*Disclaimer: This chapter contain mature scene it might disturbs the readers if you have the courage please proceed.
A crescent moon loomed above, its silver glow casting elongated shadows upon the cobbled paths of Miracheneous Academy. The air, crisp with the remnants of an autumn breeze, carried whispers of curiosity and tension as Aleeman and Shi Zhao Mei strode past the towering spires towards the academy gates.
The moment they stepped inside, a flurry of movement erupted.
Finn, Wang Ji-Pang, Mika, Elizabeth, Mei-Xi-Li, and—most notably—Hua-Jing rushed towards them, their expressions a mix of worry, relief, and mild exasperation.
"Brother!" Hua-Jing's voice rang out first, eyes sharpened with unspoken accusations as she clutched his forearm, scanning him for wounds. "What happened?! Where have you both been? You were supposed to return hours ago!"
Aleeman raised a hand, his palm still bearing the faint sting of his earlier encounter. "Calm down, sister, we were... delayed." His voice held that effortless nonchalance, but it did little to placate her.
Finn folded his arms, his brow raised. "Delayed? You came back looking like you walked through a battlefield."
Wang sniffed, peering at Shi Zhao Mei with suspicion. "Oi, you two weren't out on a romantic moonlit walk, were you?"
Shi Zhao Mei, who had been uncharacteristically silent, snapped her gaze towards him, cheeks faintly pinked. "I would sooner tame a wyvern than entertain that thought, Wang Ji-Pang!"
Wang smirked. "So you admit you thought about it."
She sputtered. "You—! I—! Aleeman rubbed his temple, exhaling sharply.
"Enough." His tone was light yet commanding. "We were attacked."
A heavy silence fell over the group.
Hua-Jing stiffened. "Attacked?!"
Aleeman gave a slow nod. "An assassin."
Their reactions varied—Finn's expression darkened, Wang's grin faded, Mika and Elizabeth exchanged wary glances, and Hua-Jing's grip on her brother's sleeve tightened.
"Who sent them?" Mei-Xi-Li was the first to ask, her voice tinged with urgency.
Before Aleeman could respond, Alenka Anastasios von Eridani appeared from the academy entrance, her sleek, official attire illuminated by the dim lantern glow. Her presence alone was enough to silence the commotion.
"Aleeman Hakiman," she called, her poised elegance unwavering. "And you as well, Shi Zhao Mei."
The two turned towards her.
"Headmaster Falani requests your presence. Immediately."
As they walked through the dimly lit hallways of the academy, Aleeman felt an unsettling presence at the edge of his awareness—not of a lurking assassin, but something equally irritating.
As expected, before they could reach the Headmaster's office, a figure blocked their way.
John Wei-Tang, standing in their path, flanked by his ever-present lackeys, Robert and George. The trio wore their usual smug expressions, the kind that invited fists to faces.
John scoffed, crossing his arms. "Well, well, well. The mighty wolf of Abjannas and his troublesome companion return—bloodied, bruised, and still as reckless as ever." His voice oozed condescension.
Aleeman's gaze flickered with disinterest, but before he could brush past, John leaned in slightly. "Tell me, Aleeman… how does it feel? Knowing that no matter how hard you try, you will always be nothing more than a glorified street brawler?"
Shi Zhao Mei scoffed, eyes narrowing. "That's rich, coming from a pampered coward who runs to his father at the first sign of conflict."
John's smirk twitched, his hand clenching into a fist. "Watch your tongue, 'Gemstone Bellied Troublemaker'."
Aleeman's expression darkened at that name. His fingers twitched towards his sabre, but he held back. Instead, he leaned in slightly, a smirk curling at his lips.
"John," he mused, voice smooth as polished steel. "You spend so much time trying to undermine me, yet here you are… still standing in my shadow."
John's fist trembled—but he said nothing. Instead, he clicked his tongue and stepped aside. "Enjoy your scolding session, Hakiman."
Aleeman and Shi Zhao Mei walked past.
As they did, Shi Zhao Mei glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "You didn't strike him."
Aleeman shrugged. "I don't waste my energy on insects."
Shi Zhao Mei snorted.
The office of Headmaster Falani was grand, lined with towering bookshelves that housed wisdom across generations. A single lantern flickered behind the mahogany desk, casting shadows that danced upon the walls.
Falani sat behind his desk, fingers interlaced, his piercing gaze locked onto them.
Professor Galadriel stood beside him, arms folded, her expression unreadable.
"Explain," Falani's voice carried the weight of authority, tempered with exhaustion.
Aleeman took a breath, then spoke, recounting the attack, the assassin, and the fight that followed.
Falani listened intently, his expression never wavering.
At the end, he exhaled deeply. "Hua-Jing and the others have already reported that you were ambushed." He eyed Aleeman carefully. "What happened to the attacker?"
Aleeman hesitated for a fraction of a second.
Before he could reply, Shi Zhao Mei stepped forward, her voice unwavering.
"He fled."
Aleeman's eyes flickered to her—slightly surprised.
Falani studied her for a long moment. Then, finally, he sighed.
"Aleeman." His voice softened just a fraction. "Your father called."
Aleeman visibly stiffened. "And?"
Falani leaned back. "He asked about your progress."
Aleeman's jaw clenched slightly. "…And?"
Falani's lips pressed into a thin line. "I told him the truth. That you've transgressed—"
"From infiltrating Ji-Gong Palace," Professor Galadriel added.
"To fight knights."
"To duelling against Lenotes, the Knight Divine Warrior."
"To single-handedly feed an army."
Aleeman pinched the bridge of his nose. "You told him everything, then."
Falani exhaled sharply. "He hung up."
Aleeman's stomach sank. "…Which means?"
Falani gave him a long, meaningful look. "Which means he is… displeased."
Aleeman ran a hand through his hair. "Wonderful."
Falani's voice dropped an octave. "You have time, Aleeman. But if you do not take your studies seriously… your father may take matters into his own hands."
A beat of silence.
Then—a chuckle.
Aleeman turned his head, only to find Shi Zhao Mei struggling to contain her laughter.
"…What," he deadpanned.
Shi Zhao Mei giggled behind her sleeve, eyes glimmering with mischief.
"I was just picturing your father's face," she teased. "He must be absolutely livid."
Aleeman sighed, shaking his head. "You're not helping."
Shi Zhao Mei grinned, the kind of grin that was infuriatingly charming.
Aleeman paused for a second, taking in the sight of her—laughing, her guard down, her genuine joy untainted by the burdens of the past.
For the first time, he realised…
She had a beautiful smile.
A cold wind slithered through the marble halls of Faliton's royal palace, its breath kissing the towering banners adorned with the sigil of House Kuznetsov—a golden eagle with talons sharp enough to tear through empires. The torches flickered, shadows contorting against the high-vaulted ceiling, as if whispering secrets to those who dared listen.
Seated upon a throne of black obsidian, Queen Liskarm Jee drummed her fingers against the armrest, each tap reverberating like the distant toll of a war bell. Her emerald eyes gleamed with cruel calculation, her lips pursed in the ghost of a smirk.
Before her, standing with poise befitting her station, was her daughter—Princess Velimira Kuznetsov, a vision of deadly elegance, clad in midnight-black battle robes, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders like moonlight on steel.
"You summoned me, Mother?" Velimira's voice was measured, yet beneath its surface lurked an impatience—a thirst for vengeance that had yet to be quenched.
Liskarm leaned forward, clasping her hands together, her nails painted in a deep vermilion hue, a shade reminiscent of spilt blood beneath the noonday sun.
"It is time to put an end to our unfinished business," she murmured, her voice laced with venomous intent. "Aleeman Hakiman has evaded death far too many times. But more importantly… I want the cursed one."
Velimira's brow arched. "Shi Zhao Mei?"
Liskarm's smirk deepened. "The fallen prince." She chuckled, the sound slithering through the chamber like a blade unsheathed in the dark. "They say he—she—has been hiding behind the wolf of Abjannas. But even a wolf cannot guard its prey forever."
A soft knock echoed through the chamber doors.
"Enter."
The heavy doors groaned open, revealing a figure draped in silver-plated armor, a long scar running down her right cheek—a mark of battles won and wars survived.
Kaelith Voskana, Liskarm Jee's most trusted knight, bowed her head, a silent testament to unwavering loyalty.
"Your Majesty."
Liskarm gestured toward her daughter. "At dawn, you and Velimira will ride to Katilan Forest."
Velimira's brow furrowed. "And whom exactly are we meeting?"
Liskarm's smirk widened, her emerald eyes glinting like a viper poised to strike.
"A priest."
Velimira's lips parted slightly, but no words came. The air thickened with intrigue, the weight of something unseen pressing against the room like an unspoken prophecy.
Even Kaelith Voskana, battle-hardened as she was, tilted her head in subtle confusion.
"And what if Aleeman crosses our path?" Kaelith asked, her tone even but edged with the anticipation of bloodshed.
