“If you’re so worried about Caelora Province falling to House Blackmoor, there’s no need, my love. I’ve already made the necessary precautions.” Second Prince Theron Valeheart Thaloria says. Theron’s eyes scan the maps sprawled across his private study desk, as he notes the tension etched into his wife’s expression. “As you say, then, husband. The Holy Church still has agents in Frostmark City and across the province. If a fight breaks out, and their operatives try to retreat to Blackmoor Province via our overland or sea routes-” Penelope’s words slice the air in a sharp and worried tone, but she is cut off. “-then we will slaughter them before a single spy clambers atop a horse or boards a ship. Let Pope Valerian wallow in silence.” Theron’s tone is icy, deliberate, and final. Outside the castle windows, the wind howls, rattling the shutters and sending a biting chill through the thick stone walls. Snow drifts across the treacherous path to the castle, which glitters coldly

“I fucking know who sent you. You are all spies working for the Holy Church, and House Blackmoor.” Raphael Laurent dismounts slowly from his black bay mare. Raphael’s boots land softly against the cold stone street. He turns to face the woman with the battleaxe, The Viper, while his eyes scan the alley in quick & precise sweeps. There are 15 enemies, all armed with heavy axes at close quarters. All his escape routes are blocked. I can only play defense and buy time. Police and soldiers will arrive eventually. I’m outnumbered fifteen to one. Those axes can cleave a man’s head clean off. His mind runs calculations at lightning speed of distance, swing arcs, reaction time, draw speed for flintlocks, & probability of survival. “Bingo, Your Highness.” The Viper smirks. “And the Holy Church isn’t happy with these heretical works of yours.” Her axe suddenly whistles through the air toward his left shoulder. It’s a brutal diagonal strike meant to split bone and armor in one blow

“ Have no fear, gentlemen. We come bearing official orders from Third Prince Cain, and we mean you no harm. We have some urgent matters to discuss with your Lord Mayor. ” Sabinne Hoffman speaks calmly, but her voice carries authority sharpened by training, discipline, and the quiet confidence of someone backed by overwhelming power. She reaches into her premium storage ring and retrieves a sealed letter stamped with black wax and a royal crest. Alongside it, she places a badge on the table. It is a serpent with fangs bared, coiled around a smashed crucifix. The symbol of Third Prince Cain. She also presents a polished replica of her Frostmark City Police badge. The two spearmen exchange glances. One of them carefully opens the letter and reads. His eyes widen almost immediately with recognition, shock, & fear. He quickly straightens. “ We apologize for our hasty actions, my lady. It seems there must have been a serious misunderstanding on our part. ” Both spearmen uncross

Steel glints in the torchlights. Daggers slide free from hidden sheaths. Battlemages raise their hands, and their mana gathers like invisible storm clouds around their fingers. The spies prepare for a last stand. The battlemages prepare to kill them. Then reality bends, not metaphorically, or even poetically, but literally. The space between the two groups ripples like disturbed water, with light folding inward into a bright white point that expands into a circular tear in the air. Mana pressure spikes violently, whipping coats, cloaks, and hair backward as if a storm has suddenly appeared out of nowhere. A teleportation portal opens between them with a flash of blinding light. An elegantly dressed young woman in a sharp military uniform, wearing a dark blue coat, silver buttons, officer’s gloves, ceremonial saber at her waist, & hair tied in a tight military braid steps out of the teleportation portal like she owns the battlefield. She is Sergeant Mathilda Von Bradenburg

Second Prince Theron stands by the tall windows of Sturmhaven City Hall. His hands are clasped behind his back, as he stares out over the harbor where hundreds of ships rock slowly against their moorings. The smell of saltwater, tar, fish, and coal smoke drifts through the open windows. Dock cranes swing magically like giant steel skeletons against the horizon. He listens silently as Stella Webber finishes speaking. “ Third Prince Cain also has a conditional request. He requests that we only send advisers to him, and we shouldn’t directly interfere in the affairs of Frostmark Province in return for a strategic alliance, & partnership. ” Theron says nothing at first. He just smiles faintly. Then he exhales slowly through his nose. “ And those two assassins I sent to safeguard the castle servant readily agreed. My third brother thinks too highly of himself. Frostmark City is already under his control, true enough. But Frostmark Province is quite a different matter. It still n