Scott stepped into the conference room, his movements light but deliberate, his sharp gaze scanning the unfamiliar surroundings. The room revealed itself gradually, an expansive space designed like an aesthetic opera house, with a slanted floor leading to a dais at the bottom. The chairs, arranged in neat arcs, glistened with silver coatings, and each bore a unique sigil engraved into its surface.
Hmmm… could the seating arrangements be territory-coded? Scott pondered as his gaze lingered on the intricate sigils.
He shifted his focus to the other territorial lords filtering in from various entrances. Each champion moved with caution, their eyes darting about the room as they observed their surroundings and the unfamiliar faces. Scott frowned slightly.
No matter how I look at it, there’s no way this place can accommodate two thousand people. It’s just not big enough.
His attention briefly settled on the gathered lords, scanning for any recognizable faces, but none stood out.
They were a diverse group, some from familiar races and others entirely alien. Towering champions stood beside minuscule figures, their forms ranging from grotesque and monstrous to elegant and regal. Yet, they all had one thing in common: a piece of silver attached to their clothing or body, marked with the same sigil as a corresponding chair.
Scott’s gaze returned to the dais, where a glistening silver orb levitated in place, faintly pulsing with periodic throbs of light.
Please occupy your seat! The conference won’t begin until all Territorial Lords are seated!
Scott read the message and glanced at the nearby champions. He could tell they’d received the same prompt, their cautious movements confirming as much. Without a word, Scott stepped further into the room, properly entering the massive space.
The moment his foot crossed the threshold, the previously docile orb on the dais stirred. A sudden pulsating glow erupted from its surface, wrapping around Scott’s form before he could react.
In an instant, he blinked—and found himself seated.
Scott turned his head slightly, scanning his new position. Nearby lords wore varying expressions of shock and mild disorientation. They, too, had been teleported—or forcibly assigned—to their seats. A quick glance confirmed that some lords now occupied the chair marked with the sigil displayed on their clothing or body.
Scott’s gaze drifted back to the dais, his brows furrowing. A row of examiners had appeared, standing in perfect formation along the edges of the platform. Their presence was as sudden as it was unsettling.
How come I couldn’t see them earlier? Scott wondered, narrowing his eyes. The examiners, clad in their customary black suits, stood silently, their expressions neutral and unreadable. He studied them carefully, noting once again that Toi was absent.
Losing interest, Scott returned his focus to the silver orb, which continued to hum and pulse. Each wave of light transported a new lord to their assigned seat, the hall steadily filling as the process repeated.
“Why do you look familiar?”
The unfamiliar voice came from his side.
Scott turned, locking gazes with a furry creature sporting sparkling crimson horns. Her eyes were wide with curiosity, and her demeanor was contemplative as she cradled her jaw in her fingers.
Her expression shifted slightly as she noticed Scott’s scrutiny.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Scott said flatly. His tone carried neither courtesy nor disrespect. “Are you a Gruffpaw, by any chance?” Scott asked, his voice as calm as ever.
The woman cocked her head back in surprise, her crimson horns shimmering faintly. “How did you know?” she asked, narrowing her gaze.
“Not many people recognize us anymore,” she muttered, her tone growing contemplative. Then her eyes lit up with sudden excitement. “That means you’ve seen some of my brethren! Please, tell me where you met them. Do you control a territory with a link to their timeline?”
Scott observed the rising enthusiasm in her glassy eyes but remained indifferent.
“It’s been a long time since I encountered them,” Scott replied, his voice even. “And no, I don’t control such a link.”
The Gruffpaw blinked rapidly, her excitement dimming as the reality of his words settled. She sighed, shaking her head in disappointment.
“That’s a shame,” she said quietly. “I was hoping—” She paused abruptly, shaking her head again instead of finishing her sentence.
Scott diverted his attention away from her, turning toward the lord seated on his other side.
The creature was a mass of crimson flames, its core composed of jagged rock and writhing magma. Its face bore crude markings, suggesting rudimentary features, though its form exuded no heat.
As if sensing Scott’s gaze, the flaming creature turned toward him. Its flames briefly flickered pink, and a jagged smile appeared across its rocky face. The expression vanished as quickly as it came, the flames returning to their original crimson hue.
Scott arched a brow but said nothing, averting his gaze once more.
The room was nearly full now, with lords of all shapes and sizes seated in the silver chairs. Despite the vast number of participants, the seating arrangement ensured no one felt far from the dais.
How were the seating arrangements determined? Scott wondered, his eyes narrowing slightly. Did our ranks play a role in this?
