The sky opened above the Highlands of Throm Vale, clouds rolling past jagged peaks and misty cliffs. Charles stood tall on Nimbus, his Azure Tempest Dragon, cloak snapping in the wind. He looked every bit a man destined for a crown.
It wasn't arrogance. It was certain.
Storms bowed to kings. But this land? It was waiting for a conqueror.
Charles Ziglar, the third son of Duke Alaric Ziglar—known at court as a cripple, a ghost among nobles—was about to become the most dangerous landowner in Davona.
"SIGMA," Charles commanded, arms crossed, voice cutting and imperial, "proceed to the next phase. We're not just taking it by force—we're owning it by law. Start drafting the proposal."
The AI purred in his mind, smooth and smug.
[Affirmative. Beginning covert registration of corporate front]
A web of sigils ignited in Charles's vision. Layers of code, arcane laws, banking protocols, and land charter regulations danced together—a synchronized ballet only he and SIGMA could follow. To most, it would seem madness.
To Charles?
It was a beautiful victory.
[Starting the registration of the SIGMA PSY Conglomerate in the Davonan Crown Business Registry. Filing as a Frontier Rehabilitation Syndicate. Permission for Class A.]
"Let's not stop there," Charles said, his sapphire eyes shining with ambition.
"Push it right into the Royal Urban Expansion pipeline." Hide the move with hidden channels and merchant routes. Before anyone blinks, I want it looked over."
[Affirmative. Rerouting through five high-credibility guild conduits, including Stellar Bank Investment Wing, House Sorelle Trading Coalition, and Damaris Holdings Limited. Final document to appear as Proposal D-117: Frontier Redevelopment of Throm Vale.]
Charles grinned. "Add a little sass to the subtitle."
[Subtitled as: 'The Offer of Redemption'—legally sarcastic flourish embedded.]
While most nobles were busy plotting how to buy each other's votes with wine and flattery, Charles was silently founding an empire with paperwork forged in shadows and gilded with legitimacy.
He watched the Highlands below: mana springs bubbled in jade ravines, mineral-rich cliffs glowed with arcane light, and twisted forests released alchemical fog any scholar would covet.
The land was wealth incarnate. Untapped. Untamed.
Unaware that it had already been claimed.
The game wasn't just about buying the land. It was buying it without anyone realizing the buyer was the one they mocked as Ziglar's cursed heir.
"How are we hiding the payment?" he asked.
[Thirty masked ledgers under merchant syndicates. Fronted via Damaris's international mining guilds and Sorelle's trading fleet shell firms. A shadow cluster routed through Stellar Bank Tier-2 private funds.]
"Perfect. Let Sorelle Guild look like they're throwing gold into a pit with my face on it."
[Already done. Public perception will read: 'Sorelle-Damaris joint investment into a speculative frontier holding. Ambitious but foolishly risky. The third Ziglar heir is being paraded as a legal mascot.
He chuckled. "Let them call me the jester. Watch me crown myself backstage."
But SIGMA wasn't finished.
[One final insertion needed. Royal fast-track requires a noble sponsor.]
"Route it through Seraphina. She'll forgive me later."
There was a beat of silence.
[Using your sister's diplomatic clearance… without her knowledge. That is both wildly illegal and unspeakably brilliant.]
"She'd sign off—if she ever caught up."
[Channel rerouted. Seal forged via Shadow Vow relay. The proposal will enter the high-priority diplomatic queue. Estimated review: within one month.]
Nimbus dipped low, circling the obsidian plateau at Throm Vale's heart. Below, Charles's team carved pathways into bedrock, set foundation sigils, and offloaded relics and surveying scrolls. In base camp, a carriage-sized cauldron bubbled, filling the air with ambition and flame.
They weren't just soldiers. They were architects of something legendary.
And Charles? He wasn't just the heir of a duke anymore.
He was a sovereign in hiding.
By the time the royal clerks saw the full proposal, it would already be impossible to deny. It was too clean, too profitable, too legal.