Liskarm exhaled slowly, almost leisurely, before rising from her throne with the grace of a queen who had long since grown accustomed to wielding the fates of men like pieces on a board of war.
She stepped toward her daughter and knight, her crimson gown trailing behind her like the final stroke of a masterpiece painted in ruin.
Her hand lifted, her fingers curling as if grasping something unseen.
"Then he must be silenced."
A pause.
"Permanently."
The torchlight danced wildly, its flames reflecting the storm brewing within the Queen's heart.
And in the silent corners of the chamber, the shadows whispered their approval.
The moonlight bled silver across the towering spires of Kumaruchaisan Castle, its pale glow slithering through the gothic archways and frostbitten parapets. The wind carried with it the distant howl of wolves, their cries swallowed by the vastness of the mountains that loomed like silent sentinels over the realm.
In the heart of this fortress of steel and stone, Tekfur Kekaumenos sat upon his carved ivory throne, his expression a maelstrom of calculated malice. The flickering torches cast a jagged shadow of his form against the mosaic walls, making him appear larger than life, a monarch sculpted from vengeance and wrath.
Before him stood his son, Lenotes, his gaze sharp, his jaw clenched with an anticipation coiling beneath his skin like an unsprung trap. His platinum hair, streaked with faint battle scars, caught the light like tempered silver, and the dark insignia embroidered on his cuirass gleamed—a testament to the legacy he sought to carve in blood and ruin.
Beside them, the ever-loyal Alphagut, his right-hand man, leaned against a cold stone pillar, his figure partially obscured by the shadows, his presence akin to a vulture awaiting the moment to feast upon fallen prey. His fingers toyed with the hilt of his gilded broadsword, but his gaze remained impassive, calculating.
Kekaumenos finally exhaled, his breath curling in the cold air. The room held its breath with him.
"Alphagut." His voice cut through the silence like a blade against whetstone.
The knight straightened, his boots clicking against the marbled floor as he stepped forward.
"At dawn, you will ride to Noshian City," Kekaumenos decreed, his tone woven with iron resolve and a promise of devastation.
Alphagut gave a curt nod, but Lenotes arched a brow, intrigue laced with curiosity.
"And why, father?" Lenotes asked, his voice carrying the slightest edge of impatience. "What is in Noshian City that demands such urgency?"
A smirk ghosted over Kekaumenos' lips as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the ornate armrests of his throne.
"Merchants," he murmured, as if the very word carried the weight of impending destruction. "Merchants from the East, bringing forth a gift befitting conquerors."
Lenotes' eyes narrowed slightly. "Weapons?"
Kekaumenos let the silence stretch, the embers of the torches crackling in eerie agreement. "Not just any weapons, my son." His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried the force of a coming tempest. "Highly-technical. Unparalleled. Designed to cripple Abjannas—to crush Aleeman beneath our feet until he is nothing but a broken man begging for mercy."
Lenotes' lips curled into a wolfish grin, his fingers tapping against the pommel of his sword as the vision of Aleeman crumbling before him unfurled in his mind like a battlefield drenched in the spoils of war.
"Then he will learn," Lenotes said, voice slick with venom, "that there is no glory left in defiance."
Kekaumenos' gaze flickered toward Alphagut, his eyes gleaming with the cold brilliance of a predator entrusting its second-in-command to deliver the first strike.
"Go," he ordered, his voice laced with authority, "and ensure that those weapons reach our hands before the sun sets upon this wretched game."
Alphagut bowed his head slightly, masking the unreadable expression that lurked beneath his hardened features. The room had always been a chamber of whispered deceit, and he had long since learned that even the most loyal hounds kept their fangs hidden until the right moment.
"It shall be done, Tekfur," Alphagut intoned, his voice even, his stance unwavering.
With that, he turned on his heel, his cloak billowing behind him like the shadow of an omen as he strode toward the exit.
Lenotes remained, his fingers still drumming against his sword, his smirk never wavering.
"Aleeman will burn," he muttered, almost to himself. "And with Queen Liskarm Jee at our side, Abjannas will drown in its own blood."
Kekaumenos merely watched his son, the smirk upon his lips deepening.
"Indeed," he mused, his voice a whisper beneath the torches' dying embers. "Let the wolf of Abjannas howl in vain."
And with that, the night stretched on, the winds outside wailing a mournful song, as if foretelling the carnage yet to come.
A deep silence blanketed the Miracheneous Academy's boy's dormitory, the hallways deserted, save for the faint flickering of the enchanted lanterns that adorned the corridors, casting elongated shadows that danced like phantoms upon the walls. The moon outside bathed the academy in its cold luminescence, its silver glow slipping through the gaps in the curtains like an unseen intruder.
Aleeman stepped into his room, closing the door behind him with an air of finality. His boots barely made a sound as they met the wooden floor, yet his movements carried a deliberate weight—the weight of a man with a mission that extended beyond the halls of academia, beyond the borders of empires.
Then—three measured stomps upon the floor.
The room, once an ordinary dormitory, shifted, transformed, unravelled. The walls hummed with life, gears beneath the floor clicked and whirred as hidden mechanisms breathed reality into his private fortress.
His cot-like bed sank into the floor, replaced by a state-of-the-art hovering sleep pod with a holographic interface projecting schematic of various fortifications. The bookshelves folded back into the walls, replaced by a war-table with a digital map of Halmosian, displaying the seven states and the dominion of the Dragon Clans.
On the far wall, a massive pinboard expanded outward, bearing a web of interwoven fates—portraits of kings and warlords, emperors and tyrants, concubines and strategists, their names inked in the old tongue of Abjannas.
His eyes traced the familiar faces:
Tekfur Kekaumenos and his son Lenotes, marked in red—their scheming alliance with Queen Liskarm Jee a treacherous blade aimed at his people's throat.
Queen Liskarm Jee and her daughter Princess Velimira Kuznetsov, a venomous pair whose sights were set upon erasing his very existence
King Charle IV of Arcanodole, King Nikolas Cruz of Machekwon, King Diluc Nakamura of Blogina, and King Hoffman Lupaz of Geoblin, all vultures waiting to pick apart the ruins of Abjannas.
On the other side, the Ji-Gong clan's hierarchy—Emperor Weng Jin Shun, his wife Lady Mei Lian, the formidable concubines Lady Han Rui and Lady Yun Zhen, and their sons—each a pawn in the game of war.
The ministers: Cai Sheng, Guo Jianhong, and Lu Zheng, each with their own ambitions, their own roles in the downfall of the Ji-Gong dynasty.
General Xuè Lián, the only outlier, her loyalty ambiguous, her intentions masked beneath the cold steel of duty.
And then—Shi Zhao Mei.
Or rather, Wei Yang Hong, the fallen prince, the curse-bearer, the one who now stood at his side despite the weight of her past.
Aleeman's jaw tensed, his fingers unconsciously grazing the hilt of his yataghan as his gaze flickered to the center of the map—to the city that haunted the dreams of conquerors.
Orphanius.
A black mark stained the city's name—a fortress that remained untaken, unyielding, unconquerable.
"The heart of the universe," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely above a whisper.
Memories surged forth like a flood—the Battle of Orphanius, the day he stood between his father Orhan Bey and Sultan Alibek, an eleven-year-old boy with a sword too heavy for his hands and a fire too great for his age.
He remembered the iron walls, towering and unbreakable, the skyline of unyielding steel, the cannons mounted upon the parapets, spitting fire at the forces of Abjannas. He remembered how his father's sword could not carve a path, how Sultan Alibek's siege could not shake its foundations.
"Those walls block my path," Orhan Bey had said, voice bitter with the weight of failure.
"Orphanius is the centre of the universe," the Sultan had proclaimed. "Whoever conquers it shall rule the world."
And then, his own voice, small yet defiant, echoing against the war drums.
"Then I will bring down those walls."
Back in the present, Aleeman took a step back, his heart beating against his ribs like a caged beast.
He unsheathed his yataghan, its blade catching the moonlight, its edge whispering of future conquests and unfinished promises.
And then—he struck.
The blade buried itself into the map, piercing the inked name of Orphanius, its point embedded in the very heart of the city that had defied him once before.
He stood there, breathing heavily, eyes locked onto his mark.
He had wasted enough time.
It was time to sharpen his fangs, to set his sights on the city of walls, to prepare for the war that would shake the very foundations of Halmosian.
Orphanius would fall.
And when it did—the world would kneel before him.
Dawn had barely stretched its golden fingers across the Ji-Gong Palace, yet the atmosphere within its gilded halls was anything but serene. The heavy incense of burning sandalwood curled in thick tendrils, masking the tension that hung in the air like a storm waiting to break.
At the centre of the Imperial Court, upon a throne carved from obsidian and dragonbone, sat Emperor Weng Jin Shun, his expression unreadable, yet his fingers tapped an idle rhythm against the armrest—a silent prelude to his thoughts.
