"Cut the bullshit," Khalia snapped, her voice a sharp mix of lingering fury and genuine confusion. "Why the fuck would those lowlifes target me specifically out of everyone in the Bureau?"
"You would be surprised by the sheer, desperate lengths the Aimus will go to see you six feet under, ptenchik," Sunday remarked, his tone dripping with lazy amusement. He rose smoothly from his chair and stepped over to place a hand on Khalia's shoulder.
"You have invented an enchantment that completely neutralises the hyper-regeneration factor of the Aimus's Harbingers and high-ranking operatives," Sunday continued, a faint, wicked smile tugging at his lips as his thick accent rolled smoothly over his words. "Not to mention, you are currently developing a mass-producible enchantment for magical and physical reinforcement that can be woven directly into standard military armour and clothing. The moment you finalise that project, the entire balance of this war shifts dramatically into our favour, da?"
"Beyond that, your combat prowess is exceptional, and your contributions as Director of Magic Research have advanced the Empire and its allies by decades," Arnold added, letting out a rare chuckle from behind his desk. "Although I must admit, the Arch Mages of the Elven Empire of Sylveria found it exceptionally bitter to swallow the fact that a human had so thoroughly surpassed them in their own ancestral craft."
Khalia stood in complete silence as her mind pieced the puzzle together. The full scope of the Aimus plot laid itself out in sharp, terrifying clarity.
The entire operation had been meticulously calculated. By issuing the fake distress call, the Aimus intended to bait the Empire into deploying Khalia alongside another Prosecutor to handle the supposed strike force. Once on site, the massive force of Harbingers, Disruptor Mechs, and Cobra Reapers would spring the trap, overwhelming and slaughtering them both.
They had crafted the decoy precisely to demand Khalia's personal intervention. Even among the elite ranks of the Prosecutors, her lethal versatility made her an existential threat to the Aimus—a master of close-quarters and an unmatched genius in magic.
"Wait, Director," Khalia spoke up, her fiery rage slowly tempering into cold, sharp focus as she locked eyes with Arnold. "That still fails to explain their certainty. How could they guarantee I would be the one dispatched to answer the call?"
"They leveraged my son's presence to guarantee it," Arnold answered smoothly, his tone as unbothered as ever. "They calculated that Amon would inevitably intercept and move on the distress signal. And because my dear wife ensured you were bound to him as his guard, they knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that where Amon went, you would follow."
A prominent vein throbbed violently against Khalia's forehead at Arnold's words.
"Amon deduced their exact line of reasoning early on," Arnold added, a subtle, prideful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yet he chose to walk straight into the trap regardless. He wanted to deliver a very specific message to the Aimus—that the Empire remains five steps ahead of their petty schemes."
Arnold gestured toward the glass window overlooking the capital. "Before departure, he integrated a specialised, non-magical emergency transmitter directly into the framework of his vehicle. The moment the chassis suffered severe structural failure, it triggered a delayed spatial beacon linked straight to Mr Starling and Mr Lockhart. Because the mechanism operated on pure digital circuitry rather than Magium, and an active localised cloaking field, the Disruptor Mechs' sensors never picked up the signal."
The office door swung open, and Amon walked smoothly into the room, flanked by Tiamat and Amou on either side. He appeared completely pristine, his tailored black trench coat immaculate—looking for all the world as though he hadn't just been battered, bruised, and hurled into a luxury vehicle 2 hours prior.
"As for why the vehicle trick proved so effective," Amon spoke politely, his voice carrying its usual calm, confident cadence, "when I conceded the initial clash against the Harbingers, the rod-wielder grabbed me by the throat, sneering at how I had used a trick during the Saintess Escort mission to eliminate her colleagues."
He paused beside Khalia, while Amou and Tiamat came to a halt behind him, their sharp eyes glaring absolute daggers at the Magic Research Director.
"She hurled me into the chassis of my own car with arrogant contempt, mocking my previous trick," Amon continued smoothly, "completely oblivious to the fact that the same trick would bring about the destruction of her entire strike team."
