The damp walls of the Royal Dungeon of Durmount wept with condensation, the air heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the rot of old straw. Princess Selrose glided down the stone corridor, her silk gown rustling softly—a sound that felt dangerously out of place in such a tomb. Beside her sat her brother, the newly crowned King, but his presence was a mere formality. The power in the room lived in her eyes.
She stopped before the iron bars of the deepest cell. Inside sat Selamendra, the man who had once been King, now a broken shadow in tattered velvet.
Selrose leaned against the cold bars, a slow, viper-like grin spreading across her face. "Hi there, Father," she said, her voice a calm, freezing whisper.
Selamendra lunged, his chains rattling violently. "You vile she-devil! I should have ended you the moment I felt that rot in your soul. I should have killed you the day you were born!"
Selrose didn't flinch. She leaned closer, her eyes dancing with dark amusement. "Yet you didn't. You were too blinded by your own vanity to see the knife I held at your throat for years. Everything—every whisper, every betrayal—went exactly according to my design."
The heavy thud of boots echoed as Marielle Sullivana entered the dungeon, her armor gleaming even in the dim torchlight. She looked at the prisoner with a mixture of pity and disgust. "So, this was your father? He doesn't look much like you, Selrose."
"You are precisely right, Marielle," Selrose said, turning away with a flick of her hair. "This pig couldn't possibly be my father. He's far too... predictable. And much too stupid."
As they began to walk away, Marielle cast a glance back. "By the way, what really happened to the heroes your priests summoned from the other world? They've vanished from the records."
Selrose paused, a low chuckle vibrating in her chest. "Not my problem, nor my responsibility. But if they somehow find their way to the Avangard Kingdom to challenge Leornars..." She threw her head back, a sharp, melodic laugh echoing off the stone walls. "I will be glad to bury them myself."
"That..." Selamendra croaked, staring at his daughter's retreating shadow. "That is no woman. That is a devil."
Marielle stopped at the door, looking back one last time. "And who's responsible for turning her into one, 'Your Majesty'?"
In her private chambers, the mask fell. Selrose kicked off her heels, the heavy silk of her dress pooling on the floor as she collapsed onto her bed. She stared up at the grand family portrait hanging on the wall—a lie painted in oil and gold.
"So, I'm losing all that for much more?" she whispered to the empty room. She stood and walked to the balcony, the vibrant moonlight silvering her skin. "What you see is never what you truly get. The things we hold dear will always be stripped away by the chains of Fate. They say love is salvation, but it's just a cage, isn't it? A beautiful, suffocating curse."
In the Kingdom of Seraphim, the air was thick with the scent of incense and iron. The thirteen summoned heroes stood in the center of the plaza, but the "liberation" they expected was met with cold glares and bared teeth.
"Where is Leornars?" Jennifer demanded, her hand white-knuckled on her sword hilt. "We know he's the one pulling the strings of this corruption!"
A group of succubi stood their ground, blocking the path to the inner sanctum. "Lord Leornars is our savior," one hissed, her wings flared in defiance. "You know nothing of this land."
"He's brainwashed you!" Jessica cried out, stepping forward. "He killed your monarch! He's a murderer!"
The confrontation turned bloody in an instant. Blades flashed in the sunlight. Within minutes, ten succubi lay in the dirt, their lifeblood staining the white marble of the plaza.
Jennifer stood over one of the dying women, her breathing heavy. "Why? Why do you defend a monster?"
The succubus coughed, a bitter smile on her lips. "Our kingdom... it was a 'slut nation' before him. Children sold like cattle... families broken for sport. Lord Leornars gave us dignity. He gave us a reason to protect ourselves. I am... eternally grateful."
Jennifer's face hardened. she turned to Jessica, stepping over the body. "Don't listen to her. They're all indoctrinated. Let's move."
In the Avangard Kingdom, Kyle moved through the shadows of the back alleys. The city was on edge. A knight spotted him, forcing Kyle to dive into a narrow passage between two crumbling stone buildings.
He felt a light tap on his shoulder and spun around, heart racing. An old woman in rags stood there, her eyes milky with cataracts. Without a word, she pressed a parchment into his hand. As Kyle reached out to steady her, she began to collapse—not just falling, but melting.
