"...According to the Seerblades' report of the surrounding area of Velkaris, there has been no retaliation of any sort from the Dominion of Solmira." Avelina spoke.
Valen was currently in the Heartchamber, sitting behind his desk, while Avelina read out her reports.
"Increase the area of surveillance. I don't want any more surprises."
"Yes, Your Majesty. I'll work with Cael about doing so."
"Has Miriya reported any information about the Dominion from the reanimated corpses? Including the corpse of the High Martyr-Commander?"
"Slowly. It seems the Dominion is very careful in preventing information leaks. I would assume nothing less since resurrection magic exists in this world, and is fairly common in their nation."
"Have Viserca's End continue their work on interrogating and investigating the Dominion through the Benedictors."
"Understood."
"...A theocratic nation that believes humanity must unite against foreign invaders, such as the mythological monsters of old. And it seems I am the Foretold Threat their Apostolic Synod warned of…"
"...I wonder if the Seven Divine Apostles from Solmira are the ones responsible for the eradication of the monsters in this world and continue the path they took, through the creation of the Dominion, until any form of monster again emerges… and it seems I am one of them…" Valen then looked upon his pale skin.
"What about the village?"
"We've maintained friendly relations with their elder and its people. I believe Cael sent a small garrison from the Legion of Virtue to defend its inhabitants."
The Legion of Virtue, known informally as the Paladins, were the designated protectors of the empire, acting as defensive forces, city guards, and border watch. They valued honor, duty, and righteousness, similar to the Dukedom of Virtue's Heart, the region they are based on.
"Inform Cael to keep the Paladins hidden on standby. We do not want to make it seem that the village is now part of another nation until we are ready to fully conquer the Draevarr."
"Of course." She nodded.
"Good work. I was right to make you High Sovereign."
"Thank you, Your Majesty. I am undeserving of your praise. Please use me in any way you wish."
"...Use… you?.."
Valen briefly coughed at the thought, appearing to be clearing out his throat.
"Is there any problem with that?" She smirked, realizing Valen was caught off guard.
"Do not tease me, Avelina."
"But does it cause you any trouble… at all?"
"That's enough…"
The door to the Heartchamber then opened, revealing Seliora.
"Ah, Seliora."
"Your Majesty. I am just informing you of my departure from Velkaris to join the intelligence group Darian formed."
"...I think Darian read my mind about separating the two while I was away on my own assignment to Draevarr. I believe it is time to initiate Arthur's appearance in this world…"
"It is the first operation against Gravemarket, yes?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. I just came to give you regards before I left."
Valen nodded. Seliora then looked upon Avelina, who was smirking the entire time.
"...Per say, what are you smirking about, Avelina?"
"I believe His Majesty is satisfied. Go on and leave, Seliora. We are currently discussing important matters that do not pertain to you yet."
"This is the problem with younger women… so impatient and bratty."
"So you're saying you're not young yourself? Seems you are not ripe for the picking after all."
"I'll kill you bitch."
"Who are you calling impatient and bratty, disgrace?"
"Enough with the childish banter. You do this every time you encounter one another. Grow up."
"Yes, Your Majesty. Apologizes."
"...Damn, I get what they're fighting over… but lord, is it annoying."
***
Valen looked upon the Capital of the Kingdom of Draevarr. He then began to remember the intelligence from which the Seerblades had gathered:
Virestone Keep served as both the royal seat and military heart of the Kingdom of Draevarr — a massive, somber fortress-city built upon a jagged hill of dark grey stone slightly overlooking the Blackspire Mountains to the west and the inner lowlands of Draevarr to the east. While once a proud bastion of power, it now stands as a worn relic, cracked and shadowed by the kingdom's ongoing decay.
The central keep rises from a large walled citadel, flanked by narrow towers and sloped battlements. These towers, while once used for signal fires and defense, now sit mostly unmanned, their mechanisms rusting and neglected. Encircling the fortress is a wide outer wall, enclosing a sprawling urban sprawl of stone-and-thatch buildings, noble manors, and impoverished districts packed close to the gates. The Royal Palace of Virestone, though fortified, is surprisingly austere — more a residence of duty than decadence, marked by narrow windows, low ceilings, and smoke-stained banners of the royal house.
