"You manipulate nobles as if they were chess pieces. You steal mana signatures from magebloods and leave no trace. You even slipped out of the Drazroth Empire without disturbing a single imperial ward. No ordinary parasite should be capable of that."
Velra's voice was calm, but each word carried the weight of a drawn blade.
Across from her, the Faceless Imposter tilted his head, the shadow of his hood slicing across his face like a black crescent. A faint grin tugged at his lips, cold and amused.
"And what conclusion," he drawled, "does the mighty Lady Velra reach from all this?"
"That you're not just a parasite," she said softly. "You're a parasite king."
The words dropped into the silence like a blade striking stone—hard, undeniable.
