The City of Mundramon sprawled before Lanor and his company, its towering spires and masterful architecture catching the last rays of the setting sun. Lanor, the blonde swordsman with a left mechanical eye, surveyed the scene with a stoic expression, his mind calculating the impending storm.

Beside him, Captain Demenes, a weathered veteran with a scarred face, spoke in hushed tones. "Lanor, this is it. The City of Mundramon. Once we breach those gates, we storm the Golden Palace and take down the Mundar King. Our mission is clear."

Lanor nodded, his mechanical eye gleaming with determination. "Prepare the men, Captain. We move at first light. We'll catch them off guard and end this quickly." The 500 soldiers behind them shifted in anticipation, their armor clinking softly in the evening breeze.

The night passed in tense silence, and with the dawn, Lanor's forces approached the city gates. But as they neared, the stench of smoke and the distant echoes of battle reached their ears. Something was amiss.

One of the soldiers called, "Sir, look! Smoke rises from the heart of the city!"

Lanor narrowed his eyes, his senses alert. The City of Mundramon was not supposed to be in chaos before their attack.

As they entered the city, the once vibrant streets were now filled with panic-stricken civilians, their homes ablaze. Lanor and Captain Demenes exchanged a grim look.

"This wasn't our doing. What's happened here?" The Captain looked grimly at the state of the City, his soldiers surrounding them. Not a sight of the City’s forces could be seen. It was total anarchy. Everyone was killing someone, stealing someone, vandalizing, and more crimes.

Lanor urged his comrades, "We press on. To the Golden Palace."

They reached the palace gates, only to find them wide open, unguarded. Lanor unsheathed his magic sword, a blade that shimmered with an ethereal glow, and led his soldiers into the grand hall.

The once-grand halls of the Golden Palace were now marred by the scars of chaos, the walls charred from the recent fires that had ravaged the opulent structure. Lanor led his soldiers through the desolation, his keen eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of the intruders.

As they moved deeper into the palace, Lanor spotted a servant hastily making his way through the wreckage, carrying a handful of stolen tableware. Lanor swiftly closed the distance and grabbed the servant by his shoulders, his voice demanding answers.

"Hold! What happened here? Who attacked the palace?" Lanor asked with fire in his eyes.

The servant, wide-eyed and trembling, stammered out a response. "It was last night, sir! An old man with a long sword, alone... I saw him. I swear to the Spinner of Fate it could have been the death of me. He killed the King, challenged him in a duel, and took him with a single move!"

Lanor's grip tightened on the servant's shoulders, a mix of anger and determination flashing in his eyes.

"Describe him! What else do you know?" Lanor gripped the servant’s shoulder, feeling his own insecurity at the thought of the ‘old man’, and he could not rest easy knowing such a man just stole his prize.

The servant hurriedly replied, his fear apparent from being caught stealing, "It was dark, sir… I could not see clearly, but I am certain he was just an old man… The one time I saw him, I immediately ran. I knew he was old because of his white hair.”

Captain Demenes approached, his gaze flickering between Lanor and the trembling servant. "Any more information, lad? We need to know who did this."

The servant stammered, "I... I don't know, Captain. There might have been more, but it was chaotic. The man, the old man was bloodlusted… He killed the Mundar Royals specifically sir, I think… I think the Mundar Kingdom is done for… The death of the whole line… It is so terrible."

Lanor released the servant, his mind racing with thoughts of revenge and justice. “Gather the survivors, Captain. We need to know how many are left. We're dealing with a formidable foe. Though this is just one old man with a sword, we must take him seriously if he can just waltz in the palace like that."

The soldiers moved to aid the surviving palace staff and civilians, bringing order to the chaotic aftermath, however, the City outside was still in a state of anarchy. Lanor, now fueled by a burning desire for answers, turned to Captain Demenes. "We must find them, Captain. This goes beyond our original mission. We need to restore order to Mundramon."

Captain Demenes nodded, his scarred face etched with determination. "We hunt this old man down, Lanor. No matter where they hide, justice will be served."

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Lanor's mind raced with conflicting thoughts as he processed the servant's account of the old man's ruthless attack on the Mundar Royals. In ordinary circumstances, the death of the Mundar Royals should have made their coup easier, clearing the path for Lanor and his soldiers to take control of Mundramon. However, the gravity of the situation began to sink in as Lanor considered the unique power held by the Mundar Royals—the ability to turn objects into gold.

"Captain,” Lanor turned to Captain Demenes, his expression a mix of concern and realization. “If what the servant says is true, and the Mundar Royals are truly gone, the foundation of the Mundar Kingdom is at risk. Their ability to turn objects into gold is what makes this kingdom prosperous and powerful. Without them, Mundramon might crumble."

Captain Demenes furrowed his brow, understanding the implications of the situation. "The economic stability of this kingdom relies on that power. If it falls into the wrong hands or is lost, chaos will consume Mundramon."

Just as Lanor grappled with the weight of the situation, a figure emerged from the shadows. A Fandralese woman, adorned in intricate garments, approached them with an air of regality. Her name was Izabella, and she identified herself as the King's newest concubine.

