The throneroon was silent
Even with dozens of nobles and knights in the room, not a single soul dared to speak. All eyes were fixed on the First Prince, Arthur, and the black-haired youth who stood behind him like a quiet storm.
Damian didn't flinch under their gazes. His expression remained calm, unreadable—like someone used to being doubted.
"I'll say it again," Arthur spoke, voice cool as iron, "we are not dealing with a wide scale Dungeon birth, Just like what Damian here has described… the reports we've gotten all match the signs of a convergence... Of a Super Dungeon."
A ripple of murmurs erupted instantly as no one dared speak openly against the first prince in the presence of the king.
"Absurd." A viscount in blue-and-gold robes scoffed, stepping forward. "There's no precedent to such an event, how can you be so sure!"
Damian's eyes sharpened with confidence "Precedence changes nothing. A fire doesn't care if your house has never burned before, does it?."
Gasps rippled through the nobles. One muttered something about blasphemy. Another about a reckless youth.
But then King Elric raised his hand setting the room in silence once again.
"I sent scouts," Arthur said slowly. "Three, to be exact. Each reported back the same thing: mana veins shifting inwards abd increasing in magnitude."
He paused, then looked at Damian.
"And exactly as described, the mana in the surroundings follow a certain pattern leading all the way back here...
Damian met Arthur's gaze with a nervous smirk
'Wow... He's even prettier up close.... I guess I'm still no. 2 in that regard huh' he mused inwardly.
Elric's brow furrowed. "Then what do you suggest?"
Arthur answered with a calm and confident tone.
"We prepare ourselves and fortify the capital."
"If we compare these reports with a normal dungeon spawn, then it's safe to say that we're not expecting a disaster in at least a year... So In the meantime, I'll lead a specialized team to gather more data and if needed find out the source before it fully manifests."
Another murmur erupted.
"You're suggesting we abandon our cities?" a count growled. "That's our lifelines!"
'These old geezers just don't know when to quit huh.' thought Damian
Just then, Elric he rose from the throne and descended the marble steps, his eyes scanning every face present in the chamber.
"We guard the city," he declared as his tone went cold and menacing. "Any objections?"
A few nobles looked ready to object—until Damian turned towards them with a courteous bow.
"Please have faith in your King's judgement... And I promise you... We will be victorious."
The replies were in grumbles but everyone looked to be on track now thanks to his little speech.
'Way to go show off...' Damian remarked.
Elric gave a slow nod as he walked towards the door. "This meeting is over..." He said while gesturing to everyone. "You may take your leave now... Except you Arthur... Come with me, We have things to discuss."
• • •
The golden light of sunset bathed the palace balcony in warmth, but the conversation between King and son was anything but soft.
"You really believe it's a Super Dungeon," Elric muttered, hands clasped behind his back. "...Not just exaggerated signs or a natural flux?"
Arthur stood beside him, the wind tousling his golden blonde hair.
"Yes father." Arthur exhaled, then added quietly, "You've seen the signs, too, but you're just hesitating...."
Elric's eyes narrowed as he cut in "A king doesn't hesitate.... A king protects." he concluded calmly.
"You're protecting the wrong thing," Arthur said, calm but determined.
Elric's silence was answer enough.
"You really trust your facts don't you?" Elric smiled.
"Not really"
Arthur paused, walking to stand beside the king before smiling, "... I don't trust that boy... But what I do trust, is the child that seems to gain redemption after being condemned once."
The King studied his son, then sighed.
"Very well... If this is the will of the goddess, then so be it... I just pray we are stronger enough to withstand this... Trail"
"We will." Arthur spoke up confidently. "I know we will."
• • •
The golden sun hung low in the sky, casting amber beams through the high windows of the palace training hall. Dust floated lazily in the light, as though time itself had slowed to watch.
Damian stood on one side of the wooden stone floor, his training sword resting against his shoulder. In front of him, Lyra stood with her fighting stance ready, both waiting for the spar to begin.
Winston stood in the background, arms behind his back with an unreadable expression on his face.
There was no noise,, no audience and no distractions. At least, not until a voiced echoed ij the hall.
"Begin," Winston said simply.
Lyra lunged first.
Their swords met with a crisp crack, wood colliding with wood. Damian bent low, slipping under a high sweep and returning a jab. She stepped aside with a spin, hair catching sunlight as her blade came down again.
It was more than a spar. It was rhythm, instinct, a kind of language spoken only in movement and momentum.
"Say…" Lyra asked between strikes, her tone quite casual despite the battle before her "What do you think the king discussed with Arthur earlier?"
Damian didn't answer right away. He parried twice, then twisted, forcing her to backpedal.
"H'es already confirmed it," he said, calm and controlled. "The convergence... Now that Arthur has showed proof of dungeon spawn... then it's not about if anymore, It's when."
Winston's eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.
Lyra's grin thinned. "So we're on a clock now."
"Always were," Damian said, as he sidestepped a sweeping strike from Lyra. "But now we know exactly how the hands are moving." he grinned.
Their blades clashed again — even faster this time. Though it was clear they were holding back, the tension was no longer the air of a simple spar.
"You've been pushing hard lately," Lyra said, shifting into a flurry of strikes. "What's really going on, Damian?"
He caught her last blow, let it slide off, and launched a low sweep that almost clipped her boot.
"I want land," he said quietly. "A place I can build. One I can defend." His voice was serious now, grounded. "But if the convergence isn't stopped... then it all goes down. Everything. So I need to be stronger — now."
She froze for half a second — not because of what he said, but because of how he said it.
"You seem to have everything planned out already Young master," she murmured, sliding into her stance again.
"Well I'm not like the rest," he admitted.
'I know whats coming.'
Their swords locked again, pushing against each other. She looked into his eyes as he caught the faint glow in her ruby-red irises.
"You're not going to wait for someone else to take the lead?," she asked.
"No," Damian replied. "Some things are better done yourself you know."
Without warning, the temperature dropped drastically causing Winston to adjust his glasses as he continued spectating.
Mist formed around Lyra's blade as a thin sheen of ice crept up its edge. She spun, driving it toward him — a test, a threat, maybe both.
But Damian didn't retreat. A faint glow flickered around his hands. Then, with a sudden rush, a burst of flame spiraled from his off-hand — thin, sharp, and bright as the setting sun behind him.
The two elements met mid-air, hissing steam and blinding light blooming between them.
When it cleared, both stood still. Her blade at his neck. His at hers.
Both breathing hard, but still wearing a smeli on their faces.
Neither moved for a moment.
Damian lowered his weapon first.
'Back then,' he said mentally, 'the royal forces were split drastically. Part to protect the other cities, part to protect the capital, and part to respond to either situation.'
He looked at the golden sun rays with a calm but tense expression.
'It didn't work. They tore through cities like paper.'
Lyra held his gaze. "So what do you want to do now? He said we have at least a year to prepare"
There was a short pause.
Then Winston stepped forward from the shadows. His boots echoeing on stone, slow and deliberate, He clapped once.
"That was fantastic you two, you really have grown over the past few years."
They both looked at him with smiles.
But his gaze remained on Damian. Not with suspicion… but with something else.
Cautious curiosity. Or perhaps respect.
"Young master..." Winston began with a curious gaze. "You haven't quite replied the lady yet have you?" He smiled.
'This sly fox... He just wants to catch a wind of my plans... Like I'd tell."
The sun dipped lower. Shadows lengthened. And the hall fell quiet once more before Damian replied with a smile.
"That's... A secret."