"What's going on? What just happened? Where did the last carriage go? There were paying passengers in there. Move! Search the area!"

The sudden disappearance of the final wagon couldn't go unnoticed. The caravan guards and their anxious leader scattered, shouting for a search, but there was never any hope of finding it. They would have even more problems to deal with soon enough.

As they halted the caravan to look around, the city watch closed in on them. From the alleys and side streets came a squad of armored guards, long halberds raised as they surrounded the merchants in a tight ring.

"Stop right there! Who were the passengers you were carrying? Show me your identification—now!"

The captain's weapon pressed coldly against the caravan master's chest, his expression flat, his tone devoid of patience.

"Y–yes, of course, sir, please calm down. I'll show you everything..."

Sweat ran down the merchant's temples. He knew full well who his "passengers" were: stowaways without permits trying to slip into the royal capital.

But such work was routine business. Most caravans smuggled people for the right price. No one had cared before. Even Wang Yu himself had once entered the city that way. It was, in practice, an unspoken rule. So why was it his unlucky day? A vanished carriage and now a squad of city guards? It felt like every ill omen had come knocking at once.

"Here, sir, please take a look..."

He handed over the forged documents, which to his eyes seemed flawless. If they were fakes, then the people who made them were damn good at their craft.

"Tch. Forgeries."

The guard didn't even glance at the papers. He snapped a pair of anti-magic shackles onto the merchant's wrists and jerked his head toward the street. "You're coming with us."

"...Yes, sir."

The merchant's heart sank. If this had been before, the guards would have simply wanted a bribe. But given the newly established Assembly, the political winds had changed, and he had no intention of testing them.

Better to cooperate quietly. At least he wouldn't have to explain what had happened to that missing wagon.

The rest of the caravan was swiftly detained, and every guard and passenger marched away. Soon after, members of the Nightblades arrived on scene, setting up a lattice of spatial seals and suppression wards to ensure no one could flee. The entire area was locked down.

"Hm. It seems our movements have been exposed," murmured one of the figures who had once occupied the vanished carriage. "This must be Aleisterre's way of dealing with intruders like us."

The Sarybin operatives stood together in a strange, dim expanse. The world around them shimmered with a deep violet hue. Above stretched an endless, blackened sky. Below, a flat plain that vanished into infinity. Whether the space was truly so vast or merely warped by an illusion, no one could tell.

"The void density here is high," one of them observed—a wizard, his voice even. "Not as high as the edge of a true rift, but close. We're in the liminal region between the material world and the void. The spatial structure is chaotic. Escaping with wizardry will take time, and our enemy won't grant us that luxury."

His tone was calm, analytical. Grim, yes, but far from panicked.

"You seem to understand your situation quite well," came a languid voice from nowhere. "Then let's not waste words. Tell me why you tried to infiltrate Aleisterre's capital. If you're not here to stir up conflict, perhaps I'll even let you go.

Charles's voice drifted through the air, casual and measured.

The Sarybins didn't hesitate. The instant the sound reached them, one of their wizards raised a finger and unleashed a jet of black light straight into the empty space before him.

"What? How... how did you know where I was? Instant seventh-tier magic? Impossible..."

Charles's body flickered into view, a gaping hole torn through his chest where the Finger of Death had struck. His organs and bones crumbled to ash, the flesh around the wound disintegrating in slow, drifting motes. His eyes, wide with disbelief and fury, locked on the Sarybin squad before he collapsed lifeless to the ground.

"..."

None of the intruders spoke. They stared, wary and silent. Had that strange man truly just died like that? But then—

"It seems our guest wasn't very friendly," the same voice murmured again, smooth as ever. "And Aleisterre has no need for those who come bearing malice. So why don't you kindly leave this beautiful world for good?"

The Sarybins had expected as much. They hadn't truly believed the man was dead, but even so, what came next made their blood run cold.

From the robes of the wizard who had cast Finger of Death, a playing card slipped free and fluttered to the ground. Upon it was painted a jet-black jester juggling bright spheres in the air.

The wizard glanced down. In that instant, the jester moved. Its painted face split into an exaggerated, crimson grin.

"?!"

The wizard's instincts screamed. He began to raise a barrier spell, but the jester's movements were faster. The balls it juggled rose: one, two, three, four...

A burst of violent void energy erupted. The wizard's head was torn clean from his shoulders, wrenched upward, spinning in a perfect arc before landing beside his own corpse.

Blood splattered across the card, but only the jester's image was stained red. The rest remained a pristine white.

"Now," Charles's voice returned, light and conversational, "can we talk properly? There's no need for so much hostility. It doesn't help any of us, does it? We've been neighbors for so long. Surely it's a little strange to start a war out of nowhere."