The city holds around 90,000 inhabitants, a mix of commoners, traders, faded nobility, mercenaries, and guild retainers. Life within the walls is harsh and uncertain—food shortages are common, crime is frequent, and whispers of rebellion can be heard even in taverns. Despite the unrest, there remains a sense of weary loyalty among the people—many still look to the crown as the last fragile pillar of order.
Positioned at the mouth of the Pass of the Hollow Reign, Virestone serves as the final defensive line before reaching the heartland of Draevarr. Though its standing garrison is meager, the keep is built to withstand sieges, with deep wells, granaries, and hidden escape tunnels. Its central location — roughly fifty kilometers from villages like Virelow Hollow — makes it a hub of tax collection and internal coordination, though roads to and from it are poorly maintained and vulnerable to bandits.
Home to the Edged Vanguard, Draevarr's elite loyal troops. Their barracks are built into the keep itself, their iron-clad discipline a rare sight in the kingdom's fracturing forces. Sir Garran Vael commands from within the Hall of Thorns, a war chamber ringed by carved depictions of past victories now dulled by grime and neglect. Mercenaries and private militias also gather here, answering contracts or pledges of loyalty in exchange for land, coin, or favor.
Within Virestone Keep, the Crimson Ledger operates as the largest and most influential mercenary guild in the kingdom. Founded nearly a century ago during one of Draevarr's border skirmishes, the guild has grown into a power of its own — a neutral force that serves coin, not crown, yet holds significant leverage within the keep.
The guild's headquarters is a heavily reinforced stone hall known as The Gilded Scar, situated just outside the inner citadel walls, between the military quarter and the slums. Its exterior bears no flag, but its doors are branded with a bloody coin — the symbol of the guild — and reinforced with iron bands. Inside, the building resembles a mix of war barracks, tavern, and administration hub, with a large common hall for mingling and brawling, and private negotiation rooms upstairs.
While not officially part of the Draevarran military, nobles, merchants, and even the royal court regularly hire the Crimson Ledger to deal with threats the Standing Army cannot — or will not — engage. Many suspect the guild has ties to the Gravemarket. Despite the guild's violent nature, it is mostly neutral in internal politics, and members violating guild neutrality (e.g. siding in civil wars without a formal contract) are executed or exiled.
"...Let's begin."
*
Valen then walked into the Gilded Scar with his singular escort. Mercenaries within the common hall either glanced or stared at the two, unfamiliar and unknown. They looked upon Valen, now impersonating as Arthur, standing at the height of 6 feet and 6 inches, with an athletic and lean, but clearly strong build.
His facial features were obscured behind his helmet, lightened by a divine aura. His armor was the Lamenheart, radiant silver-white armor, forged from Eidrynic blessed mythril.
His armor reflected not imperial dominion, but radiant heroism — an image forged not from conquest, but from hope. Where Valen's imperial armor is dark, arcane, and heavy with regal authority, Arthur's armor is luminous, graceful, and suffused with celestial purpose. It is the manifestation of a man bearing a different legacy — not of empire, but of salvation.
The two walked through the headquarters, receiving stares wherever they went. They embarked toward the barracks located inside.
"...Who the hell is that?"
"He's definitely new here… but that armor… he looks like a fucking hero from a legend."
Murmurs from the mercenaries inside were heard by Valen.
"Looks like you guys need a room." The man behind the counter spoke.
"One bronze coin each day. Meals and drinks are the same."
"...One bronze coin is equal to twenty-five Eidrynic coins… Four copper is one coin, one iron is five hundred, one silver is ten thousand, one gold is twenty hundred thousand and one platinum is four million…"
"Just one room for us two."
"Ah, you're new too. An F-Rank Mercenary."
