As night slowly descended upon Bahoz, the tension of the meeting gave way to a softer atmosphere. Although Baral had suggested ending the intense day with a dinner, Corvus gently shook his head in refusal. The fatigue on his face had merged with the weight that had stealthily settled into his body. The uninterrupted journey from Adler to Rhazgord had wrapped his body in a sense of exhaustion, though his mind remained alert. He needed to regain his strength as soon as possible and set off for Sorbaj. For this reason, he ordered Baral to prepare a light snack and arrange a suitable room for him to stay in. He had decided to spend the night at Baral’s inn. Of course, he hadn’t forgotten Zarqa and Baldrek, who were waiting for him at Rasur’s Mansion, and had sent a messenger to inform them.

  When he stepped into the prepared room, he was welcomed by a gentle warmth under the dim yellow lights. What stood out upon entering the spacious room wasn’t its size, but the carefully planned elegance and soothing order. The bed was wide, draped in velvet covers; golden patterns embroidered on deep navy blue fabric matched the details throughout the room. A small but elegant table stood beside it. On it were a few simple yet carefully selected snacks: thinly sliced cured meats, spicy cheese wedges, dried fruits, and a dark amber-colored liquor. The light refracting through crystal glasses added a noble touch to the room’s ambiance.

  The furniture had been chosen with craftsmanship that avoided excess yet made no compromise on quality. Cabinets and chairs in dark walnut hues reflected the fine workmanship of Adler artisans. Aromatic oils smoldered slowly in the corners, releasing a dense but not overwhelming scent—a blend of lavender, cedarwood, and a faint trace of sandalwood. Large windows made the room appear even bigger, while the distant lantern lights reflecting off Bahoz’s rooftops slipped dreamlike into the space.

  Corvus sat silently at the table. He took a piece of dried meat and began chewing slowly. Just then, a distinct but light tapping sound was heard in the room. It hadn’t come from the door, but from the windows. As he quickly turned his head, his eyes focused on the darkness. Right in front of the window stood a figure cloaked in the deepest shades of black. It was so still, it could have been mistaken for a statue. Though the face was covered with a dark mask and hood, Corvus recognized the man immediately. It was Darkan.

  Corvus approached the window with heavy steps, unlocked it, and opened it slightly. Darkan slipped in silently like a shadow. Each step he took was nearly inaudible, as if he were one with the air itself. He said nothing upon entering; he stood directly in front of Corvus and assumed a position of attention with military discipline. Despite the covering on his face, his presence altered the atmosphere of the room. He exuded a cold, calculating, and intensely focused aura. He offered no unnecessary greetings, nor did he ask how the journey had gone. For he was the second-in-command of Rhazgord’s Intelligence Organisation, and wasting time on empty words had no place in his vocabulary.

  Corvus returned to his table, reached for his drink, and took a sip. Gesturing to the table, he invited Darkan to sit, but Darkan politely declined with a slight nod of his head. He still stood upright. He was the kind of man who refused to ease hierarchical boundaries, even if ordered to do so.

  “Have you found anything about the Lightstone trade?” Corvus asked, his voice misty yet firm.

  The question caused a barely noticeable weight in Darkan’s posture. His shoulders tensed slightly. His face in the shadows was cloaked in disappointment. There had been no progress. Despite countless covert interrogations, investigations in the shadows, and months of tracking, not even the slightest clue had been found about the family running the secret Lightstone trade.

  “Unfortunately, we’re still where we started, sir.” Darkan said. His voice was calm, but the tension within it was unmistakable.

  Corvus gave a slight nod. It was the answer he had expected. Whoever controlled this illegal network within Rhazgord was operating with extraordinary secrecy. Every trail ended where it began; every name turned out to be false. For now, their greatest hope lay in the intelligence expected from the Kingdom of Adler.

  “Any other developments?” Corvus asked, this time fixing his gaze on Darkan.

  Darkan had been expecting the question. He replied immediately and with seriousness:

  “We still don’t have enough personnel, but we are making progress. Additional resources have been allocated to find new potential candidates, and a significant number of suitable prospects have been identified. If the process continues as planned, we estimate we can increase the agency’s staff fivefold within a few years.”

