The Falsies princess decided to remain strong and not to make any mistakes — one wrong move in this situation could go bad.
Elsewhere, Elise trembled. She had almost died tonight, and the thought of it made her feel so weak. She couldn't do a thing. But if she ever saw Kelvin again, she swore she would make him pay.
BOOM.
Another loud sound reverberated through the rubble that was once the ballroom.
The royal knights fell to the ground laughing, tired and wounded, their armor cracked, their swords bent. Their laughter was broken, hysterical almost, like men who couldn't believe they'd survived.
"Can't believe someone crazy enough tried to attack two royal families and all the nobles," one muttered, his helmet crooked, visor hanging by a hinge. "This is, in all honesty, a declaration of war."
The words tasted like ash.
"My daughter!" Queen Elizabeth screamed, her voice tearing through the air. She shook with rage, grief clear in her eyes. "Not only did multiple officials die, not only is the entire merchant trade crippled… but they took my daughter from me, Duke!"
She whirled on him, fury bleeding through her poise. "You better have answers!"
The Duke, exhausted and covered in ash, sat down heavily on a shattered pillar. His breath rasped; for a moment, even he looked more like a soldier than a ruler.
As if things couldn't get worse, Aquaris came running to his side, mages following close behind. His voice rang raw above the chaos, informing them all about Lupin's assassination.
The Duke let out a long sigh, his face grim, as if the last tether of strength in him had been cut.
"Duke!" Queen Elizabeth snapped, her voice sharp as a blade. "Should I take this as a declaration of war? That you were trying to hurt my family?"
"Your royal highness, listen…" the Duke said, holding up his hand. "Things are in shambles. I'm not even in the right mind to sort through it all, and you call this a plot?" He shook his head, his crown of ash sliding slightly on his brow. "Please. Give me a moment to handle the disaster in my own capital. I am sorry for your child — truly I am. We will do our best to assist you in your search. But there was nothing I could do."
The queen knew she couldn't fault him. She cried silently, her tears leaving trails in the soot across her face. Yet, her silence was louder than her screams — it told the room that even grief could be weaponized.
"Hoho… I see you're busy, Henry," a voice chuckled, cutting through the tension.
The Duke looked up, half-annoyed. "Old man…"
"Is that a nickname?" the figure asked, his grin wide. "Why has everyone been calling me that?"
"Either way, old man," the Duke muttered, "I appreciate the help and I will reward you nicely later. But I have important business to attend to."
"I hear you," the old man replied. His eyes, sharp even behind the smile, flicked toward Mathis. "But your son… his talent is fantastic. Won't you let an old man like me be his master, and train him in magic?"
The Duke chuckled despite the ruin all around them. "Hmm. Of course, the Grandfather of Magic wants to train my son. Who would say no?"
"Hoho, Grandfather of Magic? Please — I'm not that old."
"Either way, I have work to do. We'll speak later, old man."
The Duke's smile faded as he turned to survey the broken hall. The truth hadn't yet sunk in, but many families had lost loved ones tonight. Even commoners outside the walls had died in the chaos. He had far too much to deal with, and no time for laughter.
In the dungeon beneath the castle estate, the Duke stepped into the shadows where Regard waited behind iron bars.
"Regard," the Duke said quietly. "I've known you for a long time. Are you certain this kid, Leon, killed Lupin?"
"Of course, your highness. What reason would I have to lie to you?"
The Duke frowned. "Hmmm…" He tapped his fingers against the bars, the sound hollow. "I trust you. But things have gone truly mad tonight. Lupin's remains were already a mess by the time you found them. From the body, it must have been hours. And you weren't there that long."
Regard's gaze didn't waver, his eyes unreadable.
"You're free for now," the Duke said at last. "But if you get tangled in anything like this again — even as my close friend — I'll have no choice but to take responsibility and kill you myself. Don't lose your focus, Regard."
The cell door clanged shut, leaving silence in its wake.
"Hohoho!" The old man laughed again, somewhere above. His gaze had landed on a small, blond-haired, blue-eyed boy snoozing in exhaustion. "Someone had a long night," he muttered, before smacking Mathis lightly on the cheek. "Alright, prince, if you're gonna—"
"LIGHT ARROW!"
Instinct surged. Mathis, still in battle mode, launched a beam of light straight at the old man.
"Hoho!" The old man waved his hand, dispelling the magic with ease. Sparks died in the air.
Mathis froze, stunned, his heart pounding.
Later, they walked the ruined halls to collect Mathis's belongings and exchange farewells.
The Duke called him over, his expression tired but still composed. "Mathis."
"Father."
"You've done well. More than I could have asked." The Duke's hand pressed onto Mathis's shoulder, grounding him like iron.
Mathis nodded, though his chest was tight. He hadn't seen Elise. He hadn't said goodbye to her. That absence gnawed at him like a blade lodged between his ribs.
When the political discussions resumed, the room shifted.
On one side sat King Aldros, regal yet exhausted, still balancing the weight of a kingdom nearly torn apart. His tone was heavy, commanding, but cautious—he knew every word here mattered.
