The representative from the Golden Bank was nearly at the exit when the king spoke a single name.

  “Xander.”

  From the corner of the grand hall, the first prince of Xandria stepped forward, moving with quiet authority. He positioned himself between the guests and the exit, his presence a silent but unyielding barrier.

  Xerxes spoke again, his voice now stripped of negotiation. “I’m afraid I can’t let you leave with these false accusations.”

  Xander’s fingers brushed the hilt of the long, dark sword strapped to his back.

  The Golden Bank representative narrowed his gaze, lips curling in contempt. “The One-Man Army himself stands before us.”

  Xander said nothing. His expression remained unreadable, but his stance was clear—he was ready.

  The guards flanking the banker reacted instantly, drawing swords and raising shields in a defensive formation. The tension in the throne room grew thick, suffocating.

  The representative’s voice rose. “Xerxes, I have delivered the Golden Bank’s terms. You would be wise to let us leave in peace.”

  The king exhaled, shaking his head. “I wish I could.” Then, he lifted a single finger, pointing at the armed guards. “But you brought soldiers into my throne room.”

  His tone darkened.

  “And worse… they dared to draw their weapons in the face of their king.”

  A long silence.

  Then, with no warning, power erupted from Xander.

  His ability—One-Man Army—activated.

  The force of his heightened presence alone felt like a sudden windstorm. His stats surged, his muscles coiled like a beast ready to strike. The air thickened with an invisible weight.

  The Golden Bank’s soldiers tensed, gripping their weapons tighter.

  The representative, despite everything, did not waver. He scoffed. “You’re provoking a reaction you can then justify with violence. This is absurd. Threatening us is a direct threat to the Golden Bank itself.”

  Xerxes barely acknowledged the complaint. Instead, he gave a slow, deliberate glance toward Xander.

  “My son, what do you think?”

  Xander’s scarlet gaze locked onto the representative. “I believe that no matter what we say or do, the Golden Bank’s decision won’t change. Am I wrong?”

  The question left no room to escape.

  Yet the banker, eerily composed, gave the answer he had clearly expected to give all along.

  “No.”

  Xerxes extended a hand—then, with the flick of a single finger, he gave the signal.

  Xander moved.

  A dark blur.

  Before the Golden Bank’s guards could even react, their heads were already severed. Bodies collapsed, lifeless. The pristine white of their capes and garments soaked red as their blood spread across the marble floor.

  Then—

  [You’ve defeated a human – You’ve received 78 EXP.]

  [You’ve defeated a human – You’ve received 88 EXP.]

  [You’ve defeated a human – You’ve received 68 EXP.]

  [Level increased: 45 → 46. Please select which stats to increase.]

  [You’ve defeated a human – You’ve received 58 EXP.]

  Only one man remained.

  The Golden Bank representative stood still, unblinking.

  Like he had expected this.

  The throne room was silent—no gasps, no cries of shock. No one averted their gaze.

  Slowly, King Xerxes rose from his throne.

  “Throw him in a cell.”

  The moment he spoke, Xandrian guards stepped forward, seizing the banker. He did not resist.

  Then, the king’s voice rang out, firm and absolute.

  “Spread word to every corner of the world—the Golden Bank attempted to attack us during a negotiation.”

  He descended the steps of his throne, issuing his next decree.

  “Confiscate all assets belonging to the Golden Bank within our realm. Effective immediately, all payments to them shall cease.”

  Turning to an advisor, he delivered his final command.

  “I expect a full report on the nation’s treasury by evening.”

  The king’s judgment was swift.

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  And so, the meeting came to an end, and the throne room burst into action.

  Xander wiped his blade clean with a fallen bodyguard’s white cape, then spoke as if this were just another day at work. “Speed.”

  [Speed increased by 1.]

  Xemena stepped up beside him, smirking. “Save some experience points for the rest of us.”

  Xander exhaled, inspecting his sword for any lingering traces of blood. His voice turned thoughtful. “This all feels… planned.”

  Xemena frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Sliding his sword back into place, Xander glanced around the room. “Everything that’s happened since the attack on the ball—it’s just a feeling, but I suspect there are forces at play beyond our control.”

  Xemena scoffed, shaking her head. “Brother, Xandria is the largest kingdom in the realm. No force can oppose us.”

  Xander didn’t reply. Instead, he turned and walked away.

  “Don’t you turn your back on me!” Xemena called after him. “Where are you going?”

  Without looking back, Xander raised a hand in a lazy wave. “Training.” But his thoughts were elsewhere.

  Meanwhile, King Xerxes strode to the royal treasury. But when he arrived, what he saw made his blood run cold.

  The vast chamber, once overflowing with gold, was nearly empty. There was enough to sustain the court and the army—for a time. But not nearly enough to uphold a kingdom.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

  One vault, meant to house riches, was instead packed with documents—ledgers detailing massive loans taken from the Golden Bank. And even more loans taken to pay off the interest.

  His eyes darkened. “Where is the finance minister?” he asked an assistant.

  The response was swift. “Gone since this morning, my king.”

  “And the others?”

  “They were murdered during the attack on the ball,” the assistant replied. “The current finance minister was the only one who survived.”

  Xerxes cut him off. “Find him. At once.”

  Across the realm, Xandrian soldiers stormed every Golden Bank outpost, crashing into vaults in search of reclaimed wealth.

  They found nothing.

  The banks were empty. The employees—gone.

  Messengers rushed back to the castle, delivering the grim report.

  That evening, the throne room filled once more, this time to face a crisis.

  “We spent a fortune to have the Goddess summon the champions,” one vassal muttered.

  Another added bitterly, “Only Sir Roy has shown any potential return on investment.”

