Kai felt a long conversation was about to take place and he excused himself from the mana ball game. A brief nod to a Second-Circle Mage was enough to hand over the supervision of the children.

Collectively, they made their way up the spiraling stairs of the Sorcerer’s Tower.

He entered his office at the top floor—a room that hadn’t seen much use since he rarely came here for long. Still, it remained a quiet and secure place, perfect for a conversation that had the possibility to change his goals of the near-future.

Ansel and Siton followed closely behind, the former desert-dweller completely silent until they were seated.

Kai leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and looked at Ansel. “What do you mean by your tribe’s extinction?”

Ansel’s expression tightened, his brows furrowing. “It’s a long story, Lord Arzan.”

“I’ve got time.”

Ansel sighed, rubbing his hands together. For a pregnant second, silence stretched. And Kai didn’t want to wait any longer.

“Well?”

“When I left home, it wasn’t for adventure. I’m sorry if I gave you a wrong impression at first. It wasn’t to see the world. It was because the future of my tribe—and all the tribes scattered across the Ashari desert—hung in the balance,” Ansel began. Kai saw the burdened look in his gaze.

“We used to rule the deserts,” he continued. “A collection of tribes who traded, governed, and protected the sands from outsiders. But it was never easy. Others always wanted control. Power.”

Kai’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Who? Another kingdom?”

Ansel shook his head. “No. The Duneborn. Orcs. They were fierce and… intelligent. But still as ruthless as wild beasts.”

He paused, as if replaying something in his mind.

“There were always skirmishes between them and us. I saw too many growing up. Blood on sand was nothing new. But ten years ago, something changed.”

Kai tilted his head. “Changed how?”

“They got stronger and faster, almost unnaturally,” Ansel said. “Artifacts began appearing among them—powerful ones. Magic we hadn’t seen in the desert before. And at the center of it all…”

He exhaled sharply, then met Kai’s gaze.

“A new Overlord rose among them. His name is Khorvash.” Ansel practically spat out the name.

“They say he was blessed by Belkhor, the orc god of blood and conquest. Their shamans called him chosen, and whatever dark rite he underwent… It worked. He united the orcs—every last duneborn—and within a month, twelve tribes were annihilated. Down to the newborns.”

Ansel’s voice grew quieter, but the weight of his words only deepened. A shadow crossed his face as though he was reliving those bloodstained days.

“I was just a boy when it happened, but I knew then,” he said bitterly, “we wouldn’t be able to withstand them. Not with how things were. We had Sand Knights—our pride. Warriors raised with the desert, for the desert. They stood on par with Second-Circle Mages, maybe more in their prime. But what they had in skill and discipline, the orcs overwhelmed in brute strength, madness and those trinkets. Those artifacts weren’t forged by anyone from our lands. They were mysterious and foreign.”

He shook his head slowly.

“I begged the elders of each tribe to seek help. From kingdoms. From Mage towers. But they refused. The Ashari Desert has always been proud, closed off. It was shaped to resist outsiders. A place of only the ones born in the sand with our unique cultures and a lot of them simply looked down upon foreigners.That same pride would be our end, I always felt that.”

Kai’s gaze sharpened. “But you knew they wouldn’t be enough. And so you left.”

Ansel nodded once, grimly. “Yes. I fled. Traveled far and wide. From border towns to great cities. I tried to meet powerful Mages, people with strength and position, someone who could help. But access to true power is not given freely. And the lesser ones didn’t care. No one wanted to march into the Ashari. It’s a mana-bane region, and to them, not worth the risk.”

He looked down at his hands, then back at Kai.

“And then… after years of wandering, I found myself here. I saw you. What you were doing. How fast you were growing. And I made my choice.”

That’s one way to put it. Kai thought but it also made him question certain things Ansel had said. Kai leaned back, thinking over his question but asked it anyway. “Did you join my service just to have me fight your war?”

Ansel cleared his throat. And for a moment, Kai could see the hesitation in his eyes. He nodded.

“I don’t want to lie, so I’ll tell you everything. That doesn’t mean I lied before, Lord Arzan, but to answer your question, yes. I saw potential, so I stuck by you. You were building something. Consolidating people, strength, knowledge. I thought if I worked hard enough, proved myself, maybe one day I could ask for a favour. Not out of pity. But as a man who had earned it.”

