Meanwhile, in the Kingdom of Normandia, troops had been deployed to encircle the surrounding territories, standing on high alert in preparation for an impending enemy attack. In stark contrast, the Kingdom of Sartala was preparing its forces for an outright assault. Rows upon rows of knights stood in formation, awaiting orders from their king, Johanssen X, who was currently holding a strategic council with the First General of Sartala, Igor Boreski, along with several divisional commanders inside the royal meeting chamber.

  Opening the council, King Johanssen X sat upon a golden throne, surrounded by Royal Advisor Lorenzen Artemius, General Igor Boreski, and the assembled commanders.

  “How is the situation in the Kingdom of Normandia, General Igor?” asked King Johanssen X.

  “Normandia has fully mobilized across their territory, Your Majesty. Their defenses make it extremely difficult for us to breach,” General Igor Boreski reported.

  “Is there no weakness within Normandia?” the king pressed.

  “Truly none, Your Majesty.”

  “Our scouting units have provided highly reliable intelligence,” General Igor continued.

  “However, several scouts—and even a few of our infiltrators—have been captured by the knights of Normandia.”

  “How did they know we sent scouts and agents into their lands?” King Johanssen X asked sharply.

  “According to the scouts’ final reports,” Igor replied, “they are using the talent of Madam Mad Er, allowing them to distinguish outsiders from true citizens of Normandia.”

  “Madam Mad Er…” the king muttered.

  “She is proving troublesome.”

  “Then should we use our secret weapon, Advisor Lorenzen Artemius?” King Johanssen X asked.

  “In a situation this dire, it would be wise to use it, Your Majesty,” Lorenzen advised.

  The king bit his lower lip, his fingers tapping against the armrest of the throne as he pondered. After a moment, he gave his order.

  “Very well. Lorenzen Artemius, General Igor Boreski—accompany me to the secret chamber.”

  “At once, Your Majesty.”

  In the Kingdom of Normandia, within the royal pavilion, King Maximilian XV was in discussion with the Grand Warden Jarl Antonial. They were discussing the potential outcome of the Vornahurd search mission carried out by the Twelve Knights at Mount Levuskan.

  The pavilion doors opened, and War General Jack Laurensius entered to deliver his report. He approached the king and the Grand Warden, bowed deeply, then knelt on one knee, lowering his head as his gaze fell upon the pavilion carpet.

  “Good morning, Your Majesty.”

  “I bring the first intelligence report from the Second Division Commander,” General Jack said.

  “What does the report say, Jack?” King Maximilian XV asked.

  Raising his head, Jack spoke with confidence.

  “Our forces have captured several scouts sent by the Kingdom of Sartala in the northern region of Normandia.”

  “Additionally, intelligence confirms that Sartala has dispatched spies disguised as merchants operating within the city of Nordesk.”

  Smiling toward Grand Warden Jarl Antonial, King Maximilian XV praised his knights.

  “Ordering Madam Mad Er to use her talent was the right decision.”

  “Wouldn’t you agree, Grand Warden?” the king said proudly.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “Indeed, Your Majesty,” Jarl Antonial replied.

  “Madam Mad Er’s aura-detection talent is essential in securing Normandia from scouts and spies attempting to leak information to the enemy.”

  “With her abilities, we can easily identify those hiding among the citizens of Normandia.”

  “A sound recommendation, Jarl Antonial,” the king nodded.

  “Now then—has Sartala made any further moves?” he asked General Jack.

  “At present, no significant movement has been detected,” Jack replied.

  “However, we will continue monitoring activity along the Lemuria River.”

  Frowning, the deep wrinkles of age creasing his brow, King Maximilian XV voiced his displeasure.

  “Do they truly intend to attack?”

  “I hope they remember their place—a minor kingdom daring to challenge us. History records no instance where Normandia has fallen to Sartala.”

  That morning’s discussion left lingering questions within Normandia’s stronghold. Meanwhile, in the Kingdom of Sartala, King Jorgenssen X, Advisor Lorenzen Artemius, and General Igor Boreski descended deep beneath the palace to meet Briel, the Angel of Death.

  Guarded by elite soldiers, they descended a long staircase into an underground chamber beneath the royal palace. The chamber, known as Nagrindr—the Gate of the Dead in the Nordic tongue—was sealed by a massive stone door carved from Mount Levuskan’s rock. Ancient motifs adorned its surface, depicting a Death Angel wielding a scythe. The gate could only be opened by the blood of Sartala’s true royal heir.

  At the entrance, King Jorgenssen X extended his hand. General Igor retrieved a dagger hidden within his steel armor and handed it to the king. Without hesitation, Jorgenssen sliced his palm, pressing the flowing blood against the carved angel while chanting a spell.

  “I offer my blood and soul to open the bridge between the world of the living and the realm of death. Open, Nagrindr.”

  The blood of Sartala’s true heir resonated with the carving. A dense black aura seeped from the gate, filling the air with dread. The massive door split open with a violent tremor, revealing a chamber radiating sorrow, darkness, and despair—accompanied by the sound of human wails and grinding teeth. A nauseating stench assaulted their senses.

  A voice echoed from within.

  “Enter.”

  King Jorgenssen X stepped forward, followed by his two subordinates. The floor felt like raw flesh beneath their feet, crimson and pulsing, spraying blood-like fluid and black smoke with every step.

  At the center of the chamber stood the Angel of Death, stirring a vast pool of blood filled with screaming, pleading humans.

  “Forgive us, Lord Briel,” King Jorgenssen X said.

  “We have come to ask for your aid.”

  Briel smiled widely.

  “I already know why you are here.”

  “But you know the rules,” he continued.

  “Are you prepared to lose twenty years of your life?”

  His crimson eyes burned as sharp fangs protruded from his grin.

  Sweat poured down the king’s face as he endured the suffocating stench.

  “I accept, my lord—as long as Sartala can conquer Normandia.”

  “So be it,” Briel replied.

  “I shall dispatch my servants of death to aid your war.”

  A portion of King Jorgenssen X’s soul was forcibly torn away. He gasped, vomiting blood before collapsing face-down onto the flesh-like floor.

  Lorenzen and Igor rushed to support him as Briel’s terrifying laughter echoed throughout the chamber, accompanied by thunderous, unseen impacts.

  “Go now, Jorgenssen,” Briel declared.

  “Our pact is recorded in Hell.”

  “When the time comes, my servants will answer your call.”

  Enduring unbearable pain, King Jorgenssen X whispered his gratitude.

  “Thank you… Lord Briel.”

  The three men departed Nagrindr. Once outside, the stone gate sealed itself shut.

  General Igor immediately summoned guards to carry the unconscious king back to his chambers and called upon the finest healers in Sartala to treat the severe toll taken by the stolen years.