Sardiun had finally taken his seat. He leaned slightly against the shaded corner of the pergola but did not take his eyes off Corvus for even a moment. There was still that confident air about Corvus. He returned to his seat with a relaxed yet challenging expression, carefully choosing his words. Furrowing his brows slightly, Sardiun asked,

  “When you say acting as one, could you provide more details?”

  Corvus smiled faintly, locking eyes with Sardiun.

  “We seek political and military support.”

  Sardiun’s expression changed immediately. The offer, at first glance, seemed like an alliance, but the details could be different. Leaning forward, he responded without hesitation,

  “That does not mean acting as one.”

  Corvus’s expression hardened. He did not appreciate having his words interrupted. His eyes narrowed briefly, but he maintained his patience and continued,

  “If you provide political and military support, we will continue to be the spearhead against the Demon raids. Meanwhile, you will preserve your military strength.”

  Sardiun brought his hand to his chin and nodded thoughtfully. The offer seemed appealing on the surface. However, there was a problem. They had reached an inevitable topic.

  “If you take the lead, as before, the control of the Lightstones obtained from the Demons will remain in your hands. Lightstones are an important resource—you know that.”

  For a brief moment, Corvus’s gaze sharpened. He had, of course, anticipated this issue. As if he had been expecting them to reach this point, he leaned back slightly, his crimson eyes glinting faintly.

  “The Monk said a second wave is coming.” he stated, his voice more serious than ever.

  “But this time, it’s uncertain whether those coming will be Demons or some other creatures.”

  Sardiun frowned. This detail was more concerning than anything he had heard so far. Corvus crossed his arms and continued,

  “But to find out whether they will bring Lightstones with them, we must fight them first.”

  So far, the Demon raids had always been carried out by creatures resembling giant insects. The Lightstones extracted from their corpses were the continent’s most vital resource. However, the Monk’s prophecy spoke of a different enemy this time. There was no certainty that the new foe would bring Lightstones as the old Demons had. Perhaps these creatures would bring only destruction, leaving behind neither resources nor spoils of war. That would change everything.

  Sardiun paused, listening to the silence surrounding the pergola. The wind rustled the vines once more, and except for the distant calls of birds, everything seemed frozen. He remained silent for a while. He wanted to fully understand what Corvus was asking for. The request for military support was clear and understandable—Rhazgord would, when necessary, seek logistical aid, resource assistance, and perhaps even troops from Sizat. But what did political support entail? That was a matter requiring careful consideration.

  “It is not difficult to understand what you want militarily.” Sardiun said, placing his hands on the table between them.

  “You will likely ask for support and resources when needed. But what do you seek politically?”

  A fleeting shadow passed over Corvus’s face. This was the core of the issue. Rhazgord was strong—perhaps the strongest military power on the continent. But it was alone. Yes, there were kingdoms indebted to Rhazgord, ones they had aided in dire times, grateful to them. But there was no kingdom they could truly call a friend, no one they could fully trust. When they clashed with Brihmond, this deficiency became immediately apparent.

  Now, with Sanguinar’s return, Rhazgord had regained its full strength. But why had they not yet moved against Brihmond?

  There were two reasons.

  First, Sanguinar wanted to secure internal stability before taking action. Rhazgord was vast and complex. He needed to be sure he had full control.

  Second, Brihmond’s allies.

  Rhazgord did not fear waging war against Brihmond and its allies. In fact, their chances of victory were far from slim. However, their knowledge of the Demons and the vast reserves of Lightstones they possessed made them a prime target. Even if Brihmond fell, there was no certainty that Sizat or other major kingdoms would not turn against Rhazgord afterward.

  Corvus leaned forward slightly, meeting Sardiun’s gaze.

  “I want your open support against Brihmond.”

  Sardiun raised his eyebrows. This was a more direct demand than he had expected.

  “In a potential war with them, ensure that they stand alone. Make their allies hesitate. If war comes, Brihmond must face us alone.”

  Corvus’s voice seemed to echo throughout the garden.

  “Of course, the fall of Brihmond would serve your interests as well.”

  Sardiun tapped his fingers lightly against the table. The matter was simple in his mind. This request was not difficult for Sizat. Deterring Brihmond’s allies required nothing more than a few letters. No kingdom could withstand the combined pressure of Rhazgord and Sizat.

  The dismantling of Brihmond at Rhazgord’s hands would be an opportunity for Sizat. One of the region’s most powerful rivals would be eliminated.

  Sardiun slowly nodded.

