Time passed as Nyx, Grall, and their entourage escorted Flora, the first and only princess of Alasia, back to the capital. Fighting Monsters and Natural obstacles along their way back to the Capital.
Though they eventually reached the capital safely, their numbers were fewer than when they had started.
Princess Flora had Been back for a little more than a day when troubling news arrived.
"The Tournament of Heirs is in two days, Your Highness," the maid informed her nervously, bowing low.
"What?!" Flora's voice spiked, echoing through her chambers.
The maid flinched, beads of sweat forming on her brow. "Please calm down, Your Highness," she said, her voice trembling.
Flora dropped onto her bed, her fingers gripping the edge tightly. "I thought I'd finally have a moment to rest," she muttered, her tone laced with frustration. "And now you tell me I'm to be wed in a few days?"
Her voice softened, a shadow passing over her face. "And I haven't even had the chance to visit Father's tomb..."
The princess's father, King Eric, had passed away during her absence. Official reports claimed he had died of old age in his chambers.
Yet doubt gnawed at Flora. Father was perfectly healthy when I left. Strong enough to lift me onto his lap, even... Her thoughts darkened. 'Something about this feels wrong.'
She stood abruptly, pacing. "And this arrangement... it's as though the royal family no longer controls the palace," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
The maid, still kneeling, observed Flora carefully, noting her every expression.
I need to investigate Father's death, Flora thought, her nails digging into her palms. 'But guards are everywhere...'
"Your Highness," the maid interjected gently, "it's unsanitary to bite your nails." She paused before adding, "Shall I fetch some food from the kitchen if you're feeling unwell?"
"Out," Flora said sharply.
The maid hesitated. "Yes, Your Highness?"
"I said get out!" Flora shouted, her voice slicing through the room.
The maid scurried out, leaving Flora alone in her chamber.
"The palace feels suffocating," Flora muttered to herself, her gaze drifting to the window.
_______________________________________________________
In Wellians Office
In Viscount Wellian's office, Nyx sat leisurely on a plush couch, his posture casual yet commanding. Grall stood behind him like an immovable sentinel, one arm still bound in a rough cast.
Across from Nyx, Wellian fidgeted in his chair, sweat glistening on his brow.
"Why am I sitting above my lord again?" Wellian asked, his voice edged with unease.
"If anyone's watching, it would appear you hold the upper hand," Nyx replied smoothly, his tone devoid of emotion.
Why do I feel like a social shield? Wellian thought bitterly, wiping at his damp forehead.
"Now, continue with your report," Nyx prompted.
"Well, it's about the Count," Wellian began. "Two of my clothing stores were burned to the ground, along with one of Count Trynal's fabric stores. A few civilian homes were also caught in the blaze."
"And?" Nyx asked, his gaze sharp.
"I have reason to believe the Count orchestrated the fire, covering it up by sacrificing one of his own properties," Wellian explained. "The incident was officially labeled an accident by my assistant in my absence. I couldn't intervene without personal involvement."
"What of the witnesses?" Nyx asked.
"All dead," Wellian replied grimly.
Nyx's expression unbroken. "When did this happen?"
"About five days ago," Wellian answered.
Nyx leaned back, exuding an air of calculated menace. "Shouldn't a noble of your... sense know how to handle this?"
"Well, I wasn't sure if you had plans that would conflict with mine or if I was permitted to act," Wellian said cautiously.
Nyx turned his head slightly. "Grall."
"Yes, Lord Nyx?" Grall answered promptly, despite his injury.
"Gather information on the tournament participants—focus on the top fifty and the latter fifty," Nyx ordered.
"Understood," Grall replied without hesitation.
"And you," Nyx said, his gaze locking onto Wellian, "investigate the fire thoroughly. I want to know who was in the area before and after. Do not act without my permission."
"Wellian nodded. "Yes, Lord Nyx."
"Lastly," Nyx continued, "Extract information from Count Trynal's men, the other side of the story."
"Wellian straightened in his chair. "Understood, my lord."
"Get it done before the tournament," Nyx commanded, his tone making no argument.
Grall and Wellian exchanged glances, silently acknowledging that their lord's plans always served a purpose, no matter how cryptic they seemed.
________________________________________________
Five days earlier, at Count Trynal's fabric store, chaos reigned. Flames consumed the building, sending thick plumes of smoke into the sky.
"Find him!" a voice shouted amidst the inferno.
"The bastard who burned the Count's store—he's injured!" another yelled.
In a nearby alley, a man staggered, clutching a gaping wound on his chest. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he collapsed behind a stack of barrels. Blood seeped through his fingers, leaving a trail behind him.
"This way! There's a blood trail leading here!" one of his pursuers called out.
The injured man, who was revealed to be Karthen, pressed himself against the barrels, his vision swimming. His thoughts raced. 'I can't die here. Not before I avenge her...'
Suddenly, the sound of clashing metal and pained screams echoed through the alley.
"Who the hell are you?" one pursuer shouted.
"Argh!" another screamed, followed by a sickening thud.
The chaos ended abruptly, replaced by heavy footsteps approaching Karthen's hiding spot.
Peering out cautiously, Karthen saw the bodies of his pursuers strewn across the ground. A hooded figure stood amidst the carnage, their face obscured.
"Stay back!" Karthen yelled weakly. "I'm not with them!"
The figure stepped closer, lowering their hood to reveal their face.
Karthen's eyes widened in recognition. "Micah?" he whispered, his voice tinged with equal parts relief and disbelief.