“But believe me, Lord Arzan,” Ansel added quietly, “I genuinely love everything about Veralt. No matter where I’m from, the people here have treated me with kindness. I’d still serve you—fight for you—even if you decide not to help the tribes. That’s not going to change.”

Kai studied him for a long moment.

He wasn’t lying. Kai had appointed him head of the Watchers for a reason. Ansel had proven himself in more than one battle—fearless, strategic, and loyal. He had bled for Veralt, nearly died defending its gates. A man willing to risk his life for a city not his own was a man Kai could trust.

But even as he nodded, his mind shifted. Not toward the tribes. But toward the orcs.

Artifacts… unnatural strength… from where?

The Ashari Desert was a mana-bane region. That alone made artifact crafting nearly impossible. Without ambient mana, the engraved seals would fail to draw power from the environment, rendering them inert. You could fit in Atheum to keep them going, but it wouldn’t work for long and he doubted orcs had discovered a mine. That meant those artifacts had been brought in or found.

Kai’s brow furrowed.

From what he knew, orcs didn’t use magic the way humans did. No conjuration. No elemental control. They absorbed mana, yes—but more like beasts than spellcasters. They used it to amplify their already monstrous physiques. More Enforcers than mages.

So how had they grown so quickly? How had Khorvash united them? How had he armed them? There was only one answer that made sense. They had found something.

His thoughts returned to the Valkyrie’s inheritance—the hidden tower buried in the desert, still untouched. If orcs were growing stronger and wielding artifacts, it couldn’t be a coincidence.

Still, he needed confirmation. Kai turned to Ansel.

“Those peaks on the map… the ones you have been on when we were discussing the tower—are they near the orc territory?”

Ansel gave a small nod. “A little south of it, yes. Far closer to the Duneborn lands than ours. The only reason my brother and I could climb those peaks back then was because we were escorted by a full squad of Sand Knights. Without them, we wouldn’t have dared to go there.”

Kai’s thoughts moved back to the map in his astral realm. His fingers tapped once, then stilled. If Khorvash had found even a fraction of what lay buried in that tower, then this wasn’t just about the tribes anymore.

It was about what came next.

Suddenly, Siton tilted his head. “Why were you being guarded by Sand Knights? I thought they are like Enforcers and very important.”

Ansel blinked, as if remembering something long forgotten. His brows lifted. “Ah… right. I never mentioned that, did I?” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “My father… he’s the chief of one of the desert tribes—of the Rahzet, to be specific. I’m his second son.”’

Siton’s eyes widened. “You’re royalty?”

Ansel snorted. “Hardly. But being the chief’s son meant I always had protection. Especially back then, when tensions were high. Orcs weren’t the only threat—some tribes held deep rivalries, and targeting a chief’s child wasn’t uncommon.”

Siton leaned back, clearly surprised.

Kai, however, showed no visible reaction. If anything, a glint of interest passed through his gaze.

So Ansel’s family holds weight in the desert. That… changed things. Not only did it make gaining access easier, but it gave Kai a valuable inroad if he ever intended to move troops or negotiate. Still, the headache forming at the edge of his mind refused to ease.

The orcs…

They were going to be a problem. A war was brewing—maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—but Kai could see the shape of it forming on the horizon.

If Khorvash and the Duneborns had somehow accessed Valkyrie’s tower, then everything inside—artifacts, tomes, enchanted crystals—had been looted. Claimed. Worse, used.

Mage inheritances were never simple caches. They were legacies—collections of unimaginable value. Magical weapons, ancient enchantments, sealed knowledge. Even one of them could turn a Mage’s fortune around. If the orcs had taken it all…

They had to be stopped.

No, Kai corrected himself. It all has to be taken back.

There was no other path forward. The confrontation with the Duneborns wasn’t optional anymore. It was fate. And yet, despite all that, he glanced back at Ansel—the man had been loyal, patient, never once pushing his request until now—and felt something settle inside his chest.

Even if there had been no tower, no stolen artifacts, no danger to the world…

He would have still helped.

For Ansel. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone personally and would have simply sent Enforcers, but he would have helped for sure.

The orcs being his target too was just a coincidence.

Kai looked at Ansel again, this time with sharper intent. “How many orcs do you think there are now?”