Before him, Ministers Cai Sheng, Guo Jianhong, and Lu Zheng stood in quiet anticipation, their eyes shifting between the Emperor and Pan Zhihaou, whose long, flowing robes barely concealed the slight smirk playing at his lips.
In the shadows, Lady Mei Lian stood beside her daughter, Weng Jinfei, her delicate hands clutched at her chest, her knuckles pale from the force of her grip. Across the chamber, General Xuè Lián stood with arms crossed, her face impassive but her eyes sharp, observing every flicker of movement.
The sudden slam of the doors broke the silence.
A soldier stormed into the court, his breath ragged, his eyes wide with urgency as he fell to his knees before the Emperor, forehead pressed against the cold floor.
Weng Jin Shun stilled. His dark eyes narrowed, his voice a low growl.
"What brings such desperation to my hall at this hour?"
The soldier swallowed thickly, his voice shaking. "Your Majesty… the Shadow Guard… Ying Wei… he has returned."
A flicker of movement. The Emperor raised his hand, and the air grew heavier, as though the walls themselves braced for his command.
"Bring him," he uttered.
The doors opened once more, and into the hall stumbled a figure cloaked in tattered shadows—Ying Wei, the elite assassin, once a phantom of the night, now reduced to a battered spectre of his former self.
His robes, once pristine, were torn and bloodstained, his right eye socket an empty abyss, cruelly gouged, his left arm limp from a deep shoulder wound. His breath came in shallow gasps, yet still, he held his form steady, kneeling before his Emperor.
A horrified murmur rippled through the court.
Lady Mei Lian's breath hitched, her heart hammering as a single thought consumed her mind—Shi Zhao Mei. Was her child still alive?
General Xuè Lián's fingers twitched towards her blade, while Liu Zhenbao, son of Lady Yun Zhen, stiffened, his expression unreadable.
The Emperor leaned forward slightly, his voice as cold as the steel of his dao.
"Who did this to you?"
A silence stretched before Ying Wei exhaled through gritted teeth, his lips curling into something between a grimace and a smirk.
"The wolf of Abjannas… Aleeman."
A collective hush fell over the room as the name echoed off the gilded walls.
"And the girl?" the Emperor pressed, his knuckles white against the armrest. "Shi Zhao Mei?"
A muscle twitched in Ying Wei's jaw. "I failed, Your Majesty."
Lady Mei Lian's knees nearly buckled in relief, though she forced herself to remain composed.
But it was the assassin's next words that truly set the hall ablaze.
"He left a message for you, my Emperor…"
The silence stretched, a bowstring drawn to its limit.
Then, Ying Wei lifted his battered face, his single remaining eye meeting his ruler's gaze without fear.
"'Tell him this: if he sends another shadow after her, I'll send them back in pieces.'"
The air grew thick with tension, so dense that it felt as though the very palace trembled beneath its weight.
A sharp inhalation from the ministers.
Lady Mei Lian's hand flew to her lips, eyes wide.
General Xuè Lián's brows arched slightly, yet amusement flickered in her gaze.
Liu Zhenbao's fists clenched at his sides, his breathing controlled but strained.
For a moment, Emperor Weng Jin Shun was still—deathly still.
Then, a low chuckle rumbled from his chest.
It grew and grew, twisting into a sinister laugh that filled the chamber, bouncing off the high ceilings as the ministers exchanged wary glances.
Pan Zhihaou's lips curled upward, his own laughter following suit. "How fitting," he mused. "The cursed prince, shielded by the Wolf of Abjannas. A fine comedy."
At this, Minister Cai Sheng let out a laugh of his own, followed by Guo Jianhong and Lu Zheng.
Even in death, Aleeman had humiliated them.
But the laughter did not last.
The Emperor's expression turned cold in an instant, and without hesitation, he rose from his throne, dao in hand.
Ying Wei, sensing his fate, knelt lower, bowing his head in solemn acceptance.
"Your Majesty, I have failed you. I accept my punishment with honour."
There was no mercy in Weng Jin Shun's movements.
In one swift, brutal arc, the dao sliced through the air—and then, through flesh and bone.
The head of Ying Wei tumbled to the marble floor, his body slumping forward as a crimson pool spread beneath him, soaking into the imperial rug.
A collective gasp rang through the court.
Lady Mei Lian turned her face away, pressing a trembling hand to her mouth.
Xiao Yulan, Lin Meixiu, Zhang Xinyi, and the other female servants flinched, horror etched into their delicate features.
Madam Liang Yue, the head servant, kept her composure, though her hands tightened over the silken sleeves of her robe.
Liu Zhenbao averted his gaze, jaw set.
General Xuè Lián, ever the warrior, watched unflinchingly, yet even she felt the weight of the execution settle upon the air like a spectre of doom.
The Emperor turned to his guards, voice as sharp as the blade in his hand.
"Take his body and throw it to the scavengers."
The guards nodded hastily, dragging away the lifeless remains of the once-feared assassin.
Then, with slow, measured steps, the Emperor faced his court, his voice cutting through the heavy silence like a blade through silk.
"Let this be a warning."
His gaze darkened, sweeping over the trembling ministers, the unsettled concubines, and the wary warriors before him.
"The wolf of Abjannas may think himself untouchable. He may believe he can shield the Curse Prince from my grasp. But hear me now—this is far from over."
A pause, his grip tightening around his bloodied dao.
"If Aleeman wishes to play protector, then I shall ensure he watches her die with his own eyes."
The court remained silent, but the tension coiled tighter, a serpent waiting to strike.
And in the shadows, General Xuè Lián's gaze flickered, unreadable, as a thought nestled deep within her mind.
"You truly are a wolf, Aleeman Hakiman," she mused. "But even a wolf can bleed."
The golden hue of the morning sun bathed Miracheneous Academy, illuminating the vast halls where students bustled to begin another day of rigorous learning and competitive rivalries.
At the academy's grand cafeteria, where steampunk aesthetics blended with modern marvels, copper pipes ran along the vaulted ceiling, gently hissing with steam, while automated food dispensers, adorned with intricate clockwork mechanisms, whirred and clicked as they served fresh platters of breakfast. The aroma of buttered bread, sizzling meats, and freshly brewed coffee wove through the air, mingling with the excited chatter of students.
At the far end of the cafeteria, Hua-Jing, Finn, Wang Ji-Pang, Mika Yamana, Mei-Xi-Li, and Elizabeth Feng sat at their usual table, engaged in their daily banter as they devoured their morning meal. Finn, halfway through stuffing his mouth with an entire piece of lamb skewer, gestured wildly as he spoke, his voice muffled by food.
"I still can't believe that Shi Zhao Mei went full 'Flaming Sorcery' on those beasts," he mumbled, bits of food nearly flying from his lips.
Mei-Xi-Li wrinkled her nose. "Finn, chew before you speak. You look like a barbarian."
"And you sound like my mother," Finn countered with a smirk.
At that moment, Shi Zhao Mei gracefully approached the table, her movements as fluid as silk, yet her expression unreadable. She took a seat, her crimson-embroidered robe flowing effortlessly around her as she picked up a cup of tea.
Hua-Jing glanced at her warily, tapping her spoon against her bowl.
"Shi Zhao Mei, after breakfast, I want to talk to you in private."
Shi Zhao Mei gave a small nod, though her gaze remained fixated on her tea, swirling the liquid absentmindedly.
Meanwhile, Finn leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face.
"You know, now that you're here, Zhao Mei, I noticed someone's missing."
Shi Zhao Mei's brows slightly arched. "Who?"
"Aleeman," Finn said, smirking as he waved a fork in the air. "It's a miracle. The great brute who can smell a battle from leagues away actually went somewhere quiet. He went to the Grand Hikmah Library."
Mei-Xi-Li snorted. "Finn, don't act so surprised. Even a wolf has moments of introspection."
Hua-Jing shot Finn a side glance before shoving him off with her palm.
"Unlike you, my brother actually has ambitions beyond stuffing his face."
Finn clutched his chest dramatically. "Hua-Jing, you wound me! My heart is fragile, my dignity shattered."
Wang chuckled, shaking his head. "You never had dignity to begin with."
The Grand Hikmah Library was unlike any other place within Miracheneous Academy.
A hybrid of steampunk ingenuity, modern architecture, and ancient wisdom, its colossal brass-framed windows allowed streams of golden light to dance upon the marble floors. Towering shelves, interwoven with glowing runes and mechanical gears, reached toward the arched ceilings, containing times older than the academy itself.
The very air hummed with etheric energy, carrying the weight of knowledge passed through centuries. Holographic book projections flickered in the air, displaying animated scripts and diagrams, while mechanical bookkeepers—small, clockwork automatons—skittered between the aisles, ensuring every scroll and volume was in its rightful place.
At the very back of the hall, amidst the ancient tomes, Aleeman moved with purpose, his sharp gaze scanning the spines of books lined against the obsidian shelves.
Then, he saw it.
