✦ Chapter Twelve ✦
In the Grand Hall of the Alliance Council, where figures representing the weight of the world and the clarity of its darkest shadows had gathered, the air was charged with the scent of danger—and what was more dangerous still was the unmistakable seriousness upon their faces.
Gilmedon the Wise sat at the head of the round table. Gazes crossed between the seated leaders, each of them representing a force capable of shifting the balance of war. His eyes passed over them slowly before he spoke in a deep, resolute voice:
"The danger is not confined to the traitor alone. There are those who watch us from the darkness, waiting for the right moment to strike."
A moment of wary silence settled over the hall before he continued, his gaze growing sharper:
"The Goblin King, mozarth, this filthy beast may be occupied with his internal wars for now. But do not be deceived. Goblins, by nature, know no peace. If he sees a weakness in our defenses, he will not hesitate to sink his claws into the heart of one of us."
Martin tightened his fist. He knew that despite their small size, goblins became a terrifying force when united behind a leader like Zorgath.
"As for the Ifrit King—that rabid dog—he is little different from a fire thirsty for destruction. He lives only by blood and feeds only on chaos. His kingdom is quiet now—but when have the Ifrit ever left a land drowning in blood without leaping into it?"
Tension rose among those present. They all knew the Ifrit were pure chaos, loyal to nothing but strength.
A faint smile formed on the lips of Altheria, Queen of the Vampires, while the other leaders remained silent, each imagining how war would look if those three enemies ever stood united in a single line.
Then Gilmedon lowered his voice, though it grew sharper still, as though his words were carved from stone itself.
"But more dangerous than all of this… is the traitor among us."
His words struck like a dagger thrust into the air, causing every breath to pause. Martin, who had listened in silence until now, felt something creeping into his chest—a heavy sensation, as though the night itself pressed against his heart.
"Martin. What I require of you now is to find the traitor within your kingdom and eliminate him. I want you to preserve the peace there. If anything happens to the Kingdom of Wisteria, it will expose a fatal weakness—one that could allow our enemies to devour us without mercy."
Martin lifted his head slowly, his eyes flashing with a lethal gleam. If there was a traitor, he would show no mercy.
Gilmedon then turned toward the Vampire Queen.
"Lady Altheria, your task is to meet the King of the Giants and learn why he did not attend this gathering. Though I trust the King of the Dwarves, my heart will not be at ease unless you also investigate his situation."
Altheria nodded gracefully, her eyes carrying a hidden glimmer, as though she looked forward to an old encounter in the shadows of stone castles.
Then came the turn of the Vice King of Demons.
"As for you, Kezorsia is a man who keeps his word. Yet he did not attend. This may mean he has discovered something grave. I want him to send us reports of every development. We must know what threatens the peace of our alliance."
The deputy cast a cold glance before replying:
"The Demon King does not overlook what occurs. But he does not provide reports for free."
Gilmedon gave a faint laugh.
"Tell him the price will be paid after the war."
Finally, he turned to Lord Stiker, master of the black market.
"And you—your eyes must be everywhere. Every alley. Every market. Every bottle of poison sold. Anything unusual. Any poisoned goods. Any thread that may lead us to the traitor. Miss nothing."
Stiker said nothing. He simply nodded.
Moments later, they all rose from their seats and went toward their new missions. But Martin—Martin alone—felt the danger was closer than they believed.
He stood for a moment, staring at the distant horizon beyond the windows, where his homeland lay beneath the night sky. He had no solid proof. He did not yet know who the traitor was. But he felt the danger the way a warrior senses the edge of a blade drawing near his throat.
He muttered, barely audible:
"Viserys… hold on."
He turned without hesitation and left the hall, determined to return.
He did not need to search for his horse. Trishia was waiting for him, silent as though it had listened to every word spoken inside. Its red eyes glowed in the darkness, and its black saddle shimmered with a faint, demonic gleam.
Martin mounted, gripped the reins tightly, and whispered a single word:
"Go."
As if the wind itself obeyed the command, Trishia surged forward with such speed that the world faded behind them. There was nothing left but a black storm advancing faster than light.
The kingdom was in danger.
And he had to arrive before it was too late...