He watched in silent horror as her flesh turned to grey ash, sliding off her frame until only bleached bones clattered onto the cobblestones. Kyle stumbled back, gasping, and looked at the letter. It bore the unmistakable wax seal of the Holy Kingdom's Church.
"What the hell is going on in this city?" he hissed, his voice trembling as he tucked the letter into his tunic and fled.
Meanwhile, in the quiet chill of the war room, Leornars paced the floor while Stacian reviewed the ledgers.
"The agreement with the merchant from Dirrium—are the goods secured?" Leornars asked, his eyes scanning maps of the border.
"The contracts are signed," Stacian replied, leaning back. "The only concern is the transport. Dirrium is a nation of mercenaries and low-lifes. Security will be a nightmare."
Leornars let out a faint, dark smirk. "Security is a matter of perspective. We don't need to waste our elite units. Recruit a few desperate adventurers, or better yet, raise a company of undead knights. We won't waste Bellian or any named undead on simple escort duty. Save the resources for the coming storm."
"A clever use of the discarded," Althelia's voice echoed from within Leornars's core.
Stacian blinked, hearing the faint resonance. "Huh? Did you say something, My Lord?"
"Nothing," Leornars said. "Proceed with the plan."
"Very well. It seems Princess Selrose has finally convinced that puppet King of hers to begin the invasion," Stacian added with a smirk. "Everything is falling into place."
" A journey to heaven is simple but full of trials, a rose is beautiful yet has thorns, a spider Lily is just a flower but mistreated as a curse. That's understanding the misunderstanding,as traping a beautiful bird to a golden cage. How unfortunate" Leornars said calmly
The market of the capital was a chaotic symphony of shouting vendors and the smell of roasting meats. Sahara stood by the Adventurer's Guild board, checking the manifest for the Dirrium convoy.
"Looks like we're working for Leornars today," Sahara muttered. She looked over to see Sasha, who was currently trying to fit an entire loaf of crusty bread into her mouth while eye-ing a second one.
"HEY! THAT'S MINE! STOP EATING!" Sahara lunged for the bread.
Sasha gave a muffled protest, swallowed the giant mouthful in one heroic gulp, and immediately bit into the next piece.
"You greedy donkey!" Sahara yelled, exasperated.
Sasha looked up, her cheeks puffed out like a squirrel's, her eyes wide and innocent. "I'm hungry. Growing girl. Need more."
Sahara sighed, rubbing her temples. "You just ate an entire loaf in four seconds. Fine. Come on, let's go get a real lunch before you start eating the stalls."
Kyle moved like a shadow through the winding streets of the Avangard Kingdom, his heart hammering against his ribs. Every time the heavy armor of a passing knight clattered on the cobblestones, he pressed himself deeper into the darkness of the stone walls. Suddenly, a shout went up—a patrol had spotted him.
He bolted into a narrow, dead-end alley, the scent of damp earth and trash filling his lungs. He spun around, searching for an escape, when he felt a cold, skeletal tap on his shoulder.
Kyle jumped, spinning around with his hand on his weapon, but he froze. Standing before him was an old woman draped in tattered, filth-stained rags. She didn't speak; she simply reached out a trembling, translucent hand and pressed a heavy parchment into his palm.
As his fingers brushed hers, he realized with a jolt of horror that her skin felt like wet paper.
"Wait—" Kyle started, reaching out to steady her as she began to sway.
The moment he touched her arm, her body gave way. It wasn't a fall; it was a dissolution. Kyle watched, paralyzed, as her skin began to bubble and melt away in grey, oily ribbons. The smell of sudden, intense rot hit him like a physical blow. Within seconds, the woman had liquified, her flesh sliding off a yellowed skeleton that clattered into a heap of bone and wet rags at his feet.
Kyle scrambled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked down at the letter in his hand. It was pristine, untouched by the rot, and sealed with the unmistakable, high-rising sun of the Holy Kingdom's Church crest.
"What the hell is going on here?" he whispered to the empty alley. The bones at his feet offered no answer.