Nioh took another sip, then continued.

"Of course," he said smoothly, "we're still missing a few guests."

He tilted his head toward the vaulted ceiling, as if listening to something only he could hear.

"But not to worry..." he added, pausing mid-sentence, lips curling into a grin.

"They should be arriving—"

A heartbeat of silence.

"Right about now."

Whispers rippled through the ballroom.

"Who?"

"What guests?"

"What does he mean?"

Eyes turned toward the entrance.

Nothing.

Three seconds passed.

Then—

ROAR!!

The shriek of a dragon tore through the ballroom like thunder through crystal. Guests clutched their glasses. Magic barriers flared instinctively. Servants ducked.

The great doors buckled inward as space itself cracked. A triangular void-rift split open at the threshold, jagged like shattered glass. Along its burning edges, golden runes sparked into being, swirling with celestial precision—each one a sigil of a great house.

From the void stepped two figures, their shadows long and royal across the marble.

Princess Aquila Aeros of the Stines Region stood tall, her presence like a blade unsheathed. She wore a gown stitched from woven sapphire glass, edged with feathers of the Skybound Roc—an extinct beast of the upper firmament. Her hair was coiled high, crowned with a starlit diadem, and her every step left a shimmer in the air, as if reality itself bent to her weight.

Beside her stood Neil Rivers, heir of the Xerath Region, adorned in obsidian robes trimmed with black opal. His coat bore the crest of the Riverwalkers—a glowing spinal motif that pulsed in sync with his heartbeat. His eyes were sharp and calculating, the gaze of a tactician, and his gloves bore command sigils known only to the High Strategists of his fief.

But before anyone could speak—

CRASH!!

From the balcony above, a colossal dragon dropped from the heavens, landing with a seismic boom. Its body was plated in molten-gold armor, lava steam venting from its nostrils. The floor trembled as it settled.

Sliding off the dragon's back with casual grace was Magnus Gold, heir of the Aspar Fiefdom. He was dressed in full golden plate—regal, brutal, brilliant. His cape was made of fire-silk, fluttering like an inferno with every movement. A gemstone the size of a fist sat on his chestplate, radiating an aura of divine bloodline purity.

And then—

BOOM!!!

The entry doors shattered as a titanic spear embedded itself into the ballroom floor. A gust of wind and fury followed.

Striding through the broken threshold came Lithaa Brimes, daughter of the Monarch and heir to the Shoxa Region. She wore no dress—only ceremonial battle-armor in deep crimson, laced with silver vines and bearing dozens of dueling scars. Her braid was adorned with medals of conquest, her eyes burning with unfiltered pride.

She paused, her gaze locking with Akron's.

"Sister," she greeted simply.

The ballroom froze.

Gasps echoed. Glasses trembled. A few nobles dropped to one knee.

The four great heirs of humanity's pillar regions were all here.

Princess Aquila of the Skies.

Neil Rivers of the Seas.

Magnus Gold of the Metal.

Lithaa Brimes of the Strenght.

The pillars of nobility. The future of civilization.

And they had all come… for Nioh.

Marsai's breath caught. She blinked, trying to reset what her eyes refused to deny. She'd expected failure. Mockery. An awkward silence.

But instead, she saw power. Influence. Loyalty.

She'd been wrong again.

Nioh hadn't been bluffing. He hadn't lost status. He had grown it in the shadows.

"I haven't seen you in a few months, and you're already in a wheelchair," Magnus said loudly, his voice echoing with blunt amusement.

"It's very uncouth of you to receive guests like this," Aquila added, fanning herself with a winged scepter.

"What can you expect from fallen nobility?" Neil remarked with a smirk. "At least the ball is up to par. I suppose your taste hasn't decayed entirely."

Lithaa ignored them all, stepping past the crowd with a warrior's stride. She stood beside Akron and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Sister."

Akron smiled, quiet and unshaken.

Nioh raised his glass once more.

"Now," he said, "I believe we can begin."

—

"I have gathered you all today for a single purpose," Nioh began, his voice calm but heavy with authority.

A hush fell over the ballroom. The nobles, once murmuring and shifting uneasily, now stood still.

"As a prince of Daewyth, I should have held my coming-of-age ceremony and led my first territorial conquest two years ago."

A collective gasp spread like a wave. Nobles exchanged glances—such a delay in royal tradition was not just unheard of, it was scandalous.

"Unfortunately," Nioh continued, eyes sweeping across the crowd, "a major incident occurred… one that delayed this pivotal moment in my life."

He paused, letting the silence settle again.

