Lanor approached the humble war tent, its fabric gently rustling in the breeze. The subdued green hue blended with hints of white and gray. The tent, though unassuming, served as a nexus of command and decisions that could shape the fate of those gathered within... Well, that was how it used to be.

Upon entering, Lanor's gaze fell upon a rugged, middle-aged man seated at a makeshift table strewn with maps and parchments. The man bore the scars of battles etched into the lines on his face, with a prominent one cutting across his chin. His dark hair was tinged with a subtle gray that spoke of battles fought and experiences lived. His masculine jawline conveyed a stoic determination, while a calm gaze held the wisdom earned through years of command on the front lines.

Lanor found himself in the presence of the immediate commanding officer of the desolate warcamps, Captain Demenes, a knight heralding from a Baron Household, and vassal to the Dukedom of Evan.

"Commander Lanor of Keening," the middle-aged officer greeted with a nod, the weight of responsibility evident in his gaze. "I've heard of your exploits. I'm Captain Demenes. What brings you to our camp?"

Lanor, acknowledging the greeting, responded, "Captain Demenes, the Gray Wolf Mercenaries have returned. We've faced setbacks, and I seek information on the current state of the war effort."

Captain Demenes motioned for Lanor to join him at the table, where a map sprawled, marked with strategic notations. Demenes nodded, acknowledging Lanor's presence with a measured gaze. The tent's interior, though austere, didn't diminish the way Demenes carried himself.

"As you can see," Captain Demenes began, pointing to key locations on the map, "the Fandralese forces have pushed us back on multiple fronts. The loss of key commanders and the Sword Saint's intervention have reshaped the landscape of this war."

Lanor's blind eye absorbed the details on the map, his mind calculating the implications of each strategic move.

"That map is outdated, mind you," Demenes, despite being a landless noble, stood as a stalwart figure. "If you are looking for a war, a fight, or anything... give up."

The astute Captain, with his calm gaze, began to discern nuances in Lanor's demeanor that hinted at a hidden past.

Demenes, studying Lanor for a moment, remarked with a perceptive tone, "There's a certain nobility in your bearing, Lanor. It goes beyond the typical resilience of a seasoned warrior. Were you once a noble yourself?"

Lanor, not one to hide his truths, met Demenes' gaze. "Yes," he admitted, the weight of memories resurfacing. "House Haval was my lineage, a noble house that fell to ruin at the hands of marauding mercenaries."

The Captain's expression shifted, a mixture of empathy and understanding. "Mercenaries? A tragic fate for any house. I assume they weren't of your own hiring."

Lanor's voice carried a tinge of bitterness as he recounted, "No, they were rogue mercenaries, drawn by greed and malice. They pillaged and razed without mercy. My family, my home, all lost to their brutality."

"And here you are, a mercenary yourself," Demenes, his features softening, spoke with a somber acknowledgment, "I've seen the havoc such mercenaries can wreak. It leaves scars that go beyond physical wounds."

Lanor nodded, the pain of the past etched in his expression. "Indeed. I swore that day to rebuild, to gather those who shared my vision, and to lead with a purpose born from the ashes of House Haval... This war is an opportunity for me."

Demenes, now understanding the weight of Lanor's mission, extended a hand in a gesture of solidarity. "You carry the burden of a fallen house, Lanor."

Lanor, his eyes reflecting the weight of the recent developments, broached the topic with Baron Demenes. "I hear the war has officially ended, which explains as you say, outdated map."

Captain Demenes, his demeanor heavy, responded, "Yes, and it was our defeat, completely and utterly. The negotiation just ended. The Fandral Empire took a tenth of our Kingdom from the Whispering Woods to the Coast of Corals in exchange for a hundred-year treaty..."

Lanor, his brow furrowed in confusion, sought understanding, "How did we lose? The death of one general cannot be everything..."

Demenes acknowledged Lanor's unspoken inquiry, "I understand why you are here, Lanor of Keening. You wish for compensation. It is undeniable that your contributions were enough to hail you a hero, but in the end, we lost."

Lanor, frustration etching his voice, demanded insight, "What is happening?"

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Demenes, choosing his words carefully, revealed the political turmoil within their own ranks, "The upper brass was fuming. The aristocratic factions are taking heat, and royalty seemed to be taking great joy at how terribly the campaign ended."

Lanor, with a trace of bitterness, recounted the origins of the conflict, "No need to lecture me. I know how the war started. Aristocrats gathered and raised Mundar's flag to conquer the Tiffin Plains, wishing to fortify their holdings and make farms. New frontier, they say. But Fandralese considered it sacred ground, so they reacted. One thing led to another, and now it has reached a full-blown war, in which we miserably lost. How?"

Demenes, reluctant to share a harsh truth, fell silent for a moment. Lanor pressed, "Sir Demenes, how?"

Demenes, choosing his words with caution, admitted, "You know how corrupt the current royalty was, right? Not a couple of decades ago, they would even hire mercenaries to get rid of annoying vocal noble houses..."