A thick, leather-bound tome with gold-etched symbols upon its spine. Its title shimmered under the dim library light:
"𐰐𐰀𐰖𐰀𐰋𐰈𐰃𐰃 𐰀𐰋 𐰓𐰀𐰒𐰀𐰋𐰖𐰓 𐰖𐰀𐰍 𐰀𐰋 𐰆𐰇𐰋𐰀𐰁𐰀 𐰖𐰀 𐰌𐰈𐰇𐰍𐰃𐰒 𐰀𐰋 𐰈𐰌𐰁𐰃𐰑𐰀𐰔𐰃𐰖𐰀𐰓: Qawā'id al-Tasallut: Fann al-Ghalaba wa Muhandis al-Imbīrāṭūriyyāt" translate: The Doctrine of Dominion: The Art of Conquest and the Architect of Empires."
Aleeman's fingers traced the cover, his mind already racing. He pulled the book free and flipped it open, his sharp eyes devouring its contents.
"𐰀𐰋-𐰇𐰖𐰊𐰌 𐰋𐰀𐰒𐰀 𐰁𐰃-𐰐𐰔𐰖𐰖𐰀، 𐰁𐰀𐰋 𐰁𐰃-𐰔𐰈𐰀𐰀𐰓-𐰇𐰀.
𐰀𐰋-𐰌𐰀𐰌𐰋𐰀𐰊𐰀 𐰋𐰀 𐰖𐰔𐰁𐰀𐰀 𐰀𐰋𐰀𐰀 𐰇𐰀𐰁𐰀𐰑، 𐰁𐰀𐰋 𐰀𐰋𐰀𐰀 𐰈𐰑𐰀𐰓𐰀𐰓 𐰀𐰋𐰋𐰘𐰃𐰍𐰀 𐰘𐰀𐰒𐰈𐰔𐰖𐰖𐰆𐰍 𐰀𐰋-𐰌𐰀𐰒𐰃𐰑:Al-ḥukm laysa bi-quwwa, bal bi-ṣinā'at-hā.
Al-mamlaka lā tubnā 'alā ḥajar, bal 'alā irādat alladhīna yashkulūn al-maṣīr." translate:
To rule is not to wield power, but to forge it. A kingdom is not built upon stone but upon the will of those who shape its destiny."
A shadow loomed over him.
"Ah, so the wolf seeks wisdom?"
Aleeman looked up to see Professor Albus Pot, his long, grey robes dusted with ink stains, his hands clasped behind his back. His round spectacles glinted under the soft glow of an overhead lamp.
Aleeman exhaled through his nose. "I seek knowledge to gain power. A blade without intellect is but a crude instrument. I have strength, but to build an empire, I need more than just that."
Professor Albus Pot chuckled, shaking his head. "Ah, young warrior, strength and ambition are flames, but without wisdom, they burn only destruction." He gestured toward the book. "A ruler must not only conquer lands but also the hearts of people. If you truly seek dominion, then let knowledge be your sword and patience be your armor."
Aleeman nodded, absorbing the wisdom before him. But just as he was about to respond—
The academy's intercom system crackled to life, and a voice echoed across the halls.
"Aleeman Hakiman, please come to Headmaster Falani's office immediately. Repeat: Aleeman Hakiman, report to the Headmaster's office."
Aleeman let out a long sigh, closing the book.
Professor Albus Pot smirked knowingly. "Ah, duty calls. Go forth, young wolf. But remember—knowledge shapes the blade before it strikes."
Aleeman gave a short nod before turning on his heel and heading out.
Meanwhile, back in the cafeteria, trouble stirred.
At a table not far from Hua-Jing and her friends, John Wei-Tang and his gang—Robert, Gregore, and Celeste Marlowe along with her group—snickered amongst themselves.
John leaned back, arms crossed, his voice dripping with mockery.
"Seems like Aleeman is once again being summoned by the Headmaster. Probably another lecture about how he's single-handedly ruining this academy's reputation."
The laughter spread like wildfire.
Hua-Jing's fingers curled into fists. She was about to retort, but Finn stood up, his knuckles cracking.
"Keep talking, and I'll send you to the infirmary, John."
John smirked, his dread-filled eyes locking onto Finn. "Go ahead, peasant. Strike me, and I'll have my father expel you before you can even apologize."
Finn lunged forward, but Wang grabbed his arm, holding him back.
At that moment, a soft chuckle cut through the tension.
Shi Zhao Mei stepped forward, her arms folded, an amused smirk playing on her lips.
"Tell me, John," she said smoothly, "is your mouth the only muscle you exercise?"
The cafeteria fell silent.
John tensed.
Then Celeste Marlowe stepped in, flipping her blonde curls. "Oh, look, the Gemstone Bellied Troublemaker speaks."
Shi Zhao Mei's eyes glinted. She stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"And here I thought the title of 'Royal Brat' was reserved for you, Celeste."
Celeste sputtered, her face burning red.
Before things could escalate, Alenka Anastasios von Eridani entered the cafeteria, her presence commanding silence.
"Enough," she said, voice sharp as steel. "If you all have time for petty arguments, then you surely have time for extra assignments. Or shall I inform Headmaster Falani of this little spectacle?"
John and Celeste grumbled but backed off, leaving with their groups.
Alenka turned to Aleeman's group. "And you lot—what exactly is happening here?"
Hua-Jing sighed, rubbing her temples.
"Oh, you know," she muttered. "Just another day surviving amongst idiots."
The gargantuan brass doors of Headmaster Falani's office loomed before Aleeman like the gates of judgment.
A single knock.
A deep breath.
A push forward.
The room was a grand chamber of knowledge and authority, where stacks of ancient tomes and futuristic data panels coexisted in a paradoxical harmony. Sunlight poured in through stained-glass windows, casting ethereal hues upon the marble floors, while a towering mechanical globe of Halmosian slowly rotated in the center, glowing with arcane markings.
But Aleeman's golden-hued eyes didn't settle on the grandeur of the office.
No.
His gaze landed on the figure seated before Falani's desk—a man draped in a long black coat, his presence carrying the weight of command.
His elder brother.
Samiyoshi Hakiman.
Samiyoshi sat there with a composed demeanor, one leg crossed over the other, his piercing eyes scanning Aleeman like a hawk observing its prey. But beneath the calm exterior, there was something else—a storm of judgment masked behind the veil of patience.
Aleeman arched a brow, crossing his arms.
"You here all of a sudden?" he asked, his tone edged with caution.
Samiyoshi remained silent for a moment, merely tilting his head slightly, before finally speaking.
"Father wants you back."
The words hung in the air like a sword suspended by a fraying thread.
Aleeman's jaw tensed. He should've known. Orhan Bey had finally run out of patience.
Before he could respond, Samiyoshi's holoprojector vibrated on the desk. He picked it up, answering with the ease of a man who never hesitated.
"Understood."
A nod.
A sigh.
A click.
He hung up.
Aleeman narrowed his eyes, arms still folded. "What was that?"
Samiyoshi leaned back slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "That was father. He wants us to meet him at Grand Minar Palace."
Aleeman exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Grand Minar, huh? So, this is serious."
Samiyoshi finally stood, stepping closer to his younger brother, scrutinizing him with a gaze that could strip a man of his bravado. Then—without warning—he reached out and smacked Aleeman's head lightly with his bare hand.
Aleeman staggered slightly, rubbing the back of his head. "Oi! What was that for?"
Samiyoshi clicked his tongue, exhaling with exaggerated disappointment.
"Hey, if you're going to defy father at every turn, at least do it properly," he said, folding his arms. "You infiltrated Ji-Gong Palace, got into a fight with knights, battled that Divine Warrior Lenotes, nearly burned down the academy, and—oh yes—single-handedly fed an entire army of Janissaries. I mean, really, Aleeman? How do you even find the time?"
Aleeman groaned, rubbing his temples. "You sound just like Falani."
At that moment, Headmaster Falani, who had been silently observing the exchange with the patience of a saint, finally spoke.
"That is because your brother, unlike you, has a functioning sense of responsibility."
Aleeman sighed, turning toward the Headmaster, giving a lazy salute. "With all due respect, Headmaster, I am incredibly responsible. Just… in a very unpredictable way."
Falani massaged the bridge of his nose. "Yes, responsible. Like an earthquake is responsible for reshaping mountains."
Samiyoshi let out a rare chuckle.
Aleeman looked between them, then huffed. "Fine. I'll go to Grand Minar."
Headmaster Falani nodded, waving his hand dismissively. "I would hope so. Your father did not sound particularly pleased when he called."
Aleeman grimaced. "When is he ever pleased?"
Samiyoshi patted his brother's shoulder with a knowing smirk. "When we make his enemies tremble. Let's go."
As they both turned to leave, Falani leaned back in his chair, watching them with an expression caught between amusement and exasperation.
"Try not to cause an international incident before lunch, Aleeman."
Aleeman grinned over his shoulder.
"No promises."
