Chandler leaned forward, his voice rising with worry. “And Liam’s forces—his gate isn’t manned by just any knights. His army is overwhelming, stronger than we’ve ever faced. Camelot stands as one of the largest and most powerful kingdoms in Aurora for a reason! If we launch an assault, we won’t just risk failure—we’ll all face King Liam’s wrath!”

  The tension in the room grew thick, and all eyes turned back to Percival, waiting for his response. The king’s expression remained calm, but the fire behind his gaze hinted at an unshakable resolve.

  “I know it’s reckless,” Percival admitted, his voice firm yet laced with conviction. “But we need to send a message. Just because Liam struck first doesn’t mean we’re weak. If we don’t respond, he’ll think he can take whatever he wants, whenever he wants. They probably already believe Melanthius was our greatest strength. Now that he’s gone, they’ll assume we’re vulnerable and come for me next.”

  The group exchanged uneasy glances before nodding in agreement, their worry giving way to quiet determination.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Chandler asked cautiously. “If we’re being honest, the only one who could stand against Goldman was Melanthius. And now he’s… gone. We don’t have anyone strong enough. Maybe if Dorian were here—”

  Percival raised a finger, silencing him. “Not necessarily true. We do have capable forces, some who are close to the strength of the old wardens.” Rising from his seat, he began to pace. “First, there’s Arid Rosethorn, the son of Mother Nature herself. He was literally born in a tree while his biological father lay next to it, beer in hand, too traumatized to act. During the capture-the-flag game, Arid was one of the few who never lost his flag—just like Melanthius. He was also among the first to attack Goldman, though he was stabbed for his efforts.

  “Admittedly, he used to be hot-headed, even a bit of a bully, but Melanthius pointed him toward a great therapist. Now, he’s focused, relaxed, and far more in control of himself. If he fully taps into his mother’s powers, I’d wager he might even surpass Melanthius in strength.” Percival tapped his chin thoughtfully.

  “Stronger than Melanthius?” Allynna muttered, wide-eyed.

  “That’s impressive,” Victoria agreed, “but that’s still just one person. Who else do we have?”

  Percival nodded and continued. “Next, there’s Cassius Taurus. His family descends from a minotaur god who married a human, creating a bloodline known for insane strength, durability, and their deep connection to the earth’s magic. Cassius was part of the Black Cards team tasked with capturing Melanthius last year under Thaddeus’s orders. Though Melanthius took them all down, Cassius learned from that loss. He’s been training relentlessly ever since—nearly a year and a half now. He’s not one for unnecessary fights, but I know he’s been searching for Astroman—Akoni—who hasn’t returned to the school this year. That hunger for growth and purpose might make Cassius an invaluable asset if he joins our cause.” Percival sighed before saying the last one.

  “Finally, the former king of Slesan—Bimoth Grandem, nephew of Shimoth Grandem… one of the legendary Arcanus Titans.” Percival’s words hung heavy in the air, drawing sharp gasps from the group.

  “Wait… isn’t he allied with King Dorian?” Draven asked, narrowing his eyes.

  Percival smirked and let out a sharp whistle. The sound echoed through the throne room, and moments later, a towering figure stepped out of a side room. Bimoth Grandem entered, holding his massive hands up in a gesture of peace. Despite being the youngest present, his imposing stature dominated the room.

  “I come in peace,” Bimoth said, his voice deep but calm.

  Percival gestured toward him. “Bimoth was once a friend of my daughter’s. At just fourteen, he killed the former king of Slesan and seized the throne. However, his reign wasn’t without its challenges—his own brothers defected to the Seven Deadly Kingdoms and later tried to assassinate him. It was Melanthius and Fox Bearrington who came to his aid.”

  The group murmured among themselves, unaware of the hidden connection Percival himself didn’t know: Melanthius and Fox Bearrington were the same person, and now Bimoth had taken up the Fox persona, complicating the web of alliances even further.

  “Bimoth’s magical technique is simple but devastating,” Percival continued. “He has an innate ability to grow stronger than any opponent he faces, making him our ideal tank. He’s a force of pure power. In fact, he and Melanthius fought once, but no one knows who truly won.”

  Bimoth scratched his chin, a smirk tugging at his lips. “If I had to guess, I’d say Melanthius’s strength was on par with my uncle’s—the man who once fought Merlin to a standstill.”

  The room went silent as the weight of his words settled. Allynna whispered under her breath, “On par with an Arcanus Titan…”

  Percival crossed his arms, his gaze firm. “With Bimoth on our side, we have a true juggernaut. Let’s see how King Liam handles that.”

  Meanwhile, Melanthius stirred, his eyes fluttering open as the world came into focus. His once-vibrant skin was now ashen, his body marred by deep, open wounds on his stomach where Goldman’s blade had struck him four times. His bloodied, battered frame looked more like a corpse than a man, yet somehow he moved. His glowing purple eyes, now dim and strained, darted around the strange environment as he drew in ragged, labored breaths.

