The alarm of the White Tower had just sounded, plunging the royal capital into chaos.At the top of the jade steps within the royal hall, King Aerlant of the Humans stood clad in battle armor, his gaze sharp as a blade.
Below, hundreds of soldiers stood at attention, awaiting his command.
The human wizard Garios and the human high priest Heram followed closely behind, reporting in hushed voices the events of the previous day.
"Your Majesty," Garios said solemnly, "the White Tower was breached. A page of the Archaic Mournscript has been stolen. The first to discover this was the tower's archivist, but it was already too late. The sigils guarding the tower weren't forcefully broken—the perpetrator must be an expert."
"This cannot be taken lightly," Heram added. "The Archaic Mournscript can awaken long-forbidden arts. Should it fall into wicked hands, the consequences would be catastrophic."
King Aerlant's eyes glinted with a hint of murderous intent.
"And then there's the massacre at the border village... How do you expect me to pacify the people?"His voice wasn't loud, yet it echoed through the hall. "I don't see the culprit, but I can smell conspiracy."
Garios furrowed his brow. "Shall we send spies to the Akkan borderlands?"
"Too slow," Aerlant swept his gaze across the hall. "I will act myself."
He ascended the throne slowly, cold and resolute. "From this day forth, royal authority takes the field. I will investigate everyone involved. If the Akkans truly had a hand in this… they will pay."
Heram spoke softly, "But, Your Majesty, the Akkans have already sent agents to probe near the capital. If you move recklessly now, it may spark a border conflict."
"If peace is to be kept, truth must be revealed. And if there is intent to kill—I will strike first."With that, King Aerlant turned and strode out, cloak billowing.
Meanwhile, in the Akkan Sacred Domain: Duskrend Crag.
Akkan King Turansol stood before the ancient stone altar, receiving the latest intelligence from the divine marksman Velox.He remained silent for a long time before gritting his teeth. "The Archaic Mournscript... it's truly been stolen."
The Akkan Shadowblade, Mikara, knelt silently. "My king, shall I move?"
"This is not a time of war. Deploying troops would be unwise," Turansol frowned. "But… you may go alone. Investigate the truth."
Mikara nodded. "I will not fail you."
"Go to the human White Tower, then move toward the southern village... I want to know what truly happened that night."
Turansol placed his fingertip on Mikara's forehead, chanting softly. A black shadow surged into her back."Use all your powers. If necessary—spare no cost."
With a leap, Mikara vanished into the night's embrace.
Inside the White Tower.
Night wind slipped through the cracks of the window. A wisp of shadow silently appeared.Like a ghost, Mikara crept through the ancient stone corridors, step by step approaching the core archive.
Her fingers slid through the air, unlocking the sealed sigils. She absorbed a lingering wisp of residual mana into her palm.
"...Someone used spatial folding. But not with Akkan techniques."Her brow furrowed as she looked toward the center, at a fractured stone pedestal.
It once held a page of the Archaic Mournscript—now gone. Only scorched, broken runes remained etched into the stone.
"Too late."
In a flash, she darted from the tower.
In the nearby woods, King Aerlant arrived astride a draconic steed.
Mikara froze amid the branches, eyes narrowing."The king himself…?"
She immediately suppressed her aura, blending into the surrounding energy. Her body merged with the tree's shadow, breath held still.
King Aerlant dismounted, entering the tower with Garios and Heram. He surveyed the surroundings, frowning."The warding spells have been tampered with."
Garios nodded at once. "Yes, sire. We believe a warlock is responsible."
"No lingering traces?"
Heram spoke quietly, "A faint remnant of foreign shadow energy… origin unknown."
Aerlant slowly ran his fingers across the page's pedestal, his gaze deep and grim."If someone is wielding the Archaic Mournscript… we must act before they do."
Mikara, hidden within the trees, listened in shock. She memorized every word.Only after the royal group left did she leap down, vanishing into the forest.
Inside the White Tower.
A cold night wind slipped through cracks in the windows as a dark silhouette appeared. Mikara moved like a ghost along the ancient stone pathway, inching closer to the central archive. Her fingertips brushed the air as she activated the sealing ward, drawing a wisp of residual mana into her palm.
"…Someone has indeed used spatial folding… but it's not our people's technique." She frowned, her gaze fixed on the broken stone pedestal at the center.
It once held a fragment of the Archaic Mournscript—now empty, scarred with shattered runes burned into the surface.
"Too late."
Her form vanished in an instant as she fled the tower.
Not far away, King Aerlant of the Humans galloped toward the tower atop his draconic steed.
Mikara froze in the treetops, her eyes narrowing."The king himself…?"
She immediately suppressed her presence, melding with the aura around her. She blended seamlessly into the shadows, holding her breath.
King Aerlant dismounted and entered the tower with Garios and Heram. His sharp gaze swept the interior and his brow tightened."These wards have been tampered with."
Garios nodded at once. "Yes, Your Majesty. I've inspected them—these are the gestures of a warlock."
"No traces left behind?"
Heram replied in a low voice: "There's a trace of foreign shadow energy… but its source is unknown."
Aerlant ran his fingertips over the empty pedestal, his eyes deep with resolve."If someone is using the Archaic Mournscript… we must move before them."
Hidden in the trees, Mikara's heart pounded. She memorized every word silently. Once the royal party departed, she slipped from the branches and melted back into the forest.
