Clover Kingdom...
Royal Castle...
The skies above the Clover Kingdom shimmered as a streak of crimson energy shot across the horizon.
Citizens in the capital paused to look up, pointing in awe as Jetray glided over the rooftops like a divine sentinel.
With a gentle arc,
Jetray descended toward the towering royal castle.
As he neared his personal balcony, his body flashed in green light—
Transformation particles dispersing like sparks—
Before Ben stood once again in his human form, brushing his cloak into place.
"Home, at last,"
He muttered, a trace of fatigue in his voice but a satisfied smile on his face.
Ben entered through the balcony doors, stepping into the lavish serenity of his private chambers.
The royal guards and staff, stationed outside, saluted his return as the doors closed behind him.
Elsewhere in the Castle.
Interrogation Wing...
Meanwhile,
The Royal Knights, arriving minutes behind Ben,
Escorted their prisoner through the heavily secured corridors of the castle.
The unconscious grimoire thief was bound tightly with magic-infused shackles on his wrists and ankles, reinforced with nullification glyphs glowing faintly.
They carried him like cargo, silent and grim, through a hidden passage that led to the interrogation chamber deep beneath the castle.
Here, the air was cold, sterile, and enchanted with truth-detection magic.
The room was dimly lit, a single chair bolted to the stone floor waiting in the centre.
"Wake him up,"
Ordered the leading knight.
One of the subordinates flicked his fingers, casting a mild water spell.
The thief sputtered, coughing as his consciousness returned—
Cough~ Cough!
"____"
His eyes were wide in panic, but his limbs were paralysed under the suppressing magic.
"You'll talk,"
Said the knight in a cold voice.
"Every contact, every client, every grimoire you've touched. Or we make you talk."
The door shut with a heavy clang behind them.
Ben's Private Chambers...
Bathing Hall...
Back in his room, Ben stepped into the private bathing area—
A beautifully crafted stone chamber with gentle steam rising from a heated pool of enchanted spring water.
Intricate runes on the walls kept the water at the perfect temperature, and glowing crystals gave the space a soft, golden hue.
Letting out a long sigh,
Sigh!
"____"
Ben removed his outer robe and slowly immersed himself in the water, the warmth washing over his tired muscles.
'Canon has finally started.'
He thought to himself, leaning back against the smooth edge of the pool.
For a moment, everything was still.
The battles, the responsibilities, the weight of the crown—
Melted into silence.
Interrogation Room...
The air was damp and stifling.
The flickering crystal lamps mounted on the stone walls cast long, distorted shadows across the interrogation chamber.
The grimoire thief—
Still shackled and bound—
Hung limply in the centre of the room, suspended slightly off the floor by chains reinforced with binding magic.
Sweat poured down his face, mixing with the dried blood from a busted lip and a cut above his brow.
His clothes were scorched and tattered.
A sigil of truth magic hovered behind his head, glowing steadily.
Across from him stood Captain Darius, head of the Royal Guard—
Stoic, merciless, and methodical.
A small team of elite interrogators stood silently at his flank, scribes taking notes as every breath the thief took echoed against the cold walls.
"You've held out for hours."
Darius said coldly, eyes narrowing.
"But you're not walking out of this room until I have every name. Every buyer. Every scroll of ink you've touched."
The thief panted, eyes wide with pain and fear.
His mind resisted, but the enchanted restraints were draining him.
The glyphs burned slowly into his skin—
Not to harm, but to weaken the mind's natural resistance to memory probing.
A wand tapped against a metallic tray.
A subtle hum of Veritas Magic—
An advanced truth-induction spell—
Spread across the room again.
"Tick tock,"
Darius said, his voice a whisper but more terrifying than a shout.
Finally, the thief broke.
His voice cracked as he coughed out the names like bile.
"Three… noble families. They've been paying me off to collect rare grimoires. They're not powerful in court, just names… house Vollan, Rosmont, and… Cadein. All small, but greedy."
He took a deep breath, shaking.
"And ten merchants… wealthy ones. They deal in illegal artefacts, black market enchantments, and forbidden relics."
"They collect grimoires for prestige—or resell them outside the kingdom… some even to other nations. Some grimoires… might already be gone."
Darius's eyes glinted.
"Names."
"Yes! Yes! I have them memorised! I always kept them separate from each other—they never knew I was working with more than one circle."
He then began listing names—
One by one.
The scribe's pen flew across the parchment.
The air turned colder with each revelation.
The noose was tightening.
When he finished, he slumped forward, nearly unconscious.
Darius turned to his knights.
"Prepare the scrolls. I want search warrants and immediate detainment orders for every single noble and merchant he named. I want all their vaults, books, and records combed through."
He turned to the thief with a final glare.
"You'll live—for now. But your public execution will send a message that the underground won't forget."
Grooming Chamber...
The sound of snipping scissors echoed in the grand, velvet-draped grooming chamber.
The golden afternoon sun filtered through stained glass, casting mosaic patterns over the marble floors.
A luxurious chair sat in the centre of the room—
Occupied by King Ben, a royal cape draped across his shoulders as he examined his reflection in the mirror.
His hair had grown quite long, flowing past his shoulders, making him look more like a wandering warrior than a refined monarch.
It was time for a change.
