Chapter 5

The throne room of Azeroth was a masterpiece of gold and light. Giant windows allowed the morning sun to flood the hall, reflecting off the polished marble floors and the silver armor of the Royal Guards. At the center of the room sat King Urson Azeroth.

Despite his sixty-five years, the King was a titan. His blonde hair was now white, but his brown eyes held the sharp intelligence of a man who had survived a dozen wars.

Beside him stood Princess Hilia, her "Warrior Healer" armor—a mix of white leather and pink-tinted steel—shimmering under the sun. She looked regal, but her eyes were darting toward the heavy doors, waiting for one specific person to enter.

The doors groaned open.

Jeston Morgan marched in first, his heavy claymore clanking against his leg, his presence commanding the room's respect. But it was the man behind him who drew the collective intake of breath from the assembled nobles and knights.

Arthur walked in, wearing a fresh set of his signature black light armor. He didn't bow. He didn't acknowledge the whispers. He simply stood beside his father, a dark stain in the room of gold.

"King Urson," Jeston began, his voice booming. "The situation in the south is no longer a border dispute. It is an invasion. Krita’s soldiers have been spotted flying the 'Flame Prince's' banner."

"And the rebels?" Urson asked, his voice deep and weary.

"My mother is with them," Arthur interrupted, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. The nobles gasped at the bluntness of his statement. Arthur looked directly at the King. "She has burned three villages. She isn't just raiding; she’s clearing a path. Within three days, they will reach the Stallion Kingdom’s border. If they seize the Western Pass, we will be surrounded."

"He’s right," Hilia said, stepping forward. "Father, our healing corps are already seeing refugees with wounds that won't close—void-fire burns. It’s Gerald’s work."

At that moment, the doors burst open again. Fuego Frost entered, looking flustered and eager to prove himself. "Your Majesty! Give me the command of the Vanguard. I will lead the Azeroth Knights to the border and extinguish Gerald’s fire myself!"

Arthur didn't even look at him. "You’d be dead within the hour, Fuego. Sodan Brook is with them. He’ll have your head off before you can even draw your shield."

Fuego’s face turned bright red. "You coward! You just want to hide in the shadows while we do the real fighting!"

"Silence!" King Urson’s voice echoed with the power of a Radiant Healer King. The air itself seemed to vibrate with his authority. He looked at Arthur. "Arthur Morgan, you have never asked for a command. You have never sought the life of a knight. Why are you here today?"

"I'm not here for a command, Your Majesty," Arthur said, his blue eyes flashing with a sudden, violent spark of lightning. "I'm here for a hunt. I want the head of Gerald Krita, and I want to meet the leader of the Raven Claw alone. I’m not going as a knight of Azeroth. I’m going as an Adventurer."

"You want to go on a suicide mission into the heart of the enemy's territory?" Urson leaned forward, his gaze piercing.

"It's only suicide if you're not fast enough to outrun the Reaper," Arthur replied with a cold, ghost of a smile. "And I have yet to meet anything that can outrun Blue Lightning."

The room was silent. Jeston looked at his son, a mix of pride and sheer terror in his eyes. He knew he couldn't stop Arthur. No one could.

"Very well," Urson said, standing up. "Arthur Morgan, you are hereby granted the right to act as a Free Agent of the Crown. But know this—if you fall, we cannot send an army to retrieve you. You will be alone in the dark."

"I prefer the dark," Arthur said, turning on his heel. "The light is too blinding anyway."

As he walked out, Hilia caught his eye. She didn't say anything, but her lips moved silently, forming a single word: Return.

Arthur didn't nod, but as he stepped out into the crisp morning air, his pace quickened. The hunt had begun.

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