The SIGMA PSY Conglomerate would be viewed as a private venture with noble backers, developing a dead zone for theoretical long-term return. Charles's name would be buried in footnotes, his identity obscured as "Charlemagne Vale," appointed Head of Land and Trade Expansion under the guise of a frontier development executive.
Only at the final stage, once all the documents were approved, would he step into the war chamber of House Ziglar and reveal everything to Duke Alaric.
He could already picture it:
His father sat at the obsidian table, stern eyes scanning the parchment.
Charles placed the final draft before him.
"One seal, Father. Stamp this—and the kingdom's most cursed lands become our masterpiece."
And Duke Alaric, for all his cold reserve, would recognize the brilliance in the madness.
[Proposal now 78% through Royal Urban Docket processing. Estimated completion: 29 days.]
"Good. Let them sleepwalk into selling me a kingdom."
He looked again to the stormlit horizon.
People at the royal court would make fun of him. Nobles would talk in secret, and clerks would laugh at how silly it all was. That would change when the first crates of purified Skyglass got to Velmora. When the first alchemical herb from Verdant Hollow was sold for a high price. When the first noble heir trained in his combat fields came back stronger than any academy graduate.
They would understand too late.
The Highlands of Throm Vale wouldn't be cursed by that time.
They would be branded.
His.
A dominion not of bloodline—but of vision.
And in time, the name Charlemagne Ziglar, nickname Charles, would mean more than heir.
It would mean founder.
Architect.
March Lord of Throm Vale.
[Final question: Shall I prepare the court presentation visuals? Pie charts, enchanted graphs, glowing loot projections?]
Charles laughed.
"No. That comes after they sign."
His gaze hardened.
"First, we let them think they're getting the better deal."
He reached down and patted the warm obsidian scales of Nimbus, who rumbled with approval as if sensing the world tipping.
Then, Charles whispered to the wind.
"Let's build a dynasty from the ashes of a myth."
Gradually, Charles pulled himself back from his ambition as Nimbus began to descend. They glided down from the heights of Dragonspire toward a ledge between the summit and base, where the thunderhoof stallions waited, protected by an array.
Below, the Thunderhoof Stallions neighed and pawed at the ground, tense with fear. The carriage sat untouched within protective wards. When Nimbus's shadow passed overhead, the steeds nearly bolted.
"Easy!" Charles called, vaulting from Nimbus with a jolt of qi. "They've weathered bigger storms than you!"
"Technically false," SIGMA whispered, "but persuasive for mammals."
Rob dismounted with a wind-assisted twirl and raised both hands, murmuring a beast calming chant. His voice was smooth, poetic, coaxing. Nimbus hovered a few lengths away, crouching low to reduce his presence.
The Thunderhoofs stopped trembling. Barely.
One by one, the squad moved to their assigned beasts. Each of the six—Kael, Karel, Wendy, Donald, Andy, and Borris—took a glowing Beast Tamer's Amulet and placed it over their mount's forehead. At a blink of light and a rush of qi, each majestic stallion vanished into its own pocket dimension, safely stored.
Rob, with a dramatic sweep, stored the four backup mounts and the obsidian carriage.
He proclaimed, "Now we're birds—free, unbound, a little queasy!"
Charles rolled his eyes, climbing on Nimbus. "Let's see how 'free' we feel flying straight into a thunderstorm."
The dragon rose again, its wings spreading like a storm that was about to happen.
And the real journey to Velmora began.
Chains Break, Thunder Reigns
Part I: The Shadows Under the Sky
There were clouds all around them, but what was above?
Heaven.
The Azure Tempest Dragon, Nimbus, flew easily through the high thermals. With each flap of his wings, slow currents moved through the white and gold banks drifting nearby.
The sun was at its highest point. Bright light pierced the clouds in columns, painting the sky with color. Far below, the Kingdom of Davona was busy with daily life.
Up here?
There was no noise. Calm. The air was fresh and crisp, with threads of mana and the smell of ozone.