"But today, before all of you—witnesses of history, pillars of power—I formally lay claim to my title as Marquis of Daewyth... and hereby throw myself into the heirship competition."

The air cracked with a chorus of startled exclamations. Gasps, hurried whispers, the clink of dropped silverware.

"Proceed," Nioh commanded, the word slicing through the noise like a blade.

"You can't—" Marsai blurted, stepping forward instinctively.

But the look that followed from Nioh—cold, sharp, lethal—froze her where she stood. It wasn't just a warning. It was a promise.

If she spoke again, he would end her.

And then, as if on cue, Magnus Gold stepped forward, a grin playing on his lips. In his hands, he carried a crown—an ornate monstrosity of solid gold and oversized emeralds, so gaudy it looked like a parade trophy rather than a symbol of noble right.

"I prepared this just for you," he said with amusement.

Nioh glanced at the crown, and a frown tugged at his lips. Its design was hideous. Tasteless. He made no effort to take it.

Instead, he lifted a single hand.

The crown rose from Magnus's grip, levitating above Nioh's head as runes shimmered to life around him—old magic, deep and forbidden. The room darkened, shadows drawn inward like breath held in awe.

"In the name of House Glev," Nioh declared, his voice echoing unnaturally, "and in the presence of the Scions of Humanity—"

The crown began to spin slowly above him.

"I hereby declare myself—Nioh Glev, Absolute Marquis."

The crown dropped, landing squarely upon his brow. With that, the deed was done.

For the first time in Daewyth's history, a royal had crowned himself.

Shock rippled through the nobles.

Some looked outraged.

Others, intrigued.

And a few… impressed.

A new silence fell.

Until Nioh spoke again—voice sharper now, his intent revealed:

"I lay claim to my first conquest."

Eyes widened.

"This will be one for the histories. One for the legends. And to those brave or bold enough to care—" he said, glancing at the heirs who stood by without objection, "you are welcome to join me."

He leaned back, letting the weight of his words settle.

"Tomorrow, I will conquer the Hellscape."

A beat of silence followed his words.

Then—an eruption.

Gasps. Exclamations. Disbelief.

"Did he say Hellscape?"

"Is he mad?"

"No one can conqueer that region!"

The Hellscape—a cursed wasteland twisted by ancient warfare and unstable ley-energy. A region so inhospitable and lawless that even the monarch's banner dared not fly above it. For centuries, it had stood unconquered.

Nioh had just declared he would seize it.

Marsai staggered. Her heart thundered in her chest. Everything—every scrap of planning, every desperate maneuver to control the narrative—had just been upended in seconds. She searched Nioh's face, hoping to find some trace of bluff or hesitation.

There was none.

She turned toward the balcony where the nobles of the great houses were still murmuring, trying to grasp what had just unfolded.

Then came the first reply.

Magnus Gold threw his head back and laughed. "So you have finally lost it ? " he boomed, voice echoing across the hall. "Madness, arrogance, and ambition! I'll ride with you—for the glory alone!"

"Speak for yourself," Aquila Aeros said coldly. Her silver hair shimmered under the chandeliers, her expression unreadable. "The Hellscape is no place for theatrics. If you go in unprepared, you'll die screaming. SO I can only assume you have found it."

Nioh merely smiled. "Your assumption is correct."

Aquila narrowed her eyes, then gave the faintest of smirks. " I am in."

Neil Rivers, heir of the Xerath Region, chuckled under his breath. "I dont like, your face " He stepped forward. "Count me in. I want a front row seat when you get devoured—."

And then came Lithaa Brimes, daughter of the monarch herself.

She stepped forward, silent and statuesque in her obsidian war-dress, eyes on Akron beside Nioh. "Sister," she said softly, "you're involved in this?"

Akron nodded. "I am."

Lithaa looked to Nioh, then nodded once. "Then I'll be there, too. If you conquer the Hellscape… I want to see it."

Around the room, the nobles were in disarray. Some cheered, others whispered in dread. Political alliances were already shifting in the shadows, recalculating their bets.

One elderly noble leaned to another and said, "If he succeeds, he'll be unstoppable."

"And if he fails?"

"Then no one will dare try again for another century."

Marsai turned away, hiding her trembling hands. He knew. He knew the other heirs would appear. He knew the drama would stir the noble courts into chaos. And worst of all—

He knew the monarchy could not ignore this challenge.

Nioh, now crowned and smiling faintly, raised his glass one last time.

"To conquest," he said.

And the night descended into whispers, intrigue, and awe.

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