  Corvus nodded thoughtfully. He knew well how painful this issue was. Establishing a shadow-based structure like intelligence among a warrior culture like Rhazgord’s was a challenge in itself. Convincing a people proud of their honor and who preferred open conflict over secrecy was no easy task. People couldn’t simply be recruited at random; each had to undergo long-term observation. First, their loyalties were tested, then their aptitude for operating in the shadows was evaluated. For this ran the risk of contradicting the warrior honor of Rhazgord.

  Therefore, the most suitable solution was to identify young individuals—those not yet fully bound to cultural norms—at an early stage and train them. This plan had been in place for a long time; however, for these youths to become fully equipped agents, they had to undergo years of training and reach adulthood. This slowed the process and delayed the growth of the organization.

  Darkan continued to report key developments among the major tribes. The most notable issue was that the tension between the Iskat and Ogon tribes remained unresolved. At first glance, the Iskat Tribe seemed to have taken a step back to ease tensions. But this was only on the surface; behind the scenes, like a poison seeping into Ogon’s veins, they were deepening their influence, slowly and systematically undermining Ogon from within. These tactical maneuvers went beyond ordinary rivalry, and what gnawed at Corvus most was his father’s silence in the face of it all.

  Both tribes were allies of the Tiamats. And the Tiamats represented the central link of that alliance chain. Allowing allies to turn on one another in such a critical time was not only a sign of weakness—it could also be seen as sanctioned destruction. In Corvus’s eyes, this attitude reflected a lack of strategic vision. If the leader of an alliance merely watched the conflicts rather than quelling them, then the foundation of that alliance had already begun to crumble.

  After reporting a few more important pieces of information, Darkan silently slipped out through the window. Having emerged from the shadows, completed his mission, he now returned to them. The chill his presence brought to the room lingered like a faint breeze in his wake.

  After watching outside the window one last time, Corvus began preparing for bed. First, he removed the armor from his shoulders. Then, he handed it to the inn attendant waiting just outside the door. “I want it cleaned by first light.” he said briefly and firmly. He also carefully placed his twin swords on the wide and sturdy table next to the bed. These powerful yet elegant weapons were a sign that even in his sleep, he would not compromise his warrior spirit. The moment his head touched the pillow, fatigue took over his body, and he slipped into a peaceful sleep within the darkness.

  With the first light of morning, a soft knock was heard at the door. As soon as the sun rose, Baral and his daughter Ellsa appeared at the threshold. Corvus had already donned his armor, tightening the straps and checking his swords. Soon after, the other inn staff entered. They carried various plates in their hands. Swiftly, they cleared away the midnight snacks and transformed the table with the fresh flavors of the morning. Warm bread, meats sautéed in butter, fresh vegetables, and plates adorned with aromatic herbs quickly turned the table into a feast.

  The smile on Baral’s face was like the sun itself. Or rather, his face quite literally glowed; the herbal oils he had likely applied in the early hours had turned his skin into a light-reflecting mirror. His round face and the oily sheen around his eyes made him look almost comical. Ellsa, on the other hand, was the complete opposite of her father: elegant, silent, and possessing a dazzling grace. Despite having just woken up, her eyes were vibrant, and with her delicate figure flowing within her dress, she drew all the energy in the room toward herself.

  At first, Corvus couldn’t stand Baral. This overly talkative man with his overly sticky admiration was irritating. But over time, Corvus had grown used to him. Baral’s presence had become more like background noise—no longer annoying, sometimes even amusing.

  As they sat down at the table, Baral, with his usual theatrical gestures, began filling Corvus’s plate with his own hands. “A bit of this, a touch of that! Fit for my lord’s palate!” he said as he picked the choicest bites. Then, he began filling his own plate greedily, but as soon as a new piece of information crossed his mind, he abruptly dropped his fork and turned to Corvus with excitement on his face.

  “My lord!” he said, almost holding his breath.

  “I thought you were a magnificent being, unmatched and unrivaled… but I was wrong! Young Master Volmir is just as clever as you! Just as impressive!”

