The grand throne room of Camelot was silent, with only two souls within it.
Torches flickered along the walls, casting the banners of the royal crest in wavering shadows.
At the far end of the hall, King Cillian sat upon his throne, his posture regal, but his expression filled with quiet exhaustion.
After all these years, the war was still showing no sign of letting up, and his position still wasn’t stable.
He needed to put an end to one of the thorns in his side, and fast.
Either the war, the noble council, or Cecilia.
One of those must be gone for his rule to become stable. For him to feel like the true king of Camelot.
Before him, Lord Rowe walked forward, his boots clicking softly against the floor.
When he reached the base of the dais, he bowed low, one knee touching the ground.
"Rise, Lord Rowe," the King said, his tone clipped. "Your report?"
Rowe straightened, his expression grave. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"Through the testimony of the captured man known as Snake, we were able to locate Othello’s laboratory."
"It was hidden beneath the ruins in the southern warehouse district of the capital."
The King frowned slightly. "And?"
Rowe exhaled. "The lab has been destroyed. We found it thrashed beyond recovery."
"All equipment was burned, and most of the data was lost."
"From the evidence we recovered, including traces of void energy, and a collapsed spatial field, it’s clear that Othello was killed."
King Cillian leaned back on his throne, studying him. "And by whose hand?"
"The leather-cloaked vigilante," Rowe said simply. "The same individual involved in the Bruno and Snake incidents."
"Witnesses place him near the district that night. Whatever Othello was working on ended with their confrontation."
The King was silent for a moment, fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. "And what of Othello’s associates? Was he working alone?"
Rowe hesitated, then shook his head. "We found no indication of collaborators. However..." He trailed off.
"Speak freely," Cillian ordered.
Rowe met his gaze. "I believe Othello left a fail-safe. A contingency."
"We could not find his stores of the hybrid potion. The laboratory was empty of them."
"It’s possible he distributed them before his death. To merchants, smugglers, or other criminal factions."
Cillian’s tone hardened. "Then those potions could still be out there. Being sold, used... spreading."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The King leaned forward slightly. "Then I am giving you full command over a new operation."
"Find these potions, wherever they’ve gone. Retrieve and destroy every last one of them. I will not have another outbreak of demon hybrids in my kingdom."
Rowe bowed his head. "It will be done."
"Good." Cillian’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Now, what of Osiris?"
Rowe’s jaw clenched at the name. "We’ve scoured the capital, Your Majesty."
"Every lead, every contact that could have connected him to the hybrids. But there’s nothing."
"It’s as if he vanished completely after his disappearance from the Academy."
Cillian sighed deeply, his gaze distant for a moment. "Vanished... or went to ground. Osiris does not strike me as a man who runs without purpose."
His tone dropped. "Find him, Rowe. Dead or alive. He was too close to the original investigation."
"If he resurfaces and aligns himself with another group, we will be facing a crisis worse than Othello’s madness. The destabilization of the monarchy."
"I understand, Your Majesty," Rowe said.
For a few moments, silence filled the room again, broken only by the soft crackle of the torches.
Then the King spoke once more.
"One last thing. The palace ball is in two weeks. Nobles, foreign envoys, and dignitaries will be attending."
His eyes narrowed. "I want every single guest investigated. Every servant, every performer, and every visiting noble."
"If there’s even a whisper of corruption or conspiracy, I want to know about it before they step foot in this palace."
Rowe bowed low once more. "Consider it done, Your Majesty."
King Cillian leaned back, his expression neutral. "Good. You are dismissed."
Rowe turned on his heel and strode from the throne room, his mind already calculating.
The hunt for the potions, the coming ball, and the name that haunted them all, Osiris.
The King’s words echoed behind him as the heavy doors shut.
Find him, and end this before it begins again.
[][][][][]
The world blurred around him as space folded, and Noah emerged in a quiet strip of land between the academy and the capital.
Night stretched endlessly above him, the stars shining against the dark sky.
The wind carried the faint scent of pine and damp earth, rustling the grass that grew wild along the road.
He adjusted the leather cloak around his shoulders, its weight familiar and comforting, before beginning his trek through the open plain.
He followed the map he had copied from the library, the light from the moon bright enough for him to read with.
The route wound through the countryside, away from the main roads, to where civilization gave way to the wild.
The deeper he went, the thicker the forest became.
The trees rose high, their branches whispering secrets in the night wind.
Noah’s orange eyes glimmered faintly under his hood, catching the faint flickers of mana signatures in the distance.
His pace quickened.
After nearly an hour, he saw it.
The monolith.
It stood in a small clearing, at almost twenty feet tall. It was a dark slab of stone that shimmered with an ethereal violet light.
This was the A-rank monolith. The one the books had said held Minotaurs, which were strong in abyssal essence.
But the monolith wasn’t without protection.
He crouched behind a fallen log, his eyes narrowing.
Soldiers surrounded the structure, at least twenty of them, each one wearing the silver insignia of the Royal Guard.
Their armor gleamed under the moonlight, and their stances were disciplined.
A makeshift outpost had been set up nearby.
It consisted of a few tents, a mana-powered barrier generator, and a watchtower where a sentry scanned the forest with a pair of enchanted binoculars.
Noah exhaled slowly, studying the formation.
He noted each soldier’s placement, every rotation of the patrol, and every possible blind spot.
If he wanted in, he’d have to get creative.