Klea had been in contact with the Marquess of the North for months.
In fact, he had been on her list far longer than that — since the night Emery first spoke about his ambition to raise Earth into a Grade Three faction. To do that, he would need Dawnstar. And to take Dawnstar cleanly, Klea would need a Dawn worth keeping.
That was why she had been quietly gathering intelligence on the old general.
The old general’s reputation was spotless in a city where nothing else was. He had served the Magus Alliance military, earning many decorations throughout his career without a single stain of corruption ever touching his name. His only flaw was that he was almost impossible to persuade. He was as rigid as a mountain, slow to trust, and even slower to change his convictions.
Klea had never regarded that as a weakness. A difficult but honest man was worth far more than a hundred agreeable liars, and she would choose Roland’s stubborn integrity over Princess Seraphine’s silver tongue every day of the year.
Through the jade talisman hidden within the Marquess’s sleeve, she had listened to the entire summit from beginning to end. She heard the first greedy demands, the veiled threats, the negotiations that followed, and finally the moment when the two supposed attendants discarded their disguises and revealed their true identities.
And as she listened, one cold certainty settled over her.
Had Earth accepted Seraphine’s offer — had they marched out beside the princess as she’d asked — they would be standing in that ruin now too, caught in the very same crossfire.
"Should we make our move now?"
Soltz’s voice rumbled at her shoulder, taut with impatience. The old Grand Magus had been left on the sidelines the last time blood was spilled, denied so much as a single blow, and he had no intention of letting it happen twice. His knuckles cracked.
Klea shook her head.
"Not yet," she replied calmly. "The main players still haven’t shown themselves."
###
Above the old Red Dawn ruins, a battle of two against one had already begun.
The Marquess fought with a spear.
He stood alone against both Syndicate masters, and though all three were Three Cosmos cultivators of the same early realm, it was Roland’s aura that dominated the shattered sky. His weathered armor bore the scars of centuries of war, and his silver cloak snapped like a battle banner in the violent winds stirred by their power.
With a thunderous shout, cosmic energy erupted from his frame and gathered around him, forming a projection of a magnificent silver war chariot drawn by two lions. Their translucent bodies blazed with pale light, striking showers of sparks from space as they charged through the heavens.
[Charge of the Silver Chariot]
The old general surged forward atop the apparition, his spear sweeping in broad, crushing arcs that carried the weight of his battlefield experience. Every thrust was precise. Every sweep threatened to split mountains. Wherever the spear passed, space groaned beneath the force before tearing apart in jagged silver fissures.
Yet neither Syndicate master retreated.
The first was a tall, gaunt man wrapped in flowing black robes. His face was unnaturally pale, his eyes devoid of emotion, and his long, curved saber seemed to disappear whenever shadows gathered around it.
With a wave of his sleeve, darkness spread across the battlefield.
[Moonshadow Veil]
Light itself bent around him. His figure dissolved into shifting patches of shadow before reappearing from impossible angles, his saber striking from Roland’s blind spots as though space itself had bee his acplice. Every slash left behind ribbons of black mist that lingered for a heartbeat before fading away.
The second cultivator was the plete opposite.
A broad-shouldered woman clad in robes of deep sapphire stood calmly in the distance, a pale jade ring floating behind her like a miniature moon. Every gesture of her fingers caused cold lunar fire to gather overhead, illuminating her serene expression with an eerie glow.
[Falling Crescent Rain]
The tiny moon above her shattered into hundreds of glowing crescents that descended in a relentless storm. Each crescent screamed through the air with enough force to carve deep scars across the phantom chariot, forcing Roland to split his attention between offense and defense as explosions of silver and pale blue light erupted around him.
The heavens trembled beneath the exchange, shockwaves rolling across the ruined city and scattering clouds for miles.
It was immediately clear that this was not a battle that would end quickly. However overwhelming Roland’s battlefield experience might be, one man facing two opponents of equal cultivation could only attack, defend, and endure.
And Roland endured like an ancient mountain that had weathered a thousand storms.
Beneath the duel, the Marquess’s five Grand Magus lieutenants stood shoulder to shoulder in a tight iron line. Their decorated armor gleamed beneath the turbulent sky, spirit energy simmering around them as each warrior waited at the very edge of action. They needed only a single mand to charge.
The Marquess had not given it.
Across from them, the two house lords watched the battle overhead with easy, confident smiles. Between them stood two Three Cosmos cultivators already engaged in battle and another waiting in reserve. Time was entirely on their side.
Only Seraphine was not smiling.
A sheen of sweat glistened across the princess’s brow as the truth she had refused to acknowledge finally closed around her throat like an iron noose.
The two houses had been part of the Syndicate all along.
Which meant the moment her uncle fell, she would be next.
For the first time, she regretted it, the lie, all of it. A small, cowardly voice told her to run, to slip from the field while every eye was fixed on the duel above.
But to leave this summit in such a way was to leave her princess’s crown behind.
No. She would not.
She still had one card left to play.
Turning toward the two smirking house lords, she lifted her chin and forced every ounce of authority she still possessed into her voice.
"It is not too late," she declared. "Call off your attack. Now."
Cassius Valmont laughed softly, the sound carrying an almost amused delight.