"This is just absurd bullshit..." Khalia muttered under her breath, a vein throbbing as absolute annoyance washed over her. "What you are essentially telling me is that you allowed yourself to get outsmarted... just so you could outsmart their attempt to outsmart you..."
Amon chuckled at her phrasing. "Pretty much, yes. We were operating with severely limited options to begin with. It was either commit to a high-risk gambit or abandon the territory entirely—and the latter scenario would have proven catastrophic."
"You recovered from those shattered ribs remarkably fast, mladshiy," Sunday commented, his thick accent rolling smoothly as he looked the boy over with genuine appreciation.
"When one is blessed with exceptionally capable familiars," Amon replied, turning his blindfolded gaze toward Sunday as he raised both hands to lightly pet Amou and Tiamat—both of whom immediately leaned into his touch, their expressions smeared with satisfaction—"a swift recovery is practically guaranteed, Starshiy."
"O, vy znayete moy yazyk? (Oh, you know my language?)" Sunday asked in his native tongue, his bright pink eyes lighting up with surprise, leaving Khalia blinking in complete confusion.
"Da, no u menya eto ne ochen' khorosho poluchayetsya, tak chto, pozhaluysta, prostite mne moye plokhoye proiznosheniye (I do, but I am quite inept at it, so please forgive my poor pronunciation)," Amon responded flawlessly, his tone refined and his accent near-perfect, thoroughly impressing the senior Prosecutor.
"It is always pleasant to see colleagues getting along so well," Arnold chimed in from behind his desk, letting out a rare chuckle. "However, Mr Starling, do mind Miss Silverstone. The poor girl hasn't the foggiest idea what you two are discussing."
"Spasibo za komplimenty, boss. No budet zabavno, yesli ona ne poymet (Thank you for the compliments, boss. But it's funny if she doesn't understand.)" Sunday replied with a wicked, playful grin, turning his gaze toward Khalia. "V kontse kontsov, ya mogu govorit' yey samyye romantichnyye veshchi i priznavat'sya v chuvstvakh skol'ko dushe ugodno, ne davaya yey ponyat', chto imenno ya govoryu~ (After all, I can say the most romantic things to her and confess my feelings to my heart's content without her ever realising what I am actually saying~)"
"Sir," A woman spoke as she stepped through the office door, addressing Arnold and cutting through the banter. "The Head of the Arch Mages from the Elyrian Empire and the Sylveria Empire's Director of Arcane Advancement have arrived. They request an immediate audience."
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly as all eyes turned toward the newcomer. Amon broke the brief silence first.
"Ah, aren't you the kind lady who gave me directions to Director Khalia's office a while back?" Amon asked, his smile brightening as he recognised her.
"Indeed I am," she replied, offering him a warm, professional smile. "It is wonderful to see that you passed your Trials of Worthiness Exams and officially joined the ranks of the Prosecutors, Mr Crown."
"Thank you very much," Amon said, scratching the back of his head with a faint, embarrassed chuckle. "I must apologise, though... I never did catch your name during our first meeting."
"I am Isabelle Mercedes," She introduced herself with a graceful, shallow bow. "Please, there is no need for embarrassment, Mr Crown. The fault was entirely mine for failing to introduce myself properly back then." She raised her head, her tone gentle and reassuring.
"Miss Mercedes, would you mind asking our distinguished guests to wait in the formal lounge?" Arnold requested smoothly from behind his desk. "Inform them that I shall join them shortly."
"Of course, Director." Mercedes nodded respectfully, then turned and slipped out of the office, closing the door behind her.
The moment the latch clicked shut, two hands clamped down tightly onto Amon's shoulders with aggressive, possessive weight.
"My, I certainly didn't realise you had a penchant for refined administrative ladies, Master~" Amou purred, stepping up close to his right side. Though her smile was sweet, the dangerous, lingering edge in her voice made her jealousy blatantly obvious.
"You seem to establish rapport with her and Director Khalia with remarkable ease, Master," Tiamat added from his left. Her grip tightened to a point that would have shattered a normal man's collarbone, her expression cold, sharp, and dripping with raw envy.
