Riku sat at the table to the right, quietly tending to the bleeding on his hands with healing magic. Veythor glanced at him with a subtle smirk before settling down beside Eliya, Morgan, and Grey. The grand feast commenced. The emperor stood tall, raising his glass of wine.
"Welcome back to our Supreme Commander."
The entire hall echoed the phrase in perfect unison.
"Welcome back to our Supreme Commander!"
As the feast progressed, Zaurak and Orun approached Riku, attempting conversation. But he wasn't in the mood. He had lost in front of his fiancée. Worse still, he had lost to the man she loved. It was a humiliation deeper than any wound.
When the meals were done, the nobles shifted their attention to the entertainment. Dancers graced the floor, their movements elegant, their beauty catching lustful gazes. Veythor quietly excused himself and made his way to the smoking zone. He lit a cigarette, letting the silence linger. Riku was already there, smoking alone.
Upon seeing Veythor, Riku narrowed his brows and muttered with visible irritation, "Do you want something, Supreme Commander?"
Veythor lit his own cigarette, flame flickering in his crimson gaze. His voice was cool, disinterested.
"What could I possibly want from you?"
Riku chuckled. A dry, broken thing. He looked skyward. Above them, the stars shimmered like cold needles scattered across a dead man's cloak. The moon watched in silence.
Then, softly too softly it came:
"Veythor… do you love Princess Vaelina?"
Veythor's brow twitched. "What?"
"You heard me," Riku replied. "Do you love her?"
A beat of silence. Then Veythor laughed not with joy, but with something bitter and exhausted.
"Why the hell would I love your fiancée? I'm a commoner.....born from filth She's royalty. I know my place."
Riku didn't respond immediately. He stared at the moon as if it might offer him comfort. It didn't.
"She hates me," he said at last. "She loves you. She doesn't even try to hide it anymore."
Veythor turned toward him, eyes like dusk set on fire.
"I won't steal her nor do I want her I can't love anyone not—anymore."
The silence returned. They smoked without speaking. Eventually, Riku crushed the embers beneath his boot and left.
Veythor stood alone.
Love… love… love. Who the hell decided that was worth anything? Vaelina is just another piece on the board. A slave to sentiment. A prisoner of her own desires.
Those led by emotions walk willingly into the slaughterhouse. They see the blood too late. Just like I did. Life after life, always the fool.
He closed his eyes.
But not this time.
Veythor returned from the smoking zone, his coat brushing faintly against the velvet curtains. The scent of burnt tobacco still clung to him like war's shadow. He found his seat beside Eliya and Morgan while Grey had already taken his leave.
From the far end of the hall, the Prime Minister of Narzan, Lord Safhire Consula, approached, his steps calculated, his smile carefully sculpted.
"Supreme Commander," Safhire said with a voice low and deliberate, "I've been searching for you."
Veythor leaned back, eyes sharp with disinterest, a smirk playing at his lips. "Why?"
Safhire gave a hollow chuckle. "My family wished to ask about your health. They were quite concerned."
"Of course, a lie....Veythor knew the game well. Safhire was fishing for something." Veythor didn't even need to guess. Does this old snake truly believe he can deceive me with such a transparent ruse?
This wasn't arrogance. It was certainty. Safhire had his own agenda and Veythor already knew the pieces on his board.
Behind the Prime Minister stood two figures. His wife, Zeshiya Consula her pink hair flowing like rose wine, her eyes a softer mirror of the same hue. Veythor recognized her name from years past. Alongside her was their daughter, Daniya Consula, bearing her mother's refined features with youthful defiance.
Veythor gave them a courteous nod, the performance flawless.
"Mrs. Consula," he said smoothly, "it's a pleasure. I appreciate your concern."
Zeshiya responded with a graceful bow of her head. "We heard about the assassination attempt, Supreme commander. I hope your health is now fully restored."
"I assure you," Veythor replied, "I am quite well."
Suddenly, Safhire nudged his daughter forward with a mischievous grin. "Daniya, go speak with your future husband."
Daniya blinked. "What? Husband? I haven't even graduated high school!"
"You're in your final year," Safhire said coolly.
"Still!" she protested. "Who's the groom?"
Safhire gestured toward Veythor, who was quietly sipping his wine, unbothered.
"It's him," he declared.
Daniya, Eliya, and the nearby guests all turned in shock. Eliya and Morgan's eyes widened, their bodies halfway out of their chairs. But Veythor remained still, calm as ice in a winter storm.
He set down his glass and addressed Safhire with quiet, cutting sharpness.
"Lord Consula," he said, voice frigid, "would you care to explain this?"
Safhire burst into laughter. "Hahaha, just a jest! Only a joke, Supreme Commander. Forgive an old man's humor."
So he's the one behind the rumors, Veythor mused. The whispers of a fabricated love story between me and his daughter… Pathetic it seems that this old fart is trying to set a tactical and political marriage between me and his daughter if I the Supreme Commander of Narzan becomes his Son-in-law then his political powers would be significantly boosted while mine would be significantly damaged as he would surely try to suppress me and force me to remain under his shadow—hahaha that ain't happening!
Veythor laughed coldly in his heart .
