A heavy silence followed Prince Arthur's declaration.Everyone in the square held his or her breath.Then came a single clap.Loud and sharp.It cracked through the stillness like a lightning strike.And then another joined it. And another.Until the square shaked.The entire crowd erupted into thunderous applause.But this wasn't just polite approval.It was raw. Visceral. A roar of pent-up rage, pain, and desperate relief erupting all at once. Cheers rang out from every corner of the plaza—shouts of Prince Arthur's name, cries for justice, declarations of defiance.Some raised their hands to the sky as if praising the heavens. Others slammed fists to their chests or gripped the hands of their loved ones beside them.The noise swelled—not chaotic, but unified. A city's heartbeat thundering through cobbled streets.For the first time in days, something stirred deep within the hearts of Iron Hearth's people.Hope.Not the fragile kind whispered behind locked doors.But the kind t

Inside the private council chamber of Nubrisa, the atmosphere was thick—not with celebration or ceremony, but with the cold weight of impending doom and it's consequence.The chamber, a domed sanctum carved from pale moonstone and veined with gold-etched runes, was typically reserved for diplomatic rituals and highborn ceremonies. But today, it held tension instead of tradition.Golden sunlight streamed through the enchanted glass windows above, casting shifting patterns of celestial light onto a long, crescent-shaped obsidian table. Around it sat five figures, each cloaked in regal robes stitched with ancient sigils and woven thread symbols of the Great Houses of Nubrisa.Their faces were composed, but their eyes were sharp. Watching. Measuring.At the center, seated at the head of the crescent, was Morris Valthorne, Lord Chancellor of House Valthorne, and the man often whispered about as the quiet architect of Nubrisa's foreign influence. Al tactician, as much as a noble.He held

Inside the dimly lit royal library, the scent of old parchment and aged wood lingered in the air.The morning sun filtered through stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns across the rows of towering shelves. Amidst the silence, Prince Arthur sat alone at one of the long mahogany tables, his posture relaxed but his mind sharp.A single envelope lay in front of him, the wax seal already broken. His gloved fingers ran across the crisp paper as he unfolded it carefully.His eyes moved over the words slowly, absorbing every detail.It read thus:Your Royal Highness, Prince Arthur Tudor,From what I have observed, it seems increasingly unlikely that any of the noble factions from other nations will continue their support towards the Crimson shield cartel. At the beginning, several noble houses from Nubrisa discreetly sent spies and small reinforcements, providing logistical aid and intelligence.However, over the past few weeks, those very spies have been recalled, and all visib

CRACK.The entrance burst inward, the door splintering off its hinges and slamming against the stone wall inside.Steel boots stomped forward.Arms steadied under weapons, eyes watching out keenly at alert.The hunt had begun.…........Inside the warehouse, the mood shifted in an instant.Half a dozen men sat around a makeshift table, throwing dice and sipping from tarnished tin cups. A single lantern burned low in the corner, casting long, flickering shadows across the cracked stone walls. Behind them, a clutter of maps, smuggling manifests, and coded letters hung on a board nailed to old wooden beams. One man cleaned a dagger. Another calmly sharpened an axe, sparks dancing across the blade.The atmosphere had been relaxed. Loose. Careless.Until now....."Hey… what was that noise?" Tyler muttered, straightening in his seat. He frowned toward the corridor, eyes narrowing.One of the younger lackeys—a scrawny, pale man barely out of boyhood—stopped mid-drink. His hands trembl

For a fleeting moment, Crimson shield surged forward again, their fighters rallying behind the devastating spell work of their leaders. Steel rang louder, voices roared, and for that heartbeat in time, it felt as if they might push the invaders back. But that surge didn’t last. The royal forces recovered with brutal speed. Shield walls reformed, sealing the gap Axon’s magic had torn open. Orders rang out, crisp and unshaken, rising in a unified, pounding rhythm. Bit by bit, they slammed into Crimson shield’s front. A hail of arrows shredded through a knight’s armor, dropping him where he stood. Another batch flew across the room, striking two magicians mid-chant, their bodies convulsing before they crumpled. Tyler spun, his staff intercepting a sword aimed at his back. The impact jolted up his arms, but before he could counter, a shield smashed into his side, sending him sprawling across the stone floor. He rolled, coughing, the metallic taste of blood floating in his