The capital erupted into coordinated chaos within minutes of the broadcast's conclusion.

Royal guards poured into the streets from barracks across the city, their armor gleaming under torchlight as they moved with military precision. City watch forces joined them, decades of training activating as they coordinated sweeps designed to apprehend suspects before escape became possible.

"Secure all gates!" commanders shouted, their voices carrying through districts still reeling from what they'd witnessed. "No one matching the suspect descriptions leaves the capital!"

In the noble quarter, armored figures surrounded Lord Venn's manor with overwhelming force. Two dozen royal guards established a perimeter while a Master rank knight approached the main entrance with an arrest warrant in hand.

Inside, Lord Lewis Venn stumbled through his halls in a panic-fueled haze, his drug-addled mind struggling to process the catastrophe that had destroyed his carefully constructed life.

"The southern gate," he gasped to his remaining guards. "We can still reach it before they close the perimeter, I have resources hidden outside the kingdom—"

The doors exploded inward.

Boom.

Splinters filled the air as royal forces breached simultaneously through multiple entrances. Guards who'd served Venn for years found themselves facing overwhelming numbers, their brief resistance ending when they recognized the futility of fighting the crown's direct forces.

"Lord Lewis Venn," the Master rank knight declared, his voice carrying absolute authority. "You are under arrest by order of King Harold for crimes including conspiracy, corruption, trafficking of illegal substances, and complicity in organized criminal enterprise."

Venn's legs gave out, his body collapsing as decades of carefully maintained power structure crumbled in a single moment. "I can explain," he whimpered, voice small and pathetic. "The broadcast was fabricated, my enemies conspired—"

"Save your explanations for trial," the knight said coldly. "You'll have ample opportunity to present your defense before the king's justice."

Across the city at the Temple of Light, similar scene unfolded with even greater drama.

Pope Reginald had barricaded himself in his chambers, surrounded by the few Temple guards who remained loyal despite what the broadcast had revealed. But loyalty meant nothing against the overwhelming force the crown deployed.

"This is sacrilege!" the Pope screamed as battering rams struck his door. "I am the Goddess's chosen representative, you cannot arrest me without divine approval!"

The door shattered on the third impact.

"Divine approval was withdrawn the moment you chose personal greed over celestial duty," a voice said from beyond the broken entrance. A woman stepped through, her presence radiating power that made even Master rank cultivators instinctively straighten.

Grand Inquisitor Lyanna, the Temple's internal enforcement authority, entered with expression mixing disgust and professional satisfaction. She'd suspected corruption for years but lacked evidence to act against someone at the Pope's level.

Now she had everything she needed, broadcast to the entire kingdom by sources beyond her jurisdiction.

"Pope Reginald," she said formally. "I strip you of your ecclesiastical authority and remand you to royal custody pending investigation by both Temple and crown. Your crimes have brought shame upon institutions that existed long before you and will continue long after you're forgotten."

The Pope tried to speak but no words emerged, his chemical dependency and absolute terror combining to leave him paralyzed. Royal guards moved forward, securing him with restraints designed to suppress cultivation.

Throughout the capital the pattern repeated—suspects named in the broadcast found themselves surrounded by overwhelming force, their escape routes cut off before they could activate contingency plans.

Syndicate distributors were pulled from their businesses, minor officials who'd taken bribes were extracted from their homes, enforcers who'd believed themselves untouchable discovered that royal authority transcended criminal intimidation.

The kingdom was conducting the largest coordinated arrest operation in its modern history, and the efficiency suggested this had been planned well in advance. King Harold had apparently been waiting for justification to move against corruption he'd suspected but couldn't prove.

The broadcast had provided that justification in the most public way possible.

---

In the western district, Raze emerged from the broadcasting station to find his companions already gathering near where he'd left them. Mariabel was on her feet despite obvious exhaustion, Kael had arrived from the eastern district looking battered but functional, and both Alex and Oziel were present though clearly drained.

Anastasia appeared from a side street, her refined features showing relief mixed with satisfaction. She'd emerged from wherever she'd been hiding once the broadcast confirmed their success, her testimony having been the foundation everything else built upon.

"We did it," she said, her voice carrying weight of five years' documentation finally vindicated. "After watching him destroy countless lives, after documenting every crime he committed, we finally exposed him to the entire kingdom."

"The whole kingdom saw," Kael confirmed, his analytical mind still processing the implications. "Everyone from farmers in remote villages to nobles in the capital, there's no way to suppress or dismiss evidence that was transmitted so publicly."

Mariabel smiled despite her exhaustion, golden eyes bright with triumph. "Helena's production was perfect, the testimony flowed seamlessly and the evidence was presented with clarity that made denial impossible."

But beneath the celebration, unspoken tension existed between specific members of the group.

Alex's blue eyes tracked Raze with intensity that suggested more than simple curiosity. The golden-haired hero had seen something during that blank period, experienced power that transcended what divinity prepared him to face.

His divine blessing was designed to counter anything, to let him stand against forces that would overwhelm normal cultivators. The Goddess's protection had never failed him before, had let him face threats far beyond his rank with confidence born from celestial favor.

But that thing wearing Raze's face had simply bypassed his divinity entirely.

The spatial slash had punched through golden barriers like they were made of paper, divine energy proving inadequate against whatever force that being wielded. And Alex was certain he'd survived only because the entity chose to let him live, not through any capability of his own.

He'd seen Gunn's severed head when he woke, noted the confused expression frozen on features that suggested death had come before comprehension. A Master Peak cultivator eliminated with such casual ease that he hadn't even struggled.

Whatever inhabited Raze during that period was beyond anything Alex had encountered or trained to face. And the fact that Raze himself seemed unaware of what had happened made the situation even more concerning.

