[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Outskirts]

The morning had come, but it brought no warmth with it.

The sky hung dully — a pale shroud of gray.

Dante stood before the tall alloy gates, their weight and reinforced thickness was opposing. Beyond them, the Retorta Guild's outpost rose more like a fortress.

He stared in silence as Ivan exhaled, forcing a thin smile as if to mask the tension in his chest. "Well," he murmured, his tone light but unsteady, "I suppose here goes nothing."

Alexander gave a low sigh beside him, running a hand through his hair. "You could say that again," he muttered. "Feels like we're walking into a lion's den. Or a large and very feral Deseruit Beasts."

They started forward, approaching the gate.

Perched comfortably on Dante's shoulder, Tamamo-no-Mae watched them both, her golden tails swaying.

"I wonder," she said after a pause, "what do you make of those two?" Her head tilted slightly, ears twitching. "That Alexander seems far too cautious for his own good — a coward hiding behind reason, perhaps. Overthinking every move until he forgets how to act. And that Ivan… naive, yes, but his heart's in the right place. He truly wants to help those townsfolk. Admirable, though such idealism tends to burn out fast in a world like this."

Dante's reply came after a small silence. "They're young," he said simply. "They still chase an idea of what they think the world should be — not what it is. They haven't yet decided what they truly want to stand for, or what they're willing to sacrifice to reach it." He paused, his gaze lingering on the gates ahead. "That isn't necessarily a flaw," he added quietly. "But the world isn't merciful enough to wait for them to find their footing."

Tamamo hummed thoughtfully, the sound melodic. "You think these negotiations will fail then?" she asked, watching the tension in Ivan's shoulders.

"Perhaps."

"Yet you still agreed to help," she said, her tails brushing lightly against his back as if teasing him. "Were you not saying just yesterday that your strength cannot solve every affliction?"

Dante didn't give a straight answer. "Hmph," he murmured as he began walking after the others, his coat stirring.

Up ahead, Ivan and Alexander had already stopped, halted by two guards stationed in front of the massive gate.

Both guards were clad in the Retorta Guild's standard uniform they saw back in town.

One of them raised a hand sharply. "Halt," he said, voice filtered through a metallic respirator. "This is a restricted sector. State your business."

The second guard didn't speak, but his posture shifted — slight, but telling. His hand hovered close to the weapon at his hip.

Ivan straightened, brushing invisible dust from his coat before clearing his throat. His tone was formal, but his words carried a hint of restrained nervousness. "Greetings. I am Ivan Tsarevich, third prince of the Velikorya Kingdom, from the northern territories," he said, voice firming as he continued. "I've come here today to discuss potential negotiations regarding the town of Rumpelstadt."

The two guards exchanged a glance — silent communication.

The one who'd spoken turned slightly away, lifting two fingers to the side of his helmet to activate a comm-link. His voice dropped to a low murmur, though not low enough to escape the heightened senses of those present.

Alexander's sharp hearing caught every fragmented phrase.

"Confirmation required — Prince Ivan Tsarevich of Velikorya. Height, weight, eye color… hair…" There was a pause, static crackling faintly. "Understood. Patching through to Legatus Conroy."

Alexander's jaw tightened. He could hear the voice faintly on the other end — muffled, authoritative.

"Sir, we have a situation here at the gate," the guard reported. "A man claiming to be the third prince of Velikorya is requesting audience regarding Rumpelstadt. He's accompanied by three others. I've confirmed visual identity… Yes. Understood. Awaiting orders."

Another long silence followed.

Finally, the guard turned back to the group. "Our Legatus stationed here has agreed to a meeting," he said. "You will be escorted inside."

Alexander blinked, his brows knitting slightly. ("That easily?") he thought, a wary frown forming. ("No one gives access that quickly. Not this organization. Something's off.")

Tamamo's tail flicked, brushing against Dante's cheekplate. "Well," she murmured under her breath, "it seems fortune favors us… or toys with us. Either way, we'll find out soon enough."

The gate began to move.

