"You were given a chance. Why are you such a disappointment?"
A blade slid into Sylas's back. The attacker pressed up against him from behind, one hand covering his eyes, the voice laced with the bitter regret of someone whose expectations had been betrayed.
"Sylas of Ditch Town!"
"Heh..." Sylas tried to speak, blood bubbling from his lips. As he strained to unleash his magic, he growled, "Who the hell are you?"
"Us?"
The assailant chuckled darkly, twisting the knife to widen the wound before sneering, "Dead men don't need to know."
Sylas coughed, his body beginning to melt into shadow. "You shouldn't have stood so close to me."
Whoosh!
In the blink of an eye, Sylas vanished into the darkness—clearly replicating his attacker's magic ability to escape.
"Damn it, his magic works like that? That's not what we were told!"
A figure slowly emerged from the void. LeBlanc's cold eyes fixed on the man who had replaced another's identity to meet her. "We made things very clear."
"Twenty years ago, you asked me to help you ascend the throne—I did. You asked me to consolidate your power—I did that too." She leaned on her staff, her tone dripping with mockery. "You told me to find a way to prevent the Anti-Magic Act from being repealed. I succeeded."
"It's not that I failed you. It's that you failed yourself."
Her companion pulled out a flat communicator and sneered, "Hmph. It doesn't matter anymore. With all this chaos, mages will be hated even more, and everything will return to its rightful order."
"At least I won't be the one losing."
"Let's hope so," LeBlanc murmured, glancing toward where King Jarvan III had vanished, suspicion flickering in her eyes.
That aura just now—was that... a demon?
Mockery glinted in her gaze as she glanced at the nearby attendant. Then her figure slowly faded into nothingness.
Beep... beep... beep...
The communicator flickered to life. After several seconds, the person controlling the attendant's body stared in horror at the image that appeared. "N-No... terrible news, Your Majesty—His Majesty has been assassinated!"
"What?!"
A shocked voice came through from the other side. The attendant swallowed hard, but a hint of satisfaction gleamed in his eyes as he stammered, "The mages have revolted tonight! Thousands of them have stormed the capital! The Freljord raiding bands have joined in—The entire city is in chaos!"
"The King's fate is unknown! Your Majesty, the realm needs you to take command!"
"Duke!"
"I know."
A calm voice flowed through the communicator. The image flickered, revealing a black-haired, black-eyed man. "We'll return to the capital shortly. Don't panic."
Then the communicator went dark—the link severed.
The attendant stared at the lifeless device, deep in thought. Everything was proceeding exactly as planned. The mages had sparked rebellion in the capital, even drawing in the Freljord marauders. The entire council was trapped, powerless to intervene.
Now, the conflict between mages and commoners would erupt completely, with no room left for reconciliation.
Everything was falling neatly into place.
But suddenly, the attendant froze. A sound rippled behind him—rushing water, swirling faster and faster. His expression twisted from confidence to dread as he slowly turned around.
A massive catfish in a double-breasted coat leapt from the swirling vortex. Its whiskers waved as it landed, and it opened its enormous jaws, spitting out figure after figure.
"What... impossible!"
The attendant's eyes widened in disbelief, for the ones emerging from the creature's mouth were none other than the Fourth Prince, Jarvan IV, and his entourage—who had supposedly left the capital long ago.
As Duke climbed out from the belly of Tahm Kench, the giant catfish slapped his stomach and wailed, "Boss, when are you gonna go deal with that woman?"
"She's driving me insane! She wanted me to swallow Nautilus and set him up as a statue in Pickpocket Square! How the hell am I supposed to do that?!"
"She's got Fizz scouring the seafloor for coins all day—this can't go on!"
Still dripping wet, Tahm whined endlessly, mucus and tears all over. Duke, long used to his antics, could only sigh helplessly.
"Just hold on a bit longer. Once this is over, I'll take care of it."
He patted the giant's slimy head and pulled a game console from his pocket. "Here, take this. Play for a while. I'll handle the rest later."
Tahm rubbed the device between his hands, grinning greedily. He knew exactly how powerful such toys could be—how quickly they hooked mortals until they were ripe for the taking. He'd tested it many times before. Another console meant another chance to fish.
"Fine, fine. I'll go," he said, smacking his lips before diving back into the vortex and vanishing.
Duke straightened his coat. The prince immediately rushed up, grabbing the attendant. "Where's my father? What happened to him?"
"His Majesty... His Majesty..." the attendant sobbed, "I don't know where he went! There were sounds of fighting, and when I came back, there was only blood and a dagger left behind!"
"Your Highness, please be strong!"
The man's wails filled the hall, but Duke only frowned. "Enough. I know where the King is."
The sobbing halted. The attendant stared at Duke in disbelief. Duke's gaze shifted toward the shadows, and he snorted, "Still not coming out? Haven't had enough fun yet?"
From the darkness, a pair of cold, unfeeling eyes opened. Nocturne's raspy voice echoed, "I must say, that was quite the show, master."
From the shadows emerged Nocturne, carrying a pale, shaken Jarvan III. The King looked dazed, still in shock.
"What happened?" Duke asked.
"He was frightened. The situation was sudden, so my methods were... a bit rough," Nocturne replied, politely straightening the King's crown—though one of his bladed arms brushed dangerously close to Jarvan's nose.
The King shuddered violently. Jarvan IV and Xin Zhao hurried forward to support him, while Nocturne approached Duke, transferring all the memories of what had transpired.
After reviewing them, Duke knelt beside the bloodstain, picking up the dagger by its blade. He examined the hilt and asked the attendant softly, "You do know that every person is unique, right?"
"My lord, what do you mean?"
"I mean—each of us has unique palm lines and fingerprints. When we grip something tightly, those prints leave marks—like a seal. And blood, too—it carries its own distinctive pattern that can't be forged."
"You claimed there was only blood and a knife when you arrived... but why does what he saw differ from what you did?"
Duke tossed the dagger aside and extended a hand. "Or is it that you never understood Nocturne's tricks... and couldn't even frame Sylas properly?"
The attendant's expression twisted, but before he could react, Duke moved first, yanking him forward with a pull of Force energy. Yet Duke's eyes narrowed—the man went limp midair, lifeless, collapsing in a heap.
Just a corpse.
"Damn it. He got away," Duke muttered, clicking his tongue and wiping his hand clean. "I knew it. No one could've orchestrated all this chaos alone—it was too perfectly timed."
"But him... I didn't expect him to be behind it."
Duke shook his head. In that fleeting moment, he'd seen the soul controlling the body.
"Duke, what's going on?" the prince asked, eyeing the bloodstain nervously.
"Now's not the time," Duke said flatly. "Check the rest of the palace. Make sure nothing else goes wrong."
"Understood!"
The prince ran off. Duke turned to Jarvan III. "Looks like we'll have to move the plan forward."
"You mean...?"
"Tonight," Duke replied, glancing toward the blazing city lights beyond the palace gates. "Since some kind soul went to the trouble of building us a stage, we may as well perform tonight."
Jarvan III followed his gaze into the fiery sky, taking a deep breath. "Very well."
"I'll settle the chaos. You handle the rest," Duke said. "Let's end this—tonight."
End of chapter....
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