Regis gave Cornelia a nod before turning toward the bound soldiers, his eyes glowing a deep purple that slowly turned blood red as he spoke.

“We offered you sanctuary. Shared our food with you, our home. And this is how you repay us? Betraying our trust and trying to harm our people. My... people.”

Regis was practically growling at this point as he slammed the bottom end of his staff onto the ground, the cobblestone floor collapsing beneath the tied-up soldiers that fell into a two by two meter sized and nearly three meters deep hole.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

He pointed the bladed end of his staff at the hole, the light yellow crystal on it flashing for a moment before a torrent of bright blood-red flames broke loose from its tip. The furious flames filled the hole to the brim, painful shrieks resounding throughout Landwaker Square for all the three seconds it took for the fire to end the traitors’ lives. Shocked gasps filled the air as the soldiers got executed, some people cheering while others turned away from the ghastly sight. Regis for one, looked at the remaining guards that came with Cornelia, his eyes still glowing with an eerie blood-red glow.

“Make your choice now. You either fall in line or get the hell out of my territory. I have neither time nor patience for traitors and troublemakers.”

As he said that, the fire dissipated, revealing a set of charred corpses with half-melted armour. A cloud of Amaranth drifted up from the hole, the dark elf’s sigil absorbing it before the hole sealed itself shut with a grinding noise, the charred remains turning into dust that mixed with the soil beneath the newly formed cobblestone.

“The danger has passed and the traitors are no more,” Regis said in a voice that now felt more tired rather than angry. “Return to what you’ve been doing.”

The crowd dispersed with hushed murmurs, some still cursing the traitors while others making remarks on the fearsome execution.

“Regis…” the paladin tried to speak, his throat still dry from the hot air caused by the red flames.

“I’m tired.” These were the only words that left the loremaster’s mouth before he turned around to leave.

He wasn’t lying. The events of the past days along with the continuous threats looming over Thorn Vale felt heavy on his shoulders with each day bringing something new to worry about. He was tired of it. All he wanted was to collapse and sleep. Soon he returned to his manor where he made his way to his study. Page after page got flipped as he read through everything he could think of being useful, the words blurring in his vision as darkness crept up around him. When it finally lifted, he found himself leaning onto the large desk, the still open book serving as his not-so-comfortable pillow.

‘Shit. When did I… where did this blanket come from?’ The dark elf thought to himself groggily as he realised that he not only fell asleep while reading but was so out of it that he didn’t even notice someone entering his study to put a blanket over him. Looking at his arcane wristwatch, it showed 8:47. ‘I guess dinner’s over,’ He mused while closing the book. After getting his bearings together, he closed the study and took a quick bath before falling onto his bed to end the night.

The next day he found out that it was Euric who covered him after finding him sleeping when he wanted to inform his lord about dinner. The next three days passed in a relative calm, no news from the outside world marring them. The people of Thornfell slowly slipped back into their monotone lives that continued even under the threat of a possible attack looming over their heads. On the morning of the fourth day, as Regis was having a rare moment where Letty stayed for breakfast, his far-caller came to life with Quentin’s voice resounding through it.

“We just got word from the mountain pass. A messenger arrived in front of the gates. He’s waiting for you.”

“I’m on my way,” the dark elf sighed as he wiped the corner of his mouth while standing up. “Sorry, Letty. Duty calls.”

“Is something wrong?” She asked as she watched him get up from his seat.

“A messenger arrived at the mountain pass. I have to check it out. See you later?”

“Yes. Take care!”

“Sure.” He hummed while giving her a quick kiss before leaving.

The loremaster made his way to Landwaker Square where he found Quentin waiting for him next to the gateway.

“Are you ready?” The paladin asked, earning a nod as his friend lowered the barrier of the pavilion, the two using the gateway to reach the mountain pass in a flash.

Outside, they found a familiar-looking horseman waiting for them.

“Let him in.” Regis said while walking down the stairs.

