Kael sat alone in his sealed chamber, back straight, hand resting lightly against the glowing crest on the table.

  The air was silent—no Rimuru, no Nanari, and no Ember Guard. Only the hum of mana circling the walls like a heartbeat.

  “Synchronize,”

  Kael closed his eyes. Aether Dominion flared.

  The world tilted, and then he was no longer sitting in Emberleaf.

  The drone slipped high over the forests of Wrath, invisible, weightless. Branches swayed far below, but no sound touched it. A hawk flew past without noticing. Wards etched along the border hummed, but the construct threaded through their gaps like water between stones.

  Kael’s senses split. Half of him remained in Emberleaf, chest rising slow and steady. The other half watched as Pride’s territory opened beneath him.

  Ivory walls gleamed in the distance. Towers like spears of glass caught the morning sun. Streets ran in perfect lines, paved in white stone that seemed too polished to be lived on.

  Kael frowned. “Emberleaf is rough. Alive. This place looks like it was built to suffocate itself.”

  Great Orion overlaid numbers across the view, population density in the outer districts, mana flows tracing the aqueduct wards, detection mirrors scanning like eyes that never blinked.

  Kael noted each one silently. If the drone was noticed, the entire ruse would collapse. But no alarm rang. No ripple of magic stirred.

  He skimmed the rooftops, noting how even the chimneys smoked in neat, measured plumes. Nothing wasted. Nothing out of line.

  “Perfection without breath,” Kael thought. “A cage that calls itself pride.”

  The drone sank lower, moving toward the tallest spire at the city’s heart. Its windows shimmered with protective glyphs, crystal sconces burning blue within. The council chamber.

  Kael steadied himself. This was enemy ground—not fire and steel, but whispers and doctrine. And he was about to listen to both.

  The drone slipped through a high window of the central spire.

  Inside, the chamber glowed with cold light. An obsidian table stretched across the room, its surface veined with silver runes. Crystal sconces flickered along the walls, feeding images from scry mirrors—Emberleaf’s borders, rumors carried by merchants, and whispers of Kael’s name.

  Dozens of nobles sat in carved ivory chairs, cloaks shimmering with enchantments.

  The loudest voice belonged to Baron Halvane. He slammed a jeweled fist against the table.

  “Don’t you fools see? He’s already inside our borders! The Scourge moves like a shadow—I swear it!”

  A ripple of unease spread, but Duchess Meriel only leaned back, fingers tapping her wineglass. Her voice was smooth, controlled.

  “No. He doesn’t need to step foot here. Emberleaf’s whispers do more damage than his flames ever could. He’s turning our own border towns against us.”

  Lord Fenric scoffed. His rings clinked as he gestured wildly.

  “Border towns are mud and ash. They’ve always complained. This is propaganda, nothing more. A city of whispers, not a city of monsters.”

  The table erupted in overlapping arguments. One shouted about tax levies failing. Another accused the goblin markets of collusion.

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  Kael, watching through the drone, noted the cracks. “They don’t trust each other. They barely trust themselves.”

  Then a quieter voice cut through the noise. Minister Valthorne. He didn’t raise his tone, but the chamber fell silent all the same.

  “Whether whispers or fire, the Scourge spreads.” His pale hands rested on the table, calm. “And Pride does not adapt. That is the real danger.”

  The words hung heavy.

  “Observation: Nobility cohesion—unstable. Trust deficit—severe. Strategic vulnerability—high.”

  Kael’s jaw tightened. “Good. The lion’s mane is full of snarls already.”

  The debate reignited, louder this time, as Pride’s doctrine spilled out between them. Purity above survival. Hierarchy above mercy.

  And yet, beneath their words, Kael heard the truth: fear.

  The chamber doors creaked open.

  A messenger hurried in, silver livery stained with sweat. His hands trembled as he clutched a scroll sealed with the rune of the Outer Court.

  Every noble froze.

  The messenger bowed low, voice breaking as he read aloud:

  “By order of the Outer Court, Virelion is declared vulnerable. A Watcher’s Circle will convene to address the ideological subversion of Wrath.”

  Silence.

  Wine goblets shook. A jeweled ring clinked against the table.

  Then the whispers began.

  “They’ve branded us weak.”

  “A Circle? Already?”

  “This is worse than rebellion. This is contagion.”

  Baron Halvane snarled, pounding the table again. “I said it—he’s already among us!”

  Lord Fenric’s face paled. His earlier bravado drained away as he muttered, “A city of whispers… and now we’re the ones choking.”

  Duchess Meriel leaned forward, her voice sharp. “Don’t you see? They don’t fear our collapse. They fear Emberleaf’s rise.”

  All eyes turned toward Minister Valthorne.

  He didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, he laced his fingers together, gaze like ice.

  “Not rebellion. Not war.” His tone was quiet, but every ear strained to hear it.

  “A sickness. That is how they’ll frame Emberleaf. Not as an enemy—” His eyes narrowed. “—but as an infection.”

  Kael’s vision through the drone sharpened.

  His jaw clenched. So that’s their game. Erase me by turning my name into a disease.

  “Strategic confirmation: Pride intends ideological erasure. Emotional response: intensifying hostility.”

  Kael’s thought burned hotter than flame.

  “Good. Let them call me an infection. Let them choke on it.”

  Kael severed the link.

  The chamber around him came back into focus—walls sealed in white mana, air still and heavy. Sweat dotted his brow, his breathing measured but low.

  “Data secured. Emotional analysis: Pride is fractured.”

  Kael leaned back against the chair, letting the silence press in. The drone’s vision still lingered behind his eyes—nobles bickering, hands shaking over goblets, fear that tasted sharper than steel.

  “They’re already burning themselves,” he thought. “All I have to do is give the fire a name.”

  The war chamber was dim, torches burning low. Maps sprawled across the table, inked with red circles and rune-anchors that pulsed faintly.

  Kael stepped forward, cloak brushing the stone floor. Rimuru bobbed beside him, glow restless. Nanari waited already, arms folded, her glaive leaning against the wall. Two Flame Scouts lingered near the door, faces tense.

  Kael set his hand on the table. “Virelion has moved. The Outer Court branded me a threat. Their Watcher’s Circle is already forming.”

  The room chilled.

  He drew a breath, then split. Golden-blue light rippled from his chest, forming seven silhouettes—perfect clones. Each one stood steady, their eyes mirroring his own.

  “Each of you will carry a summons,” Kael said. His voice was flat iron. “Raveni. Runebrick. Goblins. Veyr’s Hollow. Tell them Wrath calls them to stand.”

  Rimuru spun in a circle. “Ooooh, official messenger Kael! Should I bring a fake trumpet? Or maybe a crown? Wait, no—how about ‘Epic Envoy Slime!’”

  Kael glared at her. The clones didn’t even flinch.

  Nanari’s voice was a low growl. “So it begins.”

  Kael pressed his palm flat against the Emberleaf crest etched into the table. The rune flared bright, casting the chamber in crimson light.

  “The war council convenes.”

  The clones bowed as one. Then they dissolved into streaks of golden-blue fire, tearing through Emberleaf’s wards.

  Across the night sky, ten trails burned like falling stars.