Now what is he planning to do?" one of the officials demanded, his voice carrying equal parts fear and bitterness as he glanced at the others. The question hung in the chamber, but no answer came, only murmurs, shoulders shifting, eyes darting like nervous animals.
It was then that Ms. Lowlan intervened, her voice cutting through the noise like steel drawn across stone. "How much more of idiots could you all be?"
The sharpness of her words struck the chamber silent for a breath, heads turning to her.
"Excuse me…?" snapped the woman from the Military Body, her chair scraping harshly against the floor as she straightened. Her tone carried the weight of insult, pride bristling like a blade unsheathed.
But Ms. Lowlan did not waver. Her eyes burned with cold fire as she swept her gaze across the room. "Here you are," she said, her voice rising, each word heavy with contempt, "mocking his wounds, laughing at the man as though his pain is sport when you sit here with your stable, complete families."
The chamber stiffened. The words hit harder than any gavel.
She leaned forward, her presence like a spear thrust through their pride. "He, on the other hand, doesn't even know how his son has been living, because some idiots thought tearing a family apart would give them peace of mind." Her voice curled with scorn. "I wonder why he even listens to the garbage spilling from your mouths at all."
Silence followed, taut and suffocating. Councilors glanced down at their hands, avoiding her eyes. Ministers shifted uneasily, guilt etched faintly into their features though they tried to hide it. Even the Military Body's woman, who had snapped in pride a moment earlier, pressed her lips together and said nothing more.
"How dare you, Lowlan!" A man from the Ministry Body slammed his palm against the table, the crack of wood echoing like a whip across the chamber. His voice shook with rage as his fist came down again, harder, rattling the inkpots and scrolls. "We give you power, and you dare speak to us like this? To our faces?"
Ms. Lowlan did not flinch. Her expression hardened, her eyes sharp as drawn blades.
"That," she said, her voice steady, cutting through the clamor, "is the problem with all of you: Power. Power is all your brains ever think of…"
Before she could finish, a thunderous crash tore through the chamber. Something massive struck the outer wall, sending a violent tremor rippling through the marble floor. Dust poured from the ceiling beams, and stone cracked as a heavy slab came loose, smashing to the ground with a deafening roar.
Gasps broke from the benches. Councilors shielded their heads, scribes scrambled back, and the Military half-rose from their seats, hands instinctively reaching for weapons they didn't have.
Only Saelrix moved differently. With a quiet sigh, he lowered himself into the nearest chair, resting one elbow lazily against its arm. His yellow eyes glimmered faintly as he watched the chaos unfold, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. To him, they were nothing but foolish humans squabbling while the world burned outside.
Ms. Lowlan turned her head briefly, her gaze flicking toward the shaking wall. Dust swirled in the air around her, but when she looked back at the officials, her expression hadn't changed. Her voice rose, firm and unyielding.
"You talk of power," she said, her tone heavier now, "but do you even know what it means to climb to where I stand? Every step I took was carved by my own hands. No one came to me offering titles. No one said, 'From today, you are an A–Rank hunter.'"
Her words struck like hammer blows, steady and deliberate, a reminder that her strength had been earned, not gifted.
She did not sit quietly in the storm of voices. She rose from her seat, her movements calm yet commanding, and with a breath summoned her system. A soft chime rang in the air, and the words left her lips with the clarity of ritual.
"Lowlan Frey, A–Rank."
Before her, a faint shimmer of light gathered, and a holographic screen unfolded in the air. Its translucent panels glowed faint blue, reflecting off her sharp features as her fingers moved deliberately across the interface.
Her hand drifted toward the section labeled STORE. Pages flickered open, filled with lists of tools and equipment, until she stopped at one entry: Heat Repellent Cloaks.
Her gaze flicked briefly to the officials, their eyes wide as they watched her operate the system so casually, before she spoke again, her voice edged with scorn. "Every single one of you sits on wealth. You have basements carved deep into stone, secured with reinforced steel. You've employed the finest machines and hired Exo-hunters to guard your properties." Her lips curled faintly. "And yet here you are, clinging to power while the city outside drowns in fire."
She pressed the purchase. A faint ripple surged across the table as reality bent, and in the blink of an eye, twelve grey cloaks appeared, stacked neatly, each folded and wrapped in crisp paper.
Ms. Lowlan placed a hand on the pile, her eyes narrowing as her words sharpened. "In this perimeter," she said coldly, "none of that will help you."
And as if to punctuate her warning, the chamber shook with a roar. Stone cracked violently, and the wall to their right gave way. Dust exploded inward as marble blocks crashed to the floor, sending officials stumbling back in fear.
Through the ruin, figures cloaked in black stepped forward, one after another. Their movements were precise, and deliberate, their forms wreathed in a faint, unnatural aura. Shadows clung to their cloaks like living things, and as they advanced into the chamber, the torchlight bent unnaturally against them.
The chamber's officials recoiled. A councilor cried out, his chair toppling behind him. Military hands twitched toward empty hilts, their bodies remembering weapons they did not carry. The Judiciary paled, their eyes wide, their breaths stolen by dread.
