King Eldors sat frozen on his throne, his fingers gripping the armrests like a man who had just witnessed the impossible. The council members around him were equally pale, their mouths slightly open in shock.
Because standing in the great hall of Velmor—proud, bruised, and horribly confused—was the once-feared Dori Bandit Clan.
Well. What used to be a bandit clan.
Now, they were… Velmor's new military force.
At the front of the group, their former leader—still slightly disoriented from his one-on-one "negotiation" with Krios—stood stiffly, his face twitching as if he couldn't quite process his new reality. Behind him, his men shuffled awkwardly, avoiding the judgmental stares of Velmor's existing soldiers.
King Eldors finally found his voice. "I… I beg your pardon, General Krios, but are you telling me that you—"
Krios, standing confidently in the middle of the hall, clapped a hand on the Dori Leader's shoulder. "Recruited an army? Yes, that's exactly what I did."
The Dori Leader opened his mouth to protest but then thought better of it. His ribs were still aching from Krios' "persuasion."
Nyssa, standing beside Raezel, massaged her temples. "Krios, you can't just recruit criminals into the army."
Krios: "They're not criminals anymore. They're soldiers now."
Nyssa: "That's not how it works—"
Krios: "That's exactly how it works. They fought well. They're strong. We need numbers. Problem solved."
King Eldors sputtered. "These men have been looting and terrorizing Velmor for years!"
Krios stepped forward, sweeping his gaze across the council, the soldiers, and the new recruits. His voice was steady, unwavering.
"You have soldiers who can die for this nation. Now, you will have soldiers who can kill for this nation."
Silence.
Then—
One of Velmor's soldiers, a grizzled veteran with gray in his beard, stepped forward. He eyed Krios, then the Dori recruits.
"Krios," he said slowly. "Are we supposed to just… accept these criminals into our ranks?"
Krios smirked. "Oh, no. You're supposed to train them. In return, they'll teach you how to fight dirty."
A beat of silence.
One of the Velmor soldiers muttered, "We already fight dirty. That's the only way we survive."
The Dori Leader scoffed. "No offense, but you call that dirty fighting? You're amateurs."
Another Velmor soldier stepped forward, folding his arms. "Oh yeah? And you think you're better?"
The Dori Leader grinned. *"We used to beat your forces all the time."
The Velmor soldier sneered. "That's because you cheated."
The Dori Leader smirked. "And what do you think war is, my friend? A gentleman's duel?"
Krios clapped his hands. "See? You guys are already bonding. This is great teamwork."
Both sides glared at him.
The citizens of Velmor had gathered outside the castle, waiting for news of this "army expansion."
What they expected was some sort of structured military recruitment process.
What they got was a horde of notorious criminals, standing in a line, wearing Velmor's colors, looking just as confused as everyone else.
A baker who had been robbed by the Dori Bandits last winter turned to his neighbor. "I'm not crazy, right? That's the same guy who stole my flour last year."
His neighbor, clutching a sack of potatoes, nodded slowly. "Yep. That's him."
A merchant scoffed. "So they're soldiers now? What next? The tax collectors will be former pickpockets?"
A noblewoman, fanning herself dramatically, whispered, "I fear for this kingdom's future."
A blacksmith, however, cracked his knuckles with a grin. "Well. At least now we'll have an army that actually knows how to fight."
Raezel, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke. "Krios. Are you sure you can control them?"
Krios rolled his shoulders, his expression unwavering. "Oh, they'll listen. They already know what happens if they don't."
The Dori Leader winced. "Yeah. We really do."
Nyssa sighed, rubbing her temples again. "I hate to admit it, but Krios isn't wrong. We need an army. And these men—" she glanced at the Dori recruits, "—might actually be useful."
Krios grinned. "See? Nyssa agrees with me."
Nyssa scowled. "Don't get used to it."
King Eldors looked around, overwhelmed. "So… that's it? Just like that, the Dori Bandits are now Velmor's soldiers?"
Krios clapped his hands together. "Pretty much, yeah."
The King exhaled sharply, rubbing his forehead. "Medusa help us all."
A silence settled over the throne room.
Then, the Dori Leader hesitantly raised a hand. "So, uh… do we get paid for this?"
Then, Zora hesitantly raised a hand.
"So, uh… do we get paid for this?"
"My soldiers need three meals a day and twenty gold coins a week." His gaze flickered toward Raezel and Nyssa, his smirk widening.
With that, Krios turned on his heel and strode toward the exit.
Raezel and Nyssa exchanged glances.
Neither of them spoke.
Because whether they liked it or not—
Krios had already decided.
And just like that—
Velmor's army gained a new division.
***
The faint glow of candlelight flickered over stacks of royal documents and reports, scattered across the massive oak table. The air smelled of old parchment and ink, a silent testament to Velmor's long history of failures.
Nyssa sat in the center of the Royal Strategy Hall, flipping through report after report, her expression unreadable.
The door creaked open.
"Did you find something valuable?"
Raezel's voice was calm as he stepped inside.
