As the first light of the morning filtered through the massive windows of the palace’s high-ceilinged meeting hall, the leaders had taken their seats one by one. They were gathered around the long, gold-embroidered table, conversing in hushed whispers that echoed between the heavy velvet curtains. However, this time, the atmosphere was softer. Unlike the previous day’s meeting, there was only one reason why the discussions weren’t proceeding smoothly: Sardiun.

  After the previous meeting, Sardiun had spent the night meeting with the leaders one by one, persuading them individually. Some of his visits had taken place in private palace chambers, while others had occurred in the dimly lit corridors. Promises made in whispers, assurances given, and negotiations carried out behind closed doors had resolved many issues. However, a few critical matters remained unsolved.

  As the first hours of the day passed, important decisions began to be made at the meeting. A new communication network would be established, and military logistics centers would be built in specific strategic regions. Nearly every leader in the room had declared that they were ready to allow Rhazgord’s soldiers to pass through their lands. Yet the biggest problem remained unresolved: how to finance the necessary resources.

  Although the most powerful and wealthiest states of the continent were represented in this room, financial support was being requested under the pretext of budget shortages. However, everyone knew the truth. Even though no one stated it outright, what was being demanded was neither gold nor silver—it was Lightstone.

  Since Rhazgord had fought the longest and bloodiest wars against the demons, it possessed the largest reserves of Lightstone. Across the continent, the power of these stones was widely discussed; some believed that they were fragments of pure light that repelled demons, while others claimed that these stones were among the most powerful weapons of war. However, most of the stones were stored in the Sanguinar depots in Rhazgord’s capital. They were not being used, traded only in small amounts, and kept merely as a deterrent.

  Corvus scanned the faces in the room one by one. It wasn’t difficult to see the true intentions hidden behind their excuses about the budget. No one openly demanded Lightstone because they knew it would be a decision that would upend the balance of power. If Rhazgord’s vast reserves were shared, the balance of power on the continent would shift, new alliances would be formed, and new threats would emerge. Corvus knew this, and that was precisely why they were hesitant to distribute the stones.

  A heavy silence dominated the meeting hall. Some leaders rested their hands thoughtfully on their chins, while others tried to conceal their expressions with diplomatic composure. A wave of unease washed over Corvus. He saw the greed in the eyes of the leaders across from him.

  If the Lightstone issue wasn’t resolved, this meeting could end in complete failure. However, relinquishing this power could mean the downfall of Rhazgord. This was not a decision Corvus could make alone.

  “Rhazgord will support you. But I do not have the authority to decide how.”

  As his words echoed in the room, heated debates erupted. The leaders wanted the young Corvus to make a clear decision. But no matter how much they pressured him, Corvus did not back down. With patience and unwavering resolve, he rendered their insistence futile.

  Sardiun, who had been silently observing the situation, stepped forward when he realized that the pressure would not yield results and ended the meeting. He knew that the young man was already under enough strain. More importantly, he understood that Corvus could not take any steps regarding the Lightstones without consulting his father, Sakhaar Tiamat, the King of Rhazgord.

  As always, after the meeting, Corvus retreated to his chambers. But this time, it was not someone inside waiting for him—it was an anonymous letter left on his desk. He noticed the letter as he entered the room and furrowed his brows. Closing the door behind him, he walked slowly to his desk. The seal on the parchment had already been broken. He had a strong suspicion about its contents. He picked up the paper and examined it carefully.

  The letter was unsigned, but the sharp wording and the distinct tone made it clear that it was from Belisarius.

  When he unfolded the paper and read it, he found that it contained only an address and detailed directions. Without overthinking, he immediately took action. Taking a deep breath, he quickly donned his armor and strapped on his swords. Then, he tucked the letter inside his chest plate and left the room.

  As he moved through the dark palace corridors, he planned every step with caution. Finally, when he stepped outside, his loyal companion Zarqa was waiting for him, as always. Without exchanging a single word, they locked eyes and swiftly set off.

  Once they were sure that no one was following them through the city, they veered off the main road and turned into a dimly lit, narrow alley. As they advanced, five cloaked figures emerged silently from the shadows. These were Corvus’s warriors—elite fighters known for their loyalty and their mastery of moving in darkness.

  One of them handed over two black cloaks. Without hesitation, Corvus and Zarqa donned them as Corvus relayed the contents of the letter to his warriors. Though they had only been in the city of Rax for a few days, his men had already memorized its streets well. With the directions in hand, they quickly grasped where they needed to go.