  Though he was alive, it wasn’t in the way he once was. He was something else—something caught between life and death.

  The space around him was surreal, an entire realm seemingly crafted from parchment. The walls were adorned with intricate sketches, flowing ink forming symbols and maps that shimmered faintly. Orbs of various colors and shapes sat on cluttered counters, their surfaces glowing softly. Weapons of every kind lay scattered across the floor, some old and rusted, others gleaming with an ethereal light.

  “Where… am I?” Mel rasped, his voice weak and dry, as though it hadn’t been used in years. He stumbled forward, pinching the pale, lifeless skin of his arm. The sensation—or lack thereof—made his breath hitch.

  “This isn’t a dream… I can’t feel pain. I’m dead,” he murmured, piecing the horrifying truth together.

  Despite the weight of this realization, his feet carried him forward. His gaze swept the strange room, searching for answers among the parchment walls and cryptic objects scattered around him. His every step felt heavy, not with exhaustion, but with the oppressive knowledge that he was no longer alive—yet not fully gone.

  He approached a wall made entirely of parchment, its surface covered in intricate, swirling patterns of ink. Tentatively, he reached out and let his fingers brush against it. The moment he made contact, his vision shifted violently—his eyes turned a glowing white, just as they had when he read Merlin’s book in life.

  A flood of recognition hit him like a crashing wave, and his breath caught in his throat.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “I’m… inside Merlin’s book?!” he exclaimed, his voice echoing in the strange, endless expanse. Confusion and dread laced his words as he stared at the parchment wall, now understanding the twisted truth of his surroundings.

  Mel began to wander, his fingers twitching slightly as he adjusted to his strange, lifeless state. His eyes traced the walls, scanning the endless lines of text. As he walked, he murmured to himself, reading aloud.

  “Merlin: My son, these are all the weapons I’ve encountered in my various battles.”

  Mel’s gaze dropped to the scattered weapons littering the ground, each one unique and glinting ominously in the faint light. With a curious nod, he approached and picked up a sword. The moment his hand touched the hilt, something extraordinary happened—stats for the weapon began to display before his eyes as if he were still in the real world, reading the book.

  “Limbo, Dark Blade of the Sunwalker. Durability: Max. Strength: Max. Speed: Max. Magic: Max.”

  Mel’s mouth fell open as he stared at the glowing readout, processing the weapon’s absurd power.

  “How strong was this Sunwalker?!” he exclaimed, his voice tinged with awe. “I’ve never read about him in any book before—and this sword is… insane.”

  He turned the blade over in his hands, studying its craftsmanship. Intricate sun symbols ran along the dark blade’s surface, glowing faintly with an otherworldly light. The hilt itself was wreathed in a perpetual flame, flickering and twisting with a fiery intensity. Strangely, the flames didn’t harm him, though he knew it wasn’t because of the sword’s magic—it was because he couldn’t feel anything anymore.

  Mel carefully set the sword down and moved toward a pair of sais resting on a nearby table. The weapons gleamed in the dim light, their hilts adorned with intricate diamond engravings. He picked them up, the cold metal settling comfortably in his hands, and immediately read the stats.

  “Leonardo’s Thunder-Forged Diamond Deflectors.”

  His eyes widened as he processed the name. Leonardo… the Renaissance king?! The memory flashed through his mind—the moment she had confronted Baba Yaga, and when Mel himself had fought Nomak.

  “These… these are the weapons she fought Merlin with?” He muttered, spinning the sais with impressive precision, the blades humming softly as they twirled in his grip.

  The stats glowed before his eyes, and Mel couldn’t help but marvel at their unreal power.

  “Durability: Max. Strength: Unknown. Speed: Max. Magic: Max.”

  “I knew it… Leonardo’s magic had to be connected to diamonds,” he murmured, still in awe of the sais’ extraordinary properties. Their radiance was undeniable—these weren’t just weapons, they were artifacts of immense power.

  With a final glance at the sais, he let them fall gently back onto the table, the sharp sound of metal hitting stone the only noise in the otherwise quiet room.

  He walked over to a spear and picked it up, his fingers tracing the intricate design. As he read the stats, his eyes widened in shock. “Raphael… Renaissance king. I’ve never seen him yet.” He muttered, barely processing the name. Then his gaze shifted to the stats and his voice faltered. “What? Unknown?” He yelled, dropping the spear in disbelief. “Merlin couldn’t even measure its strength? How did he beat them?! What kind of monster was he… Merlin, I mean?!” He staggered back, his heart racing as the overwhelming weight of his father’s power hit him.

  A few moments later, Mel found himself standing before a massive mural of Merlin, surrounded by people bowing in reverence. His fingers grazed the artwork, a soft mutter escaping his lips. “He could really draw.” He stepped closer, noticing more murals, their sheer size almost overwhelming. The figures within were unfamiliar, their faces unrecognizable. “Who are these people?” he wondered aloud.

