Crown Prince Saldeon stood in an antechamber, a large open room guarded by two of his personal guards: the White Lances, dressed in blue and white surcoats. They were handpicked by him personally, two Augmentation Sorcerers at the early advanced stage. If the Beastfolk or any foul beast were to attack the warcamp, and the crown prince were to somehow be absent, they would hold the front against the Beastfolk and buy him time. Though if it were a beast, the White Lances can handle it on their own.
The room itself was plain. Windows were cut into stone, offering the sun ample space to fill the room with natural light. Sunlight poured through the stone-cut windows, illuminating the space and casting shadows across the walls. The faint scent of iron and leather lingered in the air, and the sound of hammering and banging rang throughout the room as metalworkers worked at their craft.
It was soothing to Saldeon that yet another day of peace filled his ears. Soldiers chatting and jesting. Craftsmen singing with their hammers and tools rang through the air. The sound of soldiers drilling in formation and practicing with their weapons. Even the sound of boot soles clapping along the plateau echoed like the patter of raindrops.
The bustling of the warcamp along the border never seemed to stop, always on the cusp of another day's activity. In such a large camp, where thousands of soldiers resided in tents and barracks, it would be easy to get drunk and lost within yourself. That was why Saldeon ensured the camps contained necessities, and then some. To mimic a small city on the front lines so that none of his soldiers felt homesick, and to keep their minds off of the Beastfolk that lie over yonder.
No day was ever wasted here. At any moment, there was always something to do, something to accomplish. Training, polishing armor, working in the armory, taking care of horses and mules, working on weapons, preparing rations and drinking, and, of course, the usual afternoon nap. Saldeon believed that soldiers who remembered the comforts of life fought harder to preserve it.
However, this peace was indeed a precarious state. He was well aware that it could be shattered at any given moment. Whether it be due to the Beastfolk launching an attack or an unforeseen enemy emerging within the warcamp. If they failed to remain vigilant and ready for any situation, this peace would be short-lived.
Emperor Johan's message were still fresh in his mind. An attack, albeit miniscule, was unheard of for the capital. Not only did they have to worry about the Beastfolk, but this Scourge group as well. How come no one had heard of Scourge before? The name was foreign to Saldeon, a specter conjured from the shadows of some unseen threat. For a group to orchestrate an attack on the capital and slip away with such precision, they had to be organized, resourceful, and dangerous. Yet their sudden emergence left gaps in the intelligence network—gaps that unnerved him.
His father's words had been clear: Scourge wasn’t just a rogue band of agitators. They were something more sinister, something with the capability to threaten the stability of the empire from within. And now, even as the Beastfolk loomed, Lethos had to divide its attention between two enemies, one known and one obscured by secrecy.
If I remember correctly, Royal Knight Geroth found a black tiger within the Wasteful Wetlands purposely spreading corrupted mana near Valis. That same black tiger also had ties with Scourge. Father assumed the two groups were working together: one to distract us from the outside while a lone member sows discord from the inside.
The news was troubling, yet so far, not a peep had been heard of from Scourge for months now. While troubling, Saldeon couldn't be worrying about Scourge as of now. The matter was handed to the royal knights to handle, and that was that.
"Crown Prince Saldeon?"
The crown prince raised his head, his golden locks bouncing with the motion. Ostaun, one of his officers, had returned from his patrols and had a grim look on his leathered face. He stopped and brought a fist over his left shoulder, and his head bowed. "I have... dire news to report."
Saldeon's heart took a leap. "What is it, Ostaun? Are we low on supplies again?"
"Nothing of the sort, Crown Prince Saldeon." Ostaun brought his fist down. "A soldier from the eastern watch post has reported that a singular Beastfolk was seen at Mevena's Scar. It was a black-furred creature, and a large one, at that. We think that a black tiger was sighted."
Saldeon took a step forward, his face darkening. “A black tiger, you say? Are you certain it wasn’t just a wild animal?”
Ostaun shook his head firmly. “The soldier reported humanoid features and movement—upright, with deliberate strides. There’s no mistaking it.”
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Saldeon’s fists clenched behind his back. “What was it doing at Mevena’s Scar?”
“Nothing of note, crown prince. It didn’t cross into our territory, nor did it seem to be scouting. It simply… lingered. Observing.”
"It might be time, brother." Everyone whipped around to see Gulinar standing in the doorway. The White Lances stepped aside, allowing him to stride into the antechamber. Gulinar continued, "Why else would a black tiger be here? Perhaps to deliver a declaration of war, isn't it?"
“A declaration of war?” Saldeon repeated, his voice measured. “From a single Beastfolk lingering at Mevena’s Scar? You leap to conclusions, as usual.”
“And you hesitate, as usual,” Gulinar countered, his lips curling into a smirk. “A black tiger near our border is not a coincidence, Saldeon. The Beastfolk do nothing without purpose. Their boldness grows by the day, and yet here we are, content to sit and wait for them to bring the fight to us.”
