The scent of blood hung thick in the air. The corpse of the royal guard bled onto the marble floor of the palace corridor, his lifeless eyes still locked in disbelief on the man he once called General.
The silence that followed his death was more deafening than the screams that had preceded it.
General Merix stood tall, unfazed. His once-pristine uniform was splattered with the blood of his own men, and in his hand, the ancient spell of Reincarnation pulsed with a haunting crimson glow.
His eyes, cold and empty, turned toward the three ancient swords embedded in the vault's altar—The Brothers of Destruction.
Their dormant voices had awakened, whispering in broken, guttural languages that clawed into the minds of those nearby.
And yet, Merix stood, smiling.
Behind him, his loyal soldiers—disguised until moments ago as pilgrims—now bared their blades and unleashed carnage upon the unsuspecting royal guards.
Screams echoed through the corridors. The walls of Terra Neralis Palace, once symbols of elegance and might, now echoed with death.
A second guard, driven by fear and fury, lunged at Merix. But before he could land a blow, a thin blade—concealed within Merix's robes—flashed through the air.
The man stopped mid-stride, his eyes blank, a thin red line drawing across his throat before he collapsed. Blood sprayed like crimson ink on parchment, splashing against Merix's cheek. He didn't flinch.
Merix tilted his head and muttered:
"Let the kingdom see what truth truly looks like... painted in blood."
He snapped his fingers twice—sharp, echoing cracks that once signaled orders in grand battlefield formations. His signal was clear.
"End them all," he commanded. "No mercy. No survivors."
His men leapt forward with merciless precision, carving through the royal defenders with devastating ease. They weren't just soldiers; they were assassins—trained to kill without hesitation, without noise, without leaving survivors.
In a flash, chaos erupted. Swords collided. Bones broke. Screams echoed. Steel sliced through flesh like parchment. Blood fountained onto the marble floor. In seconds, the sacred vault became a slaughterhouse.
–––
Meanwhile, deeper in the another wing of the palace, inside the medical quarters, chaos erupted. Panic gripped the hearts of the Medas.
"He's still unconscious!" one of the Medas cried, his hands glowing faintly as he tried again to summon healing magic over Zerem's body. "None of our healing rituals are working!"
"Everyone! Stay focused!" Yuu shouted above the rising panic. "We cannot lose him! We must get him out of here alive!"
Another Meda dashed into the chamber, breathless. "General Merix… he—he's turned against us! He's killing our own men! He's in the vault… and he has the spell!"
Silence fell for half a second—then panic broke loose.
Yuu's forehead was soaked in sweat, his fingers trembling. "No time for debate!" he barked. "We're taking Zerem and escaping through the southern passage."
"But—what about the king?" one Meda asked, terrified. "Isn't it our duty to protect him?"
"Our duty is to protect the kingdom's future," Yuu snapped. "If all of us die here, the kingdom falls! General Ovrek is still outside. The king has his own passage. He'll run—he always does."
Yuu motioned toward Zerem. "Carry him. Now!"
The Medas hesitated no longer.
Two of them lifted Zerem carefully while the others followed Yuu, running toward a hidden stairwell behind a bookshelf that led to the ancient escape passage—built for times of treason.
As they vanished into the corridor, Advisor Kirn appeared at the chamber's doorway, breathing heavily.
"Yuu! What's happening?!" Kirn demanded.
"There's no time, Advisor!" Yuu shouted, not stopping. "The vault is under siege! The scrolls were used! The swords were maybe activated! We're saving the Medas and Zerem!"
"Merix?" Kirn asked grimly.
Yuu's answer was chilling. "Betrayed us."
Kirn's expression hardened. "Then… it has begun."
Before Yuu could respond, he was gone—vanishing into the dark stairwell with the others.
Kirn turned and ran in the opposite direction, racing toward the king's chamber.
The hallway to the royal bedchamber was quiet… too quiet.
He didn't knock—he barged in.
What he saw made him stop cold.
The king's bed was drenched in blood. King Veylor lay lifeless, his body sprawled carelessly, eyes open in terror.
Beside him, one of the women—half-dressed, blood seeping from her mouth—was standing, dazed and covered in red.
When she turned to face Kirn, her eyes widened. She took one graceful step toward him, her voice trembling.
"The king… he's—"
"I know," Kirn interrupted flatly. "You did well."
She froze. "W-what?"
"I said," he smiled coldly, "you did well."
Then, before she could speak again, Kirn lunged forward and grabbed her by the hair.
"You think I'm a fool?" he growled. "Do you believe I'd let you live with knowledge of our entire operation?"
"N-no—please—don't!" she sobbed. "You promised I'd live! I did everything—everything—just as you said—I beg you—I won't tell anyone—I swear to the Gods!"
Kirn pulled a blade from under his robe.
"Then go to them...Let the gods hear your final prayer..."
"No—NO!" she screamed.
With one motion, Kirn silenced her. Her head hit the floor with a sickening thud. Her blood spilled onto the royal rugs, painting a gruesome scene of betrayal.
Kirn took a breath. A long one. Then he licked a streak of blood from his gloved hand.
"Beautiful things…" he whispered, smiling darkly. "Taste so divine."
He stepped over her body and approached the dead king.
"At last…" he murmured. "Your rule ends… and ours begins."
He turned, blade still dripping, and exited the room. His footsteps echoed like a death march across the hallway, the sound of his blade dragging across the tiles behind him.
Once in the corridor, he paused. He closed his eyes. And then—he sent a message, not spoken, but transmitted through the forbidden art of mental telepathy.
"The king is dead. We've entered the third phase. But there's a problem… Zerem is unconscious. I need Merix now. The plan must be adjusted."
A voice responded in his mind, rough and strained.
"I still have Ovrek. I've trapped him in the forest, far from the palace. He's searching for the Tula girl and that cloaked ghost. If I hadn't delayed him… he'd already be there."
Kirn clenched his jaw. "Good. Hold your spell."
"I'm reaching my limit…" the voice warned. "I can't suppress him much longer…"
"You'd better," Kirn hissed. "If Ovrek returns now, we're finished. You call yourself the greatest Brawn of this land—prove it."
He paused for a moment.
"…I understand," the voice responded.
Kirn opened his eyes, exhaling slowly. The corridor stretched before him like a long, narrowing tunnel—its walls splashed with flickering torchlight and shadows of bloodshed.
"Now…" Kirn muttered. "To the vault."
Back in the vault, the carnage was complete. The floor was littered with bodies—some beheaded, others burned, others torn apart by unseen forces.
Merix stood before the three swords. They now floated mid-air, trembling, humming. Each blade glowed with a different light—red, black, and violet.
The Spell of Reincarnation in his hand began to burn, the ancient ink igniting with ethereal fire. The ground cracked. From the void below, three forms rose.