The blood-red jester smiled. It stepped out from the face of the card and reshaped itself into Charles Ryder, a man in a tailored suit, with a cane in one hand and a gentleman's hat tilted over a half-smiling mask. It was the same look Wang Yu had seen before: part magician, part dapper devil.

"Charles Ryder, the current regent of Aleisterre. The fall of the old royal house is deeply tied to you."

Most of the Sarybin squad remained silent. Only the one who appeared to be their leader spoke, his tone cold and factual.

Charles adjusted his hat with lazy grace. "Mm, that's right, it's me. But honestly, this position is exhausting. If I had a choice, I'd gladly hand it to someone else. So, shall we skip the small talk? Tell me what brings our friendly neighbors so deep into my home without knocking. Or at least," his voice sharpened suddenly, "tell me your name."

He tapped his cane lightly against the ground. In the same instant, a vast shadow flared behind him and a host of Judgment tarot cards appeared above the Sarybin squad, suspended like blades poised to fall.

Having spent so much time in the company of "One," Charles had developed his wizardry at an astonishing pace. Here, in the liminal layer between the void and the material world, with the devil's power feeding his own, no ordinary wizard could hope to stand against him.

Devils were, after all, children of the void. They were its favored offspring. Few beings could threaten them: perhaps an evil god or true divinity from a higher realm. Wang Yu himself was an exception among exceptions.

"Those who are about to die have no need of names," the Sarybin leader said. "Our mission was to execute you quietly. It seems you discovered us too soon. But since you've chosen to appear before us... we'll take that as an opportunity."

He did not give his name. As he finished speaking, his comrades unleashed chaos.

A storm of spells erupted. Space-locking runes, explosive fireballs, and warped distortions of wizardry tore through the air toward Charles. The very realm they stood in split apart under the assault, shredded by flame and force.

"Was that really necessary?" came Charles's unhurried voice. "This sort of thing doesn't matter to me at all."

The figure that had climbed from the crimson card was obliterated, flesh and bone reduced to ash. But Charles's voice did not stop. The corpse struck earlier by the Finger of Death stirred. It rose slowly from the ground, its face ashen and corpse-gray, its mouth moving with eerie speed.

"The Sarybin Empire hereby declares war on Aleisterre!"

"What—what did you just say!?"

The shout that tore from the Sarybin ranks stunned Charles. A heartbeat later, every one of the infiltrators activated a seal carved into their chests. Alchemical runes flared, igniting the devices buried inside their flesh.

Then came the roar. Their bodies imploded, collapsing into volatile singularities of magic and void energy. The overlapping blasts devoured everything. The rift between the two worlds tore apart, and the destruction spilled violently into both realms.

In the material world, on a quiet city street, a hemisphere of dark-violet energy burst outward. Everything caught within was consumed, reduced to dust, to nothing.

"What terrifying power... the Gap itself was pierced. If we remained inside, none of us would have survived. Thank the Lady we heeded Sir Charles's warning."

A squad of Nightblades stood at the edge of the crater, pale and shaken. Only moments earlier, Charles had shouted through the Prayer Network, ordering them to evacuate. Five seconds later, the explosion came.

Meanwhile, Edward stood upon the snow-swept plain where the storm had just broken. Across the white horizon stretched ranks upon ranks of soldiers, black shapes marching in endless formation. Behind him loomed Winterhold, its atmosphere heavy, its people rushing to prepare for war.

"Yes, I see the Sarybin army now. They haven't begun their full invasion yet, but they've stationed massive forces along the northern border. My father and I have already begun mobilizing our forces," he said into the communicator, his voice edged with fatigue.

A solid wooden table cracked beneath a furious blow. The table survived; the bones in Charles's hand did not. But the pain meant nothing beside the fury blazing in his chest.

"Bastards! Do they think war is a game? Do they even know how many will die—how many will lose their homes—how much of our kingdom's strength will be bled away because of this?!"

He slammed his fist down again, trembling with rage. "They've gone mad! Those lunatics have truly gone mad! Damn it all, why don't they just die already?! God of Light, I invoke your holy wrath! Strike them down! Send them straight to your divine realm to repent!"

Charles's voice broke into a snarl, his expression twisting with fury. He had never even entered the Gap himself. The "Charles" that had fought there was nothing more than a construct of void energy. With One's power, he had been able to witness events five seconds into the future throughout the entire confrontation, allowing him to manipulate the entire Sarybin team like pawns on a board.

And yet, none of it meant anything. With a senseless suicide attack and a meaningless declaration of war, in an instant, Aleisterre was once again dragged into the flames of conflict between nations. A nation that had only just ended its war with Selwyn. A kingdom still rebuilding its power, its peace, its strength. Was it truly ready to face the flames of war again?