And with that, the Wolf of Abjannas and his elder brother stepped out, walking toward a confrontation that would shape the path ahead.
As the two brothers walked through the academy's grand halls, their presence immediately drew attention.
Everywhere they passed, whispers rose among the students.
"That's Samiyoshi Hakiman... Aleeman's older brother?"
"They look alike but—he's so refined!"
"He's like the sun, radiating with elegance!"
"Then what's Aleeman?"
"A very grumpy wolf."
Aleeman rolled his eyes, catching the murmurs. He smirked and nudged Samiyoshi with his elbow.
"Looks like you're quite popular with the ladies, brother."
Samiyoshi chuckled. "Oh? And you're not? Surely, there must be a few who appreciate your—" He gestured vaguely. "—charm."
Aleeman snorted. "Charm? Please, all I do is fight, eat, and get scolded by teachers."
Samiyoshi grinned. "Ah, and yet you're still the talk of the academy."
Before they could continue, John Wei-Tang and his lackeys—Robert and Gregore—stepped into their path.
John's signature sneer was plastered across his face. "Oh, what's this? Aleeman now needs his big brother to come and hold his hand?"
Before Aleeman could respond, Samiyoshi merely raised a single finger.
A moment later—
"AHHHH!"
John yelped, clutching his backside.
Robert blinked. "John, it's your butt!"
John whirled around. "WHAT?!"
Gregore gawked. "It's… it's smoking."
Indeed, a faint ember glow sizzled right on John's posterior.
John screeched. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!"
Samiyoshi smiled innocently. "Oh dear, seems like my ability 'Sunburst Touch' accidentally activated. Such a tragedy. Maybe next time, don't be a nuisance."
John flailed around in horror. "MY BEAUTIFUL POSTERIOR!"
Meanwhile, Aleeman was trying (and failing) to stifle his laughter.
At that moment, Shi Zhao Mei, Hua-Jing, Finn, and the others arrived.
Aleeman's friends immediately greeted Samiyoshi with deep respect.
His golden eyes flickered toward Shi Zhao Mei.
"You're the new student, aren't you?" he asked smoothly, eyes twinkling with mischief. "The one who caused the… spectacular wall incident."
Shi Zhao Mei felt a rare moment of embarrassment. "I… suppose that would be me."
Samiyoshi chuckled. "Fascinating. Never thought I'd meet someone who outdid my brother in sheer property destruction."
Shi Zhao Mei felt both flattered and insulted.
Hua-Jing, however, puffed up her chest indignantly. "Brother, you're being too soft on Aleeman! He's impossible to control! He keeps getting into fights, skips classes, and somehow drags everyone into his madness!"
Samiyoshi raised a brow, crossing his arms. "And whose fault is that?"
Hua-Jing blinked. "What?"
Samiyoshi sighed dramatically. "You're his younger sister. Surely you could have been more responsible and kept him in check."
Hua-Jing gawked. "EXCUSE ME?! He's literally a FEW MONTHS older than me!"
Aleeman smirked. "And yet, you act like my mother."
Hua-Jing turned red with rage. "ALEEMAN HAKIMAN—!"
Samiyoshi smiled, completely ignoring her distress. "Well, I must say, this academy is far more amusing than I expected."
Aleeman rolled his shoulders. "Just wait till you meet the real troublemakers."
Shi Zhao Mei smirked knowingly. "He means himself."
Samiyoshi chuckled.
The cold, unyielding morning mist clung to the towering obsidian walls of Kumaruchaisan Castle, shrouding the fortress in an ethereal, ghostly veil. The iron-wrought banners of Kekaumenos fluttered ominously in the wind, their sigils—a crimson wolf devouring a sun—a testament to the dynasty's unyielding hunger for conquest.
Below the castle's looming battlements, a phalanx of knights stood in disciplined formation, each warrior clad in gleaming plate armour, the scarlet capes draped over their backs billowing in the breeze like a field of burning embers. Their lances and swords, polished to an unyielding silver, reflected the early dawn's light with an almost menacing glint.
At the helm of this imperial warband, mounted upon an ebon-coated destrier, sat Alphagut—Kumaruchaisan's ruthless general, the unyielding right hand of Tekfur Kekaumenos. His piercing slate-grey eyes gleamed with calculating malice, and his scarred, battle-hardened visage was as unforgiving as the war-torn lands he sought to conquer.
He turned his head slightly as the massive iron doors of the castle's inner sanctum creaked open, and from within, Tekfur Kekaumenos emerged, draped in a midnight-blue imperial robe lined with gold embroidery. His bearded countenance, etched with the lines of a thousand wars, bore an expression of ominous certainty.
Kekaumenos strode forward, his heavy boots striking the stone ground with the weight of a man who commanded empires to rise and fall at his behest. He approached Alphagut's steed, his sharp, glacial gaze locking onto his most trusted warlord.
"Alphagut," Kekaumenos rumbled, his voice deep and unyielding as the mountain ranges that bore his kingdom's name, "do not fail me."
Alphagut lowered his head slightly, a sign of obedience—but not submission.
"I never do, My King," Alphagut intoned, his voice a gravelly blade honed by years of war.
Kekaumenos' lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl.
"Noshian City is expecting our arrival. The merchants from the Eastern Trade Route have already set up their camps, and among them…" he narrowed his eyes, "…is our secret shipment."
A gust of frigid wind howled through the courtyard, carrying with it the lingering scent of damp earth and steel, but Alphagut did not flinch.
"The highly-technical and dangerous weapons that will bring Abjannas to its knees?" Alphagut questioned, his tone void of hesitation.
Kekaumenos' smirk deepened into something cruel. "Precisely."
Lenotes, who had been standing at his father's left, his icy-blue eyes gleaming with malice, let out a scoff, gripping the hilt of his longsword with impatient fingers.
"With these weapons, we shall rip out the fangs of Aleeman and his precious Abjannas. His arrogance will crumble beneath our might. He will kneel before us, his blood spilling onto the ground in the name of Kumaruchaisan!"
Alphagut, ever the calculated tactician, simply exhaled. "And what of Queen Liskarm Jee?"
Kekaumenos nodded approvingly, pleased by his general's foresight.
"She is expecting you in Noshian City. The alliance is sealed, but she wishes to discuss the finer details of our… mutual arrangements."
Alphagut gave a slight smirk, but it was devoid of humour. "I assume you mean the extermination of Aleeman and his dragon-clan whore?"
Lenotes' jaw tightened, his fingers twitching over his blade's hilt. "That woman—Shi Zhao Mei… she was the one who helped Aleeman stop our forces in Sefirah. The cursed prince who turned into a woman, the disgrace of Ji-Gong. We should have snuffed her out the moment we learned of her existence."
Kekaumenos nodded gravely. "And now, we rectify our mistake. But first…" he turned back to Alphagut, his expression darkening. "…secure the shipment. I want those weapons in our hands before the sun sets."
Alphagut tightened his grip on the reins, his eyes flashing with unreadable intent.
"As you command, My Tekfur (King)."
With that, he pulled the reins of his shadow-cloaked destrier, and the massive warhorse reared up on its hind legs, letting out a powerful, bone-rattling neigh before charging forward.
Behind him, his knights followed, their armour clinking in rhythmic unison, their hooves pounding against the cobbled ground like an approaching thunderstorm.
Kekaumenos and Lenotes watched them disappear into the morning haze, their expressions unreadable.
As the last knight vanished beyond the castle's towering iron-wrought gates, Lenotes let out a low chuckle.
"Aleeman… wherever you are… your days are numbered."
And beside him, Tekfur Kekaumenos merely smirked, his gaze locked on the distant horizon, where war loomed like a tempest ready to break.
The neon-lit skyline of Abjannas stretched infinitely across the horizon, a breathtaking tapestry of golden minarets, cybernetic towers, and floating holographic sigils that pulsed like celestial constellations. The streets below hummed with life—a fusion of the old world and the new, where prayer calls echoed through digitised speakers, and automated rickshaws weaved through the labyrinth of cobbled pathways and levitating transit roads.
Inside a highly futuristic taxi, its sleek black exoskeleton lined with iridescent blue circuitry, two figures sat in the backseat, their silhouettes framed by the glowing cityscape that zipped past them.
Samiyoshi Hakiman, the elder and far more composed sibling, sat with his legs casually crossed, his crimson-stitched Janissary coat draped over his shoulders like a warrior's mantle. His hazel eyes, sharp as tempered steel, flickered with curiosity as he turned his attention to his younger brother, the ever-reckless yet battle-hardened Aleeman Hakiman.
Leaning against the window, Aleeman sat in rigid silence, his arms folded across his chest, his expression unreadable—a mixture of brooding anticipation and mild dread. The only telltale sign of his unease was the way his fingers absentmindedly tapped against the hilt of his yataghan, a subconscious rhythm of brewing tension.
Samiyoshi's lips curled into a knowing smirk as he leaned in slightly.