Lanor, his expression tightening, urged Demenes to continue.

Demenes continued, "Everyone is afraid of Mundar Royalty... They have a lot of Casters, after all. Now, they were tamer, doing less atrocious and radical acts... people are happier."

Lanor, unable to contain his disbelief, sighed heavily, "What in Seven Hells did the Mundar Royalty do this time?"

Demenes, caution in his voice, confided, "I trust that you know how to keep a secret... and this is just hearsay... but I hear our dear King, Wensel Ton Mundar the Third, received a bribe... to hinder military operations."

Lanor's disbelief and embarrassment mingled, "From Fandral?"

Demenes, the weight of the revelation hanging heavily in the air, confirmed, "Yes."

Lanor, his response encapsulating the absurdity of the situation, muttered, "What the..."

Demenes finished the thought with a grim acknowledgment, "Fuck? Yes, what the fuck indeed..."

The revelation of betrayal within their own ranks left Lanor grappling with the realization that the wounds inflicted upon the kingdom extended far beyond the physical battlegrounds.

Lanor's eyes glinted with a mix of disbelief and anger. The revelation hung in the air like a heavy fog.

"Betrayal from our own king?" Lanor's voice held a tinge of incredulity, a hint of the personal affront he felt.

Demenes, a seasoned figure with a weathered face, warned, "Be careful, Lanor. Speaking such words is treason."

Lanor's response was a blaze of fury, "Treason? For seeking the truth? What about the King?"

Demenes, recognizing the familiar fire in Lanor, spoke with a measured tone, "I see myself in you, Lanor. Don't do anything rash. Take it as sincere advice."

The tension lingered as Lanor incensed and on the edge of a precipice, demanded, "Tell me the Aristocratic factions will at least do something about it."

Demenes hesitated, his mind racing. "We will do something about it, but I won't share it unless you are no longer a mercenary."

Lanor's suspicion sharpened, "Why can you not tell me? No, you are requesting I stop being a mercenary for a reason, not merely suggesting."

Demenes nodded, acknowledging Lanor's perceptiveness. "You are sharp, and you should know what I am talking about."

As the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, Lanor thought to himself, "A coup might be in the making." His inquiry followed, probing Demenes further.

Demenes hummed softly in tacit acknowledgment.

Lanor, connecting the dots, contemplated the hidden meaning of the Captain's request. "Mercenaries change sides all the time as long as there is gold, and the Mundar Royalty is unreasonably rich..."

Demenes interrupted, revealing the grim truth, "Yes, the curse of greed flows in the veins of the Mundar bloodline, and it is consuming them..."

Understanding dawned on Lanor. "He who can take all, and can give all." The words left in his mouth were the Mundar promise, sworn by the First Mundar King.

Demenes nodded solemnly, "Yes, the Mundar Virtue, the kind of Greed that would revel on Generosity. But our current King, and even the Kings prior to him, had neglected this Virtue."

The Mundar Bloodline carried a special power— enabling them to vast riches with little effort, creating gold from everyday items just with the touch of a hand. It was a power, greed incarnate, and the most strategic resource of the Mundar Kingdom.

Lanor, recalling the previous Kings, grimly remarked, "He who leaves none, and gives none." And the current King was not any better, but worse. "It makes me curious what the King was bribed about..."

Demenes, a shadow of sorrow crossing his face, admitted, "The current Mundar cannot stand on its own among the realms if we don't change it."

A plea entered Demenes' voice as he turned to Lanor, "You are a mercenary, but you have been a noble first. Help me, Lanor."

Lanor, deep in thought, hesitated as the weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders.

Demenes continued, revealing a hidden offer, "I can help you reinstate House Haval as a noble name. You may reclaim it, even before we set the realm of Mundar upside down."

Lanor, conflicted, questioned Demenes, "What do you even want from me? I am just one man."

Demenes gazed at Lanor with intensity, "Not just a man, but a Champion. You who wield both arcane and martial talent can be a symbol!"

Lanor had harbored a secret, a delicate balance between magic and martial arts that defied the norm. The world knew the peril of attempting both disciplines simultaneously—average proficiency in one and inferiority in the other.

Magic, inherently poisonous, exacted a toll on the physical form. That was why most Casters were generally physically weak, and famed warriors would have focussed solely on the honing of their martial abilities.

Yet, there existed a rare exception—those possessing the Perfect Physique, capable of reaching the pinnacle in both realms.

This clandestine truth was a closely guarded secret, known only to Lanor. He had concealed his unique advantage, walking the path of a mercenary while wielding both sword and magic with discounted proficiency.

Demenes, however, learned of this secret. How he stumbled upon the knowledge of Lanor's Perfect Physique remained a mystery.

The secret he had kept hidden for so long was no longer a secret. The Perfect Physique, the ability to master both magic and the sword, was a rare gift.

Lanor's physique allowed him to defy the natural limitations that plagued others who attempted to balance both disciplines.

Lanor, with a forced note in his voice, admitted, "I... I am honored."