Saldeon’s fingers drummed against the hilt of his sword, but he kept his composure. “This is not hesitation; it is caution. War is not something to enter lightly. If this is a declaration, we must confirm it first.”
“By the time you’ve confirmed it, they will be inside our walls—again,” Gulinar snapped. He strode closer, his boots thudding heavily against the stone floor. “The black tigers are their elites—their vanguard. If one is here, more may follow. We can deal with one singular black tiger, but not an entire lineage of them. It is not too late to act, brother."
Their conflicting opinions created a thick tension in the room. The White Lances stood rigid, their eyes darting between the two princes, while Ostaun shifted uneasily nearby. Saldeon dared not let himself show any emotion—not when his brother was so near, ready to seize any opportunity to put him down.
Gulinar and he were constantly at odds, colliding in every situation, in every possible manner, as if they were fated to be rivals. His brother had even dared to challenge him to a duel, engaging in a fierce combat that seemed to stretch on for hours. Saldeon emerged victorious that time, and ever since, his brother had refrained from issuing any more challenges.
All of this stemmed because Saldeon was the crown prince, next in line to inherit the throne, while Gulinar was relegated to the role of second son—an honorless position in his eyes. Though their father, Emperor Johan, had always praised both of his sons for their strengths, it was clear to everyone, especially Gulinar, where the emperor’s favor lay. Saldeon’s measured approach had always been held in higher regard than Gulinar’s fiery ambition and brute force.
It was plain to see why Gulinar wanted war. He saw it as an opportunity to prove himself, to rise above the shadow cast by his older brother and carve his name into history through valor and conquest. War, in Gulinar’s eyes, was the great equalizer—a chance to demonstrate that strength and decisive action were the true marks of leadership. If he could emerge victorious on the battlefield, it would silence the whispers of his inferiority and force even their father to acknowledge his worth. That he was fit to rule, and not the current crown prince.
Saldeon’s gaze flickered to Gulinar, who now stood with his arms crossed, his presence as unyielding as a mountain. He could almost see the gears turning in his brother’s mind, already strategizing, already envisioning himself at the helm of a victorious campaign.
"Ostaun," Saldeon said softly, breaking the stillness. "Is the black tiger still there?"
"According to our scout's reports, yes. It hasn't moved since he first spotted it."
"Then I wish to speak to it."
Gulinar raised an eyebrow, his lips twisting into a sneer. “You wish to speak to it?” his tone dripped with incredulity. “Tell me, brother, do you intend to invite it for tea and discuss terms of surrender? Or perhaps you’ll simply ask it to leave our lands out of the kindness of its heart?”
“Communication is a weapon just as much as the sword or the spear, Gulinar. If there’s even a chance to glean its intentions, it’s worth taking.”
“Glean its intentions?” Gulinar took a step forward, his voice rising with each word. “It’s a Beastfolk, Saldeon! Its intentions are clear—our destruction, our blood, our land. You think you can reason with that?”
“And if I’m wrong,” Saldeon replied evenly, “if its presence is a precursor to war, then I’ll have confirmed it. But if there’s even a sliver of a chance that it isn’t—if this is something else entirely—then I’d rather understand it before plunging us into a conflict we might not be ready for.”
Gulinar scoffed, throwing his hands in the air. “Your fear will undo us, brother. Your hesitation will give them the upper hand. Strength—that is the only language the Beastfolk understand. And yet you cling to words as though they’ll shield you from their claws.”
“I prefer to think before I act,” Saldeon said, his voice cold now. “Something you might try, Gulinar, before your thirst for glory drags us all into ruin.”
Ostaun cleared his throat, stepping forward cautiously. “Crown prince,” he began, addressing Saldeon but glancing briefly at Gulinar, “if you truly intend to speak with it, we’ll need to proceed carefully. The Beastfolk are unpredictable. Approaching it without sufficient protection would be… unwise.”
"There's no need to worry. I won't be going alone, just like you said, Gulinar. We can handle a single black tiger. Let's go and meet the creature to find out its intentions. It's better if we leave now, otherwise it might wander off. Ostaun and the White Lances, stay inside the warcamp. Gulinar, come with me."
Without waiting for Gulinar's reply, Saldeon turned on his heel, striding toward the door with a deliberate pace. Saldeon’s mind raced as they walked, the sounds of the camp fading into his mind. This was the first time a black tiger had ever been spotted near the chasm. What could the black tiger want? Was it truly just observing, or was there a deeper message here?
It could be a prelude to something far more dangerous. But he refused to let fear cloud his judgment. He would meet the tiger, see what message it carried, and deal with it according to his principles. He did not know what he would find—but he knew that speaking to it would be the only way to figure out the Beastfolk's intentions.
And if it turned out to be an enemy, well, he would be ready.