The conference room dropped into hush, like a pond gone still under windless night, and in those eyes Alfred saw scorn, fear, and cold arithmetic.

To them, his words were a jester’s bells in a funeral hall; the tide had turned, and there was no profit in his wake.

Koramor had chosen not to punish their past loyalty, a rare mercy, and no one wanted to gorge on risk and leave with him.

Ymir’s smile was a knife under frost; inside, he felt bright, vicious joy, as if a toppled statue lay at his feet.

Yet Alfred’s face held no panic, no lost-boy haze—only calm, like stone under rain.

No one stood. Even Kaya, who had spoken for him moments ago, kept her head bowed; disappointment pooled in Alfred’s chest like cold ink.

No one at all? He had done all he could. When the expeditionary army arrived, their lives would no longer be his burden.

“No one? I guess I was imagining things.”

He said it with a blade of self-mockery and shook his head, as if shedding dust.

A kobold among the orcs piped up, voice thin as thread in fog. “Boss, will life be better if we follow you?”

He feared the road ahead like a winter with no granary; who chooses hardship eyes open?

Many thought the question pointless. Hunted by the God-King and the Nether King, Alfred could barely guard his own shadow; following him looked like a dead end.

“It will,” Alfred said, firm as an iron hammer. “Like before. Stick with me, and you won’t regret it.”

The kobold, dog-muzzle bright with hope, trotted up to Alfred as if drawn by firelight.

“Boss, will my clan get good food then? Will humans stop selling us things at cutthroat prices?”

Orcs and humans kept a brittle peace, like ice over fast water, but the chill of bias never thawed.

Orcs didn’t farm or weave; oil and salt came only from human stalls, and a quiet rule made every price cruelly multiplied.

Even this kobold sat on a high council, yet humans wouldn’t loosen that knot of profit.

With his cry as spark, old diehards stepped forward, pledging to live and die with Alfred, like torches catching one by one.

“Anyone else?” Alfred’s gaze brushed Kaya; she lowered her head and didn’t rise. A small ache tightened; faint favor meant nothing today.

Last, Alfred looked toward the brightest star in the room.

Keliya—first he met, the one he loved most. Ymir liked Kaya, Kaya liked Alfred, Alfred loved Keliya; a chain of hearts pulled tight and sore.

In the end, only Alfred and Keliya walked the same road.

“Keliya, come with me.”

“No.”

Alfred felt a dull throb behind his eyes. Others refused for fear of tomorrow; Keliya refused for reasons stitched to the past.

Back then, he’d wanted to hold off an army alone, to buy his comrades time. Keliya opposed him like a wall.

She swore to die with him, so he knocked her out quietly, then faced the tide while the others carried her away like a fallen bride.

Since that day, a thorn sat in her heart; whatever Alfred did, she would twist the thread against him.

He knew her temper. Knew this was anger talking, not true refusal. On an ordinary day, he’d soften her with honeyed words.

But the moment was iron. He had no time to coax or mend.

He’d already stretched the clock, and if the three Demon Kings grew displeased with delay, the sky itself might break.

Alfred stepped behind Keliya and pulled her into his arms, like gathering a storm-tossed sail.

“Sorry. I’m out of time, so I’m doing this. You’re coming with me, no matter what.”

The roughness in his voice stung the room like grit. Ymir narrowed his eyes, a hunter weighing snares.

Keliya struggled, breath quick as the wings of a trapped bird. “Let me go. I’m not going with you, you liar…”

She couldn’t break free. Power wasn’t the only gap; inside, she didn’t truly resist, and her fight was a ribbon, not a rope.

Watching their almost-playful tussle, Ymir’s face went storm-dark. Two little traitors, flirting on a cliff.

“Leave? Did I say you could? Alfred, you think you’re still who you were? No—you’re the same, but we’re not. We’re gods now.”

A false god, Ymir flung his sneer like ash, already set on caging Alfred.

Ymir’s people sealed the exits, tightened the ring, a noose drawing in. Alfred stayed cool, eyes skimming the room like a compass.

He marked three camps: Ymir’s group, hungry to seize; Alfred’s own, small and close; and the neutral—like Kaya, neither with him nor against him.

As the neutral braced for steel, blood-mist surged, a red veil softening all edges, and the world turned dreamlike.

“Damn it—find them! Don’t let them run!” Ymir’s rage cracked the fog, but his senses fell dumb, like a mortal lost in a sea-mist.

His first thought—Alfred had slipped away like a fish through net.

He ran through the haze, slammed into wall after wall, echoes clanging like bells; only his false-god body kept him from blood and bruises.

The room filled with collisions, a blind orchestra; others, too, found only stone and pain.

After several hits, the ground vanished under Ymir’s feet, and he dropped, stomach lifting like a stone thrown off a cliff.

A heartbeat later, he remembered he could fly, rose on instinct, and didn’t strike any roof—he must’ve left the temple.

The blood-mist sprawled wide as a lake; after dozens of seconds, Ymir burst out into open air.

Cold moonlight poured like water over slate roofs, and the red fog wrapped most of the holy city in a ghostly shroud.

“Alfred, get out here!”

Ymir roared at the sky like a wounded beast. Alfred had run while his hands reached for glory.

He had wanted to seize Alfred, offer him to the God-King, and watch his future open like a gate; instead, he choked on smoke.

This temple felt like Alfred’s backyard—come and go, pick the bricks you like, leave with the mortar still wet.

Humiliation burned; a wanted vampire with no haven strutted like an emperor—did he think it was nine years ago, when he ruled the world?

Ymir’s face stayed sour as stone, but after a howl to drain the bile, he swallowed the night and planned.

When Alfred asked for followers, Ymir hadn’t cared. As the trickle grew, he laid two plans like twin blades.

First: surround and seize. If that failed, then the second.

He signaled a few close friends to feign allegiance, slide in as spies, little needles in Alfred’s camp.

Today told him those needles wouldn’t stitch the wound. So once they were in, he’d alert Koramor and have their forces hunt Alfred.

His credit would shrink, but a fugitive’s trail was gold enough; profit is profit, even if the coin is scratched.

“Hmph. Alfred, I said I’d surpass you. Look at you now—your steps are under my heel.”

Like a maker staring down at clay, Ymir watched the night with the calm of a man who believes.

Elsewhere, Alfred led the few loyal flames toward his castle, a dark keep under a patient moon.

He knew his plight like a map of scars; in such weather, few would choose to stand with him.

Beyond the dog-headed strategist and Keliya, there were five more—a dwarf, two humans, a hulking barbarian, and an eagle-headed beastman.

Quiet in Alfred’s arms, Keliya stopped fighting; after a while, worry threaded her voice like rain through leaves.

“Alfred, is this really wise? Ymir will report your movements to the gods of Koramor…”

Among them, only Keliya thought for him first; to her, his move was heat without plan, fire without hearth.

If he had to gather them, he should have gone in shadows, one by one; in times like these, betrayal blooms like weeds.

Alfred wasn’t built for scheming; Keliya understood that, yet he hadn’t even come to her in secret for counsel.

Had he done so, she would have laid out the board, given him clear paths, not this leap over thorns.

“It’s fine, Coco. In a bit, I’ll take you to meet my boss’s boss’s boss.”

Alfred’s face held no worry, smooth as a still lake; Keliya couldn’t tell where that confidence came from.