Chapter 1

816words2026-02-06 07:23

Western Bailey – Mortal Official Hall
The room was heavy with silence.
Chairs creaked softly as people shifted uncomfortably, waiting for someone to speak.

A man finally spoke.
(Gru – Upper Seats, Prime Minister of the Mortal Hall; a soft-spoken but strategic figure, the classic hero-coded type.)
His back was straight, but his eyes carried years of pain. In front of him, the team of Western Bailey’s officials sat silently, doing their own thing.
“We need to form a new team,” he said.
In the hall, everyone knew who he was talking about:
The Wanderers.

(A formation of people who possess unique abilities. For centuries, the officials of the Defense Unit selected the best fighters from across the regions, forming a team known as the Wanderers. Every time chaos struck, they were the first line of response. But this system worked only until the late 16th century… after that, it backfired — tragically.)
But the people seated in the hall didn’t look too satisfied with that name.
The sentence was quiet…
But it echoed like thunder.

Whispers filled the hall.
Some shocked. Some confused.
Some already afraid of what it meant.
A girl sat on the right side row, clicking her fingers.
The man beside her looked more afraid of her than of what the chief had just said.
He reached out and touched her hand — a gentle nudge back to reality.
(Upper Seats, Defense Minister of the Mortal Hall; fierce, sharp-tongued, and utterly unapologetic. Even people sitting beside her felt nervous in her presence.)
Her heart felt tight.
“I’m not going to give permission for it.”
Rikiya’s voice rang clear, cutting through the silence like a blade drawn too fast.
She turned and began walking toward the doors.
“Rikiya,” Gru called out — a rare crack in his voice.
He took one step forward, but she didn’t slow down.
Didn’t even look back.
She kept walking.
Some officials followed her with nervous eyes.
Some just sat there — heads low, lips pressed thin — as if hoping to vanish between their scrolls.
Well, well…
A cracking voice echoed from the right side — fourth seat in the Defense Row.
The kind of voice that didn’t just speak — it stabbed.
“Now’s not the time for emotional exits, wouldn’t you agree?”
He didn’t wait for an answer.
He was aiming his words like arrows, and everyone knew the target.
“You’re the Minister of Offense, Rikiya.
Surely, you should know how to control your emotions.”
That smirk in his tone — louder than his actual words.
He wasn’t trying to build a team.
He was trying to humiliate her.
Rikiya halted — one step from the threshold.
She turned slowly, eyes finding his.
(Upper Seats, Division 2 — Defense Minister of the Mortal Hall; logical, cold, and Gru’s rival in strategy… and Rikiya’s in everything.)
Second Sub-Commander of the Flame Invaders.
He hadn’t even stood up.
Didn’t need to.
The venom in his voice traveled far enough.
Ilve, who had been trying to follow her, stepped back.
Even he knew this wasn’t his moment anymore.
Rikiya’s voice dropped low, sharp as frostbite.
“My days haven’t gone that bad…
that a croaky old man with his ass glued to a council chair,
a man who’s never set foot on a real battlefield,
feels qualified to lecture me about duty.”
The silence broke — not with words, but reactions.
Hands shifting in laps.
A dropped scroll.
Even a few stifled chuckles — ones that quickly died under tightened lips.
A few eyes flicked toward Gru.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t stop her.
Damon gritted his teeth.
But he swallowed it.
He leaned back just slightly, voice smoother now — mockery stretching wider.
“Well, what can we expect from Miss Rikiya Herben, the great Iron Flame…”
He paused — dramatically.
“If I recall correctly — and my memory’s still sharp, thank you —
you were once part of the Wanderers, weren’t you?”
That hit deep.
The words didn’t just land.
They stabbed.
The room went cold again.
Rikiya didn’t answer.
Didn’t lash back.
She just… stood there for a breath.
Eyes burning.
Fists clenched.
Then turned away — and walked out.
The doors shut behind her with a soft thud.
And what followed was not silence.
It was chaos held in polite breath.
Voices rose — hushed, unsure.
Ilve sat back down, shaking his head.
One official whispered, “This council’s falling apart.”
Another muttered, “It’s starting again…”
At the head of the chamber, Gru closed his eyes.
The shadows around the table didn’t move.
But the weight in the room grew heavier than before.
“The Mortal Assembly was supposed to run an hour,” Ilve muttered, eyes flicking between Gru and Rikiya. “She ended it in fifteen.”
He leaned back, arms crossed. “No one wanted to be the grain caught between fire and stone.”
She leave grand convocation after creating chaos…….