After deciding to journey to the Ashari Desert, Kai didn’t waste any time.

The moment Ansel sent him the information he needed, Kai devoured every scrap of it about the Duneborn tribes and the desert’s shifting politics. What he uncovered wasn’t encouraging. The desert wasn’t just vast—it was fractured. Tribal skirmishes, ancient grudges, and alliances tied more by survival than loyalty meant that even approaching the tower might demand more than strength. If Valkyrie’s tower was located anywhere near orc territory, as the maps hinted, then conflict was almost inevitable. And Kai didn’t even know if showing up was enough to claim the inheritance—or if the Magus had left behind trials or guardians to test a successor’s worth.

And with all that, time wasn’t a luxury he could waste.

The Assembly of Judgment was also looming—barely a month and a half away. He needed to be in the capital ahead of schedule. With his recent support of Duke Blackwood, many nobles who had remained neutral were finally leaning toward his faction. A few were openly supporting him. But support could be fickle unless reinforced by familiarity. They would want to speak with him, weigh him up, see if he was a man worth placing their future behind. Skipping out on that would be political suicide.

He had to manage both the desert and the capital. But traveling to the Ashari Desert, returning to Veralt, and then making the long journey to the capital afterward? That was out of the question.

It was too slow and it could create unnecessary risks.

Which was why, just two days later, Kai called a meeting to finalize everything. Logistics. Delegations. Fallback plans.

Not just Ansel and Killian, but Francis as well—recalled from Veyrin on special summons. The old man’s mastery over politics and networking would be essential.

With Veyrin being in the same region, it hadn’t taken long for Francis to return to Veralt. He didn’t even stop by his home. Instead, he walked straight into the meeting room, dropped his cloak into a servant’s hands, and requested the meeting be started without delay.

Now, Kai sat at the head of the chamber’s oval table, flanked by three of the most capable people in his circle: Killian, Ansel, and Francis, who had dyed his hair completely black since the last time they met—no longer the streaked white.

He gave it a second glance and decided to move on.

“I’ve made a decision,” Kai said, making eye contact with every single person in the room and pointing to the map that was laid in front of them. “I’m going to the Ashari Desert. I sent you a briefing on why I need to go there. My mother’s inheritance is buried in a tower there.”

The words barely finished leaving his mouth before Killian’s brow creased. Ansel stopped mid-fidget. But it was Francis who leaned back first, folding his arms with a sigh sharp enough to cut through the tension.

“My lord,” he said and cleared his throat. “You’ve just returned from the plague lands. You’ve barely had time to breathe, and from what Killian’s told me, you also plan to purify Vanderfall and lay its foundations again.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“On top of that, the Assembly is approaching fast. Do you really plan to dive into the desert now and fight the Duneborns that ruled there. It will stir up sandstorms on foreign soil.”

Kai remained silent, letting the concern weigh in the room.

Francis exhaled. “It could easily become a political disaster.”

Ansel spoke up, frowning. “How so? The desert isn’t part of any kingdom. Surely it falls outside the purview of the crown.”

“That’s exactly the issue,” Francis replied. “The Ashari Desert is its own volatile soup. It’s not lawless, but it’s not bound by any crown either. You have major factions—old bloodlines, tribal alliances, and the orc clans. If Lord Arzan, a Count of Lancephil, walks in wielding power and starts liberating tribes or taking a stand…”

He let the words hang for a beat before finishing quietly, “…he becomes a foreign actor. And if the orcs see him as a threat, they won’t forget it. You might make enemies that won’t wait for you in the desert—they’ll come for us in Lancephil instead.”

Kai remained still, watching the flicker of unease in Ansel’s eyes and the grim set of Killian’s jaw.

Francis turned toward him fully now, no longer speaking as an advisor, but as a man who had been in more political battles than most nobles dared whisper about.

“And politics aside,” Francis added, “A Mage taking on orc clans in a mana-bane region is suicide. You’ll be weakened, and they won’t fight fair. You know that as well as I do. They are no better than beasts.”

