[POV Liselotte]

The rhythmic sound of chalk striking the black stone board was the only thing filling the advanced magical theory classroom. It was an unusually cold morning, even by Whirikal’s standards, and the students’ breath rose in small white clouds that dissolved beneath the high wooden beams of the ceiling. I sat in the last row, positioned so I could observe both the professor and the door and windows. My chin rested against my palm, eyes fixed on a complex diagram about mana core stabilization—but my mind was miles away.

For days, I had been turning over fragments from the archmage’s journals I had secretly consulted. Half-truths and shadows within this world’s official history were beginning to form a disturbing picture in my mind. Leah, seated beside me, took notes with mechanical elegance. Her long, slender fingers guided the quill with precision that concealed the tension I knew she felt. Her posture was too rigid; her shoulders—usually relaxed when we were alone—were raised slightly, as if she expected a blow from any direction.

Suddenly, the academic calm shattered.

The heavy oak classroom door burst open with a violent slam, crashing against the stone wall and making several students drop their quills. A royal guard stumbled inside. He was not a pristine palace guard; his steel armor was dented, coated with fine red road dust and splattered with dried mud. His face, lined with exhaustion, was pale beneath the grime.

He did not ask the professor’s permission. He did not even bow.

His feverish gaze swept the room until it locked onto the unmistakable golden hair of the princess.

“Princess Leah! Prince Elliot requests your immediate presence in the Grand Council Hall. This is an emergency convocation of the regency command,” the soldier announced. His voice was hoarse, trembling with a vibration that made the air in the room suddenly feel heavy.

Leah stood instantly. The scrape of her chair against the floor cut through the silence like a scream. She snapped her notebook shut—a gesture that severed her link to the normalcy of class.

“Lotte, Chloé, come with me. Now,” Leah ordered. Her voice did not tremble, but her flame-colored eyes found mine with a silent plea.

I gathered my belongings quickly, adjusting the strap of my gear as we exited under the stunned gazes of our classmates.

In the academy’s main corridor, we nearly collided with the group of Heroes returning from their morning session, new weapons slung over their shoulders. Mizuki stopped short as we swept past like a gust of wind, followed by the exhausted soldier. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second. I saw confusion, fear, and that constant shadow of melancholy that clung to her. She opened her mouth—perhaps to ask what new tragedy loomed over Whirikal—but our urgency left no space. She watched us disappear through the exit archway, and I knew that silence would plant fresh doubts among the Terra group.

The journey to the castle blurred into cobblestone streets and anxious civilian faces. Whirikal had a particular instinct for danger; the air crackled with the static tension that precedes disaster.

When we crossed the threshold of the council chamber, the atmospheric pressure inside seemed to triple.

The hall was packed with people who usually avoided sharing the same room. Representatives of every high noble family—dukes and marquesses controlling the borderlands—were present. Their voices overlapped in a cacophony of shouting, accusations, and desperate gesturing.

Elliot, Leah’s older brother, presided at the long mahogany table. He looked gaunt. The dark circles beneath his eyes resembled bruises, and his right hand gripped the pommel of his sword without pause.

“Silence! I said silence!” Elliot roared, slamming his fist onto the table when he saw his sister enter. The crash silenced the nobles. “The regency session will begin now that the Princess is present. Captain, report on the northern route. Let everyone understand the magnitude of what we face.”

A supply guard captain stepped forward. He was known for his cold composure—but his hands trembled visibly as he held the sealed report.

“Three days ago, the supply convoy Aurora, tasked with transporting grain, arrow reinforcements, and magical oil for the siege engines, vanished en route between the capital and King William’s forward position,” the captain began, swallowing hard. “When a search detachment reached the edge of the Whispering Forest, they found no signs of a conventional enemy ambush. No demons. No ogre tracks. What they found was something far worse.”

A murmur of horror swept the hall.

“They found the convoy’s soldiers. But they were not dead. They were… transformed. When our scouts attempted contact, their own comrades charged at them with ferocity beyond logic. Their eyes were bloodshot—so red they seemed to glow. They felt no pain; one was impaled through the torso and continued fighting as if it were a scratch. They attacked men they had shared bread with the day before. After a brief and bloody skirmish, the attackers vanished into the forest mist. They appear and disappear erratically—like ghosts who know our patrol routes perfectly.”

Elliot rose, casting a long shadow over the strategic map spread across the table.

“Due to this hostile activity, the vital supply line to my father has been completely severed. If we do not restore the flow of food and equipment within forty-eight hours, King William’s army will be isolated in enemy territory—without resources to maintain the siege, and worse, without the ability to retreat safely. They will be trapped between demonic walls and a forest filled with their own maddened men.”

Panic erupted again.

“It’s an infection! Burn the entire forest!” shouted the Duke of Valerius. “If our men have become monsters, they are no longer our men! Send the heavy cavalry—leave no one alive!”

“You cannot be serious!” Leah snapped, indignation blazing in her voice. “They are soldiers of Whirikal! They swore loyalty to the crown! We cannot massacre them simply because they have fallen under a spell or sickness. There must be a way to save them.”

The debate spiraled into chaos. The nobles were on the verge of forcing Elliot to sign an extermination order to “cleanse” the route at any cost.

I remained silent beside Leah, analyzing every word. Red eyes. Vanishing in mist. Fratricidal attacks. I could not help but picture a warrior slaughtering his comrades beneath the whisper of a female voice. This was no coincidence—it was a demoralization tactic of absolute cruelty, crafted by the demonic side.

“Silence. All of you,” I said, stepping forward.

I did not use magic, but the authority of the Seal of the Eternal Guardian shining on my chest—granted by the King himself—drew every gaze.

“Elliot. Leah. Listen to me. Sending a massive army into that forest is exactly what the enemy wants. Heavy cavalry will only force more soldiers to watch their comrades die, shattering the capital’s morale. And a large unit is slow—easy to ambush in dense terrain.”

Elliot met my eyes, exhaustion and urgency warring within them. “Do you have another option, Lotte? Time is running out.”

“We don’t need a shock force. We need a small elite unit capable of infiltration—locate the source of this madness and neutralize the afflicted soldiers quickly,” I said firmly. “They don’t have to die to clear the path. A compact team skilled in close-quarters combat and restraint can subdue them before the madness forces more atrocities. We can recover the supplies and, hopefully, bring some of the men back alive for medical mages to study.”

I glanced at Chloé, leaning against a column with arms crossed and fangs bared in a feral grin. She nodded.

“Send me with a select group from the city guard,” I proposed. “Men who can move in silence. Chloé can track them by scent before mist or illusions confuse us. We neutralize the rogue unit, secure the convoy, and restore the flow to King William—without a massacre Whirikal would regret for decades. It’s the most efficient option and preserves our defensive strength here.”

The chamber fell into tense silence.

The nobles exchanged uncertain looks, unable to refute the tactical logic of someone bearing the King’s seal. Elliot looked to Leah. She nodded, absolute trust in her eyes.

He exhaled, closing his eyes briefly before reopening them with renewed determination.

“Do it, Lotte. You have full authority over the rapid response unit. Choose your men and depart before sunset. Bring those supplies back… and if possible, bring me answers. Whirikal cannot afford to fight its own shadows.”

We left the chamber with the mission carved into our souls.

The true war was not only at the northern walls—it was infiltrating our veins. And I was determined to cut it out at the root before it consumed everything I loved.

As we descended the castle stairs to find Chloé and prepare our gear, I knew the Whispering Forest would only be the beginning of a blood-soaked arc—one that would test everything we believed about loyalty.

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