Later that night, in a royal crypt beneath the city.
King Aerlant sat at a council of black stone, flanked by the White Tower's chief archivist and two advisors.
"What kind of power does the Mournscript truly awaken?" he asked softly.
The archivist replied in a hushed tone:"It is not a spell. It is a 'resonance'—the ancient text chooses its master. Whose will is strongest, that one can awaken it."
"A formidable will indeed in the thief," Aerlant sighed. "God willing, it's not the Akkans."
Garios spoke calmly:"But all clues point toward them."
"If it is them… I shall recover it personally."
At the Akkan King's chamber.
Mikara knelt and reported: "My King, the tower's wards remain intact. This was an inside job of arcane origin. The human king visiting confirms their grave concern."
King Turansol nodded slowly, anger flickering in his eyes."The human gaze… is inevitably upon us."
Velox stepped forward:"Should we prepare our forces?"
Turansol turned his gaze southward and spoke gravely:"Notify Hebrion—every border guard must increase patrols.We may not have ignited this flame, but if they choose war, we will not step back."
Deep in the northern wasteland at midnight.
A cloaked assassin handed a bundle of blood-stained sheepskin to a hooded stranger.
"This is the Mournscript you wanted."
The stranger leafed through it slowly, his eyes glittering with fanaticism:"So… this is the key to awaken the Old Master?"
"I don't care what you'll do with it, but remember—my help is your debt." The assassin's voice was icy.
The stranger chuckled quietly:"Don't worry. Our goals align—we will tear their fragile peace apart."
The next dawn in the royal capital.
Pale sunlight crept across the stone walls. Mist still lingered as A King's figure moved in the White Tower's hallowed halls. King Aerlant, brow creased, led Garios and Heram in a renewed search. The days of turmoil and death had sharpened his resolve rather than broken him.
"Garios," the King's voice rumbled. "After last night, do you still insist it was the Akkans?"
"Your Majesty, I—"The wizard Garios hesitated, fingertips trembling."We found traces at both the village ruins and the tower… they do not match Akkans' weapon wounds."
"What do you mean?" Heram exclaimed.
Garios answered quietly, "Those slash marks—they were not caused by a heavy sword. They're finer, more precise, even curved… like a dagger."
The King halted in front of the empty pedestal in the theft room. He spoke softly:"Akkan Shadowblades excel in assassination and infiltration, but their weapons don't leave such precise, metallic incision."
Garios nodded. "Indeed, sire. Akkan weapons are bio-forged—such crisp metal cuts are not their style."
"...Continue the search."
Atop the spire again:
High on the White Tower's pinnacle, Mikara crouched like still water entwined with the stone. Her ebony skin blended into the tower as dawn light approached. Her red-and-blue eyes watched the departing royal party below.
"The human king… has left." she whispered. In a flash, she vanished into the shadowed wall.
Silently she returned to the inner sanctum of the theft room. Relying on her cloak-like camouflage, she pressed against the stone and moved like a snake, drifting down into the archive.
She found:
Shallow, fine slashes—cleanly cut.
She knelt and examined a shard of broken stone, discovering bloodstains and tiny metallic particles clinging to it.
"Human-standard dagger residue." Mikara's eyes flashed.
She slipped into an ancient tunnel—an original secret passage of the tower's earliest builders. Its destination: the underground repository rumored to contain the rest of the Mournscript.
At the tunnel's end, a battered iron door stood tampered with.
"They were here."
Inside lay toppled scroll shelves, charred remains of books, and a shattered stone tablet from which a diagrammatic glyph symbol had been ripped out—dust and fragments the only proof.
"Someone arrived before us… humans."
Mikara extracted a small silver badge—this was the insignia of the capital's royal Shadowblades.
She realized the truth: the theft was not by the Akkans—it was an inside job.
Meanwhile, King Aerlant led his troops to the southern border village—recently massacred.
Three soldier corpses hung from a crosspost at the village's entrance, marked with unfamiliar totems.
"Not Akkan symbols." Heram exclaimed.
Garios whispered:"These marks… belong to the Shadow Requiem cult from the old age—suppressed long ago."
"They still live." Aerlant's eyes blazed. "Or someone carries on their legacy."
He bent to caress a dead child's cheek. His fist clenched."Who… is trying to ignite this chaos?"
Their search continued among the ruins, and they discovered an extremely hidden spatial seal at the bottom of a covered well.
"This is one of the secret warding spells stolen from the Tower." Garios' face turned pale. "This proves… the fragment was carried out during this time."
Days later, Mikara returned to Duskrend Crag to report to King Turansol.
He reviewed the silver badge and metallic powder in silence, then sighed:"It was their own doing… they turned on themselves."
Mikara spoke steadily:"My King. What is our response?"
Turansol turned his back, gazing toward the Blackflame Wastes:"We will not strike first. Let them suspect one another."
"But if it escalates… humans will blame us."
"If war becomes inevitable… we will not shy from it."
Final scene:
Night snow drifted across a mountain valley.
A lone figure in white walked into a ruined temple, delivering the stolen Mournscript fragment to a stranger bathed in firelight.
The stranger accepted it—on his palm, a dark crimson seal glowed—and his eyes burned with twisted power.
He unfurled the page, greed gleaming in his gaze.
"This is the forbidden script to destroy gods… the Archaic Mournscript."
"Next… we'll force king against king, and rend this land apart."
Flames roared in the night.