The messenger slowly trotted through the now open gate, got off his horse and gave a slight bow to the dark elf.

“Good day to you, milord. Lady Zola sent this,” the man remarked while handing over the sealed scroll. “She asked me to tell you that she hopes you’ll visit her as soon as possible after receiving the message.”

“Okay...” The dark elf nodded absent-mindedly as he took a few steps to the side, cracking the wax seal after making sure there were no magical or other threats hidden in it.

The letter was brief with boldly written words.

“The succession war got settled.”

“Quentin.” He called out to his friend, handing over the scroll.

“Hm,” the paladin read the short message. “Her handwriting seems calm and collected. That’s a good sign at least.”

“Should we head over right now?” Regis asked from the paladin, the man nodding in agreement.

“Send word to Grego that we went to Mistfield.” Quentin said to one of the guards before the two returned to the secret room.

The gateway’s runes lit up as they teleported over to Mistfield, the local guards greeting them.

“Lord Regis. Her Ladyship is waiting for you at the manor.”

“Thanks.” The dark elf nodded as the two headed out toward the Vidal Manor.

On their way, they could see far fewer guards patrolling than the last time. The atmosphere itself felt lighter as well, as if a weight was lifted from the people’s shoulders. The guard in front of the manor let them through with a slight nod, old Desimir waiting for them at the entrance.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Welcome back, Lord Regis! Sir Quentin.”

“Sir Desimir.” They both nodded.

“Lady Zola is waiting for you inside. Please follow me.”

The old soldier led them through the familiar corridors toward the study where he gently knocked on the door.

“My lady, Lord Regis has arrived.”

“Come in.” Zola’s voice resounded from the other side of the door.

As they entered, the familiar scene of Galen and Magda sitting on the sofa greeted them, but this time Zola was also sitting behind the desk instead of walking back and forth like the last time.

“Welcome you two,” Magda greeted them as she stood up, stepping beside the side table to pour some tea. “Have a seat.”

“You seem awfully... serene.” Regis noted as he looked at Zola.

“We won.” She replied with a relieved smile.

“We... won? What do you mean?”

“Prince Mikkel won the succession war.”

“So soon,” Quentin looked at her surprised. “I thought such things would take a lot longer to get solved.”

“They usually do,” Galen remarked as he made way for Desimir to sit down. “According to the letter we received, the princes agreed on a duel to decide the fate of the crown as soon as possible. Although Prince Merron planned to use underhanded methods to kill his brother, someone from his inner circles secretly informed Mikkel about it.”

“Thanks to that, he was able to prepare and turn the ambush in his favour, ending his brother’s life in the process.” Zola finished the explanation.

“Are you sure this information is reliable?” Regis asked with a serious tone. “This all sounds far too convenient.”

“Convenient?”

“Yes. They agreed to duel it out? Since when would the top dogs have enough honour or sense to do something like that? Wouldn’t stuff like that be the last resort? Not to mention the whole planned foul play that got somehow turned around and used to kill the dipshit who planned it. This all feels like bad screenwriting to me.” The dark elf tried to explain his thoughts.

“The news came through our people in the capital,” Zola replied. “They were present at the duel along with most of the court. Every noble house received the same news. I already asked Arnold, and he also confirmed that he received the same news.”

“This still feels too anticlimactic.” Quentin agreed with his friend.

“I for one am glad that it’s over,” Galen stated with a hint of worry in his tone. “However that doesn’t mean that the battle is over.”

“What do you mean?” The paladin asked back confused.

“Prince Mikkel’s coronation is said to be held tomorrow, but he already issued his first decree.”

“Let me guess,” the dark elf sighed. “He’s pissed at the people who supported his brother instead of him?”

“Indeed,” Magda nodded as she leaned forward while sitting on the sofa. “He pretty much marked them for execution on grounds of treason, allowing his supporters to ‘liberate’ their territories.”

“Well, shit.” Regis cussed.