There was no anger in his voice. Just worry. A loyal man warned his lord of a storm too big to weather without consequences. But Kai’s expression didn’t change. Because he already knew all that.

Killian nodded, arms crossed over his chest. “We also need to prepare for the Assembly. You know that as well as I do.”

His voice was quieter than usual, but it carried the weight of shared responsibility. Kai didn’t reply immediately—because he didn’t need to. Ansel’s face said enough. He looked like he got punched in the face. For an instant, his mood shifted, shoulders sagged and he gave a single glance at Kai.

Truthfully, they weren’t all wrong. But Kai knew the stakes better than anyone else in the room.

“What you say makes sense,” he locked eyes with Francis, “but you need to understand—this is equally as important as the Assembly. Maybe even more.”

He paused for a beat, letting their attention settle fully on him.

“I need the medallion. King Sullivan told me to bring it and I suspect it’s among the inheritance.”

That landed like a hammer. Both Killian and Francis straightened in their seats, surprise flashing in their eyes.

Kai hadn’t told them that part before. They only knew that King Sullivan had sent him a letter. He had his reasons, but now wasn’t the time to keep secrets.

Francis was the first to find his voice. “But… we don’t even know if it’s there.”

“We all know it’s not in Veralt. Or Veyrin. I even checked Valkyrie’s grave.” His voice tightened at that, but he pushed through. “The inheritance makes the most sense. If the medallion piece is anywhere, it’s there. And even if it isn’t, I need that tower before the Duneborns find a way to reach the upper floors. Maybe they already have.”

He saw the tension shift again in their expressions—Francis looking away, brows drawn; Killian tapping his fingers against his leg.

“This inheritance,” Kai continued, “isn’t just a power boost. It could be something vital. Something that changes the balance. And we need every advantage we can get if we’re going to stand against Maleficia.”

His voice dropped, low and grim.

“Do you really think Queen Regina won’t send anything else after us?”

Silence stretched. Neither of them responded.

Because they couldn’t.

Kai watched them quietly, noting how both men’s eyes darkened with thought. He could tell they were already weighing everything—rethinking their protests, assessing risks against necessity. And truthfully, he figured they both had known from the start that he was going to go.

They hadn’t stopped him from walking into Sylvastra. Not when he fought in the plague lands. Not when he risked everything to go against the Archine Tower.

But they had to say their piece. Offer their advice. That was the role of a subject—loyal, measured, necessary. And as a lord, it was Kai’s duty to hear them out. He had, and he respected every word of it.

But some paths couldn’t be avoided just because they were dangerous or would cause more problems in the future.

Francis exhaled slowly, then leaned forward again. “Even then… what if we make enemies of the Duneborn?”

“They’re already our enemies,” Ansel muttered, his tone flat. “The Duneborn have been at odds with humans for centuries. Their alliances are born out of convenience and desperation, not peace.”

Kai looked at him and nodded slightly. “He’s not wrong.”

He turned his gaze to the map on the table, fingers brushing the corner of the Ashari region as his voice lowered.

“Everything I know of the orcs supports that. They’re a bloodthirsty society. And if you don’t already know—” he looked up “—they find human meat particularly tasty.”

That earned a grimace from Francis and a disgusted frown from Killian.

Kai wasn’t just repeating what Ansel had said. This wasn’t any lie—it was his history. One he was trying not to repeat.

What he knew came from fragments of the First Golden Era. He’d read it in a grimoire salvaged from a ruin. Back then, the Duneborn orcs had attacked a flourishing human kingdom. They hadn’t just slaughtered the population—they had consumed them. Not in metaphor, but in reality. Records had claimed they said human flesh was “delicate, rich, and addictive.”

Now that he thought about it, perhaps that horrifying conquest hasn’t just came due to the orc’s savagery and human’s negligence. It might’ve been because they had gained access to a piece of the same inheritance he was chasing now—tapping into its latent power. With it, even their limited numbers could destroy kingdoms.

It was a solid theory. Terrifying, but logical. His thoughts were cut off by Killian’s voice, quiet but firm.