The air had changed. The argument was over.
The enemy had arrived.
Ms. Lowlan's patience finally snapped. Her voice rang out, sharp and commanding, as she barked across the chamber toward Saelrix. "Then let them die if they won't defend themselves!"
Her words echoed like a whip crack as she vaulted over the long council table, her cloak flaring behind her. In the same heartbeat, Weynof – the Special Grade Exo-hunter moved as well, his body a blur of trained precision. The two hunters crossed the chamber in an instant, boots pounding once against the stone floor before they leapt together.
With a single, fluid motion, they phased through the barrier. The blue shimmer rippled around their bodies, bending to their will before swallowing them whole. And then they were gone outside the safety of the council chamber, into the chaos clawing at the city.
The silence left behind was heavy.
Saelrix exhaled slowly, his expression souring as he rose from his chair. He moved toward the edge of the chamber, intending to follow, but when his hand brushed against the barrier it held firm. The bluish wall quivered faintly at his touch, then pushed him back with cold resistance. His yellow eyes narrowed.
"Great," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with irritation. "Now he's forcing me to babysit these selfish morons."
The barrier wasn't going to let him out anytime soon. He turned slightly, his gaze drifting over the frozen officials still huddled at the table, their eyes wide, their lips drawn into silent half-words of fear. None daring to flinch.
A sudden chill crept down Saelrix's spine, colder than the barrier's touch. His mind tugged him backward into memory.
He remembered a chamber like this one, but darker. The high ranks of his realm seated in a semicircle consisting of the minor kings and councillors, their faces hidden in darkness. The air had been thick, and suffocating with the weight of expectation. And at the center, silent, and unmoving, had been King Weldyrith.
Even in memory, the king's silence pressed against him like a mountain.
He remembered standing among them on that day, seated in the presence of rulers who decided fates with a nod. His own voice came back to him, cold and certain, a whisper from the past that now echoed in his mind:
"I have made sure the government allows his return without granting him the title of hunter. And that… is just the beginning."
The words lingered like a curse, burning in his chest. With them came the heavy reminder of his responsibility, the role he had chosen, the burden he could no longer shrug off.
With these idiots as the government bodies, he knew he could still fulfil the role he chose upon himself.
Saelrix's body shuddered, his form beginning to shift. A crack echoed through the chamber, sharp and unnatural. Bones snapped, one after another, the sound like branches breaking underfoot, until his very frame began to contort. His shoulders broadened, his back arched, his height climbing as his body expanded beyond the confines of his human shape.
The five bodies, who had moments ago been murmuring to one another, froze mid-sentence. Their eyes widened, darting toward the figures still standing outside the barrier. For a fleeting instant they thought the sound had come from beyond the wall. But when the snapping and cracking grew louder, and closer, their heads turned in unison toward the back of the chamber.
The sight stole the breath from their throats.
Where Saelrix had stood, a new figure loomed. Towering, and unnatural, its presence filled the chamber like a nightmare given flesh. A grin stretched across its face, wide and grotesque, twisting their stomachs with nausea and dread.
Its skin was slick with a sickly purple hue, shifting faintly as though shadows crawled just beneath the surface. Long black nails, curved like daggers, extended from its fingers, gleaming with unnatural sharpness. Bright yellow eyes burned in the dim light, pupils swallowed completely by the glow, leaving only a feral, predatory stare.
Black hair, heavy and unkempt, cascaded in loose waves over its broad shoulders, framing the twisted grin in an almost mocking elegance. The rest of its form was shrouded in tattered black robes, the fabric whispering faintly as though alive, coiling around the monstrous frame.
Terror gripped the chamber like a stranglehold. Some officials pressed back against their chairs until wood scraped harshly against the floor. Others clutched at their chests as though their hearts might burst from the pressure. No one dared to speak.
The sound of his grin alone, an expression too deliberate, and too cruel was enough to make even the proudest of them wish they could collapse into the floor and vanish.
Trouble pressed in on all sides; outside the barrier, where black-cloaked figures prowled closer, and inside, where a far greater danger had taken shape. The towering figure stood with its grin carved into place, a smile that carried no warmth, only malice.
"Bow your heads," he muttered, the words low but carrying through the chamber like a command etched into stone. "You stand in the presence of royalty."
The declaration struck harder than the crash of falling walls. The officials' eyes widened, horror freezing their faces as the truth unfurled before them. This was not Saelrix the scout, not the man who had reported to their council and gathered intelligence for years. This was his mask peeled away, his façade torn down.
This was Saelrix's true form – a Malged Prince.
The weight of that revelation pressed on them like iron chains. Fear curdled in the air as their gazes clung to the monstrous shape looming before them.
He was not merely a shadow in service to the government of Aderfel. He was one of the five councillors of Ozeftier, that crumbling little realm the Malgeds still clung to. The only one among them not yet fully shattered by Vanik'shur's devastation. His grin widened as though savoring their realization, feeding on their disbelief.
And more than that he was blooded royalty. The son of Qobhem, a minor king whose name was whispered with contempt and fear alike, a legacy now revealed in the chamber that thought itself secure.