The Round Table of Vermanyan is convened once every decade. Rulers of every nation, kingdom, and empire gather at the heart of the continent, at a place called the Institute of Royals and Magic.
It was established centuries ago by an elf naming himself Kirigaya Hachiman, his title—Master of Magic. He's not just a legend; he's a walking nightmare for anyone who underestimates him. It's not an exaggeration—he's slain multiple wyverns and even fought a rampaging dragon, forcing it to retreat… alone.
But I'm not talking about him for now.
He's one of the few people whose guts I hate the most. Not because of his power or status—but because he once tried to seduce my wife. My queen.
The first time we met, he smiled at her. That thin, sly smile of his. Then he took her hand and kissed it just a bit too long.
My wife didn't flinch. She smiled politely—the kind of smile that sent men to war and left them wondering why they lost. Her eyes sharpened slightly.
"My Queen," Kirigaya had said, his tone smooth as silk. "You have grown more radiant since I last saw you in the Magic Institute."
My wife's smile didn't change. "Chancellor Kirigaya," she replied evenly. Her tone was polite—calculated.
Kirigaya's gaze lingered just a moment too long before turning toward me. His smirk deepened. "You have excellent taste, Your Majesty. Though I wonder… do you fear losing her?"
I almost killed him then and there. My hand twitched toward my sword hilt. My pulse hammered against my ribs. My wife's hand brushed mine—a silent reminder to breathe.
Kirigaya's gaze flicked toward my sword, and his smile widened faintly.
That was the moment I realized—he wasn't just powerful. He was above consequence.
My wife is extremely loyal to the extent I have to be careful to how I speak with women and whom.
Anyways, just know I hate him for trying to woo my wife.
Currently, my wife and I are heading toward the Round Table as the ruling monarchs of Drakseid. Prime Minister Josh will handle our kingdom's affairs while we are away. He's more than capable.
My ten-year-old son will be leading a campaign soon. He has already shown his strength and proved himself on the battlefield, but I can't help but worry about him. Not as a king—but as a father.
My wife hides it better than I do, but I can see it in her eyes. That quiet sense of anxiety. The tension in her shoulders when she hears his name spoken in the war councils. She fears for him. So do I.
"I know you're worried," I had told her last night.
"I trust him," she had replied, her tone steady. But her hand had lingered on her wand as if bracing for bad news.
I assured her the best I could. But deep down, I know nothing I say will quiet her fears—or mine.
The last convention was terrible. It bore no fruit, only deepened the divisions across the continent. However, many things are different this time.
The Sapphire Empire has ended their war of succession. That alone shifts the power balance across the continent. My good old dwarf friend—now king of the dwarves—secured his throne after years of conflict. If we move carefully, we could push human civilization toward an era of strength and unity.
Only the Empire of Distia haven't solved their internal problems in the capital. They have been engaged in civil war, succession war, political war, food war, etc.
This is my second time at this convention. I won't fail like last time.
The carriages rolled along the ancient stone road toward the Institute of Royals and Magic. Towering white spires glinted under the afternoon sun. The road itself was lined with statues of legends and heroes, their eyes carved in quiet judgment.
"Magnificent, isn't it?" my wife said softly, her eyes scanning the spires above.
"Intimidating," I replied.
We passed through the massive gates of the Institute. Dozens of royal banners—emblems of the different nations—fluttered in the cold breeze. Knights and guards belonging to the Institute lined the walls, their polished armor reflecting the pale sunlight.
As the carriage door opened, I stepped out first, offering my hand to my wife. She took it with the grace of a queen born to rule. The guards and servants lowered their heads as we passed.
The marble floor of the Institute gleamed beneath our boots. At the center of the grand hall stood the Round Table—a massive ring of polished obsidian, engraved with ancient runes.
The walls adorned with the heads of thirty different wyverns slayed by the High Chancellor himself.
Rulers from across the continent were already gathered, seated at their respective spots. Some greeted us with nods. Others with thin smiles. A few avoided our gaze altogether.
And then he stood up.
Kirigaya Hachiman.
