After one week…
The Red Emerald Kingdom was no longer the same.
The royal capital wore colors that did not match its nature.
Deep crimson, the color of oxidized blood, mixed with dark green, the color of life that knows it is temporary. The banners hanging from the towers did not wave freely; they were pulled tight, like war banners forced to play the role of decoration.
The streets were full of people. Music was playing, laughter could be heard, but behind every note there was invisible tension, as if the city itself was holding its breath.
Soldiers were spread everywhere in unusual numbers, armored, silent. Their eyes were not watching the celebration, but the crowds.
The royal palace, the heart of the kingdom, was like a polished mountain.
Its walls were made of dark emerald stone, crossed with natural red veins, as if the palace was built over a beating heart. The massive gates were wide open, but the feeling was not welcome… it was an invitation to enter the mouth of a beast.
The Crystal Kingdom
The Crystal procession arrived first.
Transparent carriages, white horses like statues carved from light. The people were amazed, but trained eyes saw something else: perfect guard formations, measured distances, no wasted movement.
The Crystal King stepped down calmly, with his two daughters beside him.
The eldest, sharp-eyed, was far too calm for a seventeen-year-old.
The younger had softer features, but her eyes never stopped moving, catching every detail.
Korval stepped forward with his warm smile.
"Your presence honors my festival."
The Crystal King bowed slightly.
"Hahaha, how could I not come after receiving an invitation from Korval himself?
After all, crystal does not forget who reflects light upon it."
Smiles…
and no one believed them.
The Kingdom of Tasso
The Tasso procession was not elegant, but heavy.
Iron carriages, massive horses, soldiers with hard faces.
The King of Tasso dismounted, his son behind him.
A broad-shouldered young man, his gaze direct, unable to hide his hostility.
Korval looked at the son before the father, then said:
"It seems the blood of Tasso is still hot."
The King of Tasso smiled firmly.
"And it still knows when to be spilled."
The Seven Valleys
They arrived together…
but not as one.
Seven processions, seven banners, seven different guard styles.
Each leader came with an heir, sons and daughters. Different features, but one thing in common: caution.
Korval welcomed them one by one, addressed each by name, mentioned an old incident. He was known for never forgetting… and never forgiving.
The Kingdom of Arko
Arko's procession was the most disciplined.
One armor style, one color, no decoration.
The King of Arko stepped down with his two sons.
The elder's eyes were like a wall.
The younger watched the ground as if it hid traps.
Korval said:
"The single wall still stands."
The King of Arko replied with a laugh:
"Do not worry, Korval. I will not fall and leave you alone.
We stand firm and will remain so, because we do not open our gates without reason."
The Kingdom of Oraro
Oraro's procession was quiet, almost like a funeral march.
Dark blue colors, guards that looked light… but felt dangerous.
The king stepped down with his two daughters.
Both were smiling, but the smiles never reached their eyes.
Korval greeted them:
"The sea is calm today."
The King of Oraro replied:
"Because it chooses when to rage."
The Spirit Assassination Organization
They entered without noise.
Their leader was silent and grim. Behind him were young men with ordinary faces, except for their eyes… eyes that did not see people, only targets.
The Eastern Mercenaries
Laughter and loud voices, but disciplined steps.
Their apprentices were young, muscles tense, eyes shining with greed and ambition.
The Melted Blood Sect
The smell of iron came before them.
Their disciples wore strange smiles, as if they were in a sacred place.
The Hundred Curse Sect
Silence.
Young disciples wearing black talismans, their eyes distant, as if listening to voices no one else could hear.
Finally…
Korval's children appeared.
The son: calm, well-groomed features, a controlled smile.
The daughter: cold eyes, standing beside her father like a conscious shadow.
Korval opened his arms slightly:
"Welcome…
my home is your home, and my festival is yours."
The royal hall filled with youth.
Ages between fifteen and seventeen.
An entire generation gathered in one place.
Laughter, greetings, polite words.
But above them all, one shared feeling:
This was not a festival.
This was a test.