Though he wasn’t particularly close to the dais, he also wasn’t far. He noticed a pattern—the more intimidating presences seemed seated closer to the orb, while others occupied spots farther away.
So, they must have factored in ranks, power levels, or authority when assigning seats.
Scott turned in his seat, his gaze sweeping across the champions seated behind him. By his rough estimate, their numbers couldn’t exceed one hundred. He shifted his focus forward, where the champions seated ahead of him were at least three times as many.
It really does look like we’re seated according to rank, Scott mused. The pattern was becoming increasingly apparent, and the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became.
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“My name is Meelat. I’m the lord of the Gruff Lounge. Do you mind introducing yourself?”
The soft, eager voice of the Gruffpaw beside him broke his train of thought. Scott turned slightly; his expression unreadable as he glanced at her. Around the room, he’d noticed many territorial lords exchanging pleasantries, though a select few—like himself—chose to remain silent.
Meelat awkwardly scratched the side of her neck, her initial enthusiasm faltering under Scott’s impassive gaze. “I—uh—sorry if I overstepped…”
“I’m Scott,” he said at last, breaking the silence.
Her features brightened instantly. Before Scott could say more, however, a sudden realization struck him, and his expression shifted into one of quiet contemplation.
White was ranked 800, right? Scott thought, his eyes narrowing. Why isn’t he here?
His gaze darted toward the seats in front of him, searching for the snow-white monkey. But no matter how much he searched, White was nowhere to be found.
Could it be that he wasn’t invited?
“Scott, huh?” Meelat muttered, her voice drawing Scott back to the present. She seemed pleased that he hadn’t outright ignored her. “That’s such a human-like name,” she continued, staring at him intently. “You look human, but you sure don’t smell or have the essence of one.”
“The same could be said about you,” Scott retorted, sparing her a brief glance.
Though Meelat had admitted to being a Gruffpaw, she bore little resemblance to the Gruffpaws Scott remembered. She was more humanoid in appearance; with only faint traces of the beast-like qualities he associated with her ancestors.
Meelat giggled softly. “You really have met our ancestors,” she said, barely able to contain her excitement.
Scott’s brow furrowed at her phrasing. Ancestors?
As if sensing his unspoken question, Meelat continued, “The reason I look like this is because I’m a variant—a far cry from the majestic forms of our true ancestors.”
Scott chuckled abruptly, fragments of memory surfacing. Milos and Milot—the peculiar Gruffpaws he’d encountered so long ago. Their antics were anything but majestic.
“Do you also prostrate on the ground and flap your arms when begging for mercy?” Scott asked suddenly, his tone flat.
Meelat blinked, her brows knitting in confusion. “Huh? Why would I do that? Is that some sort of trick question? Because I’m not sure how to answer it.”
Scott shook his head, suppressing a smirk. She has no idea. I wonder how she’d react if she actually met her so-called ancestors.
“Never mind,” he said, dismissing the thought.
Meelat tilted her head, still perplexed, but chose not to press further. Instead, she asked, “Are you perhaps part of an alliance?”
Scott’s gaze turned sharply toward her, and Meelat instinctively leaned back, surprised by his sudden shift in intensity.
“Why do you want to know that?” Scott probed, his tone colder than before. “Are you trying to size me up?”
“No! Please don’t misunderstand me,” Meelat said hurriedly, her hands raised defensively. “I only asked because I was curious—and, well, I was hoping to introduce you to the alliance I’m part of. That’s if you aren’t already affiliated with one,” she added quickly, her voice anxious but genuine.
Scott softened his glare, though his gaze remained calculating. “What alliance are you part of?”
Meelat’s face lit up with pride. “I’m a part of The Throdan Alliance!” she declared, her voice brimming with confidence.
Scott’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Really?”
Meelat nodded enthusiastically. This was the first hint of interest she’d seen from Scott, and she took it as a good sign.
“You’re the one responsible for recruiting new lords to your alliance?” Scott asked, his tone laced with subtle amusement.
Meelat froze, her confidence faltering. A bashful smile replaced her earlier pride. “To be honest, I only recently joined,” she confessed, her voice sheepish. “I have no such authority—or any authority—in the alliance, really. But they did tell me I could recruit other lords if I wanted to…”
“And you chose me?” Scott pressed; his gaze unwavering.
Meelat nodded hesitantly, her wide eyes filled with innocent sincerity. “You seemed… strong. I thought you’d be a good addition.”
Scott leaned back slightly; his expression unreadable. She’s either incredibly naive or bold beyond reason. Now he believed Meelat was indeed a Gruffpaw. Some traits couldn’t be erased no matter how much one evolved.
