The sun blazed high in the sky, marking the peak of the day. The public execution was set to begin shortly. In just a few moments, the capital’s square would witness something extraordinary—not the grim spectacle everyone expected, but a rebellion of chaos about to erupt. Niles, walking back toward the ship, appeared calm and measured. His steps betrayed none of the electrifying anticipation coursing through him. The adventurers at the guild were finalizing their preparations, and Niles awaited their signal to launch his daring plan to rescue Vulcan, the master smith.

As he walked, Squeaky fluttered down and perched on his left shoulder. Niles whispered to the small bird, “Hey, buddy. Complete this mission, and I’ll reward you with the finest fish money can buy. Think you’re up for it?” Squeaky puffed up with pride, chirping in acknowledgment. Niles grinned, his excitement simmering just beneath the surface. “Good.” Niles then carefully folded the Zairulian flag into a compact bundle and held it out. Squeaky clutched the flag tightly in its claws. With a gentle toss, Niles gave the bird a boost into the air. Chirpy soared upward, the flag trailing beneath it. Niles looked at his familiar as it climbed higher and higher into the sky. “It’s about to start any second now.” He thought for himself.

In the bustling square, murmurs of unease rippled through the growing crowd. A gossipy old woman leaned toward her companion, whispering, “Did you hear? Zairule’s planning another attack during the execution.” Her friend glanced around nervously. “Then why are the Xargian guards still here?” she replied in a hushed tone. The atmosphere grew heavier as more whispers spread.

Nearby, a Xargian guard with a snarling beast helmet approached Commander Dragon. “Commander, rumors are spreading, and the crowd’s getting restless,” he reported. Dragon turned sharply to Prince Xhiva. “My prince, we should start the execution now and return to the castle. The people are uneasy.”

Xhiva waved her off with a scoff. “I won’t be rushed because of baseless rumors. We’ll begin at the scheduled time. The more people who witness this, the better. They need to understand what happens when you defy the crown.” His tone was icy, his decision final. Dragon clenched her jaw but nodded. “As you command, my prince,” she said stiffly. Turning back to her guards, she added, “Stay alert and be ready for anything.”

The soldier who reported earlier grabbed a goblet of water from a nearby barrel, taking a cautious sip. He frowned, then returned to Dragon. “Commander,” he began, “this water tastes... different. Could something be added to it?”

Dragon’s eyes narrowed. “Not that I’m aware of,” she said, her tone sharp with suspicion. She glanced at Xhiva. “My prince, have you done anything to the water supply?”

Xhiva looked offended. “Why would I care about water when there’s wine to drink?” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time for trivial matters like this.”

Unsatisfied, Dragon sniffed the water but detected nothing unusual. She called out, “Xargian guards, assemble!” Soldiers from all corners of the square converged on her position, their snarling beast helmets glinting under the sunlight. “Who else has drunk from this barrel?” she asked. Several guards stepped forward. “Did it taste strange to any of you?” she pressed.

“Normal,” one answered, echoed by others. Dragon’s brow furrowed in thought, trying to piece it together.

Xhiva, growing impatient, walked over and snatched a goblet of water. “This is ridiculous!” he snapped.

“Wait!” Dragon barked, but Xhiva had already taken a swig. Smacking his lips, he frowned. “Hmm. It’s a bit... salty.”

Dragon’s eyes widened. “It could be poison!” she exclaimed.

The prince’s face darkened with fury. “You dare wait until after I’ve drunk it to mention that? You harlot! I’ll be telling my father about this treachery!” His voice rose above the restless murmurs of the crowd, turning heads and raising the tension in the square to a boiling point.

“My prince, I need you to lower your voice,” Dragon hissed sharply, cutting through Xhiva’s outburst. She turned to her soldiers. “No risks. Take the barrel to the castle for examination.” With a curt gesture, she assigned two Xargian guards, who hoisted the barrel and began their march to the castle gates.

A sudden, thunderous sneeze broke the tension in the square. Heads turned, but no one saw the source. The moment passed—then, like a showman on a grand stage, a voice boomed across the square:

“Step right up, folks! Witness the astounding, world-famous Cabbage Whisperer!”

The crowd’s attention shifted to a small green-painted booth adorned with images of cabbages. Behind it stood a man holding an actual cabbage in one hand, twirling it theatrically.

“Behold—a cabbage!” he declared, drawing in curious onlookers. “But not just any cabbage, oh no! This, dear people of Xandria, is a magical cabbage!” He placed it gently on the wooden counter in front of him.

“What’s so magical about it?” a skeptical youth called out.

The showman grinned slyly. “Lean in, and you’ll see for yourself! Gather round, everyone!”