With a slow mechanical hiss, the enormous alloy slabs slid apart. As they parted, the view beyond unfolded: the Retorta Guild's outpost, a sprawling complex of reinforced structures and fortified towers.

The banners of the guild hung from the walls everywhere you looked.

Members moved with purpose everywhere they looked. Some trained with weapons in tightly disciplined drills; others hauled crates across the yard, or worked at benches forging and maintaining arms.

One of the guards gestured. "Follow," he ordered curtly.

And they did.

Ivan glanced around, unable to hide his curiosity. Alexander's eyes, however, kept darting from one shadowed corner to another, every instinct screaming that they didn't belong here.

Tamamo's tails rippled faintly. "So much rigidity," she whispered. "They move like puppets tied to the same string."

Dante said nothing, but his head turned slightly, he was reading everything — the discipline in the soldiers' stance, the efficiency in their movements, how prepared they seemed.

("An order-bound hive,") he thought. ("Every piece perfectly aligned. Yet…") his eyes lingered on a group of trainees striking in unison, their motions identical — ("it takes only one flaw to break the rhythm.")

Ivan walked a few paces ahead, hands folded neatly behind his back, trying to project calm despite the nerves clawing at his gut.

"Stay close," he murmured quietly to the others, just loud enough to hear. "We shouldn't speak unless addressed."

Tamamo chuckled softly at that, her voice little more than a purr. "My, how princely. Giving orders already."

Ivan shot her a sideways glance but didn't rise to the bait.

The guard leading them didn't look back once as they approached the largest of the structures—a steel and stone monolith that dwarfed the surrounding guild buildings.

When the metallic doors slid open, a faint hiss echoed through the air, followed by the sound of soles meeting the marble floor. The entrance hall was vast, its floors and walls smooth and pale, veins of gray running through the white. Several staircases spiraled upward, connecting the lower offices to the upper floors.

The group followed their escort up the stairs. The journey was silent, save for the rhythm of boots.

Each floor they passed grew quieter. The hum of conversation from below faded until it was replaced only by the sound of their breathing.

After what felt like an unnecessarily long climb, they stopped before a white oak door with a metal nameplate embedded into its center, engraved in clean lettering: 'Legatus Conroy'.

"The Legatus will see you now," the guild member said stiffly. "Conduct yourselves properly." He stepped aside and folded his hands behind his back.

Ivan looked toward Alexander, then Dante, who gave a faint nod. Gathering himself, Ivan knocked.

"Enter," came a firm, muffled voice from the other side.

Ivan hesitated for a heartbeat before pushing open the door.

They stepped inside.

The office was large but not ostentatious. Wooden floors were mostly covered by a red carpet threaded with gold. Against one wall stood shelves lined not with books, but with bottles of wine and glass decanters, each one labeled with elegant handwriting. On the opposite wall hung the stuffed heads of Deseruit Beasts, their warped features frozen. A faint, metallic scent lingered in the air—like something that had been washed clean too many times.

At the far end of the room, behind an oak desk strewn with papers and an open ledger, sat the man they sought.

"Ah," the man said as they entered, his voice even. "Greetings."

Even seated, Legatus Conroy was clearly an imposing figure. His broad shoulders and solid frame filled the chair, the fine cut of his navy uniform doing little to disguise his strength. His hair was dark and neatly kept, and a short, trimmed beard framed his face. His eyes—icy blue—moved slowly across the group, assessing each of them.

"Quite the party," he said, gesturing toward the two chairs before his desk. "Unfortunately, I only have two spare seats."

"We'll stand," Dante said simply.

"Suit yourselves," Conroy replied lightly, though his gaze lingered for a moment on Dante's helmet before moving on. "Now, as you're no doubt aware, I am Legatus Conroy—though you may call me Conroy. I serve directly under our esteemed Lady of the Seventh Seat within the Retorta Guild. It's not often I receive visits from guests of your… caliber."

