The sky was a soft gray as Ryle and Thea soared across the clouds. The wind stung their eyes, but neither blinked—they had a purpose, and it lay just beyond the horizon.
They landed in a quiet village nestled in the eastern plains.
"Tobin live here," Thea murmured.
"Then this better not be a goose chase."
Face down in crumbs.
A girl stood over him, arms crossed, tail flicking aggressively.
"You took my snacks," she muttered with a pout.
"You hit him, didn't you?" Ryle raised a brow.
Kessia blinked. "He ate my lunar crisps!"
"You're a Nekomata!" Ryle snapped. "You can't just hit him like that—his soul is fragile!"
Kessia hissed. "He ate the crispy ones!"
Thea sighed, already kneeling beside Tobin. Her hands glowed with a soft, golden hue. Light trailed along his chest, restoring the bruised bones and shallow breathing.
"Wha…?" Tobin groaned, blinking up at them. "Did I lose… a duel…?"
"No," Ryle muttered. "You lost to snacks."
Tobin sat up and immediately turned to Kessia. "I'm sorry."
"Good," she said with a huff, then walked off to sit on a nearby fence, tail curling around her ankles.
Just as Ryle opened his mouth to mock Tobin further, a chime echoed from every crystal in the village. A projection lit the sky—golden, floating text and a voice magnified across the kingdom.
"Attention, citizens of Velbrath. The Duke of Lysmere, in his wisdom and grace, has relinquished his crown to his dearest friend and most trusted confidant. The ceremony shall begin at dusk."
The announcement ended, the sky dimmed, and silence returned.
Ryle narrowed his eyes. "…That's strange."
"Someone giving up a noble seat? Never happens," Thea added.
"But strange means opportunity," Ryle said, smirking and flipping open his notebook. "Let's find out who this 'dearest friend' really is."
Kessia stretched lazily. "Are there snacks?"
"Probably," Tobin replied, standing. "And probably traps."
"Yay," Kessia chirped.
Lysmere.
It was a city of opulence—where money danced in the streets and gold was less valuable than reputation. Gem-encrusted pillars lined the roads. Even the guards wore silk under their armor.
Ryle and the group arrived just in time for the ceremony.
The throne room sparkled like a treasury. The old Duke stood, draped in velvets, crown trembling in his hands.
And then—he spoke.
"I, Duke Arno Lysmere, relinquish the title of Duke. I pass it not to my sons, nor to my blood, but to my dearest friend: Dalen Asterra."
A calm, soft-spoken man walked forward.
No noble family crest. No royal lineage. Just a modest robe and a steady gaze.
He knelt, and the crown touched his head.
Applause echoed through the room.
Ryle stepped forward immediately. "World's Strongest Journalist. I have a few questions."
Dalen smiled softly. "Of course."
"You're not a Lysmere. Why you?"
"I have served the Duke in silence for many years," Dalen replied. "His heart has grown weary. He trusts me to care for Lysmere as he did."
Ryle jotted notes. "You've no military background. No noble training. How will you defend the richest city in Velbrath?"
"I believe… peace is the sharpest sword."
"Flattery," Ryle smirked. "It won't save you from my questions."
Dalen chuckled. "And truth will not save you from mine."
Before Ryle could press further, the ceremony ended.
That night, the group was given a lavish guest chamber in the palace.
Tobin's room had ten beds, fifteen silk pillows, and a chocolate fountain for no reason.
He snored in the largest bed, exhausted.
Kessia lay curled in a pile of furs, ears twitching softly.
Ryle and Thea shared the room next door, weapons propped beside their beds.
All was still… until the candles flickered out one by one.
Kessia's ears twitched.
She opened one eye. Her pupils narrowed.
She leapt.
Crash.
A figure in black spun away from Tobin's bed and vanished.
Kessia landed, hissing.
Thea bolted upright, sword in hand. "Kessia?"
"I smelled blood," the nekomata growled.
Suddenly—a sound behind Ryle.
His eyes shot open.
Someone stood at the foot of his bed.
He didn't think—he struck.
His fist connected with the figure's chest.
There was a soft gasp—then the intruder exploded into black fog, melting into nothingness.
Ryle sat up fully, breathing hard.
"What… the hell was that?" Thea asked, stepping beside him.
Tobin peeked in, hair a mess. "I had a weird dream about my heart stopping."
Ryle looked down at his trembling hands.
Black mist still lingered on his knuckles.
"…Something's moving," he muttered.
They all stared at the empty space where the intruder vanished.
No words. Just tension.
No answers. Just questions.
And outside, in the streets of Lysmere, a cold wind stirred.