Nyssa didn't look up. "Till now, Velmor has never disappointed me—when it comes to disappointing me."
Raezel exhaled, amused but unsurprised.
He walked closer, scanning the mess of documents, half-curious, half-exasperated.
"Why are you so determined to save Velmor?" His voice was genuinely questioning.
Nyssa finally looked up, meeting his gaze.
"Tell me, brother—if you want to help, we can share supplies from Thaimera. Or I can tell my people to send aid." She leaned back in her chair. "Then why go through all this?"
Raezel didn't answer immediately.
For a long moment, he simply stood by the window, staring out at Velmor.
A kingdom on the edge.
Weak. Fragile.
Yet somehow—still standing.
Finally, in a rare moment of honesty, he admitted—
"I don't know."
Nyssa blinked. "You… don't know?"
Raezel dragged a hand through his hair, frustration flickering across his face.
"I should take the easy way. I should accept help." He exhaled slowly. "But…"
His voice faded, golden eyes shadowed with something even he couldn't define.
Then, quieter—
Then, quieter—
"I need to do this."
Nyssa studied him carefully.
"Why?"
Raezel's fingers curled slightly.
He hesitated.
Then, simply—
"I don't have an answer. Not yet."
Silence.
Then, softer, knowing—
"And somehow… that only makes you more certain."
Nyssa's voice was calm, but the weight behind her words said everything.
Because she understood.
She always had.
For a moment, something unspoken passed between them.
The corner of Raezel's mouth twitched—the ghost of a smirk.
He didn't reply.
He didn't have to.
"So you're really going to Arathis alone? To meet King Leonen?" Raezel asked.
Nyssa closed the last document, sighing.
"Did you think it would help if I took anyone from this wonderland?" She gestured dramatically at the disaster that was Velmor.
Raezel snorted.
Nyssa smirked.
Then, at the absurdity of it all—
They both chuckled.
***
The palace of Arathis was as golden as the god it worshipped—a kingdom sculpted in Apollo's image.
Massive pillars reached toward the heavens, their surfaces carved with tales of divine victories. Sunlight spilled through high windows, casting long shadows that watched in silence.
At the heart of the grand throne room, Nyssa stood.
She was not dressed as a conqueror.
She did not need to be.
Her golden eyes held no aggression, no hostility—only the quiet promise of a conversation that would reshape history.
Before her, seated on an elevated throne, King Leonen watched her closely.
A ruler molded in Apollo's light—tall, regal, but arrogant.
To his right, the High Priest of Arathis sat in silence, his presence a reminder that gods were always watching.
Nyssa stepped forward, offering a subtle bow, a knowing smile curving at her lips.
"Accept my greetings, King Leonen."
Leonen's lips curled slightly.
"How could I not accept greetings from the Princess of Thaimera… and the Daughter of Medusa?"
His words were polite, but the edge beneath them was impossible to miss.
Nyssa chuckled softly.
"King Leonen, I have a request—"
But before she could continue, Leonen's voice cut through the air.
"Fair trade with Velmor?"
His gaze sharpened.
"A nation with no resources. No fertile land. A kingdom currently running on hope and prayers."
The High Priest remained silent, his gaze unwavering.
Leonen leaned forward slightly, amused.
"I don't even consider Velmor a nation, yet you expect Arathis to trade as equals with it—Princess Nyssa?"
Then, his smirk deepened.
"Or would you prefer your other identity?"
Silence.
Heavy. Tense.
Nyssa held his gaze without flinching.
She smiled.
"Let me then… correct the balance."
She turned without another word, her steps measured, unhurried.
Then—
A warmth flooded the room.
The golden light around them grew brighter, richer, heavier.
A divine pressure settled over the hall.
Thick. Undeniable.
A presence older than kings.
A voice, calm and absolute, filled the space.
"Clever words."
The torches flickered. The air shimmered.
The High Priest fell to his knees.
Even King Leonen straightened, his earlier confidence solidifying under the weight of something greater.
A figure of pure radiance stepped forward.
Apollo had entered the board.
He studied Nyssa, his golden eyes holding both amusement and wisdom.
"Your strategies, your influence in trade and commerce… even the gods are aware of them."
The weight of his voice was impossible to ignore—the voice of a being who had seen empires rise and fall.
Then—
A slight curve at his lips. Amused. Knowing.
"But you forget one thing."
The golden light around him deepened, stretching long, unnatural shadows across the grand hall.
"Without a supply of goods…" Apollo's voice dipped lower, each word sinking with the weight of absolute certainty.
"A merchant is nothing, Daughter of Med—"
Then—he paused.
Intentionally.
His golden eyes gleamed, unreadable, as he held Nyssa's gaze.
A deliberate halt. A quiet, controlled play of power.
And then, as if sealing a preordained fate—
He spoke.
"Merchant Empress."
Nyssa exhaled. Her expression remained unchanged.
King Leonen smirked.
"With Apollo's wisdom, we already know every move you will make, Daughter of Medusa."
A long pause.
Then—
Nyssa turned to leave.
And this time, she smiled.