Falburg stood where it mattered.
Not for beauty.For position.
Between the Demon Forest—and everything worth protecting.
Seven hundred miles from Rhein.Far enough to matter.Close enough to bleed.
Trade passed through it.So did fear.
Adventurers came.Some returned.
Most didn't.
The Hammer of War had been open for a month.
That was enough.
Not for reputation—for control.
Three floors.
Steel below.Wine in the middle.Power at the top.
Ruger preferred the top.
The forge roared.
Heat twisted the air.Magic pressed against the walls like something alive.
Firth worked inside the circle.
Precise.Careful.Obsessive.
Steel glowed.
Ruger watched.
Not the process.
The result.
Always the result.
Blue liquid hit the armor.
Wyvern blood.
Rare.Expensive.Replaceable—if you had enough gold.
The metal drank it.
Color shifted.Texture tightened.
Value increased.
That was what mattered.
"Again."
No praise.No emotion.
Just demand.
The magic circle ignited.
Silver sank into steel.Symbols carved themselves into place.
Wind formed.
Spun.
Compressed—
Then—
Impact.
The air detonated outward.
Light swallowed the room.
The barrier screamed—but held.
It always held.
Because failure—was expensive.
When the light faded—
The armor remained.
Lighter.Cleaner.Worth more.
Ruger lifted it.
Not admiring.
Calculating.
Cost.Demand.Buyer.
Final price.
"Paladin design," he said."Gold trim. Gold links."
Kim didn't look up.
"No."
Ruger smiled.
"Wrap steel with gold."
Silence.
"Same strength."
A pause.
"Ten times the price."
Kim stopped.
That was enough.
Gold always was.
"To sell weapons," Ruger said quietly,"you don't need to understand weapons."
A pause.
"You need to understand people."
Lens grinned.
"People want to kill."
Ruger shook his head.
"No."
"They want to be seen killing."
Silence.
That truth landed heavy.
"We don't sell protection.""We sell image.""Power.""Story."
He lifted the armor.
"This isn't armor."
A beat.
"It's permission."
Business didn't grow.
It concentrated.
One sale.Ten thousand gold.
Another.More.
They weren't trading.
They were extracting.
The Parth River moved slow.
Golden.Quiet.
Too quiet.
Kate rode at the front.
Green armor.Clean lines.Old pride.
Behind him—
Fifty riders.
Relaxed.
Wrong.
"Turn back."
No urgency.
Routine.
They turned.
The river kept moving.
The world didn't.
No insects.No birds.
Nothing.
Gone.
Kate's grip tightened.
"Hold."
Too late.
The first arrow struck.
It tore through a rider's throat—
Blood sprayed across his armor as he fell without a sound.
Then more.
From the grass.From the riverbank.
Precise.
A shaft punched into an eye.
Another slipped under a breastplate—
The rider convulsed, then dropped.
"Formation!"
Too slow.
They weren't fighting chaos.
They were inside design.
Distance controlled.Angles locked.
Pressure applied—perfectly.
Kate understood.
This wasn't chance.
This was a hunt.
And they—
were already caught.
Far away—
Floya stopped.
Not instinct.
Recognition.
Something called.
Closer now.
Real.
Its hunger changed.
Not just to consume.
To move.
To arrive.
Soon.
In Falburg—
Ruger paused.
Just once.
No sound.No warning.
Only certainty.
Something had begun.
Finally.
He smiled.
Because the board—was moving.
The door opened.
Lens stepped in first.
Too polite.
Too careful.
Behind him—
gold.
A man removed his hood.
Light followed.
Not magic.
Presence.
Golden hair.Perfect posture.Controlled smile.
He stepped forward.
Hand extended.
"It's a pleasure to see you again."
A pause.
"I am Ophiroc von Wilhelm."
Ruger didn't move immediately.
Just watched.
Measured.
Then—
He smiled.
The game—
had just gained a new player
END OF PART 8