  “I cannot speak definitively, but I am certain our Emperor will find this agreement appealing.”

  He paused for a moment, studying Corvus’s expression before continuing,

  “Still, to present the agreement properly to my Emperor, I need more details.”

  Corvus nodded in agreement. A deal of this magnitude could not be finalized in a few sentences. For now, they would discuss all the details until the meeting officially began. There were three hours until then. They had plenty of time. And in those three hours, they spoke of wars, strategies, betrayals, and possibilities.

  In the end, though no final decision had been made, when they rose from the table, they had shaken hands.

  As the two men stepped into the meeting hall with slow, confident strides, all eyes turned toward them. They were the last to arrive, yet also among the most significant figures in the room. The brief silence that followed their entrance created a momentary tension.

  Each had a man accompanying them—either their chosen guards or advisors. According to protocol, every participant was allowed only one companion, and everyone was required to be unarmed. However, the sight of these two entering together, almost as if they were a single force, raised many questions in the minds of the onlookers. Had they struck a deal? Or was this merely a display of strength?

  The grand hall was filled with the most powerful figures at the heart of the continent’s status quo. Seated around a long, polished oak table were kings, nobles, diplomatic envoys, and high-ranking clergy. This assembly consisted of the greatest powers on the continent. While many were allies or direct vassals of the Sizat Empire, the table also hosted representatives from major states such as Brihmond—ones that neither acknowledged Sizat’s authority nor shared its interests.

  Even gathering them in one place was a major event in itself.

  Corvus made his way toward the seat reserved for him at the head of the table. His shoulders were squared, his steps unwavering. The calm yet confident expression on his face made it clear that he was a dangerous yet exceptionally intelligent figure. Walking behind him like a shadow, Baldrek carried a far more menacing aura. With his muscular arms clasped behind him and his icy gaze sweeping the room, his mere presence seemed to make the chamber colder.

  Those who saw him might mistakenly believe that Rhazgord’s true representative was Baldrek rather than Corvus, for Corvus’s refined features and composed demeanor appeared almost elegant in contrast to Baldrek’s raw and ruthless presence.

  On the opposite side, a seat had been reserved for Ibarum. However, the person sitting there was not him.

  Draped in a lavishly embroidered robe with golden details, Sardiun occupied the chair. Behind him stood a stern-faced warrior carrying a thick bundle of documents. The man carefully placed the papers in front of Sardiun before silently stepping back. Sardiun adjusted the silk sleeves of his garment, swept his gaze across the room, then leaned slightly forward with his characteristic warm smile—a smile that carried the subtle cunning of a seasoned politician.

  “Before I extend my respects to every leader gathered here,” he said, carefully weighing his words, “I believe I must first explain why I am sitting in this chair in place of Prince Ibarum.”

  The people in the hall did not need this explanation. Everyone knew very well why Ibarum was not here. Most likely, he was enjoying himself at his lodging, spending time with drinks and women. No one was unaware that he was only sent here as a figurehead. The real power had always been with Sardiun, the man who had been managing the prince’s affairs behind the scenes for years.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  It was Sardiun who had to explain the prince’s absence, and he decorated the situation with an excuse that everyone could easily understand:

  “Our prince, unfortunately, grew very tired along the way and fell ill. That is why he is currently resting in his chamber. I ask for your understanding.”

  A brief silence filled the hall. Most people were unsure what to think of this excuse, but they had no intention of questioning it out loud. Whether Ibarum was here or not would not change how decisions were made. In fact, his presence would likely cause more problems.

  As Sardiun’s voice echoed against the walls of the hall, everyone paused for a moment.

  “First and foremost, I thank you all for accepting our invitation, especially Corvus Tiamat, the representative of the bravest warriors of our continent.”

  As his words hung in the air, all eyes immediately turned to Corvus. In a meeting, when someone’s name was mentioned specifically, it was an open gesture of friendship. However, at the same time, it also meant that attention was now focused on him.

  Corvus’s crimson eyes already revealed his origins and who he was. It was obvious that he was a Tiamat, that his lineage was known for its martial brilliance. But those who had never seen him before questioned whether the young man before them was truly the person spoken of in the rumors. Among the people of Rhazgord, he was called the 'Lion of Rhaz'—the tactics he had employed and the victories he had won in the war against three kingdoms were spoken of everywhere. And now, among those present in this hall, there were eyes and ears everywhere. They knew that he had become one of the most influential figures in Rhazgord’s lands.

  He was young… but his name was great.