On the other sat the Queen of the Falsies Empire. Graceful, calm, her voice like silk. Her eyes, though, carried no grief for her missing daughter. She smiled with poised detachment, sipping wine as though this were a casual meeting, not a room dripping with blood and ash.
Her husband sat at her side—handsome, polished, the kind of man who could buy any luxury and walk away untouchable. He wasn't threatening, not like Mathis or Xavier would one day be, but he had everything at his fingertips. A man like that could always decide to reach further.
And their son lounged nearby, bored and spoiled, the picture of effortless talent. His smirk made Mathis's fists clench, though he said nothing.
The Queen's voice rang, steady and calm. "King Aldros, your halls have bled. Your people cry. Ours has lost a daughter. Shall we call this what it is? The spark of war?"
King Aldros's eyes hardened. "If you wish for war, then say it outright. But my people will not shoulder blame for the sins of assassins and shadows."
Mathis shifted, unsure if he should speak—but the old man's hand landed on his back, nudging him forward.
"Go on, brat," the old man whispered. "This is your moment. Test your tongue. Let's see if you can speak like a king's son."
Mathis drew a slow breath and faced the two rulers. "If war is what either of you want, then war is what you'll get. But you'll lose more than you gain. This attack wasn't about one empire or the other—it was about chaos. If you're too blinded by anger to see that, then you'll doom us all."
The room quieted.
Even the spoiled prince stopped smirking.
King Aldros studied his son, and for the first time, there was pride in his gaze. The Queen of Falsies only sipped her cup, smiling faintly, her mind already playing ten moves ahead.
As Mathis and the old man made their way through the shattered hall, he spotted a familiar figure leaning against the crumbling wall. Aquaris. His armor was dented and scorched, his sword nicked and dull, but his back remained straight. The boy looked younger than Mathis remembered—like the weight of battle had pressed the years out of him instead of adding them.
Mathis slowed his steps, pride warring with something unfamiliar in his chest. He was not one to hand out thanks lightly, especially not to a squire. But Elise's face, pale and terrified as the vortex dragged her in, burned behind his eyes. He remembered the chaos, the fire, the screams—and the glimpse of Aquaris hauling her to safety through the rubble.
"…Thank you," Mathis said at last, the words crisp, formal. His chin tilted higher, as though trying to balance out the humility in them.
Aquaris met his gaze, eyes red-rimmed and heavy with exhaustion. He nodded once, but his silence spoke louder than words. Beneath that simple bow of his head, there was tension, anger—Mathis could see it. He wondered if the boy was furious at the nobles, or at him.
The truth was, Aquaris's mind was elsewhere. Regard. Leon. None of it made sense, and the knot in his chest only tightened. He clenched his jaw, forcing down the questions that burned his tongue.
Mathis felt the weight of that silence. He considered asking more, but pride wrapped tight around his throat. Instead, he gave Aquaris one last nod, turned sharply on his heel, and continued down the hall beside the old man.
Regard walked free from the dungeon with his usual easy smile, but there was something sharper behind his eyes. The Duke's warning still hung in the air like smoke—one more mistake, and I'll kill you myself.
Yet, instead of sulking, Regard took up a sword and stepped into the courtyard where the novices trained.
"Gather around," he said lightly, as if tonight hadn't been soaked in blood. "Watch closely."
The young squires hesitated, glancing at one another. None dared disobey.
Regard drew his blade. With a flick of his wrist, green light shimmered along its edge—controlled, steady, deliberate. He flowed through the forms with the grace of someone who had killed more men than these boys had shaken hands with.
A simple downward cut—fast enough to split the air.A parry that cracked the practice dummy's wooden sword clean in half.A thrust so sharp it pierced through the target's iron chestplate as if it were parchment.
The squires gasped. One or two actually stumbled back.
Regard turned, the faintest smirk curling his lips. "This is the difference between surviving and dying. Between stumbling through drills and knowing how to kill."
Mathis watched in silence, arms folded. He didn't trust this man—couldn't. There was something too polished about the display, too rehearsed. Regard wasn't showing skill. He was showing control. A reminder that he could outmatch every knight here, and maybe even the Duke if he wanted.
The old man beside Mathis narrowed his eyes, grin fading for once. "Hoho… dangerous one, that."
Mathis didn't reply. His gut had already told him the same thing.
The old man clapped his hands. "Hohoho! That's enough politics for one night. Boring!" His grin widened. "Mathis, you said your goodbyes? Shook all the right hands? Good. Then we're done here."
Mathis frowned. "What do you mean done?"
The old man's grin sharpened. "Watch."
The air twisted, rippled, bent like fabric pulled too tight. Magic that didn't belong to any school Mathis had ever seen surged around them. Nobles gasped, guards reached for their weapons—but before anyone could react, the world folded in on itself.
Mathis's stomach lurched. Light and sound collapsed. The palace was gone.
And in the blink of an eye, he stood at the edge of something new—
The first step toward the Magic Tower.