  Corvus slowly lifted his head, his brows furrowing slightly. The moment Baral caught that look, he knew he had struck gold. He made his voice even more excited as he continued:

  “A few days ago, I visited the Academy to fulfill the scholars’ needs. By the way… I believe the Academy should be renamed the High Corvus Tiamat Academy, Lion of Rhaz, and Supreme of the Supremes—what do you think?”

  As Corvus’s frown deepened, Baral quickly corrected himself.

  “Of course, of course, just a suggestion, my lord! What I meant to say is… at the Academy, there’s only one name on everyone’s lips: Young Master Volmir! I heard from the scholars—he doesn’t just memorize the information, he understands the reasoning behind it as well! It’s obvious he carries the same blood as you my lord! What a talent… what a sacred blood!”

  Baral’s voice grew so emotional by the last words that he almost bowed. Ellsa smiled quietly as a light morning cheer spread through the room, but Corvus’s eyes had drifted far off. Volmir… perhaps he was advancing faster than he’d thought.

  “Is Volmir here?”

  Corvus’s deep, resonant voice echoed through the room. His words were short but powerful—there was not curiosity, but judgment in them. The question momentarily thickened the air in the room.

  Thanks to the special permit documents issued by Corvus, Volmir had been temporarily released from his military duties in Sorbaj and could come to Bahoz whenever he wanted. Here, the scholars were not only teaching him the Adler language, but also politics, history, strategy, and diplomacy. However, even though these opportunities were provided by Corvus himself, there was no way for him to know whether Volmir was currently in Bahoz.

  Baral lowered his eyelids and wore a sorrowful expression. His facial features, usually full of cheer, were now shaped with a measured sadness.

  “Ah… I tried everything, but I couldn’t convince him to stay at the inn I built in your honor! He’s been spending his nights at the academy for days, only stepping outside to train with his short sword. I couldn’t even tempt him with the inn’s delicious food!”

  Amid Baral’s characteristic, exaggerated style, Corvus had already found the answer he was looking for. Volmir was here—and he was busy. There was no need to ask further; his expression didn’t change, and his eyes returned to his plate. Throughout his military life, he had learned to eat everything quickly without discriminating. That habit had kept him alive for years. He swiftly cleaned his plate of everything on it.

  As Corvus placed his fork on the table and stood up, Baral’s delight faded. His plate was only half full; even in that state, it held enough for one person. Yet for Baral, that amount was merely the beginning. His stomach’s capacity had become the stuff of city gossip—like a black hole, it could devour everything.

  “Don’t forget to set out as soon as possible, Baral!” said Corvus, his voice now firmer. His eyes gleamed with the cold determination that left no room for amusement.

  “I’m going to see Volmir now. If you’re still here when I return, I’ll send you to Rax in pieces.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Baral had taken Corvus’s threat seriously. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. But as always, beneath the fear, his merchant’s mind kicked in, looking for an opportunity. He was determined not to miss a chance to win Corvus over.

  He gestured to his daughter, who was quietly eating her meal.

  “My lord, oh exalted lord! In order to carry out your command, I must stay here and prepare for the journey… Alas, I won’t be able to accompany you to the academy…” After these words, he tilted his head like a theater actor, placing an artificial sorrow on his face. Then, suddenly his tone brightened.

  “But! My daughter… my angel… Ellsa can accompany you!”

  As soon as he finished speaking, he shot a meaningful glance at his daughter. Ellsa understood the message instantly. She rose quietly and stepped beside Corvus with stillness and confidence.

  Corvus nodded silently, accepting the offer. He already knew where the Academy was—finding the way was no issue for him. However, Baral’s words had piqued his interest, and he was curious to hear Ellsa’s thoughts about the academy. This young woman in her early twenties, newly graduated, might have an interesting perspective on the system.

  As they left the room together, Baral escorted them to the corridor. As soon as they disappeared from sight, he happily returned to Corvus’s room. A full plate, still steaming, was waiting for him.

  As Corvus and Ellsa walked along the cobbled streets of the city, the attention around them increased. Ellsa’s striking beauty drew many passing glances. But when people’s eyes met Corvus’s red eyes, their expressions quickly turned serious, and wonder gave way to respect.

