As the city bathed in the first light of day, the silhouette of the capital stretched before Ilterish like a golden painting. But at that very moment… a blinding beam of light tore through the sky in the distance.
Moments later, a deafening explosion echoed. A rumble from deep within the ground slammed against the walls and shook the window. Ilterish's eyes instantly shifted to the right wing of the palace. Something was happening on the side where the main royal family resided. Smoke rising into the sky mingled with sparks of fire and clouds of stone dust, choking the air.
Just then, the door burst open. A soldier stormed in, drenched in sweat and fear, his breath ragged and uneven.
" Vizier Ilterish!... Vizier Ilterish!" he shouted.
Ilterish spun around swiftly, his voice firm and commanding.
"Calm down! Speak—what happened?!"
The soldier took a few seconds to gather himself, then spoke with eyes still wide in terror.
"We're under attack, sir… The right wing of the palace was struck!"
Ilterish's expression immediately hardened. Without hesitation, he moved toward the table. He grabbed his ornate sword and fastened it to his belt without unsheathing it. His eyes remained cool, but a storm was brewing in their depths.
"Take me to the site of the blast. Now!" he ordered.
The soldier nodded, stepped back, and opened the door to lead the way. Ilterish gathered the ends of his long robe and strode out with purpose. The halls began to echo with sound. The heart of the palace now pulsed with the beat of war.
The soldier led the way, Ilterish following close behind, his steps heavy and deliberate. The echoes of distant blasts and running feet reverberated through the stone halls. Suddenly, the soldier began to slow down.
Ilterish's brow furrowed slightly. Before he could grow suspicious, the soldier abruptly turned. A dark, ominous grin spread across his face. In that instant, he drew his sword and swung it at Ilterish without a word. The sharp blade sliced through the air, but Ilterish dodged just in time—the strike missed, leaving only a thin red cut across his cheek.
The soldier's eyes gleamed—not with reason, but with a rabid fanaticism. He gritted his teeth, and poison-laced words spilled from his mouth.
"So you've been investigating us, old man... Astermo sends his regards."
Ilterish's eyes widened. A moment of shock—followed by an eruption of fury. Blood rushed to his face; his cheeks flushed crimson. His right hand flew to his sword. With one powerful motion, he unsheathed the blade and hurled it at the soldier. The sword hissed like a serpent, but the attacker dodged at the last second. The blade embedded itself in the stone floor.
But Ilterish was already moving.
In the blink of an eye, he was upon the soldier. With one hand, he grabbed the attacker's helmeted head. His fingers slipped beneath the helm and clutched it tightly. He hurled him straight at the stone wall.
BOOM!
The wall trembled. When the helmet struck the stone, a burst of sparks erupted. Ilterish seized the man's head again, this time dragging it along the wall. With each step he took, the soldier's helmet scraped against the stone, throwing more sparks and leaving scorched trails on the surface. The sparks lit the corridor, while the soldier's screams echoed through the walls. Ilterish remained silent. His rage spoke for him—wordless, brutal, and bone-crushing with every step.
Ilterish turned toward the sword embedded in the ground. With one clean motion, he pulled it free. The weight of cold metal settled into his hand and with it, a decision. Without hesitation, he turned back and stood over the groaning man. His eyes held no mercy. Only the coldest, most merciless form of justice remained. He raised the sword high over his head… and brought it down in a single, clean stroke.
Shlak.
The soldier's head separated from his body. The corpse collapsed like a sack, and blood began to pool into a thin line across the stone floor. Ilterish flicked the blood from his blade, his expression unreadable. He muttered to himself:
"Most likely one of the lower-ranked disciples... No need to use the stone's power."
Then Ilterish quickened his pace. He passed through the corridors, reached the great doors, and stepped outside.
As he entered the courtyard, he found himself in the very heart of chaos.
The right side of the palace—the section belonging to the royal family—was engulfed in heavy combat. In front of the stone steps, two groups had clashed. Arrows flew through the air, swords gleamed, and screams rose toward the sky.
When Ilterish fixed his gaze on the battle… he saw a man in the sky.
The man was floating. Suspended a few meters above the ground, his body shimmered with a faint glow of light. But what stood out the most was his forehead. An orange light burned there like a flame.
Ilterish's eyes widened for a moment. His brow furrowed, and his voice burst out from deep within: "There…"