“Yes,” Zola sighed. “The only reason Arnold gets to keep his territories is that after Lord Arlo died, he immediately sent word to Prince Mikkel about his father’s demise and an assurance of his loyalty and support.”

“So he brown-nosed himself a safe pass from this new decree.”

“That’s one way of saying it,” Galen agreed, barely holding back a chuckle. “However this doesn’t change the fact that this ‘first decree’ reignited the territory wars once again.”

“But you’re safe from it,” the paladin said. “I mean, both of your neighbours are in the same faction, so they can’t justify attacking you.”

“Well,” Regis hummed. “I’m not sure if Graham’s successor is in the same league. I mean the guy was a demonic collaborator and whatnot.”

“His son also immediately pledged his loyalty to Prince Mikkel after his father’s death.” Zola stated.

“There,” the dark elf stopped her. “There it is again.”

“What is?” The others looked at him.

“The shitty screenplay writing.”

“You lost me.” Quentin turned toward his friend puzzled.

“Don’t tell me you can’t see it. Arlo marched against Zola and died. His son immediately pledged loyalty to the prince who happened to win the succession war a few days later. Graham marched against us and died, his son pledging to the same prince, now both safe from repercussions and falling in line. The odds of that should be…”

“A lot lower,” Quentin finished the thought as he caught on. “You think…”

“Zola,” the loremaster turned toward the young noblewoman. “Do you have any information about the rest of the nobility in the kingdom? How many had similar turnovers during the past weeks?”

“I…” she stopped in surprise before turning to the pile of scrolls on her desk, shuffling through the pile with increasing nervousness. “About two-thirds of them had similar events happening to them. Most of them happen due to the old lords dying in the siege against their neighbours and the successors pledging their loyalty to Prince Mikkel.”

“It’s like the old lords were meant to die and be replaced by their descendants who all support the first prince.”

“Are you trying to say that someone planned this?” Magda asked as she looked at her husband, and then at the others.

“It could be a big coincidence,” Regis hummed. “But I’m way too paranoid to believe that.”

“But why?” Zola sat down confused. “I mean, what would they gain?”

“You mean the obvious overwhelming support and relative stability throughout the kingdom?” Old Desimir remarked with a weary smile. “If this was indeed planned by Prince Mikkel, then I can only bow my head in acknowledgement. He has surpassed his father in strategic skills.”

“As much as I hate politics and scheming,” Galen emptied his teacup. “If it benefits the kingdom and puts an end to this foolish war then I’m all for it.”“I must agree.” Zola nodded with her nervousness fading.

“Perhaps you’re right,” the loremaster stood up. “But it still doesn’t feel right to me. I guess it doesn’t matter at this point. I can’t do anything about it and at least my people should be safe now. We should get going, Quentin. It’s best if we announce the news as soon as possible.”

“I’m sure your people will be relieved to hear about it,” Zola remarked as she nodded at Desimir, prompting him to escort her guests out. “And thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Don’t mention it. See you later.”

Desimir did as expected, escorting them out in relative silence. After the two were far enough from the manor to be heard, Quentin finally spoke up.

“I don’t like this.”

“Not one bit.” Regis agreed.

“I didn’t see it for a moment, but after you pointed it out, this really feels like a bad screenplay. Everyone kept saying that Prince Mikkel was the honourable sort like his father, yet he planned all this? I don’t buy it.”

“Could be that he’s not as nice as he makes people think he is. Or he just has a few smart and morally grey people around him. Although I have to agree with Galen. If it can put an end to this pointless war, then what’s a prince’s and a few rotten nobles’ lives as the price?”

“And if it doesn’t stop at that?”

“Then Ecragurne is in deep shit. Come on. The sooner we get home the better.”

With the gateway in sight, they picked up some speed, walking ever faster until they could enter the runic circle. It lit up with a flash of light that swallowed them whole, spitting them out back at Landwaker Square.“Listen up everyone,” Regis said after activating his far-caller. “Drop what you’re doing and get over to the manor. We have to talk.”