"So…" he began, his voice laced with playful amusement, "I heard a little story from a certain Headmaster Falani. Something about you… rescuing a girl?"
Aleeman stiffened.
Samiyoshi let out a low chuckle, tapping his knee rhythmically.
"A traveller girl, no less. You saved her from the clutches of those barbaric dogs, didn't you? What was her name again…?" He paused dramatically before snapping his fingers. "Ah, yes—Shi Zhao Mei, wasn't it?"
Aleeman's brows twitched.
"Yes," he admitted curtly, "but it was not out of sentiment. It was strategic."
Samiyoshi arched an eyebrow, his smirk deepening.
"Strategic? Is that what they're calling love these days?"
Aleeman's cheeks, ever so slightly, took on a pinkish hue, though he was quick to shove it off with a scoff.
"Don't be ridiculous, brother. You speak as though I were some lovesick poet, scribbling sonnets beneath the moon." He shook his head. "She was in danger, and I—"
Samiyoshi leaned in closer, his smirk turning devilish.
"And you swooped in like a knight in shining armour? Ah, I can picture it now—the moonlight reflecting off your sabre, her big, gemstone eyes looking up at you with admiration, and then…" He let out a dramatic sigh. "'Oh, Commander Aleeman, my hero! However shall I repay you?'"
Aleeman rolled his eyes so hard they nearly exited the taxi.
"If I ever hear those words from her lips, may lightning strike me where I stand."
Samiyoshi laughed, the deep, rich sound reverberating through the taxi.
"Oh, little brother, you can lie to yourself, but you cannot lie to me. There is something there, isn't there?"
Aleeman huffed, looking away, glaring at the neon-lit skyline as though it had personally offended him.
"Even if there were, which there isn't, what good would it do? She is… complicated."
Samiyoshi tilted his head. "Complicated? Or are you just afraid?"
Aleeman snorted.
"The only thing I fear is father's wrath, and even that I have grown used to."
Sensing his brother's discomfort, Samiyoshi decided to pivot the conversation, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Fine, fine. I'll let you sulk in denial." He waved a hand dismissively. "But tell me—how is your horse? Is Şimşek still as untamed as ever?"
Aleeman finally cracked the faintest of grins, his expression softening.
"That beast is wilder than the desert storms. He nearly bit Finn last week when he tried to pet him."
Samiyoshi chuckled.
"Finn should know by now that Şimşek doesn't allow fools near him."
Aleeman nodded in agreement, but the fleeting moment of ease was short-lived.
As the taxi approached the towering gates of Grand Minar Palace, the smile vanished from Aleeman's lips, replaced with a grave solemnity.
The Grand Minar Palace, a majestic fortress of white-gold marble and sprawling courtyards, stood as the beating heart of Abjannas. Colossal domes adorned with intricate geometric patterns stretched into the heavens, while gilded spires reflected the sun's early light like celestial beacons.
The taxi hovered gracefully to a halt before the imposing archway, where rows of Janissary guards, clad in midnight-blue tunics and steel chest plates, stood in disciplined formation.
Aleeman exhaled slowly, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.
"He is going to flay me alive this time."
Samiyoshi, ever the calm storm, clapped his brother's shoulder reassuringly.
"Do not worry, little brother. I will stand by you, as I always have."
Aleeman let out a deep breath, nodding once.
"Then let us face the lion in his den."
And with that, the two brothers stepped into the palace, ready to meet their father.
The majestic halls of Grand Minar Palace stood bathed in golden light, where the intricate mosaics of halcyon, emerald, and sapphire shimmered beneath the glow of hanging lanterns. High domed ceilings bore calligraphic inscriptions of wisdom and conquest, and the air carried the scent of aged parchment, sandalwood, and burning incense—a realm where kings and warlords shaped the fate of nations.
At the heart of this sacred citadel sat Sultan Alibek Hakiman, his piercing amber eyes, sharp as a falcon's, fixated upon a man who stood before him—his brother, Orhan Bey Hakiman, the Iron Wolf of Abjannas.
Across from them stood Vizir Nasir Tamzid, a man of calculated precision, draped in the finest indigo robes adorned with golden embroidery. His eyes, shrouded with an air of wisdom, gleamed beneath the shadow of his silk turban.
The air was thick with discourse, for they spoke of a name that had both shaken and emboldened the realm—
Aleeman Hakiman.
Orhan Bey leaned forward, his calloused hands clenched upon the marble table, his voice laced with exasperation.
"Your Majesty, he has defied every expectation. Infiltrating Ji-Gong Palace, engaging in battle with the Knight Divine Warrior Lenotes in Justilia Forest, and worse—wasting his time with trivial affairs instead of focusing on his studies. My son is a warrior, but he acts without restraint."
Vizir Nasir Tamzid stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"And yet, Orhan Bey, what he has done is not that of an impulsive fool, but of a man who seeks the hidden truths veiled behind the illusions of war. Had he not uncovered Ji-Gong's secret ties with Kumaruchaisan, we would still be in ignorance."
Sultan Alibek nodded in agreement, his voice like rolling thunder wrapped in velvet.
"Patience, Brother." He lifted a cup of mint-infused kahwa to his lips. "You judge him with the heart of a father, but I observe him with the eyes of a ruler."
At that moment, the great doors swung open, and a guard, his armour gleaming like molten silver, stepped forth with a low bow.
"Your Majesty, Bey Orhan, the sons of Abjannas have arrived."
From the vast corridor, two shadows emerged.
Samiyoshi Hakiman, the elder son, a beacon of composure and nobility, moved with the grace of a seasoned commander. His presence exuded quiet strength, his very essence a fortress of resolve.
Aleeman Hakiman, the younger son, a tempest in mortal form, strode beside him. His obsidian-dark eyes, glinting with defiance, bore the weight of knowledge and battle, his posture unyielding despite the unseen shackles of judgment.
As they approached, Orhan Bey's gaze bore into his younger son like an unsheathed blade.
"Aleeman," he began, his voice an iron-clad command. "Do you understand the magnitude of your actions?"
Aleeman met his father's gaze without flinching.
"Yes."
Sultan Alibek rested his chin upon his knuckles, scrutinising the young warrior.
"Then answer me this, Hakiman: The accusations laid upon you—did you infiltrate Ji-Gong Palace, challenge the Knight Divine Warrior Lenotes, and incite disorder at Miracheneous Academy?"
Aleeman took a measured breath, his words a steady tide.
"I did."
Orhan Bey's fist struck the armrest of his chair, his voice like a storm.
"Then tell me, why? Why risk your life? Why defy your station?"
Aleeman lifted his chin, his voice unwavering.
"Because ignorance is a slow poison, and I refuse to drink it.
Ji-Gong did not strike us out of mere aggression. There is a thread that binds them to Kumaruchaisan, and I sought to unravel it. In the shadows, the true war is waged, and I will not stand idle while my people are pawns in a game we do not understand."
Sultan Alibek smiled faintly, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
"A noble pursuit. But tell me, what did you uncover?"
Aleeman crossed his arms.
"The Ji-Gong clan attack us thinking that we shelter the scion prince who was cursed by their Goddess Yuán Nǚ Wáng and further they want him to be killed. and further Kumaruchaisan along it's allies to helps Ji-Gong clan to defeat us in Pansilar "
"So, what about the prince who is been curse, did you found his trace?" ask Alibek
"No, Not yet I will" he reply
Vizir Nasir Tamzid nodded, his intrigue deepening.
"And what of Lenotes, the Knight Divine Warrior?"
Aleeman smirked faintly.
"A man of arrogance and misplaced wrath. He fights not for honour, but for vengeance. And vengeance makes a warrior reckless."
Samiyoshi clasped his hands behind his back.
"Then he is a blade that will one day break in your hands, little brother."
Sultan Alibek let out a low chuckle.
"Your mind is as sharp as your blade, Hakiman."
Sultan Alibek's golden eyes gleamed with curiosity.
"Tell me, Aleeman… What is your goal?"
Without hesitation, Aleeman stepped forward, his voice like tempered steel.
"To rule the world. And to conquer Orphanius."
A hush fell over the chamber.
Orphanius.
The unconquered land.
The stronghold of the legendary warlord, Grand Warlord Atticus Delacroix, known as Jacilus Divinus.
Samiyoshi exhaled sharply, a proud grin forming upon his lips.
"Then, brother, I will stand beside you until my last breath to see that dream realised."
Orhan Bey remained silent, his face unreadable, his emotions warring within.
Sultan Alibek nodded approvingly, a king acknowledging a future emperor.
"A bold ambition. But never forget, Aleeman—if the lands that are conquered by the sword are not improved with the pen, they will remain merely lands. They will never become a homeland."
Aleeman bowed his head slightly, his voice reverent.
"I will not forget, Your Majesty."
With a final glance, Sultan Alibek gestured toward the door.
"You are dismissed. You have much to prepare for."