  Once their preparations were complete, Corvus and Zarqa moved forward, blending into the shadows. Their movements were silent, their footsteps left no echoes. Sometimes they advanced across rooftops, sometimes they disappeared into narrow, dark alleys. They ensured that they left no trace and that no one noticed them.

  Before long, they reached their destination. The place they had arrived at was one of the remote and dangerous districts of Adler. Perched on a rooftop, they looked down and spotted the location mentioned in the letter. Their target was a bar called the “Barrel.” But this was more than just a drinking establishment—it was a key stronghold of the Golden Fang Gang, one of the largest criminal organizations in the Adler Kingdom.

  The gang controlled the city’s dark underbelly, engaging in everything from smuggling to hired assassinations.

  After carefully surveying the area, Corvus turned to his warriors and gave his orders in a firm but quiet voice. Each one would spread out around the bar, hide in the shadows, and ensure that no one escaped. The warriors swiftly disappeared into the darkness to carry out their orders. There was now no way out for those inside.

  Corvus and Zarqa fixed their eyes on this dangerous establishment before them. Before the battle began, they exchanged one last look and nodded at each other. Then, they swiftly descended from the rooftop and moved silently toward the bar’s entrance. They already knew what awaited them inside—crime, betrayal, and blood.

  As soon as Corvus and Zarqa stepped in, the murmur inside the bar came to an abrupt halt. The laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the drunken conversations were replaced by an eerie silence. People paused mid-drink, turning their heads to look at the two strangers at the door. The glow of burning cigars flickered faintly in the shadows.

  Ignoring the unease in the eyes of the patrons, Corvus and Zarqa headed directly for the bar counter. Their steps were firm, their gazes cold as ice. The heels of their boots creaked against the wooden floor. Corvus’s black cloak swayed slightly. Zarqa lightly brushed the hilt of his weapon at his belt, his fingers tracing the grip.

  When they reached the bar, a large-built man with a face scarred from past fights stood before them. Resting his muscular arms on the counter, he narrowed his eyes at them. A smirk of disdain crept onto his face as he sized them up.

  “You have ten seconds to get the fuck out!” he growled, his voice deep and rough.

  Corvus slightly turned his head towards Zarqa. His crimson eyes locked onto Zarqa’s for a brief moment. Zarqa gave a barely perceptible nod, confirming his understanding. Suddenly, with a movement as fast as lightning, he drew his sword. At the same moment, Corvus lunged forward. In the blink of an eye, he grabbed the bartender by the collar and slammed him onto the bar counter like a giant hammer. The wooden surface instantly cracked, glass cups toppled over, and drinks spilled onto the floor. The impact of the blow deformed the bartender’s face, and the sound of it echoed through the room like a heavy drumbeat.

  Corvus leaned in close to the bartender’s bloodied face. The man’s nose had been flattened from the blow, and some of his teeth had fallen out. He barely opened his swollen eyes, but the moment he met Corvus’ crimson gaze, a primal fear surged within him. His hair stood on end, and his body trembled involuntarily.

  “Where are the Rhazgordians?” Corvus whispered, his voice reverberating in the bartender’s ear like a menacing echo.

  The bartender, blood trickling from his broken teeth, groaned, “Upstairs…” His breath reeked of blood.

  At the same time, the other men in the room began drawing their weapons one by one, turning toward Zarqa. Some brandished knives, while others reached for the curved blades at their waists. Zarqa smirked slightly. No matter how tough these men were, they were not real warriors. They were just masses of muscle, lacking discipline and training. They terrorized civilians, preyed on the weak—but they had never learned to dance with death.

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  Zarqa, however, was different. He had been chosen by the Tiamats as a child, raised to be a killing machine. His life had been spent on training grounds and blood-soaked battlefields. The power of the Light Stones coursed freely through his veins; wielding it was as natural to him as breathing.

  As he tightened his grip on his sword’s hilt, the air around him grew tense. Suddenly, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. It was as if an invisible wave of energy had swept through the space. His opponents shivered, but it was too late to turn back.

  “Kill them all.” Corvus ordered as he ascended the stairs.

  The moment Zarqa received the command, he sprang into action.

  The first man swung his blade in a wide arc. Zarqa tilted his head slightly, narrowly dodging the lethal slash. At the same moment, he grabbed a wooden barstool and smashed it into the attacker’s face. The wood shattered, sending teeth flying as the man staggered backward. Zarqa followed up with a swift thrust, burying his sword into the man’s abdomen. The sound of steel piercing flesh echoed through the bar. The man collapsed onto his knees and died where he stood.

