The underground chamber beneath the Millers Merchant Company was a hive of activity, a sprawling production line hidden from the empire's prying eyes. Thousands of carriages lined the cavernous space, their sleek frames gleaming under flickering mana-lit torches. Workers in red-and-black uniforms moved with purpose, loading heavy sacks into the carriages with meticulous care, as if guarding a secret too dangerous to spill. The five chairs—Rakel, Baines, Wayla, Torren, and Wills—crouched in the shadows, their disguises blending them seamlessly with the workers.
A booming voice cut through the hum of activity, drawing their attention to a man clad in black armor. His aura pulsed with the unmistakable weight of a grandmaster, but his commanding stride marked him as more than a mere knight. "Hurry!" he barked, his voice echoing off the stone walls. The chairs exchanged glances, their instincts screaming: This is a general of the Black Sun.
