?"
"Less dramatic than you think. War's coming—they won't waste time verifying. And let me guess..." Throne's grin sharpened. "You sent Blaidd to intercept them in southern Liurnia?"
After Throne's departure, Caria hadn't rushed to counterattack. They took in refugees. Tended fields. Sent small units to infiltrate. The Village of the Albinaurics became an open ally, squeezing the Cuckoo camp between two fronts. Every passing day narrowed the strength gap.
Truth was, Raya Lucaria barely had resources left for pursuit.
"You guessed that too?" Ranni's surprise flickered through her doll's porcelain features. This man had been wandering, yet he tracked Liurnia's movements like a general surveying a map. "Were you ever serious, you'd rival Radahn himself as a ruler."
The flattery pleased her. The doll's chin lifted a fraction. "Why 'were you ever'?"
"Because you nap constantly. Delegate everything. Hole up in your tower like a hermit." Throne's smirk hung in the air.
Silence.
Then—
"How dare you—"
Ranni's majestic rebuke died mid-sentence as Throne tucked her into the spirit-calling ring. The abrupt cutoff left the room hollow. Time had eroded formalities between them—now he joked with the Moon Princess like an irreverent friend. Besides, Her Highness nursed grudges like a teetotaler nursed wine. Never.
We're friends. Your words. Throne smiled. Freedom suited him. Had Ranni been some rigid, protocol-obsessed liege, he'd have left her in the tower. Who wanted to babysit royalty?
He yanked the door open.
The Pot Person stood sentry in a horse stance, toes turned inward—pincer-style. Also: snoring. Loudly.
Throne stared. Three lifetimes, and this Alexander outworked every soul he'd met.
It trained while eating. Trained while walking. Trained while sleeping. Thank the gods its body wasn't human, or it would've collapsed from exhaustion years ago. Truthfully, Alexander's aptitude was mediocre. The Pot Person's racial gifts? Average.
Strength—yes. But its bulk limited mobility. No head meant no weapon skills. None of that stopped Alexander. And none of it stopped Throne from teaching it. With enough Runes, he'd have commissioned plate armor for that pot-bodied maniac.
Knock. Knock.
Throne patted its 'back of the head.' The sleeping Pot Person immediately woke up in a start. Seeing a'sorcerer' behind it, it was shocked at first, but then smelled the scent and finally relaxed its fists. "Are you going out?" "Hmm, I'm going to take care of some business. Guard this place for the next few days; no one is allowed to enter." "What if someone insists on coming in?"
"Then treat them to some Senpou Leaping Kicks, then run as far as you can, and follow the scent to regroup with me." It sounded very dangerous, but the Pot Person just nodded silently: "Got it. Be careful on your way." Good teammate. Throne patted its head again and was about to walk away when he remembered something else. "Alexander, how do you feel about those two corpses in the mine?" "Hmm!
I seem to have more strength. They must have been heroes, but they died by your..." Before it could finish, Throne had already given it a hard knock on the head. "Keep it low profile. You can't mention this to anyone!" "Oh, I understand." Throne looked at it with some unease. Alexander and Boggart were tight-lipped, but this matter was ultimately a hidden danger.
There was no such thing as a seamless conspiracy in the world, and the traces of slaughter could not be completely covered up. He always felt something was off. If the other party received the news, they could quickly find clues and then track him down by following his footsteps. 'It shouldn't come to that. General Radahn and the Valkyrie are about to start fighting soon.
When that happens, everything will be in chaos; they won't be able to find anything.'
Closing the door again, Throne returned to the window. It was late at night, and the streets, which had been extremely noisy in the evening, had fallen completely silent. While disguising himself, he narrowed his eyes. As of now, his goal had changed slightly. Initially, he had wanted to assassinate Radahn.
This aligned with Caria's interests and would also solve the problem at its root, but the world would not revolve according to his wishes. After arriving in Caelid, let alone killing Radahn, even making contact was impossible. The latter was leading a large army in the distant north to crusade against the dragons; even if he rushed there on a fast horse, it would be useless.
He was a demigod, a commander; there wasn't even a chance to face him, let alone fight him. Fortunately, Throne was not discouraged. This was an impossible mission to begin with; if he could do it, great, but if not, he would just go for a secondary goal. "Stopping the Scarlet Flower from blooming also seems impossible."
He gave a wry smile, his gaze gradually becoming firm: "But if I do nothing, why didn't I just go back to find my teacher?" "Let's just give it a try." Taking a deep breath, Throne decisively jumped down from the windowsill, crossed the silent long street, and headed toward the south of the town.