"Princess..." His smile broadened. "You really should learn to accept your fate."
His gaze swept over her slowly.
"Though if you’re willing to submit..." he continued, "...I may still find a place for you."
He paused just long enough for the insult to sink in.
"As my concubine."
"You filthy bastard."
Before the final word had fully left her lips, Seraphine reached into her storage ring and drew out a bronze lantern, raising it high above her head.
A collective gasp rippled through the gathering.
The lantern was ancient, forged from weathered green bronze whose surface was etched with countless faded runes. Behind its crystal panels burned a single candle flame—not orange, not blue, but a deep, unnatural violet that seemed to consume the surrounding light rather than illuminate it.
[The Stardust Lantern]
Even the smiles on the house lords’ faces disappeared.
It was Dawnstar’s most famous treasure.
A high-grade Tier Seven artifact.
One of the Red Dawn royal family’s greatest heirlooms.
Legend claimed that a single fully unleashed strike from the lantern possessed enough destructive power to instantly kill any cultivator below the Supreme Realm.
"...They said the old king exhausted its final charge three hundred years ago," Korrath murmured, and for the first time since the confrontation began, genuine caution flickered across her hard features.
"So it was a lie." Valmont’s eyes locked greedily onto the violet flame dancing within the lantern. "You’ve been hiding it all this time, Princess."
Warmth returned to Seraphine’s face as her confidence surged back.
With the Stardust Lantern in her hands, she was no longer the weakest piece on the board.
She drew a slow breath, straightened her back, and prepared to lay down her terms.
But then—
SPLAATTT!!
A blade burst through the front of her chest.
The pain came an instant after the shock—white, absolute, impossible. She looked down at the length of gleaming steel protruding beneath her ribs before slowly turning her head over her shoulder.
The elderly Grand Magus.
Her most trusted aide.
"...Why?" The word left her lips in a wet whisper.
"I have spent my entire life serving this clan." His voice carried no hatred, only the weary calm of a man who had long ago accepted his choice. "I had no intention of sinking with it"
As the princess collapsed to her knees, the old man calmly pried the Stardust Lantern from her weakening grasp before turning his back on her and walking across the ruined courtyard.
Toward the other side.
From the gathered crowd, a figure stepped forward like a shadow peeling itself away from the darkness.
A masked man.
Cradled casually in one arm was a small boy no older than five, his innocent eyes wandering curiously across the battlefield, pletely unaware of the blood staining the stones beneath his feet.
The old Grand Magus knelt before the masked figure and raised the lantern with both hands in offering.
The little boy reached for it immediately, fascinated by the dancing light.
On her knees, her life steadily draining away, Seraphine stared in horror.
In those final moments of clarity, two more truths struck her.
The child...
...was Gerardy’s youngest son.
And the masked man...
She had met him once before, years ago.
The true master of the Moonlight Syndicate.
Seeing their princess fall, the warriors bearing the Red Dawn banner erupted into furious roars. More than a dozen Grand Magus surged forward at the head of the army, leading a desperate charge toward the masked figure.
The Marquess followed without hesitation. Although Seraphine’s betrayal had driven a wedge between them, seeing the princess struck down before his very eyes awakened the last remnants of his loyalty to the Red Dawn clan. Unable to break free from the two Three Cosmos Grand Magus locking him in battle, he let out a thunderous roar instead.
His mand echoed across the battlefield as he called upon his men to continue the fight in his stead.
The masked man remained perfectly calm.
He did not move.
His gaze merely settled upon the advancing army.
Then he released his cultivation.
A terrifying wave of spirit energy erupted from his body, carrying the unmistakable pressure of the Three Cosmos Realm—yet its aura was even deeper and more oppressive than that of the three cultivators still battling overhead.
The battlefield froze.
His voice did not travel through the air.
It echoed directly within every mind present, calm, gentle...
...and utterly absolute.
"Submit... or die."
The invisible pressure crashed over the battlefield like a collapsing heaven.
In that single instant, the difference in status became painfully clear.
He stood at the center of it all, sheltering the last surviving heir of the Dawnstar bloodline in one arm while the Valmont and Korrath houses stood firmly behind him. Between his terrifying cultivation, the legitimacy of the child, and the backing of both great houses, his dominance over Dawnstar was undeniable.
Hundreds of Magus cultivators dropped to their knees instantly, their bodies trembling violently as their wills were crushed beneath the overwhelming force. Only Roland’s five Grand Magus lieutenants remained standing, their jaws clenched and muscles quivering as sheer loyalty and centuries of battlefield discipline kept them on their feet.
It was at that very moment that the masked man’s eyes narrowed.
A thin veil of pale mist had begun to drift across the center of the ruins.
The mist thickened.
It rolled silently across the broken stone, swallowing a patch of empty ground before anyone could understand what they were seeing.
Then, as quietly as it had appeared, the illusion unraveled.
The mist dissolved into countless shimmering motes of spirit light, revealing six figures whose grand magus auras immediately swept across the ruins.
The woman leading them, Klea, glanced around the battlefield, a small, amused smile curved her lips.
"It’s crowded in here," she said pleasantly. "I do wonder why we weren’t invited."
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