A small group edged closer, curiosity piqued. “For my first trick, I will make this cabbage wiggle!” He stepped back dramatically, wagging his fingers toward the vegetable.

“That’s impossible,” muttered someone from the crowd.

“In the world of vegetables, nothing is impossible!” the showman proclaimed, then added with a mischievous grin, “Also, I’m selling tomatoes! Perfect for pelting criminals at today’s execution!”

“Are the tomatoes magical too?” another voice asked.

The showman scowled. “Don’t be ridiculous. Tomatoes are tomatoes. Now, back to the magic!”

He focused on the cabbage, wiggling his fingers once more. To everyone’s amazement, the cabbage began to shimmy across the booth’s counter, as though responding to his movements. Gasps rippled through the crowd, and more spectators gathered.

Prince Xhiva, catching sight of the commotion, pushed his way forward. “There must be strings,” he muttered, bending down to inspect the cabbage. His fingers probed the counter and the vegetable itself but found nothing.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” the showman teased, his grin widening.

The audience buzzed with mixed reactions—some enchanted, others skeptical.

“Want more magic?” The showman snapped his fingers, leaning closer to the cabbage. In a conspiratorial tone, he whispered, “Grow, my friend. Grow big and strong!”

To the crowd’s amazement, the cabbage began to swell, its leaves unfurling as it grew larger by the second.

“Dragon!” Xhiva shouted, his voice brimming with childlike glee. “You have to see this!”

Dragon, despite herself, felt curiosity tugging at her. She approached the booth cautiously, her hand resting on her sword hilt. “Surely there’s some trickery here,” she said, her tone skeptical.

The showman merely smiled and placed several more cabbages on the counter. “Prepare yourselves for the Dance of the Cabbages!” He waved his hands in a theatrical flourish, and the cabbages began to sway, shimmy, and even roll in perfect harmony.

Dragon’s stern expression softened into one of mild amusement. “This is... surprisingly impressive,” she admitted, glancing at Xhiva, whose eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Fetch this man some gold!” Xhiva barked to his attendants. “And tell me—what else can these magical cabbages do?”

The showman leaned closer, his grin stretching wider. “Why, dear prince, anything your heart desires.”

Meanwhile, far from the square, on a grassy hill overlooking the city, a new plan was taking shape. The Pigeon Summoner stood with a large net containing hundreds of pigeons, struggling to keep the restless birds under control. With a flourish, he released the net.

“Fly, my winged army!” he cried, expecting a majestic takeoff.

Instead, the pigeons merely waddled on the ground, utterly unbothered.

“Fly, you fools!” he yelled, trying to shoo them.

Another voice interrupted, calm and confident. “Niles figured this might happen.”

It was the Dramatic Sneeze specialist, jogging up from the city. He positioned himself near the grounded pigeons, inhaled deeply, and unleashed a sneeze so loud and forceful it sounded like a volcanic eruption.

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The startled pigeons shot into the sky en masse, forming a great white cloud that soared over the city.

Back in the square, Dragon’s ever-watchful eyes caught the movement above. Her brow furrowed. “That looks like a signal,” she muttered under her breath. Straightening, she barked orders: “Xargian guards, be on high alert! Prepare for anything!”

The crowd, already uneasy, began murmuring louder. Some started to disperse.

“There’s no reason to panic over baseless rumors!” Xhiva declared, his voice booming to steady the crowd. But despite his bravado, Dragon’s hand tightened around her hilt. Something was about to happen—she could feel it in her bones.

Suddenly. The deep, mournful call of the Xargian Guard's horn cut through the air, its haunting tones echoing across the city center. Every guard snapped to attention, heads swiveling toward the source of the sound. Dragon's sharp gaze followed instinctively.

Then came the heavy toll of the castle bells, their forbidding clang reverberating like a desperate cry for aid. “The bells!” someone in the crowd shouted, panic rippling through the onlookers.

“The castle is under siege!” another guard interpreted grimly, urgency in his voice.

Before Dragon could react, plumes of black smoke began rising in another part of town. Screams erupted as civilians pointed, some fleeing in terror. “It’s the poor quarter! It’s burning!” a frantic peasant wailed.

But Dragon’s focus remained razor-sharp. The smoke, a deliberate distraction, could not pull her attention from the castle's signal. “Soldiers!” she barked. “Leave your posts! To the castle, now—”

Her order was cut off by Prince Xhiva’s disdainful voice. “Hold your ground,” he snapped, waving dismissively. “This is all a charade. No one would dare attack us while we’re on high alert.”

Dragon spun to face him, her sword flashing from its sheath in a single fluid motion. She leveled the blade at the arrogant prince, her fiery eyes locking with his. “The bells are a call for aid,” she growled, her voice low and dangerous. “The Xargian Guard will answer.”

