Dishes floated in on silver-plated mana trays, steam curling beneath dome lids marked with preservation runes. The meal was a display of taste and power. At the center, Charles, draped in a silk robe, quietly made history over lunch.
He cut into a slice of golden-crusted cloud-crane, chewing with lazy precision as he glanced toward Borris. Across from him, Wendy was nursing a ginger-fizz infusion, her expression sharp despite the subtle healing balm swirled behind her eyes.
Charles spoke between bites of sapphire-plum glazed starquail, "Let's talk about the old crew."
Borris lowered his black pepper tonic, arching a brow. "The old crew?"
Charles didn't look up. "Your team. The one you served under my mother."
A pause.
Wendy looked up from her honey-glazed moonfruit skewer and said, "Wait, you want to fix the Duchess's unit?"
Charles said, "Not rebuild," and his eyes shone with unsettling clarity. "Bring back. Better. Only loyal to us. Bound to happen."
Borris leaned back and drummed his calloused fingers on the table. "Some joined Duke Alaric's army. Some people got into the Inquisition. Some of them stopped talking. Gone. Ghosts."
Charles turned his head. "Then let's go look for ghosts."
The Lady Duchess Evelyne Ziglar.
Her name didn't bring silence. It brought reverence. People whispered it not out of fear, but out of respect so deep it was almost prayer. The Lady of Silent Thunder. Cultivator, alchemist, strategist. She was an empress in all but title.
Behind her stood a team, a covert unit so effective that noble houses stopped trying to confirm its existence and simply accepted it likely eliminated their informants.
Borris let out a slow breath. "It's been years, lad."
"I know." Charles set down his fork. "And I want them back."
Wendy looked up from her honey-glazed moonfruit skewer and said, "Wait, you want to fix the Duchess's unit?"
Charles said, "Not rebuild," and his eyes shone with unsettling clarity. "Bring back. Better. Only loyal to us. Bound to happen."
Borris leaned back and drummed his calloused fingers on the table. "Some joined Duke Alaric's army. Some people got into the Inquisition. Some of them stopped talking. Gone. Ghosts."
Charles turned his head. "Then let's go look for ghosts."
Borris gave a low grunt, reached for a slice of voidfin, and downed it with the practiced motion of a soldier remembering the taste of field rations.
"Alright. First? Diana Marnel. Battle mage. Unity Realm Two. Light affinity. Think battlefield alchemist meets field surgeon meets one-woman demolition crew."
Charles raised a brow.
"She trained under the Lady Duchess herself," Borris continued. "Could lace paralysis mist into the battlefield winds and cleave through a warband—blindfolded. Actually did it in the Silverpine Skirmish. These days, she's running a modest shop in Velmora's Lighthollow District. Glowroot Remedies. Nothing flashy. Teas, healing salves, minor wards. But if you blink wrong near her, you'll wake up in another lifetime."
Wendy snorted. "Sounds like an unholy mix of motherly instinct and war crimes."
Charles gave a sly, approving smile. "Efficient women are my favorite kind."
Wendy rolled her eyes. "Should I warn Micah?"
"She'd agree," Charles said easily. "Next."
"Claude Boyle. Killer. One Realm of Unity. Ice affinity. Cold as frostbite and quiet as death. He was the best spy we ever had. During the Crescent Revolt, he tricked three enemy barons into swearing loyalty to the Lady Duchess without them knowing they had been tricked."
Wendy's drink went down the wrong way. "Three?!"
"One person thought Evelyne was his cousin. One of them was his soulmate. The last? Claude made fake bloodline papers that made him think they had a secret child together."
Charles leaned back, impressed. "We're going to hire him."
"Currently freelancing in the Duranth underworld. Deep black market work. But his ears are everywhere. He'll know we're looking before we even say his name."
"And what does he want?" Charles asked.
"Freedom," Borris replied. "But not to run. To choose when to disappear."
Charles's grin turned razor-sharp. "Then let's give him a shadow worth staying in."