  Two more attackers charged at him simultaneously. One swung his sword downward while the other slashed low with a curved blade. Zarqa stepped back, evading the overhead strike, then leaped over the low attack with nimble grace. The moment he landed, he seized a bottle from a nearby table and shattered it over the nearest man’s head. The man stumbled back, blood trickling down his forehead. Zarqa appeared to be enjoying himself.

  Then, without hesitation, he slashed the shoulder of another opponent. The man cried out, his weapon slipping from his grasp, but Zarqa did not pause. He quickly overturned a nearby table, creating a barrier that restricted his remaining opponent’s movements. Without a second thought, he drove his blade into the wounded man’s throat, then swiftly withdrew it. The man clutched his neck, gurgled, and collapsed onto the floor.

  Within moments, chaos had overtaken the bar. Drinks had been spilled, broken glass littered the ground, and overturned tables lay scattered. A few men had managed to escape, but those who faced Zarqa stood no chance.

  The last remaining man gripped his dagger tightly, breathing heavily as he stared at Zarqa. Fear was evident in his eyes, yet he was still determined to fight.

  Zarqa steadied his sword, waiting for the man to make his move. The moment he lunged, Zarqa swung his blade, striking the man’s skull with a sickening thud. The man dropped where he stood, blood trickling down his forehead.

  The bar had become a bloodbath. Overturned tables, shattered glass, spilled drinks, and blood-soaked wooden floors… The air had thickened, saturated with the sharp scent of blood and alcohol. The dim lights of the bar flickered, casting eerie shadows over the lifeless bodies.

  Zarqa flicked his sword, sending dark red blood splattering onto the floor. The steel of the blade gleamed briefly in the dim light before he slowly surveyed the room. Silence had fallen. Those who had survived had already fled, their fear lingering in the air.

  Standing amidst the carnage, he sheathed his sword and turned his gaze toward the door. Walking forward, he stepped over pools of blood without a second thought. He pressed his hands against the cold wooden door, took a deep breath, and stepped outside.

  As he closed the door behind him, he let out a heavy sigh. The cracked stone pavement beneath his feet was cool under the moonlight. The silence that followed battle was deeper now. None of the escapees would return—those who had fled had already been dealt with by the hidden warriors lurking in the shadows.

  Meanwhile, upstairs, Corvus had begun to move. His footsteps echoed as he climbed the wooden stairs. He had already sensed the presence of those he was looking for. At the end of the corridor, a door stood slightly ajar.

  He stopped in front of it and placed his hand on the cold wood. He could hear the heavy breathing and the stench of alcohol from within. The people inside were still intoxicated.

  Slowly pushing the door open, he saw three men sprawled across the room. The air was thick with the stench of stale liquor and sweat. Empty bottles, broken glasses, and disheveled bedding suggested that the room hadn’t been left in days.

  Without hesitation, Corvus delivered a brutal kick to the man lying closest to the door. The man groaned, cracking his eyes open only to find himself still too drunk to react. Corvus grabbed his arm and dragged him, then tossed him down the stairs. He tumbled down, crashing against the wooden steps. The other two met the same fate.

  By the time Corvus descended, the men were groaning, barely conscious. A sudden splash of ice-cold water shocked them awake.

  Bound together, the three warriors shuddered as the freezing water hit their faces. They gasped for breath, blinking away the haze of pain. As their eyes adjusted, they noticed Zarqa standing before them, holding an empty bucket.

  For a moment, silence reigned. Then, one of the men—the only one still trying to resist—began to struggle against his bonds, shouting angrily.

  “Do you even know who we are?! We are the Three Beasts of the Golden Fang! Do you really think this ends here, huh?!”

  His voice rang through the bar as he nudged his two companions with his elbow, urging them to resist.

  “Are you dead, huh?! Hey, Zrav! Krosar! Wake up, you bastards!”

  But his companions didn’t answer. Only a single voice, speaking in Rhazgordian, cut through the silence.

  “And do you know who we are?”

  Slow, deliberate footsteps approached. Another moment of tense silence followed. When the man finally saw the owner of the voice, the anger drained from his face. His breath hitched, his skin paled. He didn’t recognize the man, but he recognized his eyes.

  Crimson eyes…

  Draped in dark robes, the figure before him was a Tiamat. He was Corvus Tiamat. This was the man they had been hiding from for days. And now, he stood right in front of them. Corvus smirked, leaning in close, his piercing gaze locking onto the prisoner’s. He was close enough to see into the man’s soul.

  “I’m talking to you, ‘Beast of the Golden Fang'.’” he whispered. Then, his voice hardened.

  “Do you know who I am?!”

  The man flinched, now speaking in Rhazgordian himself.

  “You… You’re Corvus. Corvus of the Tiamats.”