“Why?” Scott probed further, his voice cutting through Meelat’s cautious excitement like a blade.
The Gruffpaw met his gaze, her googly eyes narrowing slightly as she searched for the right words. “Although it’s unlikely,” she began hesitantly, “I believe I’ll be able to find the link to my ancestors if you join the alliance. That’s what my instincts tell me.”
Scott tilted his head slightly, studying her expression. “Your instincts, huh,” he repeated slowly, the corner of his mouth curling into a faint smile. He shook his head, his tone calm but carrying an edge. “And what happens if I decline?”
Confusion rippled across Meelat’s features, and she blinked as if Scott had asked something nonsensical. “I’m not sure I understand. Why would anything happen if you declined?” she asked, genuine puzzlement coloring her voice. “Sure, I’d be a little disappointed, but it’s not like we’re a cult or something.”
She leaned forward slightly, as though emphasizing her sincerity. “There are no consequences for not joining, at all,” she stressed, her words earnest and without guile.
Scott gave a slight nod, his smile unwavering, though his thoughts churned behind his stoic mask.
“You don’t have to answer now,” Meelat added, her tone softening as she reached into her inventory and retrieved a small brass token. She held it out to Scott, the faint glint of the chipped edge catching the light.
Scott glanced at the token, his expression neutral but questioning.
“When the conference is over, you can use this to visit my territory,” Meelat explained. “I’m sure you’d have questions about the alliance—or the potential benefits. I’d be happy to answer them,” she said, her tone hopeful.
Scott’s gaze lingered on the token, noting its lack of defining features aside from the worn edge. After a moment, he reached out and took it, the item disappearing into his inventory.
“Thank you,” Scott said. His tone was cordial but detached, his words carrying a subtle undercurrent. “I guarantee you’ll be seeing me again—sooner than you think.”
Meelat’s face brightened, a proud smile spreading across her lips. “I’ll be looking forward to your visit,” she said warmly.
Before Scott could turn away, Meelat suddenly gave him a curious look, sizing him up with an intensity he hadn’t expected.
Scott’s brows creased. “What is it?”
The Gruffpaw glanced over her shoulder, then leaned in closer, her voice lowering. “Is this your first time attending the conference?”
Scott’s brows shot up slightly, his sharp mind catching on to the weight of her question. Isn’t this the first time the conference has been held? he wondered. But the discreet way Meelat had asked the question hinted otherwise.
“This is my first time,” Scott replied evenly. “You?”
“It’s the same for me,” Meelat admitted with a soft sigh of relief, as though she’d been bracing for a different answer.
Scott’s gaze hardened slightly. “You make it sound like this isn’t the first time the conference has been held. Do you know something I don’t?”
Meelat hesitated, her eyes darting toward the champions seated closer to the dais. After a moment, she leaned in even closer, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I was only briefed when I joined the alliance,” she began, her tone tinged with unease. “Apparently, this is a gathering of tyrants.”
Scott’s brows furrowed. “How so?”
Meelat shook her head, the same uncertainty flashing in her eyes. “I’m not sure either. That’s just what I was told.”
She discreetly pointed toward a man seated closer to the dais, clad in a snow-white Daoist robe with black and amber hems. His radiant, silver hair shimmered like moonlight, complementing his flawless, almost ethereal skin.
Scott followed her gesture, his sharp gaze locking on the man. “Who’s that?”
Meelat’s tone softened. “He’s a member of the alliance too. He’s the one who told me about this place,” she explained. “He said to watch carefully as the conference progresses—that it would be a valuable experience.”
Scott tilted his head slightly. “Is he the leader of your alliance?”
Meelat quickly shook her head. “His position is high, but from what I’ve heard, the alliance leader is part of The Vanguard.”
Scott’s brows lifted in mild surprise. “Oh? That’s interesting.”
He didn’t say more, though his mind whirred with thoughts.
The Vanguard ranked between 51 and 200—several tiers above his current rank. But Scott knew better than to assume that ranking alone determined power. His encounter with the previous Territorial Lords had proven that much.
Before he could dwell further, Meelat gently tapped him on the shoulder, snapping his attention back to her. She opened her mouth to speak—but a sudden, crisp echo filled the hall, cutting her off.
All at once, the previously open doors slammed shut, the sound reverberating through the grand chamber like a thunderclap.
The pulsating orb above the dais stilled, its rhythmic glow dimming. From the line of silent examiners, one stepped forward.
“Welcome, everyone,” the examiner began, his voice smooth and authoritative, carrying easily across the vast space.
“I apologize for the delay,” he continued, his sharp eyes sweeping over the seated lords. “The conference will now officially begin!”