  As they moved forward, the bustle of the streets intensified. People greeted Corvus, some prayed to the gods on his behalf, while others tried to approach just to exchange a few words. When the crowd began to grow uncontrollable, the city guards on patrol intervened. The crowd blocking Corvus’s path was swiftly dispersed, and the guards began escorting the pair all the way to the Academy.

  “Your people love you, my lord.” said Ellsa, her voice sincere and tinged with amazement. She hadn’t said it as a compliment but as a result of her observation. What she’d heard about Rhazgord was very different; In Rhazgord, leaders typically ruled with an iron fist, not with the love of the people.

  Corvus continued walking without pause. His face was expressionless, but his voice was firm.

  “You’re a clever one, Ellsa. But you’ve misunderstood some things.”

  Ellsa looked up at Corvus in curiosity. He was walking a few steps ahead, not turning back as he spoke.

  “First of all… they are not my people. They are the people of Sanguinar.”

  This word flashed through Ellsa’s mind like lightning. ‘Sanguinar’—although it didn’t have a direct equivalent in the Adler language, the closest translation would be ‘King’. And she certainly knew that Corvus was the son of this people’s king.

  “Secondly,” Corvus continued, his voice calm but resolute, “they don’t like me. In fact, they don’t even know me. The reason they treat me this way is because I am useful to them, and because I am a Tiamat. They only remember the debt they owe to my family and me for what we’ve done in the past.”

  Ellsa remained silent for a moment. Corvus’s words had struck a heavy blow against her idealistic thoughts. She already knew the relationship between a leader and their people wasn’t as simple as it seemed. But in a tribal federation like Rhazgord, this balance must have been far more complex.

  When her father decided to move to Rhazgord years ago, Ellsa had done extensive research on this mysterious land. She had combed through history books, read ancient manuscripts. She had seen that many tribal federations that had emerged over time on the continent eventually collapsed—members turning on each other. They had all fallen apart. But Rhazgord was different. Rhazgord was one of the most deep-rooted political structures on the continent. It had been founded hundreds of years ago under the leadership of the Tiamat Tribe and had withstood the tests of time and war. It was still standing tall.

  There were two main reasons for this. Unlike other tribal federations, Rhazgord’s ruling tribe had almost never changed. This exceptional stability went beyond an ordinary political structure. Though power had changed hands a few times in history, the Tiamats had always managed to reclaim their former dominance in a short time. For them, it was not just a struggle for the throne, but rather the restoration of a sacred truth. Even without the immense power granted by the Lightstone, the Tiamats, endowed with superhuman abilities, had succeeded in holding together Rhazgord’s fragmented tribes not only with their might, but also with the fear and admiration they inspired.

  But what had kept Rhazgord alive for centuries wasn’t brute force alone. The true binding element was a deeply ingrained belief system. There was no other way to unite dozens of tribes that differed ethnically, culturally, and even linguistically under one banner. This situation was not unique to Rhazgord; across the continent, empires and kingdoms tried to hold their people together by grounding their legitimacy in divine origins. In this political doctrine where rulers were considered ‘sacred’ or ‘chosen’ by the gods, the necessary ground for the people’s unconditional obedience was laid. Kings were seen as the earthly representatives of the gods, and people feared the curse of defying divine will. The people of Rhazgord were no exception to this rule. Everyone living here believed in the same pantheon and lived, fought, and died for Rhazkar, the God of War accepted as the highest among them.

  Rhaz Mountain, considered the earthly home of Rhazkar, was the center of this faith—the holiest place. The tribes spread around the base of the mountain had for centuries seen worshipping this great god together not as a tradition, but as an obligation. Mystical prophecies that had emerged during the time when the Tiamats united Rhazgord claimed that the war of unification was supported by the gods. Monks interpreted the Tiamats’ red eyes as a reflection of the godly blood running through their veins. Over time, these symbols and narratives ceased to be mere myths and became an inseparable part of the social fabric. The existence of the Rhazgord Tribal Federation and the absolute leadership of the Tiamats became a manifestation of the people’s shared belief. At least, this was what Ellsa’s long-standing research had told her.