"Ah, yes. A pleasure," Ivan said, his tone polite but slightly tense. "I'm Ivan Tsarevich, third prince of Velikorya." He murmured as he took a seat with Alexander.

"Alexander," came the curt follow-up.

"Dante," was all the former knight said. Tamamo-no-Mae said nothing, her eyes unreadable as her tails swayed slowly behind her.

"Quite the unique assembly," Conroy murmured, his tone hovering between amusement and curiosity. His gaze passed over each of them again before landing on Ivan. "But I assume this isn't a social visit. You're here regarding Rumpelstadt, yes?"

Ivan nodded, hesitating slightly before speaking. "That's right. I understand that the Retorta Guild has purchased the rights to the town… but my purpose here concerns the situation with the mines."

Conroy leaned back slightly, folding his hands over the desk. "And what of it?"

Ivan opened his mouth to respond, but no words came immediately. His throat tightened. He looked briefly toward Dante and Alexander before steadying himself. ("He's calm—too calm. It feels rehearsed… if I say the wrong thing, this could go sideways fast.")

"The mines are the foundation of Rumpelstadt," Dante said instead, stepping forward just enough for his voice to carry. "Without them, the town has no trade, no income, no purpose. The previous mayor had no legal claim to them, correct?"

Conroy's brows lifted, impressed by the directness. "That's right," he admitted easily. "The mines were never owned by the town itself. Not by the mayor, nor by the Retorta Guild—at least, not until recently. So it should come as no surprise that we've chosen to assume control over them."

"But those mines are the only work the people have," Ivan pressed, his tone softening but firm. "They've lived off that land for generations. And now you've forbidden them from working there?"

He frowned, struggling to contain his frustration. "That's cruel."

Conroy tilted his head, as though considering the words. "Perhaps," he said, voice measured. "But we have allowed the citizens to keep their homes, haven't we? That seems fair enough. Every exchange requires sacrifice."

Ivan blinked. "Sacrifice?" he repeated in disbelief. "You call it that?"

Dante's voice cut in again. "You would coerce compliance through the threat of homelessness. Call it what it is."

Conroy's lips curved faintly. "You make it sound so personal, Sir Dante. It's not. This is administrative restructuring—necessary for order. I follow my lady's will, as all loyal men do. But—" he straightened slightly, eyes narrowing on Ivan— "you're here to negotiate, yes?"

Before Ivan could respond, a low, clear voice broke the air.

"No," said Tamamo-no-Mae bluntly. "There will be no negotiation."

All eyes turned toward her.

Conroy blinked, taken off guard by her interruption. "Oh?" he asked, an edge of politeness masking his irritation. "And why is that, miss fox?"

Tamamo's nine tails shifted lazily. "Because you didn't invite us here to find common ground," she said. "You invited us to evaluate us—to confirm whether Ivan truly is the prince of Velikorya, and whether you can use that to your advantage."

Ivan turned to her, startled, but she didn't meet his gaze. Her focus remained locked on the Legatus.

"You seem confident in your assumptions," Conroy said with a thin smile. "I assure you, I have no intention of deception."

"You do," Tamamo replied softly, almost pitying. "You simply believe that, as long as your lies wear a uniform, they'll pass as truth."

Alexander let out a faint sigh through his nose. "Can' believe I'm saying this," he muttered, standing, "I agree with her. Something about this whole thing reeks."

Ivan hesitated, torn between diplomacy and intuition, then rose as well.

Conroy's expression smoothed into neutrality. "Ah, well. I can't stop you from leaving." His voice was calm again. "Still—my door remains open for future discussions. Should you find your position… flexible."

Dante turned first. He didn't speak, didn't glance back—he simply walked out with Tamamo. Ivan and Alexander exchanged a final look—one uneasy, the other resolute—before stepping out as well.

The door shut with a click.

Conroy sat still for a long moment, staring at the closed door. The polite smile he'd maintained slipped away entirely. His fingers tapped once against the desk before stilling again.

"Fascinating," he muttered quietly, almost to himself. "The prince, the wolf, the beast… and the knight without a face."

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