As the two brothers turned to leave, Sultan Alibek looked to Orhan Bey, his voice laced with certainty.
"Your son is fearless, Orhan."
Orhan Bey sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Fearless? Perhaps. But it is not courage that concerns me. It is whether he sees the traps laid before him before it is too late."
Sultan Alibek smiled faintly.
"Then let us see if he can outmaneuver fate itself."
As two brothers comes out Aleeman notice a pigeon has arrived to him with letter as Aleeman opens and sees it at the moment Samiyoahi ask "What is it written?"
He reply "Nothing just you go I'm coming after work"
Samiyoshi feels strange and didn't say a word as Aleeman contacted his comrades by ear pods telling them to be prepared at Katilian Forest.
The dawn's first breath kissed the towering pinewoods of Katilan Forest, where the silver mist wove through the labyrinthine trees like spirits unbound. The light of the rising sun filtered through the canopy, its golden embrace casting elongated shadows upon the forest floor.
At the heart of this ethereal expanse, two figures rode with an air of silent authority.
Princess Velimira Kuznetsov of Faliton—The Ice Veiled Rose, the cold-blooded tactician of her mother's court—rode astride her onyx-black destrier, its polished barding reflecting the amber glow of the breaking day.
Beside her, Kaelith Voskana, the Crimson Sentinel, her mother's most trusted knight, rode with an unwavering vigilance. His gilded cuirass bore the sigil of Faliton—a blackened sun eclipsed by a silver moon, a herald of conquest and cunning.
Behind them, a dozen knights, clad in Falitonian plate, their banners fluttering against the morning zephyr, marched in disciplined formation. Their breaths formed white clouds in the crisp morning air, their hands gripping the hilts of their swords as their steeds carried them toward the unknowable.
For they were sent to meet with a man whose name was spoken only in whispers.
A man referred to only as "The Priest."
Velimira's glacial blue eyes narrowed as she tightened her grip on the reins.
"Kaelith, you have ridden at my mother's side for years. Tell me, who is this priest? Why would Queen Liskarm Jee seek an audience with him?"
Kaelith's scarlet cloak billowed as he cast her a sidelong glance, his warrior-hardened features unreadable.
"Your Highness, if the Queen has kept his name from even you, then it is not my place to divulge it."
Velimira scoffed, a wry smirk curling the edge of her lips.
"Ah, so even the Iron Hound of Faliton knows fear?"
Kaelith exhaled through his nose, his grip tightening around his lance.
"Fear? No. Caution? Always. The man we are about to meet is not one to be taken lightly. He is not bound by crown, nor oath, nor kingdom. He exists beyond the reach of kings and warlords. He is a spectre, a man who stands between this world and the next."
Velimira's eyes flickered with intrigue, yet suspicion lingered beneath her poised façade.
"A spectre?"
Kaelith nodded, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"A blade that cuts without being seen. A voice that speaks from beyond the grave. There are men who command armies, but he commands something far worse."
Velimira's expression hardened as she processed his words.
"And my mother seeks him out to destroy Aleeman Hakiman and Shi Zhao Mei."
Kaelith did not answer, but the solemn nod he gave was enough.
They were about to walk into the den of a man who played gods and devils like chess pieces.
And Velimira Kuznetsov, a princess born of war and ice, did not enjoy playing games she did not control.
The forest seemed to hold its breath.
A stillness unnatural to nature itself took root, as if the world had halted in anticipation.
And then—a flicker in the darkness.
A silhouette, perched upon a gnarled branch, cloaked in the void itself. An unseen phantom, a whisper of death.
It did not move. It did not breathe.
But it watched.
Watched as Velimira and her entourage passed below.
Watched as they ventured deeper into the woods, unaware that their every step was being counted, their every breath measured.
And then—like a shadow swallowed by the abyss, it vanished.
A spectre of the unseen war, a hunter stalking prey that did not know it had already been marked.
The afternoon sun bathed Miracheneous Academy in a golden haze, its warm embrace spilling through the arched windows of Hua-Jing's room. Stacks of books lay haphazardly upon her desk, an inkpot teetering on the edge like an acrobat on a tightrope, and a half-eaten mooncake sat solemnly on a porcelain plate, abandoned mid-bite.
Hua-Jing, in a rare moment of tranquility, was engaged in a delicate balancing act—attempting to write an essay whilst simultaneously chewing on the end of her quill in frustration.
Then—a knock at the door.
A knock so precise, so measured, that it could belong to only one person.
Hua-Jing froze. The quill in her mouth dropped. Her breath hitched in a most undignified manner.
She turned the knob ever so slowly, as if time itself had slowed to witness the catastrophe about to unfold.
The door swung open, and there she stood.
Shi Zhao Mei.
Or, as every single student at the academy now called her—
The Gemstone Bellied Troublemaker.
Hua-Jing's soul left her body for a brief moment.
She tried—gods, she tried—to act normal.
But the moment her eyes met Shi Zhao Mei's elegant, inquisitive gaze, her mind spiraled into an internal symphony of distress.
"Act natural, Hua-Jing. Act like a normal, dignified lady."
She failed spectacularly.
What should have been a casual greeting turned into an awkward, strangled noise resembling a dying pigeon.
Shi Zhao Mei raised an elegant brow.
"Are you unwell?"
Hua-Jing cleared her throat violently and stepped aside, motioning for her to enter as if she were presenting a royal banquet instead of inviting a friend in.
The moment Shi Zhao Mei was inside, Hua-Jing snapped into action.
She bowed.
Deeply.
So deeply, in fact, that her forehead nearly collided with the floor.
"Forgive me!" she cried. "Forgive me for calling you 'Gemstone Bellied Troublemaker'—by this every student calls you so!"
Shi Zhao Mei's face remained a mask of unreadable elegance, but a subtle twitch at the corner of her lips betrayed her amusement.
She waved a delicate hand, attempting to calm the situation.
"Hua-Jing, please. You don't have to—"
"No, I do!" Hua-Jing cut her off, voice thick with melodrama.
Shi Zhao Mei sighed and rubbed her temples.
"I assume you did not spread this ridiculous title, then?"
Hua-Jing straightened up, looking like a repentant criminal awaiting sentencing.
"No! But… but I know who did."
Shi Zhao Mei's eyes narrowed.
Hua-Jing shifted uncomfortably.
"When I… entered your room that day… and heard the… um… sound… and saw you… half-dressed…"
Shi Zhao Mei blinked.
Hua-Jing's hands twisted the hem of her sleeves as if wringing out her dignity.
"…And I saw… your river-polished abdomen with the gemstone attached to your… um… navel…"
Shi Zhao Mei stiffened.
Her face turned the shade of a freshly bloomed peony.
She could have handled any accusation. She could have faced any battle.
But this?
This was humiliation at its finest.
Hua-Jing looked everywhere except at her.
"And… I… might have accidentally called you 'Gemstone Bellied Troublemaker' aloud… and at that exact moment, Celeste Marlowe may have overheard our conversation and, well…"
Shi Zhao Mei closed her eyes.
Took a breath.
And internally combusted.
From the outside, she remained poised, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
But inside?
Inside, she was fashioning a battle plan to ensure Celeste Marlowe regretted the day she was born.
Her fingers twitched.
Her Dao thirsted for justice.
Celeste Marlowe had declared war.
And Shi Zhao Mei intended to win.
The Katilan Forest stood ancient and untamed, a labyrinth of gnarled trees whose twisted limbs clawed at the sky like spectral hands. The sun, though high, barely pierced the dense canopy, its light fractured into eerie emerald patterns on the moss-covered ground. A mist, thin as the veil of a mourning widow, lingered between the roots, curling around the ankles of those who dared traverse its depths.
At the heart of this primeval wilderness, where silence reigned and even the wind dared not whisper, a lone structure stood—a decrepit wooden house, its roof sagging like the hunched back of an old crone, its beams whispering ancient secrets with each creak. Vines had conquered its walls, and its chimney, long abandoned, stood sentinel against time's cruel march.
The house, though appearing derelict, bore an aura of foreboding, an unseen force warning intruders that its secrets were not for the faint of heart.
Princess Velimira Kuznetsov and her sworn blade, Knight Kaelith Voskana, arrived at its doorstep.
Kaelith, ever the sentinel, raised a fist, halting the escort of knights who had followed them through the woods.
"Stand guard. No one enters."
The knights, clad in obsidian armor etched with the sigil of Faliton, gave a curt nod and spread into defensive formation, their hands resting on sword hilts, their keen eyes scanning the shadows for unseen threats.
With an air of regal confidence, Velimira stepped forward, her deep crimson cloak billowing slightly with each step, her golden-threaded gown whispering across the withered wooden floor. Kaelith followed, her grip steady on the pommel of her blade, the sharp glint in her emerald eyes betraying a perpetual readiness for combat.
The interior of the house was a mausoleum of forgotten time. Candles flickered feebly in the dimness, their wax cascading like frozen tears down their rusted holders. The air carried the musk of ancient scrolls, herbs long dried, and the faint scent of something metallic—something almost… unnatural.
