At the same time, the Saladin Kingdom, the Royal Capital.

On the battlements.

The torches sizzled as they burned, their flickering flames casting long, twisted shadows on the walls that appeared grotesque in the ink-black night, like devils about to descend upon the human world.

The nearby soldier guarding the city clutched his spear while dozing off, the sound of his steady snoring echoing through the air.

“Snore, snore!~”

Just then, a cold gust of wind blew past, jolting the slumbering soldier awake with a shiver.

“Ah-choo…”

He yawned and rubbed his sleepy eyes, instinctively gazing ahead. It was a casual glance, but the next second, the soldier was wide awake, his blood running cold.

On the other side of the wall, a formation of fully armed soldiers emerged from the cover of night, silently advancing within a hundred meters of the battlements.

Where did this army come from? Why hadn’t anyone raised an alarm?

No time to think, the soldier opened his mouth wide and yelled, “Enemy raid…”

But before he could finish, a hand suddenly reached out from behind, covering his mouth, followed by a dagger quickly slashing across his neck, leaving a cold gleam in the night.

The soldier felt a sharp pain in his neck; his open mouth could only produce gurgling, leaking sounds from his severed windpipe before his body went limp and collapsed.

In the moments before his consciousness faded into darkness, the last thing he saw was the gory scene of his fellow sentries bleeding out, lying lifeless in pools of crimson.

A short while later…

“Clang, clang!” The sound of chains turning on the winch echoed.

The gate, meant to remain closed at night, slowly rose at this moment. Soldiers streamed in, smoothly infiltrating the city.

Their insignia bore the image of a stag and a great tree.

Anyone familiar with the Saladin Kingdom’s aristocratic system would recognize it immediately—the crests of River Valley and Forest Land. Years ago, the lords of these domains, the two earls, had been executed by King George in this very city, their headless corpses still hanging on the walls.

Under the shadow of night, an elderly man cloaked entirely in a mantle stepped forward, his face illuminated beneath his hood by the flickering firelight. It was none other than Rolant, the deputy commander of the Golden Armored Knight Guard of the royal court.

From the infiltrating force emerged two young men—Count Varys of River Valley, the domain’s new lord, and Count Filo of Forest Land, the newly titled lord there.

“Teacher!”

“Teacher!”

They approached Rolant and saluted him respectfully.

Rolant nodded, then urgently said, “Enough of the pleasantries; let’s not waste any time. Get to the Royal Palace at once. That old fool Ishus has been lured out of the city by my excuse. Guarding the Mad King now are only a few knights. Do what you must—sever his head, claim your revenge, and restore order.”

The two men thumped their chests heavily and declared, “By the oath of our families.”

Yet Varys, suddenly hesitant, voiced his concern, “But… teacher, are you certain of the intel? That person from Flower City…”

Filo chimed in, sharing a similar worry, “This is critical to our success.”

Though they didn’t mention any names, Rolant knew whom they were referring to.

Jamie Stock.

The lord of the Tulip Domain, the City Lord of Flower City, the bearer of the title “Bloody Flower,” and currently the strongest figure within the Saladin Kingdom. A staunch ally of Mad King George, Stock was the biggest linchpin in establishing and maintaining George’s claim to the throne.

Attacking the Royal Capital and disposing of the Mad King might have been easy, but ensuring they didn’t provoke retaliation from the Bloody Count was a matter requiring utmost caution. Otherwise, no one present could withstand his iron wrath.

Varys, brimming with confidence, assured him, “Don’t worry.”

With a cold chuckle, he added, “The intel came from my informant stationed in Flower City—it’s absolutely accurate. As of this morning.”

“The Bloody Count has closed his eyes forever.”

…

Star Language Manor, Banquet Hall.

“Don’t be greedy, or there will be consequences!” Albert Monbatten’s seemingly heartfelt reminder came across with a patronizing tone, his face carrying an expression of false concern.

There was a brief quiet around him, as the surrounding nobles cast their gaze—no, their attention had been there much earlier.

Lynch had noticed it from the very moment Albert began walking toward him—the subtle shifting of guests edging closer, stolen glances in his direction, eager expressions anticipating drama.

Rejection was in the air.

Examining the owners of those gazes, it was no coincidence—all of them were esteemed purebloods from various wizard families, making their intentions all too clear.

Given his identity, being associated with Avery had already stirred discontent among them. While Wizard World was relatively liberal, their initial objection was subdued. However, now everything had changed.