  As Ellsa wandered through these thoughts, she and Corvus arrived at the academy.

  The main building of the academy was largely completed. The entrance was surrounded by young plants that hadn’t yet rooted firmly in the soil but carried signs of the future. Carefully placed stone paths signaled that this garden would one day become more than mere decoration—a symbol. Before reaching the wide-arched main entrance, the first thing that caught Ellsa’s attention was the crowd roaming the garden. Some of these people, even from their appearances alone, radiated the dignity of scholars. But the majority of the crowd consisted of children between the ages of ten and fifteen. To Ellsa, this sight was strange; after all, this was an institution of learning, not a playground for children. The academy was supposed to be a place for generating thought, not for play. She had envisioned an atmosphere where scholars shared ideas, made discoveries, and engaged in intense debates.

  Corvus noticed the surprise in Ellsa’s eyes and, with a slight smile on his face, gestured toward the children.

  “We should be thankful for even this.” he said, pointing to the children sitting on a stone bench a few steps away, absorbed in their yellowed papers. “Convincing even young and adult Rhazgordians to read books is a war in itself. For now, we’ll make do with the children.”

  Ellsa had come to understand Rhazgord’s rigid structure and had noticed the people’s distance from reading and intellectual pursuits, but still found it difficult to accept. She knew that Corvus had brought many scholars here by coercion. She believed they had been summoned not just to found an academy, but to build a civilization. But now, seeing these esteemed individuals reduced to babysitters struck her as a major contradiction.

  “I don’t think scholars should waste time with children.” Ellsa said, softening her tone, but the discontent hidden between her words was clear. Corvus lowered his head slightly upon hearing this, as if to acknowledge that she was right.

  “In time… these children will grow.” he said, then paused, and with an ironic look as if he’d just discovered a truth, he continued,

  “Besides, didn’t your father say that my brother Volmir—who hasn’t even turned eleven yet—has learned quite a lot from the scholars?”

  Ellsa paused for a moment. She sensed that Corvus was teasing her, but this man, who had almost taken her head the night before, was now joking with her like this. If she wanted to stay alive, she would have to play along with his game.

  “If my father says so, I have no doubt about how smart your brother is.” she said with a graceful smile.

  “But at his age, he’s probably just learning the basics. That’s not a scholar’s job.”

  Corvus nodded in agreement. He knew this was exactly the case.

  “We have to start from somewhere.” he said slowly.

  By the time their conversation ended, they had arrived at the academy’s main entrance. In the corner of the building’s entrance, a heavily armored warrior who had been leaning against the wall noticed them and immediately straightened up. He sprang into action with firm steps and came before Corvus, offering a salute near the hilt of his sword. The armor he wore signified that he belonged to one of Rhazgord’s elite units. This man was one of the Tiamat Guards responsible for the safety of Corvus’s younger brother Volmir, by Corvus’s own command.

  “I wasn’t aware you had arrived in the city, sir!” he said, his voice rigid, still within the bounds of the chain of command. Suddenly, a military order had entered the peaceful atmosphere of the academy.

  “I came yesterday.” Corvus said with an indifferent expression. “Where’s Volmir?” he asked. He hadn’t seen his brother in the garden or at the entrance, which made him uneasy.

  “Volmir is currently in the library, sir! If you wish, I can take you to him!”

  Corvus nodded silently and began walking toward the library. Rising at the end of the wide stone courtyard, the library building was an imposing structure, despite its unfinished dome. The carts standing on either side of the entrance were covered in dust from the transport. The deep ruts left by the wagon wheels carved grooves into the stone floor, and the scent of the books being moved had settled into the air. A few young workers circled the wagons, carefully unloading heavy crates and carrying them with care up the stone steps of the library. The scholars, however, did not take part directly in the moving process—they were holding books aloft and speaking anxiously among themselves. These books were carefully selected works that Corvus had gone through great efforts to bring from the city of Rax.

  Corvus frowned when he noticed the scholars speaking with unease. Three elderly men standing near the front of the cart seemed different from the others. Their movements were tense, their gazes distracted. Without slowing his steps, Corvus made his way toward them.