The mercenaries in the background began chuckling. They initially believed he was a higher-ranked mercenary with the equipment they were both carrying.
"...I believe the universal guild ranking system worked from F-Rank, E-Rank, D-Rank, C-Rank, B-Rank then A-Rank as the highest…"
"Room on the first floor to the left, further in the back." He said after Valen paid up.
Valen then walked forward, then stopped once one of the mercenaries held out his leg.
"...Reminds me of my adventurer days… I know how this will go…"
Valen walked past, his feet hitting against the mercenary's foot. "Ow, what the fuck!"
"Hey, hey, hey! You know you did that on purpose." He then stood up and got in front of Valen.
"My apologies, I was not the one who held their foot out."
"You rich bastard. Must be a noble underneath that helmet, huh?" He then looked at the female escort beside him. He was already intimidated by her height, she was taller than him but engrossed in her body.
The female's alias was Valea, seemingly in her early 20s. She stood at the height of 5 feet and 10 inches. She wore a mysterious veil that hid her face since she had abnormal pale skin like Valen. Raven-black hair, worn in flowing waves or elaborate war-braids during battle. Adorned with silver-threaded cords and floating rune-laced charms that shimmer faintly when she channels magic.
Valea had a dark indigo-lacquered chestpiece, reinforced with spellsteel filigree and wrapped in arcane binding silk. The fabric shifts subtly with light, giving the illusion of a starfield cloaking her form. Enchanted to resist kinetic impact, and to amplify casting speed. Delicate, curved pauldrons shaped like crescent moons, inlaid with reflective silver and bound with mana conduits. Each pulse with gentle radiance when she channels gravitational fields or protective wards. Sleek arcane bracers engraved with moving constellations. It channels her staff-magic through her arms with minimal loss — allowing rapid sword-spell transitions. A long asymmetrical half-skirt of layered silver-laced cloth, embroidered with celestial motifs (stars, sigils, constellations). Underneath: fitted black mage-greaves of mythril and leather — light, silent, allowing swift movement. Silver heel-guards on her boots emit a soft hum of mana with each step.
Valen then began laughing.
"Huh?"
"Forgive, you just spoke like a stereotypical punk that I remembered from my past days."
"Did you just call me a punk?!" The mercenary approached him, and Valen swiftly grabbed him by his neck and raised him up with no effort. The man tried to use strengthening magic to get him to let go, but to no avail.
"Do not approach someone without ascertaining their strengths and weaknesses. I thought an experienced mercenary would know that. You're wasting my time."
Valen then threw him into the floor, his head recoiling off of the ground as he passed out.
"...He brushed him off so easily… without casting a single spell."
"Who's next?" Valen looked at the mercenaries that were gathered with him at the table.
"...I am so sorry." A woman spoke up and approached them after hearing about what was going on. She was sighing on her way over.
"What the hell are you idiots doing?!" She facepalmed, yelling at her companions.
"Sorry, Redfang. He got too excited." One of them referred to the unconscious mercenary.
"Please excuse their behavior. They're just drunk out of their minds and have a certain annoyance with nobles." She said, as she held out her hand.
"Kaela. People call me Redfang. I lead the Ash Vultures."
"...The Rising Star, huh. Didn't think I'd meet her…"
Kaela was referred to as a young yet hardened mercenary leader within the Crimson Ledger. Despite being barely out of her teens, she commands a tight-knit squad of fighters known as the "Ash Vultures", specializing in bodyguard work, ambush retaliation, and urban sweeps. Her rise has been fast and briefly whispered about.
She had messy red hair, roughly cropped for utility, constantly wind-swept and slightly soot-stained. Steel-gray eyes, sharp, observant. Seems to scan every movement around her. Lean and muscular, with arms honed by sword drills and battlefield conditioning. Weather-worn, callused hands and faint scars on her knuckles and shoulders. She wore practical gear — worn leather armor reinforced with salvaged steel plates. She wears a red-dyed scarf tied loosely around her waist, symbolic of her crew.