Without waiting for his consent, Dragon turned back to her troops. “Soldiers, with me!” she thundered, rallying the snarling-beast-helmed guards to her side. She strode toward the castle, her forces falling into step behind her, their movements swift and unified.

Xhiva scowled at her retreating figure, his plump face darkening with anger. “Foolish woman,” he muttered under his breath. Turning to the executioner—a hulking man with a leather mask, his muscular arms bare and his massive axe resting against his shoulder—Xhiva barked an order.

“Keep the prisoner secure. We’ll finish this execution as soon as I return.”

He stalked off after Dragon and her Xargian guards, his frustration evident in every heavy step.

Dragon sprinted toward the castle's moat bridge, her boots pounding against the cobblestones. As she neared, her eyes caught the stark sight of the Zairulian flag draped over the entrance—a symbol of conquest, mocking her. But that wasn’t all. Beyond the castle guards in Xandrian colors, their spears leveled menacingly at her and her troops, lay a scene that turned her blood to fire.

Wolf, one of her most loyal soldiers, lay crumpled on the ground, blood seeping from wounds on his body and helmet. He was barely breathing, his once-proud form reduced to a pitiful, lifeless heap.

The Xargian Guard—King Xerxes’s elite force—was more than a regiment; it was a brotherhood forged through hardship. Taken from their families at birth, raised with no possessions, no ties, no life outside the art of war, they lived and died by one creed: loyalty to each other. They had nothing in the world but themselves.

Seeing Wolf, their brother, brutalized and abandoned ignited a rage that burned brighter than a thousand suns.

Dragon’s voice cracked with fury as she cried, “WOLF!” But her desperate call went unanswered. She stormed forward, roaring, “Release him at once—I need to heal him!”

The guards blocking the bridge hesitated, their spears trembling slightly. “None shall pass without authorization!” one shouted, his voice betraying his nervousness. Another added, “Wolf forced his way through without permission. Stand your forces down!”

Before Dragon could respond, a soldier from within the castle rushed to the forefront. “The holy crystal has been stolen!” he shouted.

The captain of the castle guard barked orders. “If the crystal is gone, we cannot verify the identity of the Xargian Guard.” Turning to Dragon, he bellowed, “Stand your soldiers down, or this will be seen as rebellion!”

Tension reached a fever pitch. Wolf stirred, his bloodied form twitching as he forced his voice to carry. “Captain!” he cried, his words desperate and raw. “The king is in danger!”

His warning was silenced by a brutal punch from one of the guards. “Quiet!” the guard snapped, dragging Wolf roughly aside.

Dragon’s eyes blazed as she unsheathed her sword. The long blade, shining like liquid silver, caught the dim light of the overcast sky. She gripped the hilt with both hands, her knuckles white.

“Step aside,” she ordered the commander on the other side of the moat. Her voice was unyielding, each word a hammer strike. “Or we will force our way through.”

The commander, his resolve tested, held his ground. “I cannot allow that without authorization. Please, wait a little longer!”

The castle’s bells continued their relentless toll, a dirge of impending chaos. In the courtrooms and halls, nobles and servants scurried like ants, fear etched into their faces.

Meanwhile, in his quarters, Prince Xander stood by the window, gazing toward the commotion. A soldier burst into the room, panting.

“The Xargian Guard has started a rebellion at the gates!” the soldier shouted. “They’re preparing to charge. We need your help, Your Highness!”

Xander frowned deeply. “A rebellion? That’s impossible. They’re loyal to the crown.”

His sister Xemena, sitting nearby, scoffed. “Loyal beasts don’t bite their master. This is absurd.”

The soldier persisted, desperation in his tone. “Prince Xander, the guards need your command. Please, come to the front line!”

Xander hesitated. “But I’m under house arrest.”

Xemena rolled her eyes, waving her hand dismissively. “I’ll permit it. Go settle this mess.”

Without further hesitation, Xander followed the soldier out. As they hurried through the castle halls, he called back, “Aren’t you coming?”

Xemena barely looked up, waving him off. “You’ll manage just fine on your own,” she replied coolly, her tone devoid of concern.

At the Docks

Aboard the Flying Turnip, Niles stood on the deck, the city’s chaos reaching even here. The faint echoes of bells and distant shouts carried on the wind like a warning. Captain Veggieplank, leaning on the ship’s wheel, squinted toward the skyline.

“Sounds like the city’s in a right mess,” the captain mused, his voice gruff. “We’d best set sail before it gets worse.”

Niles gazed toward the castle, its silhouette framed by the tolling bells. The sound was steady, almost rhythmic—a haunting reminder that his plan was in motion.

“Let’s wait a little longer,” Niles said calmly, hands resting on the railing. “I’m still expecting some deliveries.”