Mariabel's thoughts followed similar paths, though her awareness had been more limited.

She'd been barely conscious when that presence manifested, her injuries keeping her awareness fragmented and unclear. But she'd felt it regardless, that overwhelming power that made the air itself feel heavy.

The crimson energy that had erupted from Raze's body had carried weight she'd never experienced from any cultivator at any rank. Not Master, not even the legends about Grandmaster level warriors, this had been something fundamentally different.

She was certain if it wanted, that being could have leveled the entire kingdom without significant effort. The casual way it had moved, the minimal exertion required for devastating attacks, everything suggested capabilities that transcended normal cultivation entirely.

And like Alex, she was certain they'd survived because the entity permitted it rather than because they'd posed any actual challenge.

Both of them looked at Raze now, noting his apparent confusion about what had occurred. He clearly didn't remember, didn't understand what he'd become during that period. Whether that ignorance was a blessing or danger remained to be seen.

They made silent agreement through brief eye contact—this conversation would happen privately, once circumstances permitted. No point alarming the others until they understood more about what they were actually dealing with.

"Someone's coming," Oziel said, his enhanced perception noting approaching presence before others could react.

A carriage drawn by horses rounded the corner, its construction suggesting royal origin despite the relatively modest decoration. It pulled to a stop near their group, the door opening to reveal a woman whose healer's robes were unmistakable.

A knight stepped down first, his armor bearing the crest of the royal guard. He was perhaps thirty years old with professional bearing that suggested extensive service to the crown.

"I am Sir Christophe," he said, his voice carrying formal courtesy. "I've been dispatched by His Majesty King Harold with instructions to ensure the individuals responsible for tonight's broadcast receive appropriate medical attention and comfortable transport to the castle."

The healer emerged next, her experienced eyes immediately cataloging injuries across the group. "I'll be examining each of you and providing treatment as needed before we depart."

She worked efficiently, her hands glowing with healing energy as she addressed their various injuries. Mariabel's broken ribs were properly set and accelerated in their mending, Kael's head wound was sealed completely, Oziel's accumulated damage from fighting Bowman was reduced to manageable soreness.

Even Alex received attention despite his divine blessing having already begun repairs, the healer ensuring no hidden damage remained that could cause problems later.

Raze accepted treatment for exhaustion and minor scrapes he'd accumulated during whatever had happened during his blank period, though he noted with some confusion that his body showed far less damage than he'd expected given the state of his companions.

"The king wishes to meet with you personally," Sir Christophe explained as the healing concluded. "Your actions tonight have significant implications for the kingdom's governance, and His Majesty believes direct conversation is warranted before official proceedings begin."

They boarded the carriage, its interior surprisingly spacious despite the number of passengers. The seating was comfortable, cushions absorbing the road's imperfections as horses began pulling them through the capital's streets.

The route took them through districts still processing what the broadcast had revealed, people gathered in streets discussing testimony they'd witnessed. Some faces showed anger at the corruption exposed, others displayed satisfaction that truth had finally emerged.

Guards were everywhere, royal forces maintaining order while conducting their coordinated arrests. The kingdom's response had been swift and comprehensive, leaving no doubt that those responsible for the crimes would face justice.

"The capital is already changing," Anastasia observed, watching through the carriage window as they passed another group being apprehended. "By tomorrow the power structure will be completely different, every position compromised by the Syndicate will be vacant and requiring replacement."

"Westia will recover," Kael said with analytical certainty. "The institutions are sound even if specific officials were corrupt, new leadership will restore proper function once the rot is removed."

They continued through increasingly affluent areas, the architecture growing more refined as they approached the castle town. The buildings shifted from functional to elegant, stone and wood construction giving way to structures that prioritized beauty alongside utility.

Then the carriage passed through another gate, this one heavily guarded by forces whose armor gleamed with enchantments suggesting significant investment.

"Castle Town," Sir Christophe announced. "The administrative heart of Westia Kingdom, where royalty and highest nobility maintain their primary residences."

If they had thought the capital was developed, they'd been mistaken.

Castle Town represented another level of advancement entirely, the architecture here incorporating design principles and materials that suggested considerable magical enhancement. The buildings weren't just elegant, they were optimized in ways that transcended simple aesthetic preference.

Modern style houses lined perfectly maintained streets, their construction utilizing techniques that wouldn't become common in the broader kingdom for decades. Gardens flourished despite the season, maintained through cultivation methods that kept them perpetually vibrant. Lighting was everywhere, magical illumination ensuring the district remained bright regardless of time.

And there, dominating the skyline in a way that made everything else seem insignificant, rose Westia Castle itself.

The structure was colossal, a monument to architectural ambition that seemed to touch the clouds. All white stone that gleamed under magical lighting, towers and spires reaching skyward with proportions that defied conventional construction limits. The castle wasn't just large, it was vast beyond what seemed reasonable for governmental administration.

"That's where we're headed," Sir Christophe said with obvious pride in his voice. "Westia Castle, seat of royal authority and symbol of the kingdom's power."

The carriage continued forward, carrying them toward the massive structure while their group stared upward in genuine awe. This was the heart of the kingdom they'd just helped expose corruption within, the center of power they'd forced to acknowledge truth it might have preferred to ignore.

This was where they would meet the king and discover whether their actions tonight would be celebrated or complicated by political considerations they hadn't fully anticipated.

The castle loomed larger as they approached, its white walls seeming to glow with internal radiance that had nothing to do with external lighting.

This was Westia Castle Town, where only royalty and highest nobility thrived, where power manifested in stone and steel and magical enhancement that transformed simple construction into monuments of authority.

And somewhere within those massive walls, King Harold waited to meet the young cultivators who'd just upended his kingdom's power structure in a single night.

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