“According to the watchers’ intel, once Aphelia entered the plain, she tore out several nearby outposts, her path weaving like a swallow to dodge prying eyes…”

Nero crossed out a few tribes on the map, then dragged a straight line from a farther mark, like a blade scoring dry parchment.

“Here, she suddenly drove straight toward the heart of the plain. Skirmishes flared and faded all the way. Details are thin—when a Titleholder fights, anyone drawn in walks a road to death, and besides…”

Relief tangled with headache in him first; then he sighed, heavy as night rain.

“Given her style, she kills scouts on sight, right? Your first lost watcher died around this time.”

Jasmine remembered the first sacrifice and let out a weary breath. The intel read like Aphelia wiped out both watcher and enemy in one sweep.

It fit, and blame wouldn’t stick. Alone in that plain without backup, with a target “polished” before delivery, Jasmine and the others naturally took it as Aphelia’s mistake.

“And here—this is where the last report came from.”

Nero pressed a bright dot onto that region with Arcane Power, a cold star on the map.

“Here, they found a sealed Plague of Beasts…”

Both fell silent. Sealing the Plague of Beasts wasn’t a dream they hadn’t chased; the conclusion had been iron: at least two Titleholders needed to cast and bind together.

Yet Aphelia had sealed it alone, without support. It sounded like a story told to the wind.

From Nero’s prior trials, the Plague of Beasts was a kind of soul confluence. It starved the space around it, isolating and devouring Arcane Power and elements, warping its chosen target. Its true substance… only the priests in the Imperial Capital held that truth, the Royal priesthood led by Senro.

“If only I had received it, I’d doubt the report. But your family’s scouts sent the same kind of intel, Jasmine. I can’t call it a mistake.”

“Should we… send another batch of scouts? If the chain stays cut, we’re blind.”

Annoyance swelled first, like someone trampling your back garden while you stare through fog. Jasmine thought a moment, but Nero had no spare hands for the plan.

“No. Forget the manpower. All our eyes got plucked out. Someone on the plain doesn’t want us watching, and that faction isn’t the one we signed with…”

Nero pushed the window open. Cold wind knifed into the room. He stared at the plain, a grit in his chest grinding until unease bled through.

“If Miss Christine—”

“Don’t. No matter her state, I won’t let her touch this again. Jasmine, revise Aphelia’s file. Raise her rating. If she makes it back, we reassess her strength.”

He cut off her words, a tired sigh trailing the old story he refused to stir.

He had misjudged Aphelia. Sealing the Plague of Beasts alone—an impossible task for a Titleholder—and she did it. She stood beyond the usual line.

He had picked her as a candidate knight then. Looked like he’d bet right. Maybe she could become a Demonic Knight one day… Maybe. The future speaks in riddles.

He shook his head, pulled Aphelia’s dossier from a hidden slot, and handed it to Jasmine.

“Make the changes later. The plan needs to move.”

Jasmine took the file. After confirming a few items with Nero, she turned to leave. A silver flare spilled from the space at her side, moon-bright and sharp—a Mana Crystal etched with a magic circle.

“This is… a report from a scout!”

The crystal’s familiar marks snapped her focus tight. It was her family’s cipher. Faint, dark red blood stained the facets.

“What?!”

Nero motioned for her to set the file down and decrypt. In a moment like this, a single report weighed like iron. Seconds mattered; seconds grabbed the edge for the next move.

Jasmine dropped the Mana Crystal onto the desk, cut her finger, and let scarlet beads fall. She traced a simple circle into her palm with blood, then pressed hard on the family sigil.

“Nero, mana-recording paper. Hurry!”

Nero yanked out a thick stack and slid them beneath the crystal. Jasmine’s blood ran over the Mana Crystal and soaked the paper. The crystal began to soften, then melt, lettering bleeding into view.

The method drained her. Her face blanched like frost, her stance unsteady. Just as she swayed, the crystal gave out completely, melting into words across the sheets.

Nero pushed a high-purity Mana Crystal into her hand, then bent to read.

“Aphelia is locked in a death match with the Dark Dragon army?! Is Fenrir turning on me mid-plan?”

He slammed the pages onto the desk. Jasmine blinked at his sudden break in composure; since the plan began, she had never seen him flare like that.

Aphelia was Nero’s public lead for this operation, declared a candidate knight. Now Dark Dragon Soldiers swarmed her, her state fraying. Looked like his elder sister had dug the pit and waited for him to fall.

“But the missing eyes don’t look like Fenrir’s work. It seems… the Imperial Capital’s forces stepped into our plan too…”

Jasmine read the report end to end. Her voice sank. The situation was sliding into a river they couldn’t steer.

The scout who sent it added a line: “The mission can’t proceed; act at once.” In her family, ciphers were clean. This line was simple—reverse the meaning. The mission can’t proceed; do not move rashly.

She didn’t know the reason behind that judgment, but some faction had stepped in—one that made allies hesitate like mice under a hawk’s shadow.

Then the sudden vanishings made sense. The current royal heirs couldn’t do this. Of the powers that could, the Imperial Capital stood as the likeliest hand…

“Damn it… I can’t just hope Aphelia fights her way out. Jasmine, can we still reach ‘Number Two’?”

The thought burned first. Then fear cooled it. He saw only one card—the long-hidden piece on their board.

“We can. But ‘Number Two’ is a key in the plan. If we expose them to every faction right now…”

She didn’t finish. Nero knew the unsaid edge. Use that piece, and the whole plan might burn, with him chained to the ash.

He clenched his fist. Nails bit his palm. Blood welled like dew. His brow knotted, silence pressed like a storm before lightning.

He released his hand at last, voice raw at the edges.

“Don’t use ‘Number Two’…”

While Nero chose against that hidden piece, Aphelia kept carving through a sea of bodies. Her outlook darkened.

She couldn’t cast. After a full day of killing, untreated wounds gnawed at her stride and tugged her breath.

The Dark Dragon army stretched to the horizon, a black tide that made her scalp prickle. Even she couldn’t face waves without rest.

Portals snapped open without warning. New Dark Dragon Soldiers poured in like iron rain, endlessly refilling the ring.

They were unsettling—blind to their comrades dying beside them, bereft of tactics, trading life for life, trying to bury her under a mound of bodies.

She had hoped to break them with force, then cut a road through blood. But reinforcements stacked, unit types grew. From foot soldiers to archers, then cavalry. If time dragged, she feared siege engines would rumble in. This wasn’t a skirmish. It was war—one person against countless legions.

She dropped the old plan and chose pain for pain. She would break out or break apart.

“Ancient Martial Flow!!!”

Her spear spun, a storm-lantern in her grip. Arcane Power gathered tight around her body, raw and uncast, and she lunged for one more breach.

“Armybreaker!!!”