"Oh, crap..." Amon swallowed hard, his pulse spiking as he fought with every fibre of his being to maintain his composure. "I completely forgot these two cannot tolerate another female breathing within my radius—aside from my soulmates and a very short list of exceptions..."
While outwardly maintaining his composure under the suffocating, possessive grips of Tiamat and Amou, Amon shifted the corner of his blindfolded gaze toward the glowing stream interface floating just past his peripheral vision.
RandomDude69: "Rest in peace, Streamer-kun. It was nice knowing you, Soldier..." | (Donated 9000 SCs)
VillainEnjoyer: "Oh no, mommies- I mean, his familiars are mad..." | (Donated 10000 SCs)
FangirlingIsMyPassion: "Even though the Streamer is in trouble, can we just appreciate how fine Sunday looks? Ngl, if I had to choose between him and the Streamer, I'd choose him every day." | (Donated 10000 SCs)
ChunkyPie: "What about between Arnold and Sunday?" | (Donated 8000 SCs)
FangirlingIsMyPassion: "Don't make me choose between them... Ugh... Screw it! I want both!" |
SugarRushCookieLover: "Both of them won't let you tap, lil sis." | (Donated 8200 SCs)
DraconicSoul: "Can someone fucking explain how that vehicle trick worked again? It looks like plot armour bullshit to me." | (Donated 1000 SCs)
MachineDeus: "Simple. The cloaking device that the Streamer attached to the mechanism that teleported Sunday and Oberyn was a Streamer Shop item, and that item was effective enough to bypass the sensors of the Mechs and go undetected by the Harbingers. The streamer said that the cloaking device existed in this world and was available in his kingdom's military, and if he went there to get that device, the Aimus spies planted there would've reported it to their HQ and would have completely foiled the streamer's plan. So, he had to buy it from the Streamer Shop." | (Donated 10000 SCs)
DraconicSoul: "If that's the case, then how come the Aimus Harbingers didn't get suspicious when they saw a damn supercar in the courtyard?" |
MachineDeus: "If you stopped being cynical for a fucking moment and thought of this entire situation from a different perspective, then maybe I wouldn't have to write a damn essay for you. In psychology, one of the most successful tactics of deception is plain-sight deception. Our minds filter out familiar or expected visual information to save energy, creating a blind spot for the obvious. This form of cognitive bias is what the streamer utilised. When the Harbingers saw a supercar standing in the courtyard, they naturally assumed that the car was used as transportation to get there. Even though it would raise suspicions in some people, the Harbingers didn't get suspicious because the profiling they had on the streamer is that he loves to travel around places using his supercar. So, they never suspected his supercar to be the reason for their downfall." |
MachineDeus: "If you didn't act cynical and start questioning every fucking obvious thing, then maybe, just maybe, you would've been smart enough to figure out what I just explained to you on your own." |
Amon read through the rapid-fire exchange, thoroughly entertained behind his calm mask.
"Damn... that verbal ass-whooping needs to be studied," Amon thought to himself, stifling a laugh. "MachineDeus is doing my job for me at this point."
. . .
The formal lounge was nothing short of extravagant—a sprawling, double-height hall that effortlessly bridged the gap between classic luxury and modern grandeur. Daylight poured through floor-to-ceiling arched windows, bathing the space in a warm, pristine glow.
At the centre of the grand layout, three oversized, crimson tufted sofas formed a cavernous U-shaped seating area, anchored by a rich maroon rug over gleaming, polished hardwood floors. Deep velvet accent pillows in patterned tones added visual depth to the arrangement, while a sleek, dark lacquer coffee table adorned with art books and ornate artefacts sat directly at the heart of the pit. Towering stone pillars and intricate balustrade stonework overhead lent the entire hall an air of majestic sophistication that bordered on overwhelming.
On the left-side sofa sat Arnold, Khalia, and Sunday, with the Bureau Director holding the central position. On the opposing right-side sofa, the Head of the Archmages of the Sylveria Empire and the Director of Arcane Research of the Elyrian Empire sat, maintaining a wide, icy distance between one another. Amon occupied the central sofa, his two familiars clinging possessively to either side of him.
