The following days for Crown Prince Mark were a whirlwind of numbers, meetings, and increasingly frosty glares from certain members of the Royal Council. His audit of the Royal Guard's supply chain had already yielded uncomfortable truths, implicating several minor officials in kickback schemes. Each exposed discrepancy was a small victory, but it also painted a target on his back.
One particularly sweltering afternoon, Mark and Ellaine were engrossed in a massive, ancient map in the palace's dusty cartography room, marking potential coal deposits based on Ellaine's initial magical scans. Her magic, while precise, was slow, requiring immense focus and mana. Mark, meanwhile, was cross-referencing geological data with old land deeds, seeking patterns.
"This area, Your Highness," Ellaine murmured, tracing a line on the map. "The 'Weeping Spires' in the Dragon's Teeth. My divination spells indicate a massive energy signature, unlike any mana crystal deposit. It could indeed be your 'black stone that burns fiercely.'"
Mark nodded, a rare smile touching his lips. "Excellent, Lady Ellaine. This could be the breakthrough etabsam needs."
Just then, the door creaked open, and two figures entered, their expressions anything but friendly. Lord Corvus, the perpetually sneering Minister of Interior, and Duke Alaric, a hulking, scowling man known for his vast landholdings and disdain for anything new. Their presence alone felt like a pre-emptive strike.
"Your Highness," Lord Corvus began, his voice dripping with false concern, "and Lady Ellaine. We must question the wisdom of diverting valuable magical resources to… fanciful notions of 'burning rocks.' Surely Lady Ellaine's talents are better utilized reinforcing the city's magical defenses, given the recent uptick in monster activity." His gaze flickered meaningfully to Alaric.
Duke Alaric grunted, crossing his arms. "Indeed. Whispers of bandits and beasts growing bolder reach even my estates. What good is this 'coal' if our roads are impassable and our people unsafe? Your Highness, these are not times for scholarly pursuits, but for decisive action against tangible threats." His voice was low, laced with an unsettling authority that suggested he knew more than he let on.
Mark straightened, his smile vanishing. "My lords, the kingdom's economic recovery is intrinsically linked to its security. Without resources, we cannot fund a stronger military. Without a stable economy, there will be no city to defend. Lady Ellaine's work is crucial for long-term prosperity. It's not a matter of 'either/or,' but 'both/and.'"
"Long-term?" Lord Corvus chuckled, a dry, unpleasant sound. "The kingdom may not have a long term if you persist in these… impractical ventures. Perhaps a young prince would do well to listen to his elders. Or perhaps," he added, a subtle warning in his tone, "a Prince's 'zeal' could be seen as an attempt to usurp established authority."
Ellaine, usually reserved, bristled. "My magic is precise, Lord Corvus. And Prince Mark's vision, while unconventional, is rooted in sound principles. These 'fanciful notions' could provide the very wealth needed to equip our guards and rebuild our defenses properly, rather than relying on short-sighted taxes. Mana crystals, while powerful, are finite. This 'black stone' is abundant."
"Impudent child!" Duke Alaric roared, stepping forward. "Do you challenge the wisdom of your betters? And you, Prince, are you so eager to squander what little remains on a fool's errand?" His hand instinctively went to the pommel of his ornate dagger, a gesture of barely contained aggression.
Mark stepped between them, his gaze unflinching as he faced the two powerful nobles. "I challenge only incompetence and corruption, my lords. And if you wish to see how 'impractical' our ventures are, perhaps you'd care to review the recent audit of the Royal Guard's supply chains? I'm sure you'll find the figures… illuminating." He held their gazes, letting the veiled threat hang in the air.
A flicker of unease crossed Lord Corvus's face. He knew his own hands weren't entirely clean, and Mark's mention of the audit was a direct hit. Duke Alaric, less subtle, merely glowered, but a predatory gleam entered his eyes. He wasn't just annoyed; he felt challenged. The tension in the room crackled, a silent promise of future conflict. They retreated, but their message was clear: they would not make this easy. Mark knew this was just the beginning of their resistance – a resistance that hinted at something far more sinister than mere greed.
Meanwhile, far from the gilded cages of the palace, Alfred and Ben found themselves in a considerably more perilous situation. Their mission to scout the kingdom's trade routes had taken them deep into the Whisperwood, a notoriously dangerous forest that bordered the Human City-States. Their usual banter had died down, replaced by the crackling of dry leaves underfoot and the distant, unsettling howls of unknown beasts.
"I still think this 'reconnaissance' is just Mark's way of getting us out of the palace so he can continue his war on boredom," Alfred grumbled, adjusting the grip on his ornate rapier. "Honestly, Ben, has he ever been this… un-princely? It's like he's swapped bodies with a grumpy old quartermaster."
Ben, ever stoic, merely glanced at the treeline, his hand on his greatsword. "The Prince is acting for the kingdom's benefit. Our orders are to identify threats to trade. Focus."
Suddenly, a bloodcurdling shriek pierced the air. From the dense foliage, a pack of snarling, monstrous wolves, larger than any ordinary timber wolf, erupted, their eyes glowing with an unnatural malevolence.
"By the Ancestors!" Alfred yelled, drawing his rapier and conjuring a shimmering magic augmentation around its blade. "These aren't common wolves! They're… mutated! And there's too many!"
They fought with practiced coordination, Alfred's agile, magically enhanced thrusts dancing around Ben's crushing, powerful swings. Yet, the wolves were relentless, their numbers overwhelming. They were clearly being driven, not merely hunting. Just as Alfred parried a lunge that would have torn Ben's leg, a new sound emerged: the clash of steel on steel, and coarse laughter.
From deeper within the woods, a band of heavily armed bandits emerged, flanking the wolves. They were not desperate, ragged thieves, but disciplined, well-equipped mercenaries, their leader a scarred brute with a cruel grin.
"Well, well," the bandit leader sneered, his voice raspy. "Look what the King's guard dragged in. The Crown Prince's favourite lackeys. Hand over your valuables, and maybe we'll let the beasts have you quick."
"Bandits?" Alfred scoffed, his face grim. "These aren't just bandits, Ben. These are… professional." He dodged a wolf's snap, then spun, slicing through its flank. "And they're working with monsters? This isn't just about trade routes anymore."
Ben, holding his ground against two charging wolves, suddenly saw something glint on the bandit leader's belt: a small, intricately carved silver insignia, the crest of a noble house, half-hidden beneath his leather jerkin. It was the crest of Duke Alaric.
A chill ran down Ben's spine, colder than any forest breeze. Corrupt officials. Not just embezzling, but actively destabilizing the kingdom, funding monsters and bandits to disrupt trade and undermine the very reforms Mark was trying to implement. This wasn't chaos; it was a calculated sabotage from within.
"Alfred!" Ben roared, pushing back against a wolf and blocking a bandit's sword simultaneously. "These aren't random attacks! They're paid! Look at his belt!"
Alfred, eyes wide, saw the insignia just as a fresh wave of wolves surged forward. The implications were horrifying. This was a deeper, more insidious rot than any they had imagined.
The whispers of corruption were not just whispers; they were the commands given to monsters and men alike, aimed squarely at the heart of etabsam. Mark had faced resistance from within the court, but Alfred and Ben were staring down the raw, violent consequence of that resistance, and the true battle for etabsam's future was only just beginning.