  Corvus silently scanned the gazes directed at him. Contempt, curiosity, fear, and hatred… Those were the only things he saw in their eyes. He didn’t even know who most of them were. If Belisarius hadn’t told him about the visitors the previous day, the only ones he would have recognized were King of Adler and Sardiun.

  “Now!” Sardiun said, pulling all attention back to himself. His voice instantly silenced the murmurs in the hall.

  “You all know why we have gathered here. Rhazgord has once again received a prophecy. They have been right before, and we are here in case they are right again.”

  After his words, his eyes shifted toward the clergy. It was clear they were uncomfortable. Sitting at the table with their long, pure white beards and magnificent robes, an elderly priest struck the table forcefully with his hand.

  “I am truly astonished that you believe in the words of these demons!”

  He glanced around angrily, searching for support. And he was evidently not alone; others who shared his views nodded and muttered in agreement. Just then, another clergyman suddenly leapt to his feet. His voice sliced through the air like a dagger.

  “The Rhazgordians know of the demons’ arrival because these barbarians worship them!”

  He abruptly pointed his finger at Corvus.

  “Look at his eyes! Those red eyes are proof that he carries demon blood! They are playing with us! They claim to worship the great god of war, Rhazkar, but we all know that they actually worship the God of Demons!”

  The room tensed. His words hung in the air like a sharp blade. Corvus’s face showed not the slightest change. He watched the clergymen with a silence that left no room for anger or insult. However, when Baldrek’s eyes met those of an elder priest who did not avert his gaze, the old man’s breath caught in his throat. Baldrek had not uttered a single word, but the fury boiling within him was like that of a wild beast ready to break its chains. The old man wanted to continue speaking, but the fear that clenched his throat stopped him. At that moment, he seemed to have forgotten the power standing behind him. And that was exactly what Baldrek made him feel—that he was like a dog, waiting for the moment to tear him apart.

  Corvus turned his eyes toward Sardiun.

  “Did you summon us here to hear insults?”

  His voice carried no emotion, but the atmosphere in the hall instantly changed.

  Then, he turned to the clergymen.

  “If so, there’s no need for a performance! Just say who you are so that I may offer you and everything you own as a sacrifice to the god of war without wasting time!”

  His words shot through the air like an arrow. The room was wrapped in an icy silence.

  And then… he looked back at Sardiun.

  “This is the final limit of Rhazgord’s patience… as the representative of the greatest warrior, Sakhaar Tiamat!”

  The Lightstone radiating from his body spread through the room like a crimson mist. The flames within the light danced, making the air in the hall feel heavier.

  “If anyone else dares to disrespect Rhazgord and its gods, speak now! The only response Rhazgord has left to such insults is blood and steel!”

  At first glance, Corvus’s challenge in a hall filled with the continent’s most powerful leaders might have seemed arrogant. But those present knew that Rhazgord’s wrath was not just a threat. Some had personally witnessed its fury in their youth, while others had read about it in history books. Corvus was not bluffing. His gaze moved across the room, studying every face. He memorized every detail without missing anything.

  A voice suddenly cut through the tension like a sharp blade. King Justinianus of Adler had risen from his seat, his eyes locked onto King Desterian of Desir, sitting directly across from him. His voice carried the weight of authority.

  “Rhazgord shed blood here to defend this beautiful city against demons just a few months ago! Correct me if I’m wrong, King Desterian! Did the Rhazgordians not come to protect you from the demons just five years ago?”

  His words sparked a fire in the hall. Rhazgord’s resistance against the demons was an undeniable truth. They had sacrificed countless warriors for this cause. Justinianus’s words quickly found support; many leaders nodded in agreement. The voices in the hall grew louder. The once-aggressive clergymen now found themselves facing stern glares. Their words and accusations were being swiftly pushed back like a great wave.

  And the one to deliver the final blow was Sardiun. Turning to the priest who had caused the uproar, he spoke in a voice filled with the cold hardness of a warning.

  “Elder Olenor, representative of the Moon Goddess… It seems you have forgotten how devoted the Rhazgordians are to the gods. Also, your insults toward Tiamat blood are most unpleasant. The mighty Sizat Empire does not accept such behavior!”

  Sardiun’s tone was measured, but the threat within was clear. His words emphasized Sizat’s authority, but he was careful not to become overly aggressive. He displayed his power while also maintaining diplomatic balance.

  Then, he turned his eyes to Corvus.

  “You are absolutely right. Had we known this would happen, rest assured, we would never have allowed such rudeness. As the organizer of this meeting, I apologize.”