Charles sat quietly between Nimbus's long horns, looking elegant and commanding even when he wasn't saying anything. His hood was down, and the spells that hid him were gone. In the open sky, there was no need for subtlety.
His silver hair caught the sunlight, showing faint blue streaks like moonlight on glacier water. His eyes, now visible without illusion, were luminous sapphire, still and sharp like ancient frozen lakes.
He was beautiful, but cold. Quiet, but potent.
The others sat across Nimbus's back, each secured by a flexible qi-thread cord to the harness grooves. No one spoke for a long time—not even Rob. Rivers stretched like ancient scars; sparkling lakes reflected the heavens. Wild magibeasts dotted the land below, appearing like insects from such heights.
"Almost a shame to ruin the day with violence," Wendy murmured from near the right wing joint. She reclined with both arms behind her head, boots crossed, wind whipping at her cloak.
Karel laughed, half-hanging off the side like a madman. "At this point, I'll settle for a scenic fight! It's criminal how good this air smells."
Andy snorted. "Criminal? No. Unholy. We skipped breakfast and lunch."
"You ate a mana-charged chicken leg twenty minutes ago," Borris said flatly.
"Yeah, and now it's mana-charged regret."
They all chuckled.
Charles didn't. His eyes were on the horizon.
"SIGMA," he said aloud, voice soft but firm. "Status update."
"No obstructions ahead. You have bypassed the town of Rubai. Time to Velmora by air: one hour. No threats detected in upper or mid-aerial lanes. However—"
A soft pause.
"—There is an active combat zone on the ground. Approximately twenty-seven kilometers ahead. Scanning..."
Nimbus banked slightly as the light shifted across his scales, casting storm-blue ripples through the air.
"Hostile conflict confirmed. One merchant-slave caravan under siege. The caravan began its route from Velmora earlier today, intended for the kingdom's capital. Current position: main southern highway route. Defending forces: 19 remaining out of 55. Hostile force: 113, armed and coordinated. Estimated strength: Core Realm Rank 4 to 10. Bandit commander: Unity Realm Rank 1. Group identified—Black Fang Bandits. Estimated total soulbound slaves in caravan: 50. Mixed races—elves, dwarves, mages, and young cultivators. Risk of full massacre: 94%. Estimated civilian casualties if unassisted: total."
The mood changed instantly.
The quiet reverence of flight dissipated like mist pierced by flame.
Charles blinked once, slowly.
"Black Fang? That far north?"
Wendy had already sat up, fingers tracing the hilts of her daggers. "We're near the capital's road. This is bold, even for them."
"Or stupid," Karel added, pulling his quiver tighter.
Rob adjusted his wind-silk cloak and raised a hand to shade his eyes. "Or perhaps they know something we don't. Either way…"
"We're ending it," Charles said.
He stood to his feet, perfectly balanced despite the wind. Nimbus tilted his head just enough to acknowledge the shift.
Charles's voice sharpened, laced with steel.
"Target: bandits. Priority: total elimination. No mercy. No escape."
Kael grinned, standing with him. "You're not coming down with us?"
Charles's eyes glittered. "Foundation Realm Rank 8. I'd be a liability in melee... and frankly, it's more efficient to let you stretch your new toys."
Andy cracked his knuckles. "Finally."
Donald said nothing—he simply exhaled and checked his sword.
Wendy turned on the stealth array in her boots, making her blend in with the light.
As Rob floated a few inches higher, his staff lit up with a soft blue light. "Don't let evil wait."
Charles's hand went up.
"Descent pattern: vertical strike." No introductions.
The sound of Nimbus's roar echoed across the sky like thunder from heaven. The clouds broke up. The winds howled.
Then the fall started.
As soon as Nimbus broke through the clouds, the weather changed.
A sudden gust of wind swept across the battlefield below. The midday sun disappeared behind swirling clouds. Thunder rumbled, not distant and gentle, but loud and alive. Lightning flashed between the dragon's horns as Nimbus dropped like a spear, wings spread wide.
The air turned sharp and electric.