  Corvus nodded slightly, crouching down. He wanted to read the man’s expression. His dark robes rippled slightly, making him look even more terrifying.

  “Yes, you’re right… ‘Fugitive Beast’. Now, tell me—who are you?”

  The man fell silent for a moment, then lowered his head. He knew there was no escape now. Every word he spoke made his desperation even more apparent.

  “Sarik… Sarik of the Cirans. The others are from my tribe, too.”

  Corvus raised his eyebrows slightly. He knew this tribe. It had once been powerful but had weakened and declined over time. Slowly, he stood up and leaned against a toppled table. Crossing his arms over his chest, his voice carried a cold mockery.

  “So, running from Rhazgord wasn’t enough for you? You also chose to prey on the weak, Sarik. You know the price of tainting Rhazgord’s name, don’t you?”

  Sarik knew all too well what happened to fugitives. As a child, he had once witnessed a fugitive being captured and brought back to Rhazgord. In the vast stone square, the soldiers had dragged the man under the blazing sun, leaving him in a spot where everyone could see. The crowd gathered, watching in silence as the man writhed in pain, the oppressive heat making his suffering even worse.

  Then the sentence was carried out. When a booming voice announced the man’s name, the crowd held its breath for a moment. The executioners raised their axes, and with a single stroke, both of the man’s hands were severed. Blood sprayed onto the scorching stone pavement. The scream that followed was sharp and hopeless, making everyone’s skin crawl. That event had become an unforgettable example of Rhazgord’s ruthless justice. The man had neither been able to return to his tribe nor regain any semblance of dignity. Without his hands, he was cast out, turning into a starving, helpless beggar. Even children would throw stones at him for amusement.

  Sarik had been one of those children.

  Now, he knew the same fate awaited him. If it had been someone else, he might have tried to beg in a pathetic display, but he knew it was useless. Because standing before him was a Tiamat. Everyone in Rhazgord knew, as surely as they knew their own names, that no mercy would come from a member of that feared and ruthless family. Pleading was pointless. So he remained silent.

  But within that silence, a sliver of hope emerged.

  “Do you want to live, Sarik?”

  The voice belonged to Corvus. Deep, firm. His eyes, gleaming in the dim light, were like the sharp edge of a blade. Sarik clung to that sudden hope, lifting his head instinctively to meet Corvus’s gaze. He wanted to escape, to survive, to be spared.

  Corvus spoke again.

  “Who is the leader of your gang, and where is he?”

  Sarik’s eyes narrowed with brief suspicion. He didn’t understand why Corvus was asking this. But Corvus’s patience was running thin, and his hardened expression made it clear that he wouldn’t stop until he got the answer he wanted.

  “A man named Varos.” Sarik said, his voice weak and trembling.

  “He’s probably at his home right now… I can take you to him if you want.”

  Corvus tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment and made a small hand gesture toward Zarqa. Without hesitation, Zarqa stepped forward and loosened the ropes binding Sarik. The other two men’s restraints were also undone, though they didn’t dare move. Zarqa tightened their bindings further, ensuring they had no chance to escape.

  Sarik slowly stood up. His muscles were still tense, but the newfound hope inside him sent a nervous tremor through his body. The mix of excitement and fear overpowered even the lingering effects of alcohol in his veins. At Corvus’s signal, he stepped closer. Corvus straightened the overturned wooden table and placed a sheet of paper and a pen on it. Bloodstains on the table’s surface seeped into the paper’s corner, leaving a crimson mark.

  “Describe the leader’s home and the locations of the key gang members!” Corvus ordered, his voice carrying the cold authority of a commander.

  Sarik seized the pen with shaky hands. His handwriting was messy, but he did his best to ensure every location was correct. Once he finished, he set the pen down and hesitantly looked up at Corvus. There was only one thing in his eyes—his desperate hope for freedom. Corvus took the paper and examined it before handing it to Zarqa. Then he turned back to Sarik.

  “There’s one last thing you need to do.” he said, his tone flat but resolute.

  “Then you’re free.”

  Sarik was about to ask what it was when a powerful fist struck his jaw. His vision darkened, consciousness slipping away as he collapsed to the ground. A moment later, Zarqa knocked out the other two men just as mercilessly. Once their bodies lay motionless, Zarqa looked up at Corvus.

  “Hide these dogs somewhere safe.” Corvus said.

  “They will be useful to us.”

  Zarqa nodded.

  “Understood. And now?”

  As Corvus stepped toward the door, his sharp gaze was filled with purpose.

  “Let’s see what this ‘Golden Fang’ is all about.”

  The door swung open into the shadows. The night stood waiting, ready to swallow them whole.