  The room buzzed with murmurs. King Xerxes sat deep in thought, then finally spoke. “We must raise the taxes.”

  A few advisors exchanged wary glances before one hesitantly said, “Of course, my king. But taxes are already burdening the people.”

  “Send the collectors,” Xerxes ordered, his tone cold. “Tell every farmer, every merchant, and every noble that taxes are due. We will take what is needed.”

  “If they cannot pay?” another advisor asked.

  The king’s voice was firm. “Claim their land. Their artifacts. Their homes. We must endure hardship in the short term to ensure prosperity in the long run.”

  He turned to another group of vassals. “Find ways to increase tolls at sea and on land. Any merchant passing through Xandria will pay more for the privilege.”

  Finally, he issued his last decree of the night.

  “Find out where the Golden Bank has gone. Find their associates.” His crimson eyes burned with fury.

  “They will pay.”

  Across the sea, beyond the reach of Xandrian taxes, the people of Niceland faced new challenges.

  “They’re in dire need of medical aid,” Lina murmured, her voice heavy with exhaustion. “The healing effect isn’t strong enough…”

  Inside the tent, three figures lay motionless on separate beds—Wolf, Felix, and Niles. Each bore wounds from their battle with the vampire Pridecula. Damp cloths covered their foreheads, their faces barely visible beneath layers of bandages and blankets.

  Vulcan moved between them, assessing their conditions. He glanced at Wolf. “Concussion.” Then at Felix. “Blood loss.” And finally, his gaze fell upon Niles.

  For a moment, he said nothing.

  A thick, blood-soaked blanket covered Niles’ body, the faint glow of the 1% healing effect flickering desperately over his frame. Green light pulsed across his wounds, working tirelessly to mend what it could. But it wasn’t enough.

  Lina, weary yet unwavering, continued tending to them, whispering words of kindness, activating her skill, praying that their sheer willpower could pull them back from the brink.

  Vulcan exhaled sharply and stepped outside.

  Tesla and Winston were waiting.

  “How are they?” Tesla asked immediately.

  Vulcan shook his head. “Bad.” He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.

  Winston, usually the pillar of composure, tensed. A surge of frustration coursed through him, his body twitching with the urge to lash out. But before the impulse could turn physical, he steadied himself with a long, controlled breath.

  “We can’t keep doing this,” he said at last.

  Tesla eyed him warily. “You mean… returning home?” There was the faintest trace of hope in his voice.

  But Winston’s expression remained firm. “If we hesitate—we die.” His tone was final. “Prepare to head out into the wilderness.”

  Vulcan gave a single nod. “Aye. I’ll get ready.”

  Tesla stared at them in disbelief. “What? We can’t go outside the barrier! We’ll die!” He raised his injured hand, shaking it furiously. “And I can’t fight—LOOK!” His fingers trembled, his wrist broken, his hand moving like a battered, surrendering flag.

  Winston exhaled through his nose. “Niles entrusted me with leadership,” he said, locking eyes with Tesla. “Use a shield with your other hand. Let Goblin fight for you.”

  Tesla’s jaw slackened. He was speechless. The most rational member of their group was willingly suggesting they march straight into danger.

  Winston’s voice lowered, steady but unyielding. “I’m exhausted,” he admitted. “From frustration.” He clenched his fists. “We were helpless when the vampire attacked.”

  Tesla’s breath hitched. “I was paralyzed, remember?” he muttered, eyes flickering with old fear. Then he straightened, shaking his head.

  “No. I refuse to leave the barrier again unless it’s for a ship back home.”

  Vulcan sighed, tilting his head and fixing Tesla with a lopsided stare, one eye half-closed. “Back when we first met, you mentioned you were born in the city of forgotten ruins…”

  Tesla exhaled, already knowing where this was going. “Ashenfall. That’s right. But I was just a child when—”

  Vulcan cut in. “Do you know why it’s called Ashenfall?”

  Tesla frowned. “No. Like I said, I fled when I was young. I grew up as an orphan in Xandria’s capital.”

  Vulcan’s voice was steady, measured. “The name comes from the cycle of destruction. Every time war comes, the city is burned. If Xandria holds it, the enemy sets it ablaze. If the enemy takes it, Xandria burns it down the next time. It’s built on the border, doomed to ruin. And when people die there… they forget why.” His gaze darkened. “That’s why they call it Ashenfall.”

  Tesla narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

  Vulcan took a slow breath. “The last time I saw it, it was nothing but ash and rubble. But if someone remembers it—if someone cares enough—there’s always a chance to rebuild.”

  Tesla crossed his arms. “Again, I don’t see your point.”

  Vulcan met his gaze. “It’s time for you to rise from the ashes.”

  Tesla blinked. His throat tightened. “It’s not that easy.”

  Vulcan shook his head. “That’s the thing. It is. You just have to decide.” The former smith gazed back at the tent where the rest laid, “just like I did” he whispered.

  For a moment, Tesla said nothing. Then Vulcan turned to Winston, his decision made. “I’ll fight alongside you.”

  Winston smiled. “Thank you, Vulcan.”

  Tesla groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “FINE! But just so we’re clear—you guilt-tripped me into this!”

  And so, the trio prepared to head into the wilderness.

  Tesla, clad in armor and gripping a shield in his good hand, while his summoned monster, Goblin, followed at his heels. Vulcan walked in the front, and Winston brought up the rear.

  But elsewhere—just beyond the coast of Niceland—a small boat rocked over the waves.

  A tiny bird fluttered in excitement. “Daddy! Birdie sees something!”

  The man at the oars, his beard a wild tangle of orange, squinted at the horizon. “Aye, my love. We might finally be close.”

  With a chirp, Squeaky took off, soaring high toward the barrier.

  Flying back toward Niles.