Suddenly in a fit of rage Daniya stormed forward and grabbed his collar.
"Huh?! What's so special about him?!"
Still, Veythor didn't flinch. His gaze met hers like the unyielding gaze of a statue. Before Eliya could speak, he raised a hand—commanding silence. She obeyed and sat down.
He turned back to Daniya, voice razor-sharp yet composed.
"Miss Daniya," he said, "refrain from acts like this."They may cost you more than you're prepared to lose.". And if the Emperor had witnessed this scene… your father would be the one paying the price."
Safhire's smile vanished. He yanked Daniya back with a scowl. "You fool! What do you think you're doing?"
He bowed deeply to Veythor. "I sincerely apologize, Supreme Commander. I hope you will forgive this child's foolish behavior."
"Daniya," he snapped, "apologize. Now."
"…Yeah, yeah. Sorry—sorry."
Veythor said nothing. He simply raised his glass again, as if nothing had happened his silence more powerful than a thousand words.
The chandeliers flickered low as the party neared its close. One by one, the nobles of Narzan took their leave some with laughter, others with suspicion veiled behind smiles. The wine had thinned, the music had faded, only some of the guests remained and more that remained was the scent of perfume, politics, and whispered betrayal.
Veythor watched from the balcony of smoking zone, hands folded behind his back, the cold night wind tousling his dark hair. Behind him, Eliya and Morgan quietly gathered their belongings, offering a glance of concern that he, as always, ignored.
Down below, Safhire Consula led his family toward their ornate carriage, his wife's heels clicking against the marble, his face stiff with the weight of the embarrassment of her daughter's actions in the party. He muttered under his breath, reprimanding Daniya for her outburst, expecting her to walk beside him in silence.
But she wasn't there.
He turned his head.
"Daniya?"
There was no reply.
He stopped walking, eyes narrowing. "Zeshiya. Where is Daniya?"
His wife blinked, looking around."She was right behind me… Just a second ago…"
Safhire's heartbeat skipped. He turned in a full circle. Guests passed them, unconcerned. His guards stood in formation, unmoved.
But Daniya Consula was gone.
"DANIYA!"
He shouted her name aloud, startling nearby guests. Panic cracked through his composed mask like a spiderweb of ice.
He stormed back inside the hall, eyes scanning the sea of parting gowns and cloaks, velvet curtains swaying like ghosts. "Search the palace! Lock the gates! No one leaves until my daughter is found!"
"Given Daniya's public outburst, there was only one suspect in Safhire's mind....Veythor." Saphire quickly ran inside of Grand hall the Emperor and the Royal family has already taken their leaves Only Sugen Riku,Orun Kaelis and Zaurak Vion remains and Veythor,Eliya and Morgan remains and some other nobles.
Saphire burst into the Grand Hall like a storm of rage, his voice echoing through the high arches.
"VEYTHOR! Where are you?!"
Riku, leaning lazily against a pillar, furrowed his brows. "What happened? Why are you shouting for that man?"
Saphire's breath was ragged, his eyes wide with panic. "Have you seen my daughter? She offended Veythor just moments ago and now she's vanished into thin air!" He turned, his voice rising again. "Where is he?!"
Just then, Veythor reentered from the smoking corridor, adjusting his gloves, his crimson red eyes flickering with mild interest.
"Prime Minister," he said with cold composure, "why are you barking like this?"
Saphire dashed toward him, madness gripping his voice. "You... you bastard!"
He lunged, grabbing Veythor by the collar. "Where is my daughter?! What have you done to her?!"
The hall froze.
Everyone.....from guards to nobles to servants stood still, their gazes locked on the scene. Veythor didn't flinch. He didn't blink.
Then, with the precision of a trained killer, he seized Saphire by the throat and slammed him against the nearest marble pillar. The impact echoed like thunder.
"How the fuck would I know where your daughter might be?" he hissed, his voice calm but sharp enough to cut steel.
Saphire gasped, struggling in his grip. "You're behind this... I know it! Where else could she have gone?!"
Veythor released him with a flick, letting the man collapse like trash discarded on a cold street.
"Are you serious?" he scoffed. "I haven't even left the Grand Hall. Do you think I sprouted wings and spirited her away? Think, old man....it's illogical."
Saphire gritted his teeth but said nothing, fury boiling in his eyes. He staggered up and began searching frantically, shouting orders to the guards. Soldiers spread throughout the palace, combing every inch of Kranel.
Still, no trace of Daniya.
Veythor remained seated in the Grand Hall, as expected of a prime suspect. Leaving now would only feed suspicion.
Saphire stayed too, not to protect Veythor, but to cage him in plain sight.
Meanwhile, a letter was sent in haste to one man Kieran Zon, Narzan's finest detective. Middle-aged, brilliant, infamous. His record was unmatched: only four unsolved cases in his entire career.
And the first?
His utter failure.
A failure against none other than Veythor himself back when the man was still just a whisper in the Empire's ear.
At last we see a Man with cowboy hat brown suit black pant and a pair of dark brown shoes he has a suitcase in his hand he was smirking as he was coming towards the Grand hall as he murmured
Veythor you won't escape this time.