Zeke’s steps did not slow, no matter who called out to him or what they said, nor did he ask for directions.

  He already had a rough understanding of the palace layout, and the place he was heading for lay at its very center. It appeared to be a large audience chamber, and it was also where he could sense Raileh’s mental signature.

  Before long, he reached a massive gate. Its size served no purpose other than to emphasize the importance of the chamber beyond. Not that there was any doubt anyway. The more than a dozen guards stationed on either side, weapons raised, were more than enough to highlight the status of those inside.

  Zeke’s eyes flicked between them, quickly assessing the threat they posed. Even while doing that, his steps did not slow. He had neither the time nor the patience for procedures.

  "Halt! In the name of the king, stay where you are."

  Zeke scoffed inwardly. King? What King? And what power would such a figure hold over him? Without even thinking twice about it, he was already preparing to call upon his magic. Unexpectedly, before he could act, the ground beneath the guards began to shift on its own.

  The floor, carved from the solid wood of the great tree, twisted unnaturally. Wooden pillars burst upward like bamboo after rain, catching the guards completely off guard. The offshoots twisted like snakes, coiling around the guards and binding them so tightly that they struggled to breathe.

  Zeke turned his head slightly toward the source of the spell.

  Irisen had nearly caught up to him, her eyes once more holding their usual indifference. Zeke inwardly nodded. It seemed his words had not been wasted on her.

  He did not waste any unnecessary words and headed straight for the door. It was locked from the inside. Still, the mechanism seemed to be nothing more than a simple latch.

  Zeke could easily use his telepathy to undo it. Or...

  His foot lashed out. He put his full strength into the kick, the muscles in his legs straining as the floor cracked under the weight of the backlash. This blow carried all of his physical power, without holding anything back.

  The result was as expected.

  Far from merely breaking the thin latch, the door completely shattered, its remains exploding outward in fragments. From the inside, it must have looked as if a battering ram had struck the door at full force.

  Zeke did not hesitate, stepping through the destroyed entryway. As expected, all gazes snapped toward him, and whatever conversation had been taking place before was instantly cut short. The looks directed his way were a mix of fear, anger, and confusion. Zeke ignored them all, turning toward Raileh and focusing on the mental link between them.

  "What has been said?"

  A hint of glee entered Raileh's eyes when she recognised him. She must have been quite annoyed with the people here if even a gentle soul such as her took pleasure in his rude conduct. She quickly relayed the information, the explanation taking no more than a single moment, unfolding at the speed of thought.

  Before the last of the debris had even settled, Zeke had already learned everything. The reason for which Raileh had been summoned was both surprising and unsurprising at the same time.

  Zeke had assumed the respect she received was due to her status as a pure-blooded, and while that certainly played a role, he now understood that there was more to it.

  There were ulterior motives...

  These people actually had the mind to bargain for safe transport and sanctuary in the elven lands, asking to be sheltered in Yggdrasil while their country burned.

  Zeke's eyes turned even colder, and he finally surveyed the scene inside the room properly.

  Raileh stood in the center of the room, while ten thrones loomed on a raised platform above her, five on either side. At the very center of that platform stood an even more splendid throne, upon which a middle-aged man sat.

  Zeke's gaze immediately locked onto the man in the center. Two things stood out about him. First, he wore a sort of crown. Second, he was the weakest person in the room. While everyone else, including Raileh, felt like a deep abyss of mana, this man alone had far weaker mana.

  He was the only Grand Mage among Archmages. His mana felt even weaker than Zeke's, who had advanced not that long ago.

  So this was the prince. Prince Edras.

  It was exactly this prince who spoke first. Unexpectedly, his words were not directed at Zeke, but at the woman who had entered behind him.

  "Irisen...?" he said, eyes wide. "How are you here? I heard you were lost at the battle for Willowcreek."

  Irisen's expression did not change as she answered without any particular inflection. "I was."

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  "...And yet you are here now. Alive. Does that mean my brother..."

  "Is alive as well," Irisen confirmed.

  A genuine smile spread across the prince's face as he rose from his throne. "That is welcome news. Welcome news indeed. In these dark times, I had not even dared to hope—" He stopped himself, as if noticing something at last. "Why is he not with you? Where is my brother?"

  Irisen cast a brief glance at Zeke before answering. "Khaelryn is currently in the care of the gentleman at my side."

  For the first time, Prince Edras seemed to notice Zeke. His eyes swept over him, lingering for a moment on his hair and eyes.

  "Ah," he said. "Yes, Lady Raileh has mentioned you. You are one of the human mercenaries sent to assist us during these troubling times. You have my thanks. Rescuing my brother is a great merit, one that will see you richly rewarded."

  Clearly, the prince was expecting Zeke to say something. Perhaps a few words of flattery. To claim he was merely doing his duty, or that it had been an honor to serve.

  Yet Zeke said nothing of the sort.

  In fact, ever since he had entered, he had not spoken a single word. He was not even looking at the prince. His eyes were instead fixed on the ten people occupying the other thrones.

  One by one, his gaze moved over them, lingering only briefly on each. When he finished his inspection, he faced forward again, meeting the now impatient eyes of Prince Edras.