Grey hair. Pointed ears. His emerald eyes glinted beneath the soft glow of the chandelier. He wore a high-collared black robe embroidered with golden threads—a symbol of the magical order.
"Ah…" Kirigaya's eyes sharpened the moment he saw my wife. His smile widened faintly.
He stepped toward us, his gait smooth and confident. Too confident.
"You look more radiant than the last time I saw you," he said, bowing low before my wife. He took her hand, brushing his lips lightly against her knuckles.
My wife smiled politely. "Chancellor Kirigaya."
He turned toward me. "Ah, and Your Majesty. It's good to see you again."
My gaze darkened. "Kirigaya."
I fought the urge to snap his neck.
Kirigaya's smile widened knowingly. He stepped back and gave a slight bow. "I look forward to hearing your proposals, King of Drakseid."
He returned to his seat, his eyes lingering on my wife for a moment too long.
My hand twitched toward my sword hilt. My wife's hand brushed against mine—a silent reminder to stay calm.
"Temper, my love," she whispered.
Kirigaya's smile deepened.
"Try not to start a war before the wine's poured, Your Majesty."
"No promises," I said, my smile thin.
He chuckled.
"Good. It wouldn't be any fun otherwise."
I took a breath. Forced the tension from my shoulders.
A bell tolled through the hall. The doors sealed shut behind us.
The runes in the round table glowed and spun for a while then stopped.
The Round Table of Vermanyan had officially begun.
Kirigaya stood. The low hum of conversation flickered and died. Eyes shifted toward him—some curious, some cautious. A few refused to meet his gaze altogether.
"Shall we begin?" the High Chancellor announced.
The dwarf king seated across from me gave a slight nod. His brown beard was braided with steel rings, his red eyes sharp beneath his thick brows. A dependable ally—but not one without his own ambitions. Thorin V. Helmstrom, titled- Iron Master. The dwarves forges the best weapons and have the best technology. They are also typically stronger than any other species of humans and demi-humans.
The king of the Distia Empire sat two seats down. His name Vanas L. Distia, titled – the Ruthless Tyrant. His gaze was cold, calculating. A man who had clawed his way to the throne through blood and betrayal. But his capital is engulf in the flames of civil war and political unrest. He is by far the most dangerous man in this room for he has no moral or respect.
To my left sat the Queen of Sapphire Empire—a widow with a reputation for ruthlessness, ingenuity and cunningness. Her long silver hair cascaded over her shoulders as she tapped her long nails against the table. Her empire controlled the northern trade routes—she held more economic influence than most empires. She also have the largest and strongest army, her empire being the largest. Elizabeth K. Sapphire is her name and her people calls her as- The Saint. The previous rulers were brutal and merciless but she manages to reduce the body count and blood toll of all her previous battle. She shot me with a faint smile across the table which I wasn't comfortable with. If she decided to take the continent, few could stop her. Possibly the only one in the room who could stand equal with Kirigaya. Why? He didn't flirt with her but treated her with respect and dignity. For when Elizabeth's silver nails tapped softly against the table, the sound carried. Thorin's gaze flicked toward her before settling back on his goblet. Vanas's lips thinned, his shoulders shifting slightly.
Two chairs to my left sat the king of the elves. His golden hairs and pointed ears seems less majestic than the Chancellor. The elves love peace and quiet. Does not interfere much and doesn't talk much— a sign of his wisdom obtained from his long live. He is much younger than Kirigaya and seems to be loved by his people and they hold him in high regard. Elarion M. Faelith— Guardian of the Elves. The elves are mostly good in using magic but I no none has seen King Faelith in action though rumors has it that he has killed a wyvern himself. Even Kirigaya's gaze slid toward Elarion—but not for long. His smile faded slightly before returning as he looked away.
I scanned the faces at the table. Some allies. Some enemies. All dangerous.
My gaze settled back on Kirigaya. He smiled faintly.
I smiled back—thinly.
This time… I would not misstep.
Because at this table, a single wrong move could burn the continent to ash.
I may hate Kirigaya, but he is also the one person in this room who would not tolerate a full-out war involving multiple empires and kingdoms—a world war.
And that's why he's dangerous. Unbelievably so.