  But Corvus’s eyes were still locked onto the clergymen. His dark gaze nailed them like a hunter stalking his prey. The elderly priests understood exactly what was going through the young warrior’s mind. In Corvus’s eyes, there was an immortality— the eyes of a warrior who did not fear death. And perhaps, they were the closest thing to the eyes of a demon.

  Moreover, many leaders who had initially supported the clergy had now silently switched sides. Corvus saw this. He realized how powerful his words had been.

  He took a deep breath, and his voice echoed against the stone walls.

  “As I said! Rhazgord is at the limit of its patience! If my country is humiliated once more, I will return to Rhazgord to gather my armies!”

  His gaze became sharp and piercing, like a blade cutting through the bones of the priests. Then, his voice rose slightly.

  “You all know my grandfather, Drakar! He feared not dying on the battlefield because no warrior ever emerged strong enough to overthrow him! Perhaps you priests will finally grant my grandfather, Drakar Tiamat, the ‘Butcher of the Legions’ the death he has long sought!”

  A deadly silence fell upon the hall.

  Drakar…

  Terror flashed in the eyes of those who heard the name.

  The priests who were unaware that Drakar was still alive began trembling in fear. It was impossible for them to have forgotten his name.

  Seventy years ago, when the blood of armies spilled onto the earth in the name of the gods, the name Drakar Tiamat echoed across the continent. He was not just a warrior but the very embodiment of massacre. Drakar believed that war was a sacred offering to the gods—and he was their most devoted follower.

  The priests still could not forget that apocalyptic war, known as the War of the Gods. The most terrifying battlefield of that war was the Crimson Smoke Valley. A place where the screams of thousands of warriors were etched into the rocks, where corpses piled upon each other, where the earth turned black from drinking so much blood. That day, the valley earned its name, and those who ventured there never returned. Because Drakar was there.

  When people spoke of the ‘Butcher of the Legions’ they only thought of the thousands of soldiers who had died on the battlefield. But that title was not given just because of the number he had slain—it was because of how he killed. Drakar crushed the spirits of his enemies, wove fear into their veins. No army that stood against him could avoid falling to its knees.

  That day, the sacred legions of three holy kingdoms were reaped by Drakar’s bloodstained hands. In a single day, two thousand soldiers perished at his hands. Some had their throats torn open, others had their guts spilled onto the ground, and others had their ribcages ripped apart. Drakar did not kill just with his sword—he used his teeth, his hands, his very rage made flesh. Blood covered not only his weapons but his face, his hair, and his skin. Grass never grew again where Drakar walked, for the soil had been saturated with blood.

  Those who survived the Crimson Smoke Valley spoke of only one thing—his eyes. Among those present in the room, three of the elderly priests had been among the few who had escaped that war alive. Corvus knew this. That was why he had invoked Drakar’s name.

  “There is no need for this, Lord Corvus. I suggest you show your greatness and grant these people your mercy…”

  When Sardiun’s voice echoed in the hall, something unexpected happened—the fear in the priests’ eyes deepened. Some were gasping for breath, others were gripping their chairs tightly without even realizing it. Because, at first glance, Sardiun’s words seemed like a friendly piece of advice, but beneath them lay something far more sinister.

  “I suggest…”

  That single word felt like a noose tightening around their throats. It was neither a command nor a plea. Just a simple suggestion. Something that could, in theory, be refused. But everyone, especially the elderly priests, knew exactly what would happen if Corvus rejected it.

  Drakar Tiamat’s name still hung in the air.

  That name had once brought thousands to their knees, had sent waves of terror through hearts, had forced armies to bow. And now, that same name was seeping into the souls of those seated around the table.

  An old priest, resting his hands on his knees, noticed his fingers trembling slightly and averted his gaze. Another bit his lip and lowered his head. After Sardiun’s words, the silence in the room was as cold and heavy as a grave.

  And now, all eyes were on Corvus. They did not know what he would do. Corvus’s expression was as unmoving as stone. His crimson eyes studied every face in the room. The mist of Lightstone radiating from his body still lingered in the air, waiting—like a predator.

  At that moment, the only thought running through the minds of the elderly priests was whether they would live or die.

  Apologize?

  The possibility had never even crossed their minds. They were the masters of the sacred temples. Until now, warriors had come before them, and they had been the ones to pass judgment.

  But now?

  They were the ones being judged.

  And their judge was the Lion of Rhaz, emerging from the haze of blood and smoke.