Marriage in this land was a proposition deeply tied to interests and allegiances. Regardless of whether Avery’s wedding impacted them directly, the mere notion of “Avery marrying a Muggle” tore apart long-standing rules. This act, if realized, would set a dangerous precedent, potentially uprooting centuries of order.

Muggles were meant to remain Muggles.

To covet the privilege of purebloods was seen as blatant desecration and offense!

Thus, it was inevitable when Avery proposed her union with Lynch during that family council—turmoil had ensued. Yesterday, implicit disdain; today, unbridled hatred.

Albert, for now, appeared to be the lone provocateur—a High-level Apprentice barely thinking for himself. In actuality, he was simply a pawn, a loudmouth puppet manipulated by Wizard families in their collective desire to protect their traditions.

However, swept up in this political storm, Albert was clueless, foolishly basking in the attention of his audience, feeling empowered to lecture a wizard despite his apprentice status.

“We enjoy welcoming new friends, but there’s a prerequisite—that they understand decorum, isn’t it? If someone comes to your house as a guest but eyes your possessions, I’m sure you’d—”

“Enough.”

Mid-rant, Lynch interrupted, clearly fed up with his incessant rambling.

Without sparing him a glance, Lynch impatiently remarked, “Doesn’t your house have any grown-ups?”

Albert froze, momentarily unsure how to respond.

Lynch continued, “If there’s someone who has something to say, let the adults come speak to me.”

Albert’s face stiffened.

At that moment, a few Transformed Knights responsible for the venue’s order passed nearby. Lynch motioned for one of them to approach.

The knight quickly stepped forward and bowed respectfully, “Esteemed Master Wizard, how may I assist you?”

Holding a cream-filled dessert in one hand, Lynch casually pointed at Albert with his fork and remarked nonchalantly, “This person offended me.”

Before advancing to the Second Tier, Lynch might have weighed the consequences, considering the pros and cons of escalating or de-escalating conflict to maximize his interests.

But now, Lynch only cared for dignity.

The Transformed Knight examined Lynch’s wizard robe and Albert’s Apprentice Badge, and without hesitation, immediately ordered Albert, “Apprentice, apologize to this esteemed wizard for your rudeness at once!”

No matter how noble his bloodline might be, Albert was still merely an apprentice. Lynch, regardless of his humble origins, was a genuine wizard.

The Law of Power.

This was the one eternal, unchanging supreme rule of Wizard World!

Albert’s face flushed red.

The surrounding guests sneered, intending to pressure him not to give in so easily.

The knight rested his hand on his sword’s hilt.

At last.

Struck by a twinge of fear, Albert dropped his head, his face burning as he reluctantly muttered, “S-Sorry.”

The gathered guests immediately wore expressions of frustration and disappointment.

The knight apologized to Lynch, “Our sincerest apologies, Master Wizard. We will follow protocol to punish this apprentice for his conduct and provide compensation as required.”

Lynch offered them a dismissive nod, continuing to eat his cream-filled dessert as he casually strolled toward the main gate.

Upon turning sharply, the icing from the dessert accidentally smeared onto his hand. He contemplated wiping it with a handkerchief, but after fumbling around, couldn’t locate one.

He paused, reconsidered, and turned back toward Albert.

With a quick swing, Lynch delivered two crisp slaps across Albert’s face.

“Smack! Smack!”

The sound of the sharp, resounding slaps against Albert’s cheeks pierced the air.

The surrounding guests’ eyes instantly blazed red.

To them, Lynch’s gesture wasn’t merely a public humiliation to Albert—it was a blatant act of defiance aimed at every noble pureblood present!

Yet Lynch himself thought only—

Finally, I can call it a day!

Dropping the dessert plate, he walked merrily toward the exit.

…

“Thud, thud!”

Just as he stepped through the manor’s main gate, the flapping of wings suddenly resounded, followed by a raven flying from afar and landing before him.

“Mr. Lynch Valen, there’s a registered letter for you.”

The raven extended a letter.

Lynch took the letter and examined it. It was addressed from the Human World, sealed with a tulip insignia. Few nobles employed this seal—but among them was Lynch’s friend, Jamie Stock.

“Whoosh, whoosh!” Another frigid gust swept through, carrying an air of chill and desolation.

Lynch’s hand, clutching the letter, froze.

After a moment.

He slowly opened the envelope.

As expected:

“To my dearest friend Lynch Valen, by the time you receive this letter, I will likely have left this world. I am sorry to inform you after the fact and bid farewell in such an impersonal manner, but you know—I have never been one for goodbyes.”

“How time flies; the days we once sparred in the arena feel like only yesterday. And yet, here we are, at the brink of parting ways…”