With the involvement of the Blue Tower Master in the House of Venir incident, the Empire could no longer remain silent.
A secret alliance between a noble house and a foreign magic tower — without the Emperor's seal — was an act of treason. Worse yet, the creation of chimeras, abominations stitched together by forbidden arts, was a crime condemned across the world.
An investigation was inevitable. But it would not be a mere inquiry.
It would be a message.
Thus, a royal envoy was dispatched to Dracia — the fabled Land of Mages and Dragons.
And at its head rode the Crown Prince himself — Isla.
With him traveled only a small contingent: a select few knights, handpicked attendants.
At a glance, it was a modest force.
But lurking unseen in the shadow of the convoy was Isla's true blade: his personal unit, the Hollows — assassins trained and raised in absolute secrecy.
No records, no faces. Only Isla knew where they lived, how many there were, and to whom they answered.
They were the Empire's unseen hand — the cleaners of sins the world must never know.
A procession of wagons rolled toward Dracia's shimmering border.
The border guards, startled by the unannounced arrival, scrambled to inform their captain.
It mattered little. The banners borne by the envoy bore the Imperial Seal — a symbol that could break any gate, command any audience.
In truth, the sudden arrival was deliberate.
A show of power.
A silent declaration: The Empire walks where it pleases.
Though resentment flashed in the guards' eyes, none dared to resist.
The Wizard King would have to answer.
Dracia was unlike any land Isla had seen.
Here, kings did not rule by blood. Power ruled.
The Wizard King was chosen by council — a gathering of the three Tower Masters: Blue, Red, and Black.
Anyone who amassed enough accomplishments, enough reverence, could ascend to the throne.
It was a nation born of merit, not legacy. A dangerous ideal.
Though smaller than the Empire, Dracia's strength was undeniable — they were the direct descendants of Raphael, the first human to wield magic. Their blood carried ancient power. Their will was unbreakable.
As Isla's convoy passed the gates, the city unfolded before him — a marvel of enchantment and brilliance.
Instead of torches, magic lights bathed the streets in a soft eternal glow.
The air shimmered faintly with the hum of spells woven into every stone, every archway.
This was a land where magic was not an art. It was life itself.
Isla's cold blue eyes narrowed.
He wanted it.
A silent flick of his hand — almost imperceptible — sent the Hollows scattering into the city, slipping into alleys and shadows like wraiths.
Their mission was clear: gather information.
Soon after, a presence filled the skies.
Descending from above on the back of a crimson dragon came the Red Tower Master — an old man whose power, though hidden behind smiles and robes, rippled through the very air.
With formal courtesy, they escorted Isla and his men toward Dracia's heart — the capital.
At its center stood a towering monument: a statue of Raphael, the First Wizard King.
His figure was carved in flowing robes, one hand reaching toward the heavens, the other clutching a staff that once subdued demons themselves.
Both humans and dragons revered him still — a legend made stone.
Before that statue, Isla stood — silent.
His gaze was not of reverence.
It was a calculation.
This land is powerful, he thought.
But everything can be claimed.
And in the depths of his heart, something darker stirred.
.