"Arthur." Valen shook her hand. "This is Valea." Valea simply nodded.
Valen then looked down at her mercenary tag.
"...D-Rank, huh… She must've started at a young age, like I did… She reminds me of myself when I was a child…"
"Here." Valen held out a glass, filled with a green potion.
"...Green?" She murmured, as she then took it.
"Think of it as an apology for hurting one of your companions."
"Thank you. I appreciate it." She then put it in her stash, safeguarding it.
"...That potion may save her life if she chooses to use it at the right moment…"
*
"Your Majesty shouldn't be living in a place like this." Valea finally spoke.
Valen then took off his helmet, sitting down one of the given beds.
"I don't mind. It reminds me of how I was in my younger days. I was not born into wealth and power, I earned it with my bare hands."
"But those are mercenaries, huh… The information from the Black Blades was accurate as always. It seems most of them are indeed battle-oriented, given the amount of militaristic work since the Standing Army is a mere reflection of what it was."
"You seemed to admire the woman that we encountered. Redfang, was it? You gave her one of the developed potions from Viscera's End."
"Not admiration, but understanding. I was once in her shoes. I merely gave her the potion because of that reason. Mercenaries like that will find themselves in a turning point that creates them into top-class or gutted. I do not wish that upon her."
"What did you think of them?"
"If I might be so bold, Your Majesty. They're trash."
Valen sighed. "...Her too, huh?..."
"I'm glad you kept silent since you felt that way, but do not be openly hostile moving forward as well. We may encounter mercenaries that will not be as weak as the ones we met."
"Understood."
"By the way, do not refer to me as Your Majesty. I am Arthur while I am in disguise."
"I couldn't-."
"That is an order. I will not risk our objective here over a namesake."
"...Yes, Arthur."
"Were you informed about our mission here?"
"Yes. We're undercover as mercenaries in the capital to gather more information. As well as to gain experience and fame toward that goal."
"Good."
"Thankful we're not short on money… thanks to the odd persuasion by the Black Blades."
"...I just know they murdered lower-ranked nobles just to obtain their money… At least they were corrupt, since they do not kill out of enjoyment, but judgment…"
"I believe it is time to go on our first quest as mercenaries."
*
"Are you Mireleaf?"
"Yes? Ah, welcome. Do you need something?"
Thennel, known commonly as Mireleaf, is a prodigy apothecary who serves the Crimson Ledger in Virestone Keep. Despite being relatively young, Mireleaf's concoctions are in high demand among mercenaries for their rapid effectiveness, unique traits, and disturbingly creative applications. What he lacks in age and stature, he more than makes up for in chemical genius and utter disregard for standard safety protocols.
He had short bowl-cut blonde hair, messy and lopsided, covering half of his pale face and one eye. One visible eye—a striking bright blue, usually widened in manic focus or irritation. Ragged workshop garb—patched trousers, oversized leather apron, chemical-stained sleeves, and burnt gloves. Most of his gear smells of sulfur, alcohol, and something vaguely floral. He was very short for his age, further emphasized by his slouch and oversized clothing.
"I'd like a potion to be appraised. I got it from a new mercenary."
Kaela then took out the potion from her stash and gave it to him to analyze.
"Woah… it's green." He then spoke to another apothecary in the workshop as they both took a deeper look at it.
"...The famed apothecary of the Crimson Ledger at work…" She murmured to herself.
He then used magic to appraise the potion.
"What is it, Thennel?"
"Usually potions turn white or blue… but this one… this is a true healing potion that no one's ever created yet… at least to my knowledge… The blood of gods…"
"This potion is at least worth one gold, if not more… but because it's so rare, you should be careful not to show this to anyone. Mercenaries would kill for this potion."
Kaela felt a little threatened, as she could tell he was serious.
"...Sell the potion to me. It does remove a burden off of you and you will be paid."
She briefly thought about it, then shook her head. "The mercenary gave me this potion out of good will, I don't think I'll sell it."
"...Suit yourself, but I have a different offer then."