  “What’s the problem? Is something missing?” he asked, his tone neither scolding nor gentle—just the voice of a commander needing an answer.

  With his arrival and question, the scholars all turned to him at once. As soon as they met his gaze, the three of them instinctively took a few steps back. Yes, this man had built them an academy—but he had also forcibly torn them from their homelands. The crimson glint in Corvus’s eyes still haunted their memories like a nightmare. A quick, panicked whispering broke out among them.

  “You say it!”

  “No, you say it! You’re old anyway, you’ll die soon!” phrases flew through the air. Corvus raised his eyebrows, watching the strange—and slightly comical—scene unfold. Ellsa, standing beside him, was also trying to understand what was going on, tilting her head to catch the whispered words.

  Finally, one of them stepped forward—the one who looked oldest and was trying to stand straight despite his hunched back. He held a book in his hand.

  “Sir… no, that doesn’t work… Lord… but there’s no concept of lordship in Rhazgord… Your Majesty… no, that’s too exaggerated…”

  Corvus watched the meticulous man wrestle with words for a moment, then gently interrupted with a polite but firm tone.

  “Corvus. You can call me Corvus.”

  The scholar paused. It was as if he had snapped out of a spell. He stroked his beard with his hand, then cleared his throat and began to speak.

  “Corvus… Mister Corvus… We are grateful for the books you brought. However, many of the books we received… are incorrect! That is to say, they don’t match the works we ordered! Whoever selected these books clearly doesn’t understand anything about their content!” He immediately extended the book in his hand toward Corvus.

  “I requested 'Fundamental Concepts of Algebra' by the Great Scholar Lesian Subun. But this book here is by some fraud named Kralon Sazlip, and it bears the same title!”

  Corvus understood the scholar’s grievance, but at the same time, his curiosity was piqued. If the titles were the same, the contents must be similar—or so his limited knowledge of books led him to believe.

  “We’ll find the book you requested.” he said calmly.

  “But couldn’t this one also be useful?”

  The scholar’s eyes widened, and his face turned red with rage in an instant. As if Corvus’s words were a personal insult, he stepped back and stomped his feet against the ground.

  “No!” he shouted. “No! A book written by a fraud is of no use to me!” Then he threw the book to the ground. His long white beard flew through the air. He then jumped on the book once or twice in childish outrage. Corvus couldn’t decide if this man was truly wise—or simply mad. Maybe he had gathered a bunch of lunatics under the guise of scholars in Bahoz.

  “That scoundrel! That miserable Kralon stole the ideas of the esteemed Great Scholar Lesian and corrupted them with his own twisted views! This isn’t just theft—it’s a crime against knowledge!”

  The scholar picked up the book he had just stomped on, flipped through its pages furiously, and then, in one sudden motion, held it open right in front of Corvus’s eyes.

  “Look! See for yourself!” he shouted. Corvus found himself staring at two pages filled with complex algebraic expressions and incomprehensible symbols. He had no idea what he was supposed to see or criticize. With the same agility, the scholar snatched the book back and threw it to the ground.

  “You saw it, didn’t you? Nonsense! Complete nonsense!”

  At this point, Corvus was sure of one thing. Either this man had lost his mind, or he was so passionately devoted to his work that every minor detail had become a life-or-death matter. For a brief moment, he glanced sideways at Ellsa, and an idea occurred to him. He straightened his face into a serious expression.

  “I completely agree! What utter nonsense! Those numbers… yes, all wrong! Even an idiot can see at a glance that they're wrong!” He had no idea what he was saying, but his voice was full of confidence. Then he turned to Ellsa and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “This is Ellsa. She just graduated from a very fine academy and now works for me. Please give her a list of all the books you need. She’ll take care of the rest.”

  Ellsa pulled back in shock, as if pushed into cold air. She hadn’t expected such a task. But the surrounding scholars had already begun to approach her one by one, surrounding her with books in hand. Each one voiced a different problem, a different request. Corvus smiled slightly, as if enjoying the chaos of the scene. Without turning back, he proceeded toward the library, accompanied by the guiding warrior, leaving only one sentence behind:

  “Good luck on your first job!”