Across from him stood Bellamié,
The kingdom's most sought-after magical stylist, known throughout the realm for her elite skill in Charm-Based Aesthetic Magic.
With sharp lavender eyes, long nails tipped with shimmering rune polish, and a belt filled with enchanted styling tools,
She was a whirlwind of creativity and obsession with the perfect look.
On the counter beside Ben sat a style handbook—
Filled with miniature animated sketches of various hairstyles that changed and spun when touched.
Ben flipped through it absently as Bellamié prattled on about which cut would "accentuate his face bone structure and dominant aura."
But Ben was already deep in thought—
About the interrogation report Harry had just handed him.
Harry, standing a few steps behind, cleared his throat discreetly.
"Your Majesty, the interrogation results have arrived. The grimoire thief named three noble houses—Vollan, Rosmont, Cadein—and ten merchant families involved in black-market grimoire trade. Shall I alert the Intelligence Division to begin the raids?"
Ben gave a brief nod, his eyes still on the mirror.
Nod~
Then he picked up a fresh parchment and quill, sketching with slow, deliberate strokes.
A few moments later,
he turned the sheet around and handed it to Bellamié.
It was a mullet.
Clean on the sides, controlled chaos in the back—
Bold and modern with a hint of edge.
"Can you do this?"
Bellamié's eyes lit up like fireworks.
"____"
"Your Majesty... this is revolutionary! The balance of royal elegance and rebel flair! Oh, bless the stars! Leave it to me!"
She twirled her wand between her fingers, muttering an enchantment.
"Charm Magic: Snip & Sculpt Eleganza!"
A glowing ribbon of wind and light spun around Ben's head as enchanted shears floated and spun like ballerinas.
His hair danced in place, lifting and folding as the magical tools snipped, trimmed, and shaped.
Within minutes, the spell settled.
Ben's new reflection shimmered into view:
A perfectly styled mullet—
The front is neat and noble, the back untamed with a sharp kick of rebellion.
It framed his face with purpose, giving him the air of a warrior king who could conquer and charm in equal measure.
Harry blinked in surprise.
"It suits you, Your Majesty."
Ben stood, brushing off the cape with a smirk.
Smirk~
Then Harry informed him about the integration details.
"Let the raids begin. If nobles want to hoard grimoires like trinkets, we'll remind them they answer to the crown."
Bellamié practically fainted in joy, whispering.
"This will start a trend across the continent…"
Night...
Across the Kingdom...
– Streets in Turmoil.
Royal Knight squads marched through noble districts and merchant quarters in full regalia, their armour gleaming under the street lamps.
Each squad carried sealed arrest warrants signed by King Ben himself, stamped with the royal crest—
A lion wrapped in flame and wind.
The names written on the warrants were not petty thieves or outlaws.
They were nobles.
They were respected merchants.
They were people with influence.
Wealth. Power.
And yet, they were buyers of stolen grimoires—
An unforgivable crime under Clover Kingdom law.
House Vollan, Rosmont, Cadein...
At House Rosmont, a family known for its quiet influence in agriculture and trade, a commotion broke out as Royal Knights in formation surrounded the manor gates.
Lady Rosaria Rosmont, draped in red silk, demanded answers—
But her voice faltered when presented with the official decree.
"By order of His Majesty, King Benjimin Salvador Kira, you are under arrest for possession and trafficking of stolen grimoires. Resist, and you will be subdued."
The gates were shattered open by magic.
Inside, enchanted safes were broken apart, and stolen grimoires—
Some decades-old—
Were recovered.
Merchant Quarters...
In the bustling East Market District,
Ten merchant houses were stormed almost simultaneously.
Magical barriers were put up to block off sections of the city.
Curious civilians crowded the edges, murmuring in alarm.
"Are those… nobles being dragged in chains?"
"What did they do?"
"I heard they were buying illegal grimoires…"
Crates of grimoires—
Hidden behind false walls and illusionary spells—
They were brought out one by one.
Some had names scratched off.
Others bore faint traces of magical residue, indicating they'd been forcibly kept away from their original owners.
Some merchants tried to resist with bribes, others with magic.
None succeeded.
Word spread like wildfire.
For the first time in recent memory, the crown had moved openly against the corrupt elite.
This wasn't whispered punishment in closed rooms.
This was public justice—
Raw, visible, and iron-willed.
Many among the commoners cheered.
"Our King is not afraid to go after the corrupt!"
"Finally! Someone who treats all crimes the same—noble or not!"
Among the nobility, however, fear and resentment grew.
Some whispered about King Ben's methods, calling them too harsh.
Others began re-evaluating their own skeletons, quietly trying to sever ties to anything illegal.
Royal Castle...
Inside the war room of the Royal Castle,
Harry stood beside a large magical map that showed glowing red dots over areas still under sweep.
"Your Majesty,"
He reported to Ben, who was now reviewing a ledger,
"All three noble families and ten merchant clans have been taken into custody. Grimoires have been recovered. The public reaction is… overwhelmingly in your favour."
Ben, his newly cut mullet catching the candlelight, remained calm.
"Good. Begin preparations for their public trials. Let everyone see what happens when greed threatens our magic and our people."
He stood, eyes reflecting firm resolve.
"If they want to rot in their arrogance, I'll be the flood that washes them away."
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(Author's POV)
(A/N)Thanks for reading the chapter!
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