The Head of the Archmages was an elven woman of striking presence. She possessed a tall, slender frame with a shapely silhouette, framed by long, flowing turquoise hair that cascaded down her back. Her long, tapered ears swept back gracefully, framing a face of exquisite beauty, while her teal eyes radiated centuries of ancient wisdom.
She wore a breathtaking, floor-length off-the-shoulder gown crafted from cloud-dyed blue fabric laced with subtle gold threading. The dress featured a sharply fitted bodice that hugged her form down to the knees before flaring out into a dramatic, mermaid-style skirt. Long sleeves flared slightly at her wrists with an ethereal flow, and glossy, light-blue slipper heels completed her regal attire.
Opposite her, the Elyrian Director was a tall, lean, exceptionally handsome humanoid male. His pale skin offered a sharp contrast to his long black hair, which fell into a sleek ponytail accented by warm brown gradients near the ends. Protruding from the sides of his forehead were a pair of dark, curved horns, while a supple black tail with brown highlights swayed lazily behind his chair.
His ensemble consisted of a ruffled, deep-brown shirt featuring intricate embroidery, layered beneath a heavy, tailored dark duster coat. The long, ruffled cuffs peeked out over his gloved hands, complemented by tailored black trousers, a heavy leather belt, and polished brown leather boots—creating a striking, commanding contrast of black and earth tones.
Both Primordial Beasts sat beside Amon in immaculate human disguises, their natures completely concealed beneath pristine formal attire.
Tiamat wore a floor-length, elegant white kimono crafted from a light, semi-translucent fabric decorated with sweeping golden cherry blossom branches across its wide sleeves. The garment was cinched at her waist with a heavy black obi adorned with a delicate gold band and a small, ornate crest that mirrored her quiet, regal presence.
Beside her, Amou sported a sophisticated ensemble blending vintage charm with modern edge—a high-necked, cream-colored blouse featuring long puffed sleeves and a delicate decorative clasp, paired with a dark brown, high-waisted pleated skirt. Golden chain embellishments and a cross-shaped pendant dangled from her waist, gleaming under the lounge's grand lighting.
To the untrained eye of any noble or imperial official, they appeared as nothing more than exceptionally striking, high-society human ladies. All traces of their primordial features were utterly suppressed—a seamless facade they maintained whenever stepping outside the Crown Estate or the Academy walls.
Yet, their ability to blend so effortlessly into the fabric of the Empire went far deeper than simple illusions or shifted forms. It was rooted in the paradoxical mechanics of Primordial existence itself.
Primordials inhabited a contradictory, dual state of simultaneous existence and non-existence. They possessed no origin in written history, no anchor in the world's records, and no inherent footprint in the collective memory of creation—yet they stood, breathed, and walked among them. It was a nature they commanded with total precision.
When Amon first summoned them into the world, entities of such absurd, apocalyptic power should have triggered immediate alarms everywhere, sending shockwaves through the geopolitical landscape. Instead, the world remained dead quiet.
Following Amon's explicit instructions, Tiamat and Amou had simply willed the public consciousness to pass over them. Many saw them, interacted with them, and then instantly purged them from their minds seconds later—their presence slipping through the cracks of human memory like water through fingers.
Only a handpicked few—those Amon explicitly granted permission to retain their memories—were permitted to remember that the two women sitting beside him were not mere companions, but dangerous phenomena of Creation bound to the young Prosecutor.
"Shall we commence the meeting, Sir?" Evadne Fay addressed Arnold, her voice carrying the smooth, melodic cadence characteristic of elven nobility.
"Of course, Madam Fay," Arnold replied, leaning forward slightly and resting his hands over the dark lacquer coffee table. "What brings the two of you to the Bureau today, Madam Fay, Sir Zhao?"
"As you are well aware, Lord Crown," Xuanzhen, the dragon-kin Director, began in a low, measured tone, his dark tail flicking once against the leather sofa, "the Aimus forces have been advancing their technological and tactical capabilities at an alarming rate. Standard magic has proven increasingly futile against them due to the specialised Anti-Magium units they have begun deploying along our borders."