  "...Ten Archmages," Zeke said, "would have been more than enough to rescue your brother yourself."

  At his words, the atmosphere, which had been warmed by the prince's joy, cooled in an instant.

  Zeke noticed several of the Archmages scowling at him, as if trying to stab him with their eyes. He did not even flinch. Their glares felt light. If ten people of Irisen's caliber had been staring at him instead, he might have begun to sweat. As it was, he remained completely unaffected.

  The prince's smile turned awkward. "I had no way of knowing where he was being held. Otherwise, nothing would have prevented us from rushing to his aid. Is that not so?" He turned to the figures seated on the thrones flanking him.

  Zeke shook his head inwardly.

  After only a single exchange, he could already confirm one thing with absolute certainty. Edras was weak. Weak in a way that had nothing to do with his mana or his ability as a mage. He was a weak ruler and a weak person.

  When confronted with criticism, his first reaction had been to divert responsibility. That alone marked him as a poor leader. Though it was not as if the rest of his company were any better. Otherwise, how could they hide here while the rest of their countrymen fought and bled?

  Zeke had seen no shortage of powerless peasants, and even children, among the resistance fighters he had taken in.

  And yet these Archmages dared to hide. Dared to negotiate for safe passage.

  While the mages were still nodding along with the prince's words, swearing that they would not have hesitated if only they had known, Zeke spoke a single sentence that silenced them all.

  "Then how do you suppose I found them?"

  The question hung in the air like an accusation.

  "Could it be that I knew where he was being held?"

  "This..."

  The prince was left speechless. Clearly, he was not accustomed to being questioned so directly. While he struggled for words, one of the Archmages spoke up in his stead, his voice edged with warning.

  "Do not act so arrogantly, human. You are addressing the prince."

  Zeke's gaze snapped to the man who had spoken, like a bloodhound catching a scent. "And who are you to lecture me?"

  The man rose to his full height. Though well past his prime, his back was straight and his presence imposing. From his elevated position, he could easily look down on Zeke.

  "I am Eryth Sil," the man declared. "Lord of the White—"

  "Lord of the Whitevein Range," Zeke interrupted before he could finish. "Protector of the ancient Greenwood. You were entrusted with guarding the passage between your lands and the capital at Fort Thirwatch."

  The man's expression froze, but Zeke was far from finished.

  "Last I heard, Fort Thirwatch had fallen. Every man, woman, and child was slaughtered to the last. Many have wondered what became of you, Lord Sil. How curious to find you here, half a world away, in such good health."

  "This... I..." the man stuttered. "I barely escaped with my life."

  "Escaped," Zeke repeated, his gaze hardening. "And how many thousands could have survived if you had fought to the death? If you had done your duty?"

  The man remained silent. His lips were pressed shut, but his venomous eyes continued to glare at Zeke, as if he wanted to devour him whole.

  Zeke did not care. His gaze was already moving on to the others. "Who else? Who else dares to criticize me? Step forward and introduce yourself."

  It was a trap.

  The moment any of them named themselves, Zeke could immediately determine where they had deserted from. With the amount of information Akasha had gathered on the war, it was impossible that she would not recognize their names.

  As for the question of whether all of them were deserters, that was even simpler. As Archmages of Rukia, none of them could have avoided being drafted in such a time of crisis.

  And since there had initially been no Archmages stationed here, their guilt was obvious.

  As expected, even after Zeke swept his gaze over them a second time, none of them dared to speak.

  Zeke's expression twisted into utter disdain. "An incompetent prince and ten disgraced deserters." His words were merciless, making no effort to spare their dignity. "You dare sit on these thrones. Does it mend your wounded pride? Does it help you sleep at night? Does it drown out the screams of the thousands who died because of your cowardice?"

  Each accusation cut deeper than the last, striking directly at their weakest points.

  At last, one of the Archmages could endure no more. Eryth Sil, who had introduced himself earlier, roared in indignation.

  "Enough."

  With his scream, his considerable mana flared. It was far more powerful than Zeke's, instantly overwhelming his presence. In terms of raw quantity, it was many times greater.

  Immediately, Irisen tried to step forward to shield him, but Zeke's outstretched hand stopped her before she could move.

  Despite the immense pressure bearing down on him, his expression remained calm.

  Zeke opened his mouth and spoke a single word.

  "Sit."

  To everyone's astonishment, Eryth Sil obeyed. The Archmage looked just as confused as the others as he found himself seated once more on his throne. Their gazes toward Zeke grew even more wary after witnessing this incomprehensible display.

  How could this young man overpower an Archmage?

  In truth, it had nothing to do with power. The effect of Zeke's Draconic Aura was not a matter of strength, but of will. Eryth Sil, despite having reached the rank of Archmage, lacked mental fortitude. Otherwise, he would never have deserted his post in the first place.

  Naturally, none of the stunned Archmages understood this. They remained frozen in place, hardly daring to breathe.

  It was in this silence that Zeke spoke.

  "My mentor used to have a saying," he began. "He said that the ten strongest Grandmages couldn't even hope to match the weakest Archmage." He paused, his expression twisting into something ugly.

  "But why, looking at the ten of you... Do I like my chances?"