The parchment smelled of aged cedarwood and ozone, a peculiar aroma that always clung to reports from the Nightingale Network. Lord Saraki, Director of Vlkolak, traced the intricate sigil branded into the wax seal – a nightingale in flight, wings spread across three interlocking circles, representing the three kingdoms they bridged: Vlkolak, Sylvani, and Eldoria. He knew the seal well; it had brought both immense profit and occasional headaches to Vlkolak's sprawling enterprise. Today, it brought a chilling premonition.
He unfurled the scroll, the soft crackle echoing in his office. Words leaped off the page, stark and urgent in Nightingale ink, a special concoction that glowed faintly in low light for covert readings.
"Radonicia," the first line screamed silently. Theron's breath hitched. Radonicia. A kingdom known for its iron discipline, its ruthlessness, and its insatiable hunger for expansion. For years, their eastern border had been a simmering cauldron of skirmishes and tense standoffs. But open invasion?
He scanned the rest of the report, his blood turning to ice cold. Radonicia wasn't merely posturing this time. Their army, bolstered by newly forged siege engines and rumored to be infused with some dark, forbidden magics, was massing at the Aeridorian border. The Nightingale agent, embedded deep within Radonician ranks, reported their plan as audacious as it was brutal: a lightning strike, aimed at swiftly overwhelming Aeridor's defenses and pushing deep into the heartlands before Sylvani and Eldoria could fully mobilize.
"Damn them!" Theron swore under his breath, the oath rough in his throat. Vlkolak's carefully cultivated network of trade routes, warehouses, and arcane workshops straddled the border regions. A Radonician invasion wouldn't just disrupt business; it would shatter it. Fortunes built over generations could crumble to dust. And more importantly, the lives of countless innocents, including Vlkolak employees and their families, would be thrown into chaos.
He didn't hesitate. A silver bell on his desk, enchanted to bypass all mundane communication barriers, was rung with sharp urgency. Within minutes, Elder Master Yamaha, Headmistress of the Vlkolak Academy, stood before him, her silver hair pulled back in a severe bun, her eyes like molten gold, cold and expressionless. She radiated an aura of calm power that even in these dire circumstances, Saraki found reassuring.
"Headmistress," he began, thrusting the Nightingale report into her hand. "Radonicia prepares to invade Aeridor. And quickly."
Elara's golden eyes scanned the scroll with unnerving speed. A muscle twitched in her jaw, the only outward sign of her inner turmoil. The Vlkolak Academy wasn't built for war. It was a center of arcane learning, research, and the refinement of magical skills for… well, for more profitable pursuits. Healing, enchanting, communication, logistical support – these were Vlkolak's strengths. But war? That was the domain of kingdoms, not businesses.
Even while thinking so, she always had an inclination that a times such as this would come
So, Vlkolak was no ordinary business. It was built on expertise, and its most valuable asset was the Academy, a reservoir of magical talent unmatched outside of royal courts and ancient orders. And Vlkolak understood the brutal calculus of power. Radononian unchecked aggression was a threat to everyone.
Yamaha looked up, her gaze unwavering. "Director, you are thinking of…"
Theron nodded grimly. "The Nightingale intel is clear. Radonicia aims for speed. We need to counter that. Dispatch the High Mages. All of them."
Elara considered for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "It is… unconventional. The Academy's mages are trained for more… nuanced applications."
"Nuance is a luxury we cannot afford, 'mistress. Think of the disruption, the chaos, the potential for long-term instability if Radonicia succeeds. Our business, yes, but also the lives of those under our protection. We've built this network precisely for moments like these. Expertise… applied strategically."
Elara straightened her spine. "Very well. The Academy will respond."
A flicker of something akin to grim satisfaction crossed her face or so he thought.
Perhaps, even for the most learned mages, there was a certain primal satisfaction in applying their power when it truly mattered, beyond the controlled confines of spell circles and research.
Within the hour, the Vlkolak Academy, nestled on a secluded hilltop. Gongs resonated through the ancient halls, summoning the High Mages. These were not battlefield generals or seasoned warriors. They were scholars, researchers, masters of arcane theories, and manipulators of raw magical energy in ways that most soldiers could only dream of. But they were also the elite, handpicked for their talent and trained rigorously within the Academy's rigorous curriculum.
First to arrive was Master Rudeus, Archmage of Evocation, her hands crackling with harnessed lightning. Then came Master Kaima, geomancer of immense power, his sturdy frame radiating an earthy strength. Master Zephyr, an illusionist of unparalleled subtlety, shimmered into existence as if conjured from the air itself. And finally, Elder Master Yamaha, chronomancer of renowned but volatile skill, his presence radiating a palpable slowing of time, a subtle warping of reality around him.
Headmistress addressed them in the Academy's Grand Hall, the stained-glass windows depicting legendary mages of Vlkolak's past casting long, vibrant shadows. "Radonicia plans a swift and brutal invasion of Aeridor. Their target is speed, to overwhelm defenses before aid can arrive. Vlkolak, while not a military power, possesses resources they have not accounted for. You. We will not wage war. We will… adjust the odds."
She assigned each mage a specific task, drawing upon their unique expertise. Rudeus was to reinforce Aeridorian fortifications with wards of immense power, amplifying existing defenses and creating magical deterrents. Kaima was tasked with manipulating the terrain, creating strategic obstacles to slow the Radonician advance, channeling earth magic to crumble roads, raise impassable ravines, and summon fortifying earth golems. Zephyr, with his mastery of illusion, was to sow confusion within Radonician ranks, disrupt their communication lines, and create phantom armies to divert their forces.
Yamaha, the most unpredictable and arguably most powerful, was assigned the most delicate and crucial task. Yanaba looked at him with a stern gaze. "Yamaha, your abilities with time are… potent. But also volatile. You will be dispatched to the border region with the directive to… slow their advance. Not to stop it outright, but to buy Aeridor precious time to mobilize their reserves, to allow Sylvani and Eldoria to react."
Yamaha, his eyes swirling with temporal energies, nodded curtly. "I understand, Headmistress. Time is… malleable. I will ensure theirs… stretches."
Within hours, the High Mages of Vlkolak Academy were deployed. They weren't clad in armor, nor did they carry swords. Their weapons were scrolls, foci, and the raw, untamed power of magic itself. They weren't soldiers, but they were the best Vlkolak had to offer, dispatched not to conquer, but to influence, to use their expertise to protect their business, their network, and the fragile peace of the tri-kingdom border.
As the High Mages vanished in bursts of arcane energy, heading towards the brewing storm in the east, Theron watched from his office window, the parchment with the Nightingale report still clutched in his hand. He knew this was a gamble. Exposing Vlkolak's arcane assets in such a direct and aggressive manner was unprecedented. But he also knew that sometimes, the most profitable business decisions were not about gold or trade routes or market share, but about ensuring the very foundations upon which those things were built,