"Indeed, that exact concern was brought to my direct attention mere hours ago," Arnold answered, his expression inscrutable. "Director Silverstone voiced similar observations upon her return from her latest operational deployment."
"Sir, we desperately require a viable countermeasure," Evadne chimed in, her teal eyes fixed on the Bureau Director. "Sylveria remains heavily reliant on ambient and high-tier spellcraft. These targeted anti-magic countermeasures are exacting a severe toll on our territorial defence forces."
"Hmm," Arnold hummed thoughtfully, his gaze shifting to his right. "What are your thoughts on the matter, Miss Silverstone?"
The collective focus of the room immediately locked onto Khalia. Rather than addressing Arnold, however, her sharp eyes pierced right through the elven woman.
"What exactly are you proposing we do about it, Miss Fay?" Khalia asked, her tone icy and devoid of warmth. "When I personally made the journey to Sylveria and advised the High Council to invest in integrated mechanical armour and physical shock-weapons, your councilors dismissed my words with contempt—claiming humans were primitive beings relying on 'cheap metallic crutches' to wage war."
"Miss Khalia—" Evadne began, attempting to interject.
Khalia raised a single, gloved hand, cutting her off instantly. "Miss Fay, you will address me as either Director Silverstone or Miss Silverstone. The privilege of using my given name is reserved strictly for my superiors and my direct colleagues."
A brief, tense pause hung in the air before Evadne inclined her head. "My apologies, Director Silverstone."
"Director Silverstone," Xuanzhen spoke up, drawing her attention over to the Elyrian representative. "While Miss Fay and I represent different sovereign interests, our underlying objective here remains unified."
"Director Zhao, I possess no ready-made solutions for your current predicament," Khalia replied flatly, crossing her arms. "If you are seeking military hardware, I suggest you schedule an audience with the Military Research Department. They will be more than happy to draft you a supply contract."
"Miss Silverstone, would you truly not consider assisting us with your expertise in enchantments?" Xuanzhen requested, his polite demeanour softening into something bordering on a diplomatic plea. "We have received confirmed intelligence that you successfully developed an enchantment capable of completely severing the hyper-regeneration factor of Aimus Harbingers."
A prominent vein throbbed against Khalia's temple.
"No."
The finality of her answer echoed through the grand lounge, catching even Amon slightly off guard behind his blindfold.
"If there is one concept I hold in utter contempt, it is blatant hypocrisy," Khalia stated, her voice laced with sharp, unyielding disgust. "When I perfected a spellcasting technique designed to harness ambient magium and reduce spell-casting strain, both the Elyrian and Sylverian High Councils dismissed my work as a useless circus trick."
She leaned back against the crimson sofa, staring them down with cold disdain. "Why beg for my assistance now? Surely two ancient, superior empires can decipher a way to crush the Aimus on their own, can they not?"
"Miss Silverstone, I understand your resentment toward our allies—" Arnold began, his voice maintaining its usual low, measured authority, but Khalia cut him off before he could complete the sentence.
"They treat this alliance as a burden and our people as inferiors, Director, and you know it as well as I do," Khalia countered bluntly, her voice ringing sharply across the double-height hall. "The only sovereign nations that treat us with genuine respect as true allies are the Holy Empire, the Solathian Empire, the Bloodrose Empire, the Beastkin Federation, and the Heavenly Empire."
She turned her sharp gaze back onto Xuanzhen, her tone dripping with quiet disdain. "And more importantly... why hasn't the Draconic Empire of Elyria stepped up to shield Sylveria? As far as I am aware, dragons are not merely world-class spellcasters—your physical specs alone should crush standard infantry. And surely your grand technological infrastructure can resolve a few anti-magic fields... right?"
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees with a cold, mocking smirk.
"Ah... forgive me. I completely forgot. The Elyrian Empire's entire grid runs exclusively on magium-powered tech, doesn't it?"
Khalia's eyes narrowed as both foreign representatives stiffened in their seats.
"Remind me," she added, her voice dropping into an icy register, "didn't our Director of Technology—my fellow Prosecutor colleague, Felix Black—specifically advise your High Council to diversify away from total magium reliance? And didn't your council mock him as a paranoid human for suggesting it?"