Episode-863
Chapter : 1725
The massive iron doors groaned. The sound was like the earth grinding its teeth. Slowly, heavy chains pulled the doors open, revealing the gray light of the mountain pass outside.
The sound of marching boots echoed on the stone floor. Clack. Clack. Clack. Perfect unison.
Lloyd narrowed his eyes. The Altamiran soldiers he remembered from his time in the South—during the reign of Prince Cassius—had been sloppy. They were corrupt bullies in fancy uniforms, more interested in taking bribes than drilling.
These soldiers were different.
First came the Royal Guard. They wore armor of polished silver and violet, the colors of the new monarchy. They moved with a fluid, lethal grace. Their formation was tight, their discipline absolute. They filed into the room, snapping to attention on the south side of the hall. They didn't look at the Bethelham knights; they looked straight ahead, focused entirely on their duty.
Then came the delegation. Ministers, generals, and scholars. Lloyd recognized a few faces from the secret revolutionary party he had infiltrated months ago. They looked nervous, but they walked with their heads high. They were no longer rebels hiding in basements; they were the government.
And then, the Queen entered.
The room went silent. Even the wind outside seemed to stop howling.
Seraphina walked through the doors.
Lloyd felt his breath catch in his throat. The last time he had seen her, she had been a terrified princess, drowning in her own uncontrolled magic, hiding from a brother who wanted her dead. She had been fragile.
That girl was gone.
In her place was a sovereign. She wore a gown of deep violet, armored at the shoulders and bodice with silver plating that caught the torchlight. A heavy cloak of white snow-bear fur hung from her shoulders, giving her a silhouette of immense power. On her head sat a simple, elegant crown of platinum.
But it wasn't the clothes. It was her aura.
Lloyd’s "Mana Heart" eyes could see the energy flowing around her. Before, her mana had been a chaotic storm, threatening to tear her apart. Now, it was a river. It was deep, controlled, and massive. She was radiating the power of a Mage-Queen who had fully awakened her core. She didn't walk; she glided, her steps slow and deliberate.
She walked to the ironwood table and stood opposite King Liam. She did not bow. She did not curtsy. She simply nodded, a greeting between equals.
"King Liam," she said. Her voice was clear, amplified by a subtle wind enchantment so that it reached every corner of the vast hall without her needing to shout. "Arch Duke Ferrum. Thank you for accepting my invitation to Ironhold."
King Liam leaned back in his chair, studying her. "Queen Seraphina," he replied, his voice smooth but with a razor edge underneath. "It is a rare day when a new monarch’s first act is to walk into the stronghold of her enemy. Most rulers spend their first month counting their gold or executing their rivals."
"It is a rare day when enemies share a monster," Seraphina replied coolly. Her eyes swept the room, taking in the soldiers, the weapons, and the tension. "We can fight each other, King Liam. We have been doing it for a hundred years. And while we bleed, the darkness grows. We can die separately, or we can live together."
She gestured with a gloved hand. Her guards stepped back, leaving her standing alone at the table. It was a show of supreme confidence. She was telling them: I am not afraid of you.
"I have not come to trade land," Seraphina announced. "I have not come to argue over tariffs or fishing rights. I have come to offer you the head of the snake."
She snapped her fingers. The sound was sharp, like a cracking whip.
Two of her guards dragged a prisoner forward from the rear of the delegation. The man was bound in heavy chains that glowed with suppression runes. He was gagged, his fine robes torn and dirty. He was thrown to the floor in the center of the room.
A gasp went through the Bethelham ranks.
Lloyd recognized him instantly. He was "The Curator." He was a high-ranking minister in the Altamiran court, the man who had handled the assassins, the man who had orchestrated the poisonings, the man who served the Devil Race. He was the architect of the shadow war.
Chapter : 1726
"This man," Seraphina said, looking down at the prisoner with cold disgust, "orchestrated the attacks on your people. He served the Seventh Circle. He served my brother's madness. He is the one who sent the assassins to kill your son, Arch Duke."
She looked at Roy Ferrum. "I give him to you. Do with him what you will. Interrogate him. Execute him. He is yours."
The room was stunned. In the history of diplomacy, no ruler had ever handed over such a high-ranking official to an enemy power. It was an unprecedented act of good faith.
"This is... a significant gift," Roy said, eyeing the prisoner with a mix of hatred and calculation.
"It is not a gift," Seraphina corrected him. "It is a down payment. I want an alliance. A true alliance. I want total military integration against the Devil Race. I want intelligence sharing. I want trade routes opened for war material. I want your steel, and I want your grain."
"And what do you want in return?" King Liam asked, his eyes narrowing. "You give us a prisoner and offer us trade. But nations do not act out of charity. What is the price, Queen Seraphina?"
Seraphina looked up. She stopped looking at the King. She stopped looking at the Arch Duke. Her gaze moved past them, scanning the rows of people at the back of the room.
She was searching.
Lloyd tried to shrink back into the shadows. He tried to blend in with the tapestry on the wall.
The atmosphere inside the central negotiation chamber of Ironhold was not just tense; it was vibrating with a frequency that usually preceded a catastrophic structural failure. This wasn't a diplomatic summit; it was a cage match where everyone was wearing silk but holding a dagger behind their back. The air smelled of old stone, cold iron, and the distinct, metallic tang of adrenaline sweating out of a hundred nervous nobles.
King Liam of Bethelham sat at the head of the heavy ironwood table, his posture relaxed, almost lazy. But Lloyd knew better. He had seen that look before. It was the look of a predator deciding whether to play with its food or just bite the throat out. To his right sat Arch Duke Roy Ferrum. If Liam was a hidden blade, Roy was a loaded siege cannon pointed directly at the guests. The Arch Duke didn’t fidget. He didn’t blink. He simply existed as a dense gravity well of pure, lethal potential, his fingers resting lightly near the hilt of his sword.
Across the table, Queen Seraphina sat with a composure that belied her age. She had shed the skin of the terrified princess Lloyd had treated in the shadows of the Altamiran court. In her place was a sovereign who understood that weakness was a capital offense in geopolitics.
"Peace," King Liam said, testing the word like a coin he suspected was counterfeit. "A lovely concept, Your Majesty. Truly. It writes well in history books. It saves the treasury a fortune in steel and blood."
He leaned forward, the wood of his chair creaking in the silence. "But history has a long memory, Queen Seraphina. And mine is particularly vivid."
Seraphina met his gaze, unflinching. "History is a ghost, King Liam. I am here to discuss the living."
"Are you?" Liam’s voice dropped an octave, losing its diplomatic veneer. "Because the last time a ruler of Altamira sat across from a ruler of Bethelham and spoke of 'blood' and 'unity,' it wasn't an offer of marriage. It was a demand for execution."
The reference hung in the air, heavy and toxic. Decades ago, Seraphina’s grandfather had demanded the heads of the Ferrum main line as a tribute to stop a war. It was the insult that had frozen relations between the two kingdoms into a permanent state of cold hostility.
"I am not my grandfather," Seraphina said, her voice cool and steady. "Just as you are not the King who laughed at him."
"Perhaps," Liam conceded, a dangerous smile touching his lips. "But the blood remains. You speak of ending the cycle, yet you bring an army to my doorstep. You speak of trust, yet your kingdom has harbored the very devils we fight. You ask us to believe that the viper has suddenly decided to become a dove."
He stood up slowly. The movement rippled through the room. The Royal Lion Guard behind him shifted, their hands drifting to the pommels of their weapons. Across the room, the Altamiran honor guard tensed, their discipline holding by a thread.