  Then, his eyes locked on one particular figure. Towering above the rest, it sent an icy shiver down his spine. It wasn’t a human being—no, it had no form at all. Just a massive streak of black lightning. Mel’s heart skipped a beat. “Wait… this is from that dream I had!” he gasped. “This is my black lightning magic!” His voice trembled with a mix of fear and realization. “So it was someone from Merlin’s past… and he fought it? Was he the Purple Cloud?!”

  The very air seemed to thicken with tension. As Mel shouted in fear, the mural of Merlin began to tremble, then crack apart. A purple mist poured from the shattered image, swirling and twisting before solidifying into a towering figure—Merlin. This version of Merlin was a war-torn reflection, a haunting echo of his father. The cloud magic that had formed him hung in the air like a storm on the verge of breaking.

  “You’re smaller than I remember,” Merlin’s voice echoed, booming with a menacing tone that made Mel’s chest tighten. The words struck like daggers, and all Mel could do was struggle to catch his breath. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his body trembling. The weight of the realization hit him hard. This was Merlin—the figure everyone had feared. This was the man whose name made kingdoms tremble.

  “W-what do you mean smaller than you remember?” Mel choked out, his mind scrambling to make sense of the situation. Then, the answer appeared before him—he recognized the words on the wall. This was a spell.

  Without warning, Merlin raised a hand, his gaze cold and unforgiving. With a mere flick of his fingers, a powerful slash cut across Mel’s chest. The searing pain made Mel scream, the wound burning as Merlin’s cloud magic seeped into it. Mel was sent flying across the room, crashing hard against the wall. His scream echoed in the hollow space, a cry of anguish that seemed to reach the very depths of his soul.

  Merlin approached him with a sneer on his face, the air heavy with his presence. “She was mine. You didn’t even treat her right,” he spat, his voice dripping with disdain.

  Mel, dazed and bloodied, struggled to push himself up, his body screaming in pain. His vision blurred, but through his tears, a flicker of recognition and emotion sparked in his heart. “Dad…” he whispered, a weak smile forming through his pain, his eyes glistening with tears.

  But Merlin didn’t show mercy. With a single movement, he leapt toward Mel, his fist swinging with terrifying force. Mel didn’t have time to react before the blow landed, crushing his face with an impact that felt like the world itself had collided with him. The pain was unbearable, and all he could do was cry out, his voice a ragged gasp.

  “Fight back,” Merlin muttered, his voice low and filled with contempt, as he stood over Mel, his presence like a storm ready to swallow him whole.

  Meanwhile, aboard the Steel Pact’s ship, Jake sat in the captain’s chair, his hands fidgeting nervously. Lucy sat just behind him, her eyes scanning the room. A group of knights stood in front of them, their imposing figures silent but watchful. The leader of the knights stepped forward, his voice cold and authoritative.

  “We called this meeting because one of your people attacked our knights. His name was Logan. We need compensation,” the leader declared, his tone unwavering.

  Jake flinched, his discomfort palpable. He wasn’t used to high-stakes meetings like this. “I—I understand. What do you want from us?” he stammered, clearly out of his depth.

  Lucy stepped forward, standing tall in front of Jake. Without a word, she opened a case to reveal a collection of sparkling diamonds, their beauty almost too bright to look at. “These should more than cover any compensation owed. Logan is… no longer with us. He’s MIA,” Lucy explained, her voice steady, though there was an underlying weight to her words. “Hopefully, this will be enough to settle the matter.”

  The knights examined the diamonds carefully, and after a tense moment, the leader nodded in agreement. “It will suffice. Pleasure doing business,” he said, before motioning for his men to leave. The knights filed out of the ship and returned to their own vessel, which slowly submerged into the water, disappearing from view.

  Jake slumped in his chair, his body trembling. He hugged his arms around himself as if trying to hold it all together. “THAT WAS SO SCARY! WHY DO I HAVE TO BE THE ACTING LEADER?! YOU’D BE WAY BETTER AT THIS THAN ME, LUCY!” he cried, his voice a mix of panic and exhaustion. He took deep, ragged breaths, still shaken by the exchange.

  Lucy ruffled her hair, her expression unreadable as she cracked open a soda can and took a long sip. “I don’t want to be a leader,” she said, her voice softer now, almost distant. “That was Logan’s obsession. I need a leader.”

  Her quiet words struck Jake with a weight he hadn’t anticipated. He looked at Lucy, trying to read the depth of her emotions but only finding a sadness he couldn’t understand. She glanced away, clearly lost in her own thoughts for a moment, remembering someone—someone who had once been a leader.

  Jake stood up, his mind racing. He hesitated, then murmured, “I think that’s the same for me too… I can’t be the leader, because I need to be led…” His voice trailed off, the burden of leadership weighing heavily on him.

  Lucy shook her head, though her gaze softened as she looked at him. “For what it’s worth,” she said quietly, “I see you as the acting leader for now.”