The silence was a physical thing.

A heavy, suffocating blanket of unspoken threats and shattered loyalties.

I strode at the head of my army, my long, dark coat swishing with a confidence I did not, in any way, feel.

Behind me, my two top commanders walked in a grim, silent procession.

Isabelle was a ghost, her face a pale mask of shock and despair. The weight of my monstrous, beautiful order was a physical burden, bowing her strong shoulders.

Chloe was a storm cloud, a silent, swirling vortex of pure, undiluted rage.

Her hand never left the hilt of her dagger, and her amethyst eyes were fixed on the back of Isabelle's head with an intensity that could probably set fire to stone.

This was a diplomatic mission.

It was the most hostile, aggressive, and probably very one-sided diplomatic mission in the history of the world.

"This is a bad idea, my Lord," Pixia whispered from her perch on my shoulder.

"My projections indicate a 78.4% probability of this ending in a catastrophic, multi-faceted emotional implosion, followed by a very messy, and probably very public, regicide."

"Your projections are boring, Pixia," I retorted, my voice a low growl. "This is high-stakes politics. This is what being a king is all about."

We reached the gates of Suzu.

The massive, iron-reinforced wooden doors were closed. The walls were lined with grim-faced men and women, their rifles and bows aimed directly at us.

"The megaphone, if you please," I commanded.

Yori, my wise old strategist, shuffled forward and presented the beautiful, rune-etched device to me.

I raised it to my lips. My voice, amplified by dwarven craftsmanship and demonic magic, boomed across the silent battlefield.

"SAYAMA KOTETSU!" I roared, my voice dripping with a magnificent, condescending arrogance. "IT IS I, RAGNAR VHAGAR! THE TYRANT OF AETHELBURG! AND I HAVE BROUGHT YOU A PRESENT!"

The gates remained closed.

"I AM GIVING YOU ONE LAST CHANCE TO AVOID A VERY MESSY, VERY PUBLIC, AND PROFOUNDLY UNDIGNIFIED END!" I continued. "SURRENDER YOUR CITY.

BEND THE KNEE. AND YOU WILL BE GRANTED THE HONOR OF MEETING YOUR LONG-LOST, AND SURPRISINGLY ATTRACTIVE, GRANDDAUGHTER!"

The silence from the city was absolute.

"YOU HAVE SIXTY SECONDS TO OPEN THIS GATE AND BEGIN NEGOTIATIONS!" I roared. "OR I WILL HAVE MY NEW FRIEND, GRAK THE UNBREAKABLE, PUNCH A NEW GATE! AND HE IS NOT VERY GOOD AT MAKING THEM SYMMETRICAL!"

The ultimatum was delivered.

We waited.

The seconds ticked by, each one a turn of the screw.

Fifty-nine.

Fifty-eight.

Just as I was about to give Grak the green light to begin his glorious, beautiful work of geological violence, a new voice, old and tired and filled with a weariness that went bone-deep, echoed from the speakers on the wall.

"You lie, Demon," the voice of the Sword King rasped. "My granddaughter is dead. A victim of your kind."

"Is she?" I purred, a slow, predatory smile on my face. "Then who is this?"

I stepped aside, revealing Isabelle.

She stood in the harsh, pre-dawn light, her dark armor a stark contrast to her pale, beautiful face. She removed her helmet, her long, dark hair spilling over her shoulders.

A collective gasp echoed from the walls of Suzu.

The silence that followed was a different kind of silence. It was a silence of shock, of disbelief, of a world being turned on its head.

"Isabelle?" the Sword King's voice was a broken, hollow whisper. "It… it cannot be."

"Grandfather," Isabelle said, her voice clear and steady, though I could feel the tremor of emotion running through her. "It is me."

The gate creaked open.

Not all the way. Just a crack.

And in that crack, a single figure stood.

Sayama Kotetsu.

He looked older than his pictures. The grief had carved deep lines into his face. But his eyes… his eyes were a fire of pure, unadulterated rage.

"You have been tricked, my child," he growled, his hand resting on the hilt of his katana. "Brainwashed. A puppet of this… monster."

"I was betrayed by heroes, Grandfather," Isabelle replied, her voice gaining a new, hard edge. "I was left to die. He saved me. He gave me a new purpose."

"The purpose of a slave," Kotetsu snarled.

"The purpose of a queen," Isabelle shot back.

The tension between them was a physical thing, a crackling, invisible energy.

This was not going to be a simple, tearful reunion.

This was a clash of worlds. A battle of ideals.

"Prove it," Kotetsu said, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Prove your conviction. Prove that you are no longer the girl I trained. Draw your blade."

He was challenging her. A duel. A trial by combat.

It was a brilliant move. A test of her loyalty. A public spectacle.

Isabelle looked at me, her divine eyes asking a single, silent question.

I gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.

The game was afoot.

"I will not fight you, Grandfather," Isabelle said, her voice a quiet, sad whisper.

"Then you will die as a traitor's puppet," he replied, and drew his blade.

BOOM!

He moved, a blur of motion that made the air itself seem to bend around him.

He was not a man anymore. He was a force of nature. Vengeance.

He was upon her.

And then, a new figure stepped into the path of his blade.

A tall, elegant, and impossibly beautiful Dark High Elf.

Chloe.

CRACK!

Her twin daggers, Whisper and Silence, met the Sword King's katana in a detonation of pure, untamed energy.

A massive shockwave of swirling light and shadow erupted from the point of impact, blasting outwards in a perfect, expanding sphere.

The very foundations of the earth trembled.

Chloe was thrown backward, her arms numb, a thin trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth. But she had held.

She had blocked the strike.

She stood between the Sword King and Isabelle, a silent, deadly promise.

"She will not fight you," Chloe said, her voice a blade of ice. "But I will."

The silent, simmering cold war between my two lovers had just gone nuclear.

In the middle of a diplomatic negotiation.

Right in front of the enemy's front door.

I ran a hand over my face.

This was a new, fresh, and exquisitely painful kind of hell.

I loved it.

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