Karen City was a small settlement of roughly twenty thousand souls, situated at the mouth of the Vania Valley. It served as a double-edged sword for the Golden Order, guarding a vital waterway to Liurnia while acting as a shield against the erratic uprisings of the Mt. Gelmir region. Two hundred miles to the northeast lay the Grand Lift of Dectus—the most formidable natural barrier and strategic chokepoint on the continent.
Because of its precarious position, the city's governors were almost always drawn from the most entrenched noble houses of Leyndell. Consequently, the governorship of Karen was not merely a military post; it was a battlefield where various factions of the Golden Order clawed at one another for influence.
For the past three years, that seat had been held by Baron Hektov Ofnir. Though the Ofnir family was renowned for its military merit and held lands in the fertile Altus Plateau, they were surrounded by rivals with equally deep roots. The nobility could tolerate an Ofnir holding a key position temporarily, but they would never allow the family to plant its roots too deep in such a strategic location.
Since the War of Unification, these political games had become a permanent fixture of the land. Even a man as martial and bold as Hektov, supported by brothers who served as the Leyndell City Supervisor and a Deputy Commander of the Northern Army, was little more than a single wave in a vast, churning whirlpool of intrigue.
"Has Clavell settled the monsters from the Sky Castle into their camp?" Hektov stood atop the city battlements, staring toward the east as the sun began to dip below the horizon.
The twilight cast a harsh, ochre light across the Baron's rugged face and coarse beard, making him appear as if he were carved from the same jagged stone as the walls. His massive frame radiated a natural, intimidating authority.
"Yes, My Lord," a scout reported, bowing low. "Prince Luthier even invited the Internal Affairs Officer to ride alongside him. They appeared to be in deep conversation."
"Hmph. He always did have a nose for the stench of monsters," Hektov muttered, his eyes flashing with unconcealed disdain. "With the border tensions as they are, we are forced to waste precious supplies on these creatures. If it weren't for—"
He cut himself off sharply, his hand waving through the air in a gesture of irritation. "Enough. All of you, begone!"
The scout and the nearby sentries retreated as quickly as their legs would carry them. Throughout the Golden Order, everyone knew the newborn dragon prince was coming to Leyndell as little more than a high-status hostage. While the common folk did not view him with the same reverence as the true demigods of the Erdtree, he was still a scion of a Great Rune-bearing lineage. Even Hektov Ofnir knew there were certain lines he could not cross in speech, and his subordinates were certainly not brave enough to overhear them.
"Wait," Hektov called out, stopping a guard before he reached the stairs. "When Clavell returns, tell him to stay within the city walls for the coming days. If I find a single shred of evidence linking him to the rebels, he knows the price."
"As you command, Lord Baron." The guard accepted the order with a forced mask of calm, already wondering how to deliver such a blatant threat to the Internal Affairs Officer.
At the same time, three miles to the east, the Ancient Dragon delegation had finished settling into their temporary camp. Haunted by the Godskin ambush of the previous night, the Storm Knights had reinforced the perimeter with barricades and tripled the sentry rotations. For an elite force composed entirely of Storm Knights and Dreadwyvern warriors, such a defense was sufficient to repel a small army.
A bonfire crackled in front of the royal pavilion. After finishing the logistics of the camp handover, Clavell had been invited by Luthier to stay for a casual conversation. Agheel and Greyoll sat on either side of their Prince, their eyes never leaving the human official.
"Oh? Master Clavell, you were once a Perfumer in Leyndell?" Luthier asked, arching a silver eyebrow.
"I was, Highness," Clavell replied with a respectful nod. "My mentor was a Court Perfumer. I studied the arts under him from the age of twelve. When he passed ten years later, I took up his mantle and served in the Capital for over a decade. Five years ago, I was reassigned to Karen following... certain events. Later, the people of this city placed their trust in me, and I became the Internal Affairs Officer."
Luthier looked at him with renewed interest. "To be the direct disciple of a Court Perfumer implies your skill was exceptional. I have heard that Queen Marika values talent above all else. Why would she allow someone of your caliber to be sent to the frontier?"
Luthier smiled apologetically. "Of course, I ask out of mere curiosity. If the subject is painful, you need not answer."
"Your Highness is too kind," Clavell said, his voice surprisingly steady. "There is no reason to hide the truth from you."
A faint, bitter shadow passed over his face. "It is quite simple, really. In Leyndell, I saved someone I shouldn't have. Or rather, a Misbegotten."
"I heard a powerful figure in the Capital wanted the creature dead, but I found him on the brink of passing and brought him back. I expected to be erased along with the patient. But then a decree came from the palace; the Misbegotten was taken away, and I was spared for reasons I still do not understand. A few days later, I received my transfer orders to Karen."
"Do you remember the name of that Misbegotten?"
"He never said, and I never asked. I have treated too many over the years to remember every name."
Luthier felt a quiet ache in his chest. In the holy city of Leyndell, at the foot of the Erdtree, the Misbegotten and the Omen were treated as filth, destined for the sewers or the slave-pens. Even Marika's own twin sons could not escape that fate. Only the Perfumers, in their original role as healers, possessed enough compassion to see them as living beings worthy of care.
He remained silent for a moment before asking, "You have been in Karen for five years then. Have you started a family here?"
It was meant as a polite closing to a heavy topic, a gesture of royal concern after a long day of travel. But the moment the question left his lips, Clavell's expression went dark. He lifted his head, finally looking Luthier directly in the eyes.
In the flickering orange light of the bonfire, the forty-year-old man looked like a piece of weathered, rotting wood. Only his eyes, reflecting the embers and ash, held a desperate, searching light.
He lowered his gaze, his voice becoming a dry rasp. "I adopted a daughter. She died last year."
Luthier's lips parted, but for once, he found he had no more questions to ask.
A short while later, as the moon rose high, Luthier watched Clavell's dejected silhouette vanish into the darkness toward the city. Greyoll, standing at his side, finally voiced her confusion.
"He is a common human, Highness. Why go to such lengths to confirm his history? Why even send Agheel to tail him?"
"He wants to use me to kill Baron Hektov, and I am currently deciding whether to save his life," Luthier said, turning to look at her.
The dragon maiden froze, her sharp brows knitting together in utter bewilderment.
"What?"