Wendy exhaled. "And this is the safe part of the plan?"
Charles raised his goblet. "Nothing about what we're doing is safe. But it'll be glorious."
Borris chuckled. "One more. Sandro Blayke. Swordsman. Unity Realm Three. Metal affinity. He's built like a fortress. Loyal, grim, and terrifying with a blade.
Evelyne trusted him with her life. I once saw him break a diamond-forged spear with his bare hands because someone insulted her."
Charles's tone softened. "I remember Sandro."
"He runs a clean mercenary outfit now. Davona capital. No slave work. No extortion. Just solid steel and contracts. People respect him. Not for power. For principles."
Wendy tilted her head. "He sounds like the hardest to recruit."
"He'll come," Charles said. "He'll walk into righteous fire."
"And how will he see it?" Wendy asked.
Charles lifted a finger and traced an invisible flame in the air.
"We give him the kindling."
A moment passed. Then Borris added, "There's one more you might have overlooked. Mark Fray. Unity Realm Three. Wind affinity. Archer and Array Master, two-star ranking."
Charles's brows lifted. "I don't recognize the name."
"He came after your mother passed. But he was one of the last she scouted. He worked briefly in the eastern borderlands. Now he freelances for Lux Array Atelier, a top-tier array inscription firm in the Royal Capital.
They specialize in protective arrays for merchant estates, noble vaults, and private residences. Subtle work. Reliable."
Charles's interest sharpened. "Wind-aligned array masters are rare."
"Fray's sharp. Sarcastic. Never impressed. But he's professional to a fault. If you give him enough gold and a blueprint worth solving, he'll etch arrays even the Inquisition would hesitate to touch."
"Perfect," Charles said. "He'll lay our new structure's bones."
Wendy looked between the two men. "So what, you're planning to reforge the kingdom behind velvet curtains and pocket dimensions?" she asked.
Charles leaned back, calm and watchful.
"No. I'll reclaim what the Duchess built—and more."
He tapped the table once, and a faint ripple of qi spread outward like a call to arms.
"It's not just a plan."
"It's the Reforging Protocol."
Wendy gave him a long look and said, "You're aware you sound like the villain in an opera, right?"
Charles smirked. "Only because the hero hasn't caught up yet."
"Terrifying," Wendy muttered.
"Motivational," he said.
"Same thing in your case."
He held up his glass. "To Diana. Claude and Sandro. Mark Fray."
"To reforging," Borris said, tapping his glass in salute.
"One flame at a time," Charles said quietly.
Stop.
Then Wendy leaned over. "When are we going to see Diana?"
Charles's smile grew wider, like a crescent moon full of secrets.
"Tonight."
There was no room for debate in the way he said it, calm and certain. It was already decided. They would still be at Glowroot Remedies before the moon finished rising, even if the stars moved or the sun disappeared.
Wendy sighed and reached for a fresh cup of jasmine frost tea. "Can we at least bring her a gift?" she asked.
"Of course," Charles said, standing. "What every warhound dreams of."
"What's that?"
He adjusted the cuffs of his silk robe and gave her a look of unshakable certainty.
"A reason to fight again."
Before she could ask more, he clapped his hands. "Now, let's talk arrays."
He unfurled a scroll across the center of the table with a flick of his fingers. A glowing projection of runic inscriptions shimmered in the air, slowly rotating above their dishes like an artist's masterpiece caught mid-spell.
"Micah's team submitted this array blueprint last night," he said. "Perfectly functional. Ambient enchantments for mood relaxation, flavor amplification, and privacy."
Wendy nodded. "I saw it. Elegant."
"And here," Charles continued, "is our improved version."
He tapped the scroll. The projection shifted.
Three additional runes now glowed faintly between the relaxation glyphs, disguised and layered so well they were indistinguishable from the core flow unless you knew exactly what to look for.
"Each lounge and table now carries hidden surveillance features," Charles explained. "They're inscribed directly into the relaxation matrix to blend the functions: emotional pacification, tone and mana fluctuation capture, and mirrored thought-echo detection."
