The royal palace, once again, falls into silence.
But beneath the silence lies a current darker and deeper than ever before.
It has been three days and nights since the illusionist was imprisoned in the dungeons. The human king interrogated him thrice, healed him twice, and once completely stripped him of sensation. Officially, it was for extracting a confession—but in truth, it was a ritual of humiliation and destruction. The will of a former loyal subject was ground into dust and scattered to the winds.
The king gave only one reason:
"This man is a master of illusions. Ordinary means cannot uncover the truth."
Yet behind the palace walls, the real information had already leaked—hidden in the illusionist's silence and gaze.
And that information was not about the Akkans.
It was about the king's own game.
Act I: Akkan Turmoil
High atop the throne hall of the Akkan capital, King Turansol stood overlooking a stone desk cluttered with secret scrolls and reports.
The black-feathered High Priest bowed deeply.
"The illusion seal is complete. After examining the dream traces… the assassination was indeed not of our doing."
"Then who?"
"A relic blade of mankind—Guren-forged short dagger. A batch went missing from the southern royal armory."
Turansol narrowed his eyes in silence.
"And the illusion itself did not belong to any Akkan school. Rather... it resembled a spell designed to simulate fear, not to kill."
The Akkan king sighed.
"Fear... to make him trust no one again."
He looked northward.
"They want to force my hand."
He didn't open the sealed message from the sharpshooter, Velox—yet he already understood its meaning:
Velox had sensed the human king was plotting.
But for now, to stay still...
was the only move that stayed alive.
Act II: The King's 'Prayer'
At dawn's first bell, the king stood in sacred robes before the grand altar, head bowed in prayer.
From outside, he appeared solemn and devout.
But inside the great hall, his voice whispered softly:
"You've completed your task... rest easy.
The identity of 'the assassin' will bear all the blame in your place."
He rose, looking out the window.
"The illusionist failed... but you awakened Turansol's fear."
"Now, let his suspicion finish what we started."
In that moment, the king's shadow stretched under the holy light—not like a guardian of the realm,
but a judge standing at the heart of the chessboard.
Act III: Karan's Mission
At midnight, Karan was summoned to the king's hidden chamber.
The king didn't mince words:
"Do you know who the man you killed was?"
"A human. An old parliament death agent."
"Do you know what that means?"
"It means... someone wants us to stop trusting the Akkans."
The king nodded.
"And do you trust them?"
Karan replied firmly:
"I trust you."
"Good." The king smiled.
"The next move is theirs—but we must strike first."
He handed Karan a second sealed command:
"You are to be deployed to the Tower of Pale Bones. Assist the Akkan sharpshooter.
If he loses control… you know what to do."
Act IV: The Awakening of the Sharpshooter
Velox stood atop the Burning Hills, silently overlooking the slowly waking Akkan scout camps.
His right-arm cannon was being recalibrated, his battleaxe hung on his back, and his form was clad in a semi-camouflaged bio-armor.
Since the clash with the illusionist, he had sensed something was wrong—
the Akkans were moving to a rhythm set by their enemies.
"Triple-layered dream… twin-shadowed glyphs…
This wasn't a failed assassination attempt."
"This was a psychological war staged for us to see."
Velox's judgment was clear:
The Akkan king must be told the truth. Waiting any longer would mean checkmate.
He didn't wait for orders.
He sent his scouts southward—along the human border—to covertly investigate movements near the capital.
Act V: The Saint Returns · Shadow of Cold Blood
In the southwest ruins of the ancient Akkan capital, the long-sealed Flame Wraith Gate slowly opened.
Three layers of magical seals cracked apart as a silver-black figure stepped forth.
She was the Saint of the Akkans—and also one of the infamous Life Offs, the Coldblooded Warriors.
Short silver hair. Black eyes with white pupils.
Lips that had likely never known warmth.
As she walked, blood trailed into her palms—only to be absorbed silently into her body.
"Turansol's heart has faltered.
The human king cannot be trusted.
If the Akkans are to survive... then I must tear through this illusion myself."
Behind her, the Flame Wraith Inquisitors assembled.
She whispered, "Inform Velox. It's time to move."
Act VI: A Triple-Layered Chessboard
The human king has already laid his trap.
The illusionist was a sacrificial pawn, meant to spark internal division within the Akkans.
Akkan King Turansol remains still—yet covertly fortifies his lines, hoping to turn strength against strength.
Velox has awakened. He begins investigating the human king and even considers taking matters into his own hands.
Saint Selina has returned—representing the purge faction of the Akkans, ready to ignite a more radical path.
Karan stands at the eye of the storm—the king's blade, yet the Akkans' unknowing witness.
All pieces are now in place.
The true war will not begin on the battlefield—
It will begin in the next conversation,
when the first drop of blood is quietly spilled.