“They’re strong, Lord Arzan. Even with your spells… you won’t be at full strength in that region. You know that desert holds very thin mana.”

Kai looked up and nodded. “I know. But I’m not going alone. I’ll bring a party with me. Trusted people. Fighters who can handle themselves. And I’ve worked in places where mana was nearly nonexistent. I’ll manage.”

There was a beat of understanding.

Killian and Francis exchanged a look, and both seemed to understand what Kai was really saying. Mana-bane zones were nothing new to him. And unlike most Mages, Kai didn’t panic when there wasn’t much mana to use—he adapted.

From there, the conversation shifted.

Francis and Killian fell into the rhythm of discussing the logistics. For the next few hours, strategy, contingencies, maps, marked borders were discussed. By the end of it, they’d planned most things.

Francis kept pressing Ansel, trying to pry a guarantee that the tribes would support Kai’s mission.

“They respect strength,” Ansel explained. “If Lord Arzan proves he isn’t there to conquer or exploit, some of them may rally behind him. Especially the ones who’ve suffered under orc rule.”

But that wasn’t enough for Francis. “I need more than maybes. I want to know which tribe leaders we can lean on—names, reputations, family ties. Who can sway others.”

Meanwhile, Killian’s focus was sharper.

“Forget the tribes,” he said. “What about the Duneborns? What weapons do they have? Are we talking bloodsteel axes or enchanted relics pulled from the tower? Because if they’ve already accessed the upper floors, they might be armed with extremely strong artifacts.”

That drew a cold silence. Even Ansel didn’t have an answer to that. The desert was a gamble—one that could burn them all. But Kai had already rolled the dice.

Unfortunately, most of Ansel’s knowledge was outdated by years.

Moreover, the Ashari Desert had always been fluid—alliances shifted like dunes in the wind, and what was true three years ago could be wildly inaccurate now. Still, it gave them a framework, a rough estimation of the power structures, danger zones, and tribal dynamics they might face.

By the time the candles had burned low and the air had grown thick with strategy and speculation, only one major question remained.

“How are you going to make it back in time for the Assembly?” Killian asked.

That earned every pair of eye on him. He leaned back in his chair and tilted his head sideways, thinking of the plan that he’d formed in his mind.

“I think I’ll go straight to the capital from the desert.”

Francis’s bushy eyebrows frowned. “There’s no direct route. Not unless you want to ride your horse into death itself.”

“I won’t need a road. I’ll fly.”

Both men went quiet.

“My entourage can return to Veralt on their own,” he continued. “But I’ll break off once the inheritance is dealt with and head to the capital alone. If I’m in the sky, paths don’t matter.”

Killian raised a brow. “That’s assuming there aren’t any complications.”

Kai smiled faintly. “There won’t be. I know it’s a dangerous place, but if I can win the tribes over, the Duneborns won’t be an issue.” He turned to Ansel. “And with you here, I’m confident we can make that happen.”

Ansel straightened, eyes clear. “You can leave it to me, Lord Arzan. I’ll make sure the tribes understand who you are and what you’re here for.”

Francis sighed, pushing back from the table slightly. “Then it’s settled. But if you’re heading straight to the Assembly from the desert, we’ll need a separate group waiting for you in the capital—prepped and ready.”

“I was thinking you could lead it.”

Francis blinked. “What about Veralt? Veyrin? The other cities?”

“Let your apprentices handle it,” Kai said simply. “We’ve trained enough capable people by now. It’s time we start trusting them. Both you and Killian should come with me to the capital.”

He paused, his voice dropping in tone.

“The Assembly will bring together nobles from every corner of the kingdom. There’ll be alliances, power plays, subtle traps. I’ll need both of you beside me. Not just as my advisors—but as the shields who’ve stood with me since the beginning.”

Silence stretched for a long moment.

Then, almost at the same time, both Killian and Francis nodded, but Kai could still see the hesitation behind their eyes.