At the top of the palace, far from sight,
Ashen watched without interest…
and the giant abomination smiled, as if all of them were nothing but fuel.
The city, beneath the decorations,
began counting days…
not for celebration,
but for explosion.
The royal banquet hall was not built for celebration…
but for slow suffocation.
The ceiling was high, yet it did not give a sense of space. Instead, the air itself felt heavy. Massive emerald chandeliers cast a green light mixed with red, making faces look sharper, more honest… or more false.
The long tables were arranged in a semicircle, with Korval's table at the center.
The seating was not random.
Every king, every sect leader, was placed where Korval knew they would see and hear what they should… and what they should not.
Servants moved in silence, pouring wine, serving luxurious dishes:
rare meats, food cooked with monster blood, fruits that grow only in death zones.
But no one came to eat.
They came to measure each other.
Korval raised his cup first, his smile warm, his voice calm:
"I thank you for answering the invitation in these difficult times.
The continent is going through a sensitive phase, and I believe meeting at one table is better than meeting on battlefields."
Light smiles, slight nods.
No one commented.
The Crystal King broke the silence first, his voice smooth like ice:
"A sensitive phase… an accurate description.
Especially with what we have heard recently about unjustified military movements in the southern borders."
Korval tilted his head slightly:
"Oh… you mean those campaigns that were crushed faster than expected?"
The King of Tasso intervened, his tone rough:
"Crushed?
Some say the roads were opened for them before they arrived."
A short silence followed.
The children sitting behind their fathers held their breath.
Korval smiled:
"The continent is wide.
Sometimes doors open because the guards are dead, not because someone ordered them opened."
One of the Seven Valleys kings spoke slowly:
"Even so…
it is strange that these victories coincide with the decline of the imperial family's influence."
The atmosphere changed.
Mentioning the imperial family was not a detail.
It was a red line… beginning to crack.
The King of Oraro interlocked his fingers:
"Decline is a gentle word.
The reality is closer to disintegration."
The King of Arko looked at his cup without lifting it:
"When the roof weakens,
the walls begin to wonder if they still need it."
Korval let the words sink in, then said:
"The imperial family was the safety valve.
Its weakness… is not good news for anyone."
The Crystal King smiled faintly:
"Except for those who know how to swim in chaos."
The children exchanged quick glances.
This was no longer a festival conversation.
Korval set his cup down, his voice deeper:
"Chaos is not a game.
Especially when the sects we prefer not to name… begin to move."
The word "sects" drew attention.
One of the Melted Blood Sect leaders asked cautiously:
"Which sects do you mean, Your Majesty?"
Korval answered without hesitation:
"The Corpse Purification Sect."
The hall grew cold.
Even the Eastern Mercenaries stopped eating.
The King of Tasso muttered:
"They only move when there are corpses with no owners."
Korval continued:
"And the Cursed Blood Sect. Their rituals were seen in three regions during the past month."
The Crystal King's daughter clenched her fist unconsciously.
Her father noticed… but did not stop her.
The King of Oraro spoke quietly:
"If these two sects move at the same time,
it means the continent is about to be rewritten in blood."
Korval nodded:
"And for that reason…
I believe the next Sect Gathering will be different."
Something shifted in the air.
The Sect Gathering…
the event where the value of the next generation is measured.
The King of Arko raised an eyebrow:
"You think it will decide the balance of power?"
Korval smiled:
"I think it will reveal who will live…
and who will become ritual material."
Soft laughter followed, but it never reached the eyes.
The Crystal King said:
"Our young generation…
is ready to show what it has learned."
The King of Tasso said:
"The weak will not return."
The leader of the Hundred Curse Sect said:
"Survival belongs to those who can endure the curse."
Korval looked at the gathered youth:
"True creation…
is born when one is pushed to the edge of death."
Korval concluded the banquet:
"Let us drink, then…
to a future we may not see,
but one our children will shape… or be buried beneath."
The cups were raised.
And in that moment,
no one was thinking about the festival.
They were thinking about survival.