Sowing discord between the Shadowborn Clan and the Joyful Ball was merely the opening act of the play.

The tension between them was fragile—too much pressure would snap it; too little would render it limp.

Their clash would soon reach its end.

Either the Shadowborn Clan would accept the Joyful Ball’s explanation, or the Joyful Ball would dismiss the Shadowborn Clan entirely.

Thus, a simple two-sided conflict could never last.

A triangular balance was needed—one of mutual restraint, conflict, and scheming.

For this third force, Cecile chose the Arcane Assembly: those who worshipped "knowledge as power," secretly hoarding intelligence and arcane lore. Nestled at society’s apex yet unsatisfied with public authority, they manipulated Yahar City from realms beyond ordinary reach.

Few knew of the Arcane Assembly compared to the Joyful Ball or Shadowborn Clan.

Even within Yahar City, only long-time residents or mages ever glimpsed its shadow.

Its secrecy earned it the nickname "the nonexistent fifth faction."

Yet by true measure, the Arcane Assembly stood first among the five great powers.

Its members were all high-society elites or formidable mages—seemingly the strongest faction. But that very composition made it weak.

Every bigwig suffered the same flaw: none would bow to another. Each believed themselves superior, refusing to submit.

The bell above the door chimed. An old man slumped in his chair cracked open his eyes.

"Madam, we’re closed. This is rest time."

"My apologies for disturbing you," came the reply. "But might you need a doorman?"

The woman like a black rose nudged the veiled girl forward.

Pouting, the girl thrust out her palm.

*Whoosh!* A tongue of flame shot upward from her hand.

The old man jolted upright, staring in disbelief. Even from this distance, he felt the dense magic thrumming within that fire—a prodigy’s gift.

"This girl... Are you truly selling her? How much?"

Cecile raised one finger.

"A thousand magic coins?"

"Ten thousand," Cecile sighed. "She’s exceptional with elemental magic. I’d never part with her if not for... recent troubles."

She turned Winnie around, lifting the girl’s collar to reveal a complex blue tattoo of closed eyes on her pale neck.

"Rest assured, she’s insured. Utterly loyal to her mother."

The old man studied the mark, thoughtful. "Ten thousand... I’ll need to consult."

He picked up a rotary phone and dialed methodically.

Cecile waited patiently at the counter. Behind her, Helena clung to her skirt, peeking curiously at the shop’s enchanted wares.

Yahar City blended magic and technology better than any place in the world—the first to embrace modernization. Rotary phones were commonplace here. Barring disaster, it would pioneer true modernity.

The old man finished his call, posture stiffening as he relayed details. After several earnest nods, he hung up and lifted the curtain to the back room.

"Please wait. Ten thousand is beyond my authority."

"Understood."

"Drinks while you wait? Tea, coffee, or wine?"

"Red wine, thank you."

Minutes passed. Voices murmured beyond the curtain—first the old man’s, then a woman’s.

The curtain parted.

A woman entered, radiating icy authority. Dragon horns crowned her head. Her face was striking not for beauty, but for an unforgettable sharpness. One glance from her cold blue eyes froze the blood like stepping into a glacier’s heart.

A crisp white shirt tucked into short leather pants, layered belts coiling down to black boots, all draped in a long black leather coat.

"Ten thousand magic coins for a mage of this caliber? *Hmph.* You lured me out with this child and a ten-thousand-coin deal."

That voice. That face. That *presence*. Cecile froze.

Her gaze drifted downward—naturally drawn to where light and attention gathered.

Winnie’s eyes widened. She glanced at the woman’s generous proportions, then down at her own chest, then at Cecile’s. A sharp breath escaped her. *How could any woman be so... ample?*

Helena nuzzled deeper into Cecile’s neck, arms wrapped tight around her waist, breathing in her scent.

Cecile had expected some minor Arcane Assembly figure. Instead, she’d hooked a leviathan.

Plans to sacrifice this woman as a final pawn dissolved instantly.

The dragon-horned woman studied Cecile, then smirked at her lingering gaze. "An outsider? Your face is unfamiliar. Any decent middleman would have their dossier on my desk after one deal. Yet I’ve never seen you."

"Know this: a beauty like you is a juicy morsel here. Even *I* wouldn’t mind taking a bite."

"Your praise is misplaced, Empress Hilris."

Cecile might not recognize every player—but this woman was unforgettable.

Not just for her legendary, game-defining proportions (though that certainly helped).

More crucially, Hilris was among the Arcane Assembly’s rare visionaries. She despised the petty squabbles between factions. She saw Yahar City’s bright future—and its current quagmire. She sought real change.

And she intended to rule Yahar City as its true Empress.