Borris leaned in. "Won't someone eventually notice the additions?"
"Not unless they're a Transcendent Realm Grand Array Master and have reason to suspect." Charles grinned. "And even then, these runes were calibrated by SIGMA—coded to mimic pseudo-mood-enhancing spells. Aesthetically harmless. Functionally devastating."
Wendy's eyes gleamed. "What happens to the data?"
Charles snapped his fingers. A side glyph flared.
"All captured data is routed to SIGMA's surveillance databank. Indexed, timestamped, encrypted, then scrubbed of magical residue. There's no trail. No echoes. No detection risk."
Borris let out a low whistle. "You're turning a restaurant into a fortress of information."
"No," Charles said smoothly, "I'm turning it into a kingdom without walls."
He produced two rectangular obsidian tablets, etched with fine circuit lines that glowed a faint sapphire-blue. He handed one each to Borris and Wendy.
"These are Phantom Sync Tablets, direct creations of SIGMA's array forge. Once activated and pressed against an array node, like a table crystal or a wall panel, they will automatically recalibrate and install the Veiled Listening and Scanning Array script. No manual etching. No chanting. Instant stealth embedding."
Wendy turned hers over. "Looks like a pastry tag. Elegant."
"Be sure to mask your energy," Charles warned. "These arrays might be subtle, but they still drain qi. That's why I'm giving you a stockpile."
He opened a sleek alchemized satchel and pushed it across the table. Inside were vials, capsules, and lacquered pill boxes.
"Qi Rebalancer Elixirs. Drink one every three hours during array work. Soulthread Stabilization Pills. Take two before and after each session. And my favorite, Wyrmcore Recovery Orbs. Chew them. They taste terrible but work like divine grace."
"You two will use the scrolls to alter the arrays in every table, lounge, and hall starting this afternoon and in the next two nights with the guise of reinforcing the arrays for protection. Do it during less busy hours or non-operational hours for the staff to avoid distractions and suspicions."
Wendy tucked her tablet away. "Understood. Just one question."
Charles raised a brow. "Yes?"
"If this works," she said, leaning forward, "how much of the kingdom will we own by year's end?"
Charles didn't blink. He simply smiled.
"All of it."
The Crown Jewel of Velmora
Earlier that day, the morning sun rose like a golden tide, cresting over the marble rooftops of Velmora and gilding the capital in amber light. Its rays pooled onto a single place as if the heavens themselves had drawn the city's blueprint around it.
Tre Sorelle Velmora.
No longer just a restaurant. A declaration.
Lady Micah Sorelle's obsidian carriage rolled to a smooth halt before it, its dark sheen reflecting the brilliance of the newly risen sun. She stepped down with practiced grace, her high-heeled boots clicking against polished moonstone tiles.
The breeze carried the smell of skybell orchids from the nearby aromagarden. It was planned, magical, and intoxicating.
She looked up.
The structure rose four stories high—duskenwood walls carved from timber enchanted deep in the Veilgrove Wilds, inlaid with thin crystalline veins that pulsed faintly in daylight like a resting heartbeat.
Like stars in the sky, floating sigils hovered near the roof.
Every pane of window glass was cut from Imperial Spire crystal, eternally spotless, mirroring the world through a soft clarity that made commoners pause in awe and nobles itch to invest.
And they should.
Tre Sorelle Velmora was situated at the crossroads of wealth and wonder—surrounded by three noble districts, one teleportation plaza, and two city guildhalls. It was a web spun in prime real estate, ready to catch every elite family, foreign merchant, and political envoy that wandered close.
Micah's eyes narrowed slightly.
Average foot traffic: 300,000 per day. Minimum spending? 15 gold per head.
Capacity: 220 at standard service hours. High-tier event rentals push revenue to triple margins.
Flavor, prestige, market disruption. Gods, Charles… what have you built?
She smiled.
"This… this is a throne wrapped in linen."