She introduced herself as Izabella, "My Lords. I am Izabella… I wish to speak who is in charge.”

“I am in charge,” Captain Demenes voiced to the woman, “But here Lanor is my would-be King.”

“I guessed as much,” Izabella sighs. “I recognize this young man from the war in the Tiffin Plains. You are quite brave, Lanor of Keening, and I have heard of your exploits. It is not so hard to deduce that you possess noble origins, but for the veteran Captain Demenes to refer to you as King... That only means one thing. The Mundramon Aristocrats had enough of the Mundar King’s Tyranny. Do you know, Lord Lanor? You’ll end up just a puppet from where you stand.”

“Aye, a coup we did plan… but someone got to the King’s head first. And don't talk to Lanor, that way, woman. You mean nothing to us.” The Captain stared at Izabeela dangerously.

Lanor intervened, “Enough, Captain. I am fully aware of where I stand. As your Champion, please calm down. I don’t wish for this woman of an enemy realm to be killed too abruptly. We still need to question her. So tell me, Fandral wench, why are you here?”

“The King received me as a 'bribe' from the Fandral Empire to have him sabotage the war of the Mundramon Aristocratic factions in the Tiffin Plains. Your Mundar King wanted to seed me, a Fandral bastard daughter, so that the Fandral blood may flow in his descendants’ veins…” She plainly explains, detached.

Lanor regarded her with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. "You're from Fandral Royalty? What do you know of the attack on the palace? And the old man who killed the Mundar Royals?"

Izabella's expression darkened as she spoke, her eyes betraying a mixture of sorrow, anger… and joy. "I witnessed the attack. The old man was ruthless, his sword claiming the lives of the Mundar Royals amidst the fire without mercy. It wasn't just an act of assassination; it was a deliberate act of destruction. And now, with the Royals gone, the very foundation of Mundramon is at stake… but in exchange, he has freed this Kingdom from a tyrant."

Lanor clenched his fists, the weight of responsibility pressing upon him. "We need to find this old man and uncover his motives. If Mundramon falls, chaos will spread, and the consequences will be dire. Izabella, help us understand what the Fandral Empire's involvement might be in this. We must act swiftly to salvage what remains of Mundramon."

“Stop,” Izabella furrowed her brows, correcting Lanor. “The Fandral of course are not involved. Do not involve me with your conspiracies. I will offer you what I can, but you must take me… I am a Caster at the Adept Level. It is a secret I have been keeping for a long time. I only want a normal life.”

Lanor's eyes bore into Izabella, a mix of skepticism and curiosity etched across his face as she spoke of the Fandral Empire's none-involvement.

The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him, the responsibility of salvaging Mundramon now intertwined with the complexities of political intrigue and external manipulation. "Let's focus on the attack on the palace. Who was this old man, and why did he target the Mundar Royals?"

Izabella took a deep breath, her eyes meeting Lanor's with an air of sincerity. “I am… unsure… but I feel like I just saw the Enderman of Legends… He did not have the ring that symbolized him, but the way he looked. He was exactly how I would envision him…”

Izabella continued, "The Enderman. A mad mercenary with a monstrous ability to commit to evil. He reveled in chaos and destruction. I cannot say for certain, but the way he spoke, the way he moved, it was as if he was driven by something beyond mortal understanding… It wasn’t just evil… There was the taste… a scent… it was complicated… The old man just stenches of wickedness, and he thrives from it."

Lanor's expression darkened as he absorbed the information. "The Enderman... I've heard tales of him, whispers in the shadows.” And he too had met him, face to face, and Lanor had spared him. “If what you say is true, then Mundramon is facing a threat unlike any other. The Enderman is the greediest, angriest, and pettiest man in the world."

Captain Demenes, ever the seasoned warrior with a practical mind, admonished the talk of legendary figures and ominous tales.

"Enough of these ghost stories! We're dealing with real threats here, not creatures of myth," Captain Demenes declared, his voice carrying the stern authority of experience.

Izabella, however, smiled in agreement, a mysterious glint in her eyes.

"Captain Demenes is right. Legends and tales are often exaggerated. But sometimes, truth is stranger than fiction, isn't it?" Izabella replied, her tone suggestive of hidden knowledge.

Lanor frowned, aware of the reality that lurked in the shadows. The Enderman was no ghost story – he was a tangible, menacing force that had left its mark on not just Mundramon, but many more Kingdoms… and Empires.

The Enderman’s stories hardly would spread, as anyone who knew what he was truly capable of, would never dare utter his name for the fear of having their own be damned by the Damned One himself. Or maybe even befallen by an early fate by the Spinner of Fate herself.

Lanor walked away, his figure burdened with a fit of reemerging anger, “Old man, it seemed you are not as decrepit and frail as I thought…” The Mundar King's death, the slaughtered Mundar Royalty, and the state of the city. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but he had to, the simmering anger wavered. Lanor felt something within him... urging him to do something extreme. Lanor... he just felt like killing someone, his own Enderman calling to him.