A single wooden chair faced them in the center of the room. Upon it, a figure sat—an old man draped in a red hooded robe, his face hidden beneath layers of shadow, only the glint of pale eyes visible in the dim glow.
Velimira strode forward, her voice a melody of ice and authority.
"Are you the Priest?"
The old man's lips, thin and cracked like the earth before a storm, curled slightly. "I am."
Velimira's gaze did not waver. "My mother sent me."
The old man hummed, a sound akin to the rattling of a crow's breath. "Ah… Queen Liskarm Jee. The mother who spins her webs of war from the throne of Faliton."
The Priest's gnarled fingers traced the spine of an ancient tome resting on his lap, its pages brittle, yellowed with age, inked in symbols far older than the kingdoms of men.
"I know why you have come." His voice was neither welcoming nor hostile, but carried an unsettling weight, as if speaking itself was merely an indulgence, a courtesy he offered before fate sealed its doors.
Velimira crossed her arms, the dim candlelight catching on the silver embroidery of her cloak. "Then you also know of Aleeman Hakiman, the Wolf of Abjannas."
The Priest gave a slow, rattling chuckle. "The wolf howls, but a well-placed blade may silence even the mightiest beast."
Kaelith, standing at her Princess's side, narrowed her eyes. "And what of the fallen prince—the one cursed by Yuán Nǚ Wáng?"
The old man's fingers stilled over his book.
For a fleeting moment, the silence in the room was thicker than the walls themselves.
Then, with a careful, deliberate motion, the Priest reached beneath his robe and retrieved a small, black lacquered box, etched with symbols of an ancient dialect, its surface pulsating with a faint, otherworldly glow.
He extended it towards Velimira.
"Take this to your mother."
Velimira eyed the box with measured curiosity. "What is it?"
The Priest's smile was a thin, knowing thing, a shadow of amusement that never reached his eyes.
"A key to the past… and a curse for the future."
She hesitated only for a breath before accepting it.
The moment her fingers touched the lacquered wood, a cold sensation slithered up her arm, like unseen tendrils seeking to coil around her soul. Her expression remained unfazed, but Kaelith shifted uneasily beside her, sensing the unseen power within the simple box.
Velimira held it firm. "And what shall my mother do with it?"
The Priest leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "If she seeks to destroy Aleeman, to burn Abjannas to cinders, and to reclaim the fallen prince who defies his fate… then she will know exactly what to do."
Velimira gave a slow, approving nod. "Then your work is done."
She turned on her heel, Kaelith following suit as the two women departed the eerie dwelling, leaving the Priest once more a specter in the shadows.
As they emerged from the house, the morning sun had climbed higher, its light catching on their polished armor.
The knights stood at attention.
Velimira handed the box to Kaelith. "Keep it safe. Whatever is inside will change everything."
Kaelith secured it within a pouch beneath her cloak and nodded.
As they mounted their steeds, Velimira cast a glance back at the house—a final, lingering gaze at the structure where war had just been whispered into existence.
She then turned forward, a smirk playing on her lips as she spurred her horse onward.
"Soon," she murmured. "Aleeman Hakiman will kneel. And the cursed prince—Shi Zhao Mei—will finally belong to us."
Kaelith, riding beside her, chuckled darkly. "By the time we are through, Abjannas will be naught but a memory, and Ji-Gong's lost heir will be in chains where they belong."
The knights rode as one.
Their shadows stretched long against the forest floor.
Their path led not to honor, but to war.
And the world would tremble at what was to come.
The south-eastern trade route, a well-worn artery linking Noshian City of Arcanodole State to Kumaruchaisan Castle, lay under the golden gaze of the midday sun. The landscape was a vast stretch of rugged terrain, where jagged cliffs loomed like silent sentinels, and the wind carried whispers of battles long past.
Caravans laden with highly advanced weaponry, their metal hulls glinting ominously beneath the sun, trundled forward under the watchful eye of Alphagut and his escort of knights in heavy steel armor. Their faces, though obscured by helms, bore the rigid discipline of men marching towards the inevitable tide of war.
At the head of the column, Alphagut rode with a smirk carved into his lips, his piercing eyes scanning the horizon, knowing full well that wolves lurked within the shadows of these forsaken lands.
And then—the whisper of death came.
From the craggy heights, a lone arrow, silent as a specter, cut through the sky like a vengeful wraith. It found its mark, embedding itself through the visor of a knight, the impact so forceful that his armored form crumpled lifelessly onto the dusty path.
A moment of stunned silence gripped the convoy.
Then—chaos erupted.
"AMBUSH!"
Alphagut, unflinching, let a smirk twist upon his lips. His fingers tightened around the pommel of his sword as he turned his steed to face his men.
"SHIELDS UP! DEFEND THE MERCHANTS AND THE CARGO! LET THE WOLVES COME TO US!"
With thundering discipline, the knights raised tower shields, their bronzed surfaces forming an unbreakable wall, while gunmen loaded their muskets, eyes trained upon the high ridges.
And then they came—like shadows unchained, descending upon their prey with sabres drawn and bullets shrieking through the air.
From the heights, Aleeman, emerged with the grace of a falcon, leaping from the ledge with two bows drawn, arrows knocked in rapid succession, losing them in perfect synchrony—one striking a knight's throat, the other piercing through an exposed visor.
Beside him, Samiyoshi Hakiman, his elder brother, moved like a tempest, his yataghan flashing silver under the sun, carving through the enemy ranks with an elegance that spoke of honed experience and inherited fury.
Mehmet Arslan, Tariq Al-Khattab, Zayd ibn Malik, and Rüstem Bey stormed down from the ridges, rifles barking, sabres singing, their movements precise, calculated, every strike a declaration of defiance.
"Ya Haqq!"
The clash of steel rang across the battlefield, swords carving through air and flesh alike, bullets whistling past as the scent of gunpowder and blood fused into the symphony of war.
Amidst the cacophony, one of the merchants—a man bearing the insignia of Kumaruchaisan—rushed forward, dagger in hand, aiming for Tariq's from behind.
The knight commander barely flinched quickly.
With one brutal swing of his sword, he cleaved the merchant's head clean from his shoulders, the body slumping lifelessly into the dust, blood staining the golden sands.
For a moment, silence clutched the battlefield.
Then came the murmur of disbelief.
One of Alphagut's own knights, his voice raw with shock, bellowed, "TRAITOR! YOU STRIKE OUR OWN?!"
Before the accusation could settle, Alphagut turned, blade flashing like a serpent's fang, and buried it into the knight's gut, twisting with a cold, calculated precision.
"Knights of Kumaruchaisan are nothing but disposable pawns," Alphagut mused darkly, his voice dripping with derision.
The knights, realizing the treachery in their midst, roared with fury, charging at Alphagut with vengeance burning in their eyes.
Alphagut only smirked. He met them with steel, his blade dancing with wicked efficiency, slashing, stabbing, leaving bodies crumpled in the sand like discarded dolls.
As the last knight collapsed at Alphagut's feet, Aleeman and Samiyoshi, bloodied yet unbroken, approached the lone figure standing amidst the corpses.
Aleeman, his sabre still slick with battle's crimson kiss, pointed the tip at Alphagut's throat.
"Who are you?" His voice was low, edged with suspicion. "Why did you kill your own men?"
Alphagut merely chuckled, his blade resting idly against his shoulder. "Who I am does not matter, Wolf of Abjannas. What matters is that you now possess the weapons meant for your destruction."
Aleeman's eyes darkened, his grip tightening. "And yet you do not fight us?"
Samiyoshi's gaze lingered on Alphagut, an eerie familiarity gnawing at the edges of his mind. There was something about the way he fought, the way he moved—something disturbingly familiar, yet maddeningly elusive.
"I have no loyalty to Kumaruchaisan," Alphagut finally said, his smirk never wavering. "Nor to you. My own war lies elsewhere."
Without another word, he turned on his heel, disappearing into the distance, his form swallowed by the shifting sands.
As the wind erased the footprints he left behind, Tariq finally exhaled, shaking his head. "What manner of man turns on his own like that?"
Samiyoshi, still watching the empty horizon where Alphagut had vanished, murmured, "Not a man. A ghost of a past we have yet to remember."
The highly advanced weapons, now in their possession, stood ominous in the sunlight—an arsenal meant to bring Abjannas to its knees, now turned against its creators.
Samiyoshi turned to Aleeman, clasping a hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "What do we do now?"
Aleeman, his stormy gaze set upon the horizon, exhaled deeply.
"We take them back to Abjannas." His voice was unwavering, resolute. "And we turn their own fire against them."
Samiyoshi nodded, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Then let's not waste time, brother. The hunt is far from over."
With their enemies slain, their prize secured, and the whispers of treachery now trailing in the wind, the warriors of Abjannas mounted their steeds and rode towards destiny.