The worst part about saving the kingdom wasn't the fight.
It was the paperwork.
Velis had us up before dawn to "secure the evidence before it mysteriously disappeared." Which is scholar-speak for "I trust nobles as far as I can throw a fireball." So, once again, I found myself back in the smoldering wreck of House Marrowind's subterranean ego-chamber, tiptoeing around bloodstains, broken glyphs, and the slowly oozing remains of what used to be a demon construct.
I was digging through a desk drawer when I found it.
A letter. Thick parchment. Black wax seal with a twisted crest that looked like someone dared a crow to draw a family emblem blindfolded. The writing inside was done in elaborate, gothic red ink that was either enchanted... or still drying.
Velis took one look and sighed. "Demon Lord."
Of course it was.
To the Honorable Lord Marrowind (it began),
I commend your cowardice. It makes you wonderfully reliable.
Continue destabilizing the royal court. Feed their division. Sow questions. Stall their progress. Delay the anomaly.
And above all, ensure the heroes remain apart. If they unite, even I may have to wake up on time.
—D.L.
P.S. Burn this. You won't, of course. You're predictable.
I stared at it.
Velis muttered, "He writes like he smells his own sarcasm."
"I think I got bullied by this guy in middle school," I said.
She pocketed the letter with surgical precision. "Let's go confront a government."
Back in the capital, we marched straight into a full session of the royal court and dropped the receipts.
Literally.
Velis unrolled scrolls and ledgers across the floor like she was presenting a thesis defense before a jury of guilty children. Iria stood beside her like divine punctuation. Silas leaned against a pillar and casually flipped a throwing knife like it was a bored fidget toy.
The evidence was damning.
Correspondence. Funding ledgers. Arcane resource shipments traced from three other noble houses—each linked directly to rituals or border destabilization.
House Marrowwind wasn't an outlier.
It was the tip of a festering iceberg of self-interest.
"I demand an inquiry!" shouted one noble.
"I was misled!" cried another.
"My dog was handling that account!" said a third, before realizing no one else found that credible.
One just stood up and ran.
He didn't get far.
King Aldren III—silver-bearded, visibly tired, and done with everyone's excuses—stood.
"If rot festers in gold, then it will be scraped clean."
And just like that, three houses fell from grace.
I thought we were done.
We weren't.
Because royalty apparently loves two things: ceremonies, and watching you squirm in formalwear.
The Throne Hall had been polished to a shine so aggressive it nearly blinded me. Pillars of marble. Tapestries big enough to strangle a wyvern. A floating orchestra playing "Victory In D Minor" like it was the end of an epic poem.
I stood in line between Kuroblade Nightshade—who hadn't spoken in twenty minutes but had definitely struck three different poses—and Ren Arashi, who was fixing his hair in the reflection of his sword.
Then the king stepped forward, scroll in hand, and began the rewards.
"Ren Arashi, first of the Summoned."
Ren stepped forward with the grace of a man raised by spotlights.
The king presented him with a long silver cape embroidered with stardust threads and radiant sigils.
"Heirveil, the Windless Standard," the king proclaimed. "A garment fit for a leader of light."
It sparkled.
And immediately billowed outward.
There was no wind.
It just... did.
Ren beamed, turned once, and the cape flared dramatically behind him.
The applause was thunderous.
"Kuroblade Nightshade, second of the Summoned."
Kuroblade didn't walk so much as float forward, cloak whispering with imaginary darkness.
The king presented a black obsidian ring, set with a tiny eye-shaped gem.
"Shadow's Conviction. Wrought from duskmetal. A ring to see beyond illusions, and speak truth to lies."
Kuroblade took it reverently.
"The veil thins," he whispered, sliding it on.
It glowed.
Only a little.
He vanished into a puff of dark mist that smelled faintly of cinnamon.
"And finally... Kaname Hitoshi. Third of the Summoned."
I stepped up.
The king cleared his throat.
"This blade has... served the royal line for generations."
There was a long pause.
He glanced at an attendant.
They shrugged.
The king straightened. "It is called... Resolute Justice."
He handed me a ceremonial sheath, velvet-lined, crested with gold.
Inside was a guard-issued straight sword.
Same as the guys patrolling the garden.
Still had a scratch on the hilt.
I unsheathed it. Blinked. Looked at him.
"It's used."
"It has character," he replied.
Velis coughed.
Silas audibly snorted.
Kuroblade nodded solemnly. "It is a humble blade. Grounded. Like a shovel of fate."
Ren clapped, proud of me.
I sheathed it and said nothing.
Because if I opened my mouth, I was going to laugh.
That night, we were summoned again.
This time to a war chamber, quiet and guarded.
The king leaned forward, hands on the map of the western border.
"The Demon Lord's castle has risen again. His spires pierce the edge of Duskvale.
Border outposts report shadow breaches. Our seers dream in static.
This is not a delay. This is the beginning."
He looked at the three of us—Ren, Kuroblade, and me.
Then our parties: Iria and Velis flanking me, Silas chewing something in the back corner. Ren's personal aides standing politely behind him. Kuroblade... leaning on his giant serrated sword.
Velis knocked on it earlier.
It echoed.
Cardboard.
"You will travel together," the king said. "Three heroes. One path.
I send you not as pawns... but as fire."
We stood at the city gates the next morning, horses saddled, packs ready, sky overcast but somehow dramatic.
Ren arrived with twelve women trailing him.
All bards, herbalists, painters, tea-makers. Some were just there to watch him pose.
"Your fanbase," I said.
"My support system," he corrected.
Kuroblade stood atop a wagon wheel, cape fluttering. One hand on his ridiculous cardboard sword, the other raised like he was channeling destiny.
I stared.
I looked at my used guard sword.
Then at Velis.
She didn't say anything.
I didn't either.
We just walked.
Somewhere, far beyond the horizon, past fields of ruin and clouds of unnatural stormlight...
A throne of iron cracked open.
And the Demon Lord, long asleep, opened his eyes and smiled.
"Finally," he said. "The anomaly moves."