Aaron stood over the ruined bed, staring at the woman who was once an empress. The sharp, cunning fire in her eyes was gone, replaced by a hollow, eerie emptiness.
Slowly, her gaze locked onto him. Terror lingered, now blended with blind obedience.
He hadn't just broken an empress. He'd forged a deadly, stunning weapon.
Aaron adjusted his stiff formal tunic, his face a cold, unreadable mask. "Isabella, go to the wardrobe. Pick the grey mourning gown. Dress, then wait in the study."
She rose silently from the bed. Her movements were smooth, almost too perfect, like a lifeless doll.
The fierce Empress who once schemed for power was erased. Only a tool remained, shaped by his `Puppet Master` will.
Aaron turned and strode down the cold stone hallway to his study. This room was his stronghold, the heart of his rising power.
He settled behind the dark wooden desk, the weight of the Regent's authority on his shoulders. Soon, Isabella entered, dressed as ordered, standing by the wall—a haunting, beautiful shadow.
He barely started planning to secure the Empire's legions when the air shimmered. A rift of shadows and purple energy tore open in the room.
From it stepped Archmage Reynolds, his silver robes pristine. An old ally from the holy war, his ambition matched his raw power.
"A brilliant move, my friend!" Reynolds's voice boomed with false warmth. "The Empire is yours, Regent."
His keen eyes flicked to Isabella, offering a curt nod. To him, she was just a trophy, not the chained soul Aaron had bound.
"I didn't come empty-handed," Reynolds declared, arms wide. "I bring gifts for your new rule."
He waved at the portal. A dozen massive granite golems marched out, ten feet tall, eyes glowing with magic.
"A legion to guard the capital," Reynolds said with a grand smile. "They obey only you."
He then handed over a fancy scroll, tied with gold ribbon. "And this—a list of loyal mages for your new council."
Aaron stood and took the scroll with a polite nod. "Your generosity is unmatched, Reynolds. The Empire is grateful."
But inside, his instincts roared. A hundred lives of betrayal warned him—this was a snake's gift.
Once Reynolds left, silence returned to the study. Aaron unrolled the scroll, scanning the names.
He sent a quick mental command through the Whisperer's network. The reply came fast—every name belonged to 'The Silver Circle,' Reynolds's hidden cabal.
This wasn't a council. It was a trap.
Aaron approached the nearest golem, its stone frame still as death. He placed a hand on its cold chest and closed his eyes.
No need for fancy spells. He used his `Mana Absorption` talent to feel the magic within.
His senses slipped into the golem's energy matrix like water. Deep in its core, hidden as a harmless rune, he found it—a parasitic command tied to Reynolds's signature.
These golems would serve him, sure. But Reynolds could turn them into killers with a single thought.
Their next meeting was in the grand throne room. Aaron sat on the Regent's seat, beside the empty throne of puppet emperor Leo.
Isabella stood at his right, her beauty chilling against her vacant stare. Reynolds entered, his smile as fake as ever.
"Regent," he greeted with a shallow bow. "Are my gifts proving useful?"
"Very much so," Aaron replied, his own smile thin and icy. He gestured for Reynolds to come closer.
They discussed grain supplies and border patrols, the dull work of ruling. Reynolds seemed at ease, thinking his trap was set.
Then Aaron leaned forward a bit. "The golems are impressive, Reynolds. A fine display of your craft."
"I'm pleased they meet your standards," Reynolds said, puffing up.
"But I noticed a small flaw," Aaron went on, his tone smooth as a blade. "In the power matrix—a tiny feedback loop in the left leg's actuator."
He paused, watching Reynolds. "It's subtle, easy to miss. Could freeze the golem if the right mana frequency hits. Only the maker would know that trick, I reckon."
Reynolds's fake warmth shattered. His face paled, jaw tightening.
His mind must've raced. No such flaw exists. He's bluffing. But to craft such a detailed lie… he's seen the core. He knows.
"You're… as sharp as ever, Aaron," Reynolds forced out, voice strained.
Aaron leaned back, his smile turning wolfish. "I expect clever allies, Reynolds. Not foolish ones."
The warning hung heavy in the air, sharper than any sword. I see your game, and I'm the one in control.
Reynolds gave a rigid bow, their fake friendship in ruins. He left the throne room without another word.
Aaron watched him go, his expression hard as stone. Their alliance was a sham, a brittle truce in a silent war.
And both knew it well.