They had built up these territories with him. Watched over Veralt, Verdis and other places like guardians, nurtured them like caretakers of a fragile future. Leaving them behind, even temporarily, was no small thing. It was like asking a parent to walk away from a child just starting to grow.

But duty pulled elsewhere now.

As the discussion shifted back toward the Assembly, Kai finally asked the question that had been pressing at the back of his mind since this meeting began.

“How many nobles have agreed to vote for me?”

Francis reached into his pockets and retrieved a bundle of notes, folded neatly, sealed with familiar crests. “I’ve gathered reports from Princess Amara, Duke Blackwood… and even Malden.”

Kai blinked. “Malden helped?”

Francis chuckled, handing over the parchment. “Surprising, I know, Lord Arzan. But yes. According to his letters, he’s convinced the nobles he’s been working with to look at you favorably. His words, not mine. With the three nobles he personally brought into your camp, we now have around twenty-two confirmed votes.”

Kai raised a brow.

It was a solid start, especially considering how a few years back, he had no reputation, but it wasn’t enough. From what he remembered, Lancephil had over a hundred nobles—most of them minor lords, barons or viscounts, ruling over little more than a few villages. Still, their votes counted just as much when it came to the Assembly.

Francis noticed his expression and offered reassurance.

“These are just the ones who’ve formally agreed. We’re still in talks with around forty others.”

“Forty?”

“A lot of them are cautious. They don’t want to abandon their current factions—at least, not until they’ve met you. They’ve heard of you, yes. But hearsay doesn’t win hearts.”

Kai nodded. “Then those are the ones I need to speak to once I reach the capital. Before the Assembly begins.”

“Exactly,” Francis said.

Kai smiled faintly. “I’ll try to finish things in the desert quickly then. The Duneborns may be dangerous, but I’ll deal with them. Once I’ve secured the inheritance, I’ll head straight to the capital. You can arrange the halls, the banquets, the secret meetings—whatever we need to pull the rest over.”

Both Francis and Killian nodded firmly now, the earlier doubt starting to shift into focus and resolve.

Kai looked at Ansel, and noticed how the man looked to be in much ease. And just then, Killian raised a question.

“Who are you bringing to the desert, Lord Arzan?”

Kai didn’t answer immediately. A knowing look crossed his face as he glanced toward the flickering candlelight.

“I have a few names in mind.”

Kai leaned back in his chair, arms crossing loosely as he considered Killian’s question.

“I’m thinking of taking Gareth and Feroy with me,” he said. “They’re the strongest Enforcers we have other than you, and they’ve both handled field command before. I’ll need people who can act independently if things go south.”

Killian nodded slowly, expression thoughtful.

“I’ll also bring a few of the new Enforcers—the ones who’ve shown promise. If the trip goes as planned and we manage to aid the tribes, they’ll gain valuable experience. Plus, if we do establish ties, I want them to learn from the Sand Knights.”

“The desert’s version of the Enforcers,” Ansel murmured with a faint grin.

“And Claire,” Kai added, his voice lighter.

Francis raised an eyebrow. “Claire? Not a Mage?”

“No,” Kai replied, “Mages won’t work as well there and her power comes from her spirit companion. Spirits aren’t affected by mana reduction the way Mages are. Her abilities should remain intact, even in the worst parts of the desert.”

Francis shook his head. “Still, not bringing a proper Mage? That’s unusual for you.”

“Mages don’t work well in Ashari,” Ansel said simply. “Mana currents are too thin. Spells won’t get enough power. There’s a reason we have Sand Knights being the topmost power there.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m choosing based on adaptability, not raw power.”

He paused for a moment, eyes drifting slightly as his thoughts churned.

“There is one more person I want to bring,” he added. “But I’m not sure if it’s the right call.”

Killian leaned forward slightly. “Who?”

Kai’s lips curved into a small, unreadable smile.

“Just someone I’ve… neglected recently,” he said. “You’ll see tomorrow when we leave.”

Killian and Francis exchanged a glance but didn’t press.

They knew better by now. And that put Kai’s mind at ease.

***

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