Veggieplank sighed, shaking his head. “Youth these days. Always so carefree,” he muttered.

Niles responded with a serene smile, his eyes closed as if savoring the moment.

In the City Square

Panic reigned in the square. The crowd, once eager to witness a public execution, now scrambled for safety. The heavy clang of the castle’s bells signaled an attack, leaving the platform nearly deserted.

Polly, the local guildmaster, strode confidently through the chaos. She approached the executioner, a hulking figure wiping sweat from his leather-clad brow. Catching his attention, Polly locked eyes with him and activated her skill: Regret Beam.

The effect was instant. A flood of guilt washed over the executioner, his knees trembling as the weight of his deeds bore down on him. Tears welled up in his eyes.

“Am I... a baddie?” he sniffled, his voice cracking. His gaze darted around for reassurance, but the square was nearly empty.

A calm, commanding voice broke through his despair. “If you unlock those chains,” Vulcan said from the pillory, “you can begin a new chapter—as a better man.”

The executioner wiped his face with a meaty hand, sniffling loudly. “You really think so?” he asked, his tone childlike.

“Yes,” Vulcan replied, his voice grumpy yet oddly reassuring.

Moved, the executioner nodded and fumbled with the keys, unlocking Vulcan’s chains. As the metal restraints fell away, Vulcan tilted his head. “How does it feel now?”

The executioner sniffled again, managing a small smile. “Better, I think.”

Before he could say more, a burly man from the Adventurers’ Guild approached, holding an artfully arranged bouquet of flowers. He thrust it into the executioner’s hands.

“Here,” the man said, his deep voice curt but sincere.

The executioner blinked, stunned. “I thought men only got flowers after they died,” he murmured, his voice trembling. “This... this makes me so happy.”

While the executioner admired the bouquet, Vulcan had vanished. Hidden in a crate labeled Cabbage Whisperer’s Finest Produce, he was being whisked away from the square by guild operatives.

The executioner, oblivious to the escape, inhaled the bouquet’s fragrance and let out a contented sigh. He shrugged and smiled to himself, savoring the small joy amid the chaos.

Back at the Castle

Xander dashed down the castle’s winding staircases, his hurried footsteps echoing in the stone halls. He wore no armor, only a plain tunic and a sword hastily handed to him by a guard. Ahead, the sounds of chaos raged as the Xargian Guard, the king's elite force, stood poised to storm the moat bridge, their goal clear: save their comrade, Wolf, and secure the king's safety.

As Xander neared the scene, the morale of the castle guards surged. “Our prince will defend us!” they cheered, rallying behind him.

Reaching the front lines, Xander raised his voice. “Everyone, step aside! Make room so I can use my skill—One-Man Army!”

Dragon spotted him immediately, her eyes narrowing with fury. “So you’re siding with them? Traitor!” she bellowed, her voice slicing through the tension. Turning to her soldiers, she commanded, “Stand back! Don’t get caught in his skill—I’ll handle him myself.”

“Dragon, wait!” Xander shouted, desperation laced in his tone. But she didn’t wait. Her sword already drawn, she charged toward him, activating her skill without a word.

Shadows began to ripple around Dragon, and in a flash, they solidified into duplicates—clones of herself, each armed and mirroring her every move. They moved with her, a deadly chorus of precision and fury, advancing on Xander with relentless intent.

Xander grimaced but steeled himself. “So be it,” he muttered, activating One-Man Army. His body surged with strength, his stats multiplying exponentially.

At the moat bridge, their blades met with a deafening clang. Sparks flew as Xander’s overwhelming power clashed with Dragon’s deadly precision. His sheer strength would have toppled most opponents, but Dragon’s clones swarmed him, attacking from every angle, their strikes unyielding.

Though the clones were not mere illusions but fully physical manifestations, Xander’s heightened abilities allowed him to keep pace. He dodged, parried, and counterattacked, but for every clone he tried to strike down, another moved in to block his blade.

The two combatants became blurs of motion, their swords ringing out in rapid succession. Dragon’s clones worked in tandem, encircling Xander and denying him a moment’s reprieve, while Xander’s superior stats kept him standing, his movements precise and powerful.

Both fighters began to tire, their breaths growing ragged as their stamina waned. The Xargian Guard, watching their captain fight with ferocity, shouted, “Prepare to support our commander!” They rallied behind her, ready to charge in.

On the opposite side, the castle guards braced themselves, forming ranks. “Prepare to strike down the traitors!” their captain roared.

But just as the battle threatened to spiral into an all-out war, a voice thundered above the chaos, silencing all.

“What the hell are you all doing?!”

The voice was unmistakable—King Xerxes, roaring like a lion, his tone filled with equal parts rage and authority. Both sides froze, every head turning toward the source of the command.