This was the heart of Caelid, and with the mix of people, the defenses were relatively lax, so he actually managed to take the opportunity to sneak out of the town. Throne didn't go through the main gate either. He took out a rope he had prepared long ago and climbed the southern mountain range. The slope here was relatively gentle, and there was a swamp below as cover.
Sellia wasn't stupid; they had long ago arranged sentries and patrols. It was just that these defenses were all facing outward; they would never have imagined that someone would infiltrate in reverse.
Even so, it was difficult for an ordinary person to pass through, but Throne had maxed out his stealth skills and managed to descend the mountain from the sentries' blind spots, finally stepping into the dirty swamp without hesitation. The sensation of stepping barefoot into the swamp was very uncomfortable. Black mud surged up, causing his sorcerer's robe to become dirty and disheveled.
Then, using a dagger to cut streaks into the robe, the once-decent sorcerer immediately became a vagrant. This distance was just about right. Throne stopped. Through the gaps in the trees, he could see flickering torches. It was early autumn, and the air was damp and cold. Covered in mud, he had already begun to shiver slightly, but even so, he did not act.
After waiting for a while longer, just as the intelligence had said, a Redmane Knight led a team past with several Night Sorcerers, and the sound of them reprimanding lazy sentries came from afar. It was fate; this knight was the same one who had greeted Throne during the day, which made the latter smile. Highly vigilant—this was good.
I don't believe the Primeval Sorcerers would dare to get involved with the Redmane Knights. As if he had obtained the final piece of the puzzle, he took a few steps toward the shore. Seeing the knight turn around, he decisively raised his staff. Crystal Burst! Boom, boom, boom... The sound of the swamp churning and trees falling merged into one, and a strong light illuminated the forest.
In an instant, the drowsy sentries were wide awake, instinctively gripping their spears. The knight reacted even faster; his straight sword was unsheathed, the blade igniting with flames as he roared toward the forest—
"Who is it? Get out here!" Perhaps the roar worked. A mud-covered figure stumbled out, as if being hunted by something.
Seeing the soldiers on the shore, who were facing a great enemy, he actually charged straight toward them. Before the knight could tell him to stop, with a 'thud,' the figure collapsed on the shore and then, like a drowning man, raised a trembling hand. "Help... help me..." The brazier burned, and the leaping flames illuminated the room.
Beneath a bookcase that occupied the entire wall sat a wooden table, and beside the messy table stood an old man wearing a red robe. He had a full head of silver hair, a goatee on his rather gaunt face, and his arms were folded across his chest, revealing muscular forearms. His eye sockets were deeply sunken, and his pale blue eyes were staring at the silent magic town outside the window.
This was the highest point in Sellia. Not only could it overlook the entire town, but it was also the ruling core of Sellia. Perhaps because sorcerers learned from one another, although this magic town had no classrooms, it still adopted a 'democratic' ruling policy.
All major matters were discussed by the 'Council of Sages,' voted on by as many as dozens of'Sages,' and then communicated and executed. However, unlike the rotation system adopted by the Raya Lucaria Academy, the Grand Sage Edred could be called the Speaker or the Mayor; without the order of General Radahn, he could not be replaced at will.
Sellia was indeed a hall of magic, and it was indeed more transcendent than ordinary noble territories, but after the Starscourge conflict, they had long been bound to Radahn, becoming a part of Caelid. "The great war is imminent, yet there is still no result." The Grand Sage rubbed his brow; he had been very troubled lately.
In the battle between the Valkyrie and General Radahn, Sellia certainly had to participate. As a confidant of Radahn, he naturally wanted to use all manpower and material resources to reinforce him, but the long-standing master-apprentice system had formed various factions, and the other Sages all had their own agendas. "Five meetings have not reached a consensus.
The factions of Campore, Gowry, and Royal all want to protect themselves. Sigh, sometimes I really wish the General were not so upright and honorable." Edred gave a wry smile. At a time like this, he should grab two disobedient Sages to make an example of, and then let Sellia's war machine run at full speed, but the several letters he had sent to the north had all sunk into the sea without a trace.
Time was running out. Gowry could be dismissed, but Campore and Royal factions? Those weren't puppets to jerk around on strings. The Grand Sage massaged his temples, the pain sharpening behind his eyes. He turned toward the inner chamber—one step, two—when knuckles rapped against oak. Who'd come calling at this hour?
He was a bit impatient, but he still straightened his collar and settled into the throne-like chair. "Enter." The door swung open. A servant bowed, words tumbling out in a rush. "Lord Edred—the perimeter patrols. They've caught someone."