Ansel straightened, tapping a finger against the edge of the table. “Around a hundred. Maybe more. It’s been some time since I was last there, but Duneborns have a hard time expanding. Harsh land, limited food, bad fertility rates and they don’t trust each other enough to form large settlements until Khorvash. So… there won’t be many more.”

Kai nodded thoughtfully. “And their general strength?”

“Each of them are at the level of a Grade 2 or 3 beast. Worse if they have artifacts.” Ansel paused, then continued, “But not disciplined. Very reckless. Their strength is in packs. If we can isolate them, they fall.”

“What about the tribes? The Sand Knights?”

“Before I left, we had about thirty active Knights across the surviving tribes. Might be less now. Most of the young ones were being trained, but training takes years—especially in a place like Ashari.”

Kai leaned back, asking more questions—details about terrain, food and water, tribe locations, orc encampments. Ansel answered each one with careful words, occasionally glancing at Siton who silently listened and absorbed.

And when he felt like it was enough verbal information, he gave a small nod. “Make a full report. Everything you know. Put it in a file and get it to me. I want to study it before we move.”

Ansel’s face lit up with hope. “Then… you’ll truly help?”

“I need to reach those peaks. That means a journey through the Ashari Desert is already confirmed. And while I’m there…” His eyes sharpened. “I’ll make sure the orc tribes’ rule comes to an end.”

Siton perked up, nervousness evident in his eyes. “Is this going to be another expedition, like before?”

Kai shook his head. “No. A small group. Mostly Enforcers. Mages won’t be of much use there—mana’s too thin in the desert air. It’ll be a waste of resources.”

Both Ansel and Siton nodded in agreement. After a few more words and a discussion about routes, terrain familiarity, and the number of people they could bring, the conversation began to taper off. Ansel stood first, bowing with unusual solemnity before taking his leave. Siton followed soon after.

Kai remained in the office, alone.

He stared at the flickering light from the wall sconce, the shadows dancing on old books and scattered scrolls. A new adventure was beginning, whether he liked it or not.

The Ashari Desert isn’t part of Lancephil, he thought. It’s a world of its own—tribes, rivalries, and I doubt they like outsiders. Even with Ansel by my side, would they accept my help? Or see it as another power move?

He exhaled slowly, hoping he wouldn’t get bogged down in politics there.

But he knew this was also an opportunity. The Sand Knights, despite their primitive image, were essentially trained Enforcers—martial cultivators shaped by brutal land and inherited tradition. If he could study them and learn their techniques, it would benefit his own forces a lot. From what he knew, they might even have detailed information on Enforcer progression that was vital.

But that would come later. First, he needed to find the peaks. Map the route. Reach the tower.

And he doubted Khorvash—and whatever name the orc god was called—had claimed the inheritance fully. If it truly was soul-locked like he expected, then only someone with the Valkyrie’s soul imprint could access it.

That someone was him. That could only mean one thing—Khorvash had gotten into the lower levels of the tower.

He hadn’t claimed the core inheritance, Kai thought, but even the scraps must’ve held artifacts. Weapons. Reservoirs of stored mana. Enough to shift the balance of power in the desert. Enough to wipe out twelve tribes in a month.

And that was just the bottom of the tower. A flicker of possessiveness stirred in his chest. That wealth—those secrets—belonged to Valkyrie. And now, by fate, they belonged to him.

Arzan’s legacy. My legacy.

But among all that, there was one thing he hadn’t stopped thinking about—the medallion. He leaned back in his chair, gaze distant, thoughts racing. Is it there? Hidden at the heart of the tower? He could only hope. Because if it was…

Then this journey wasn’t just about aiding the tribes. It was the final piece he needed before the next chapter of his fate. Before the Assembly of Judgment.

***

Magus Veridia sat in silence, legs crossed, her back straight in the high-backed obsidian chair carved with the runes of her rank. The chamber was quiet except for the hum of the mana seals etched into the walls—wards to ensure privacy and protection.

Before her stood Mage Jasper. His face was blank, trained in court neutrality, but she noticed the subtle twitch in his fingers, the slightest tremble in his breath.

He was nervous.

As he should be. Not because of her—but because of who had sent him. Veridia let the silence stretch a moment longer, then finally spoke.

“What did she say?”

Jasper’s gaze dropped to the floor, as if hoping not to meet hers. “She… wants the Arzan problem ended, Magus Veridia. Before or during the Assembly.”

Veridia’s eyes narrowed.

“She’s ordered all the Mages loyal to you to contact their families, to begin pushing votes against him. And she has also instructed you to send more assassins.” His voice dropped lower. “To hunt him down.”

Veridia didn’t react outwardly. Her mana remained still, perfectly restrained, though the air in the room felt heavier.

“I assume,” she said softly, “you told her I’ve already lost several skilled operatives to this little crusade of hers?”

“I did,” Jasper said quickly, swallowing hard.

“And what did she say?”

He hesitated, then took a slow breath.

“She told me to remind you… that the seat you occupy right now exists only because she placed you in it. That none of this came from your own merit. And that if you fail to obey, she will strip you of everything.”

For a moment, the hum of mana in the room turned violent. Veridia’s power flared, not as an outburst—but as a warning. The marble beneath her chair groaned as the pressure intensified. Jasper flinched and took a step back.

Then, just as quickly, she reined it in. Her voice when it came out was cold.

“That’s a rather direct threat.”

Jasper nodded, the tension in his shoulders refusing to ease.

“Anything else?”

He hesitated again, then nodded. “Yes. If… all else fails, she wants you to challenge him.”

Veridia blinked. “A challenge?”

“A duel,” Jasper clarified. “A formal one. In broad daylight. In front of other nobles and Mages if possible. She said she’ll handle the excuse—frame it however she must—but she wants you to kill him. Publicly.”

A beat of silence passed. Then Veridia slowly rose from her seat, robes rustling like thunderclouds in a storm.

“A public duel… with Arzan Kellius,” she murmured. “She really must be losing her mind.”

Magus Veridia laughed.

It rang through the warded chamber, causing Mage Jasper to flinch, eyes flicking toward the door as if calculating whether he could survive a dash for it. She caught the look, and that only made her laugh harder.

“Oh, she’s gone brazen,” Veridia said, amusement crackling at the edges of her words. “Arzan must’ve given her more than just sleepless nights.”

Her eyes shimmered with something dangerous as they settled on Jasper again. “Did she mention anything else?”

He hesitated—just a beat too long. Then said quietly, “She said… not to be like Maelis.”

The name hit like a shard of ice down her spine.

Veridia closed her eyes, her breath stilling. A frown slowly curved across her face. “You may go,” she said softly.

Jasper didn’t wait. He bowed, turned, and vanished through the door like a man chased by ghosts.

Alone now, Veridia tilted her head back, eyes rising to the ornate ceiling of her private sanctum.

“Maelis…” she murmured.

Another pawn crushed under Regina’s heel.

A Mage who had studied alongside her. He was both talented and obedient, until the day he wasn’t. The story had been simple—found dead in his bed by a maid while vacationing at his country manor. Heart failure, they’d said.

But she remembered how quietly his name had vanished. How fast the reports were sealed. All because he had refused to do what he was told.

Veridia chuckled again, softer this time. Not out of amusement, but something darker. Bitterness, maybe. Or inevitability.

She looked down at her own hands. So powerful. Yet now they felt… shackled. Not in flesh—but in purpose.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she flexed her fingers. Is it time to break them?

The question echoed in her mind. How?

She didn’t have the answer yet. But she did have new orders. And with them, an excuse to not think about her situation. A public duel.

“A duel, huh…” she whispered.

Her thoughts wandered—back to the Adept ranked Mage who had once stood before her during the interrogation. Young. Focused. Uncaring about stronger power.

Arzan Kellius.

Since then, she had heard too much.

Rumors. Achievements. A beast wave repelled. A title granted. A city rebuilt and some taken from the hands of his own kin.

How strong had he become? she wondered. Strong enough to take me on? No. Not yet.

Too little time had passed.

But still… she turned to the side table, reaching for the familiar folder—the one containing the exam papers he had filled out that day. Spell theory, structure, combat rationale. Clean handwriting. Innovative tactics. Unconventional, but efficient.

She traced her fingers along the top sheet. And felt it. That flicker.

That emotion she hadn’t tasted in a long time.

Excitement.

A grin split across her face.

***

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