Strongest Pawn Of The King Project

Valtharen was a place of... contradictions.

Nestled in the eastern quadrant of the Empire, it had once been a proud, independent kingdom before bending the knee to Imperial authority centuries ago.

Now it stood as a minor kingdom in name only. Its monarchy had been reduced to ceremonial puppets, its banners stitched beneath the crimson crest of the Empire. And yet, Valtharen had never truly lost its pride.

The streets were wide, clean, and unnervingly symmetrical. Arched bridges stretched over glowing canals infused with faint trace elements of magic.

Spires rose like spears from the heart of the city, and hanging gardens draped from balconies in bursts of color. Magic-infused lanterns lit the streets even under broad daylight, more for prestige than necessity.

Every inch of the city was brimming with beauty.

But what made Valtharen truly unique, what gave it a life of its own, was its people.

It was a gathering point of many cultures, a magnet for the odd and exceptional.

Nowhere else in the Empire did so many beastfolk live freely within the capital walls. Felinar, with their sharp amber eyes and twitching tails, walked beside antlered Stagborn scholars and towering Lupine mercenaries.

Foxkin merchants hawked exotic wares from hand-woven tents. Scaled Drakari and horned Grell shared public bathhouses and exchanged rumors over spiced wine.

The city tolerated eccentricity because it demanded greatness. This was, after all, the gateway to one of the academies of the King Project.

The Academy of Valtharen stood like a second sun over the city's heart, drawing thousands of aspirants, scholars, and spectators every season. It was said that every street in Valtharen eventually led to the academy gates, and every dream here was either forged or shattered at its threshold.

Lucian sat beneath the shade of a tall, flowering parasol, the wooden chair creaking slightly as he shifted his weight and crossed one leg over the other. The outdoor restaurant was tucked beside one of Valtharen's gently curving canals, where gondolas glided past and laughter echoed faintly from passing crowds. The air was warm, tinged with the aroma of grilled spices and roasted fruit.

He barely glanced up as the waitress approached, a young beastkin girl with fluffy ears and a swishing squirrel-like tail. She set down a tall glass of water and a smaller, squat cup filled with something amber and potent. It was spicy Dwarven liquor that practically smoked on contact with the air.

"You sure you want both?" she asked with a grin, tail flicking behind her. "That stuff'll burn your teeth off."

"You need not worry. It isn't for me," Lucian replied with a faint smirk.

She chuckled, then tilted her head. "Surprised you're still sitting alone. Your date running late, sir?"

Lucian looked at the empty chair across from him, then returned her smile with a subtle glint in his eyes.

"I suppose you could say that."

"Well, I hope she shows up soon," the waitress said playfully, then turned on her heel and walked off, humming to herself.

Lucian exhaled slowly, letting the brief lull settle over him. Sunlight filtered through the parasol above, dappling the table with shifting patches of gold and shadow.

Then a sudden gust of wind swept down the canal, fluttering napkins and tugging at cloaks.

Lucian closed his eyes for just a moment.

When he opened them again, a fingerless-gloved hand, black as midnight and smooth as glass, was already reaching across the table.

The hand snatched the spicy Dwarven liquor, lifted it in one smooth motion, and brought it to a pale, sharp-jawed face.

The man downed it in a single breath.

He wore a hooded cloak of sleek black fabric, trimmed with faint silver runes along the hem. His midnight-black hair was long, braided down one side, ending in a small ceremonial dagger bound with red thread. His eyes were a deep purple, sharp and intense.

He set the cup down with a crisp clack.

Lucian didn't even flinch.

"You and your dramatic entrances," he said dryly. "Must you always arrive like that?"

The man stared at him for a long moment, the faintest sneer curling at the edge of his lips.

The man then said, "I'm a shadow messenger, Lucian. What sort of shadow arrives like a normal civilian would?"

His voice was smooth and quiet, but sharp enough to cut through the din of the canal behind them.

Lucian arched an eyebrow, lips twitching. "One with manners, maybe."

The man leaned back slightly, folding his arms theatrically. "Manners are for nobles and liars."

Lucian smiled as he said, "Seems you never change, Azrel. Now, do you have the information I asked for?"

Azrel reached into the folds of his cloak and produced a small, crumpled piece of parchment. Its edges were singed, the ink faintly smudged with heat, as if it had survived a fire just to get here.

He held it out lazily over the table.

Lucian reached for it.

And just before his fingers could touch it, Azrel yanked it back with a mischievous glint in his violet eyes.

"Not so fast," he said smoothly. "You're supposed to pay first."

Lucian tilted his head, his smile sharpening. "Are you actually worried I won't be able to?"

Azrel raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I know you can. It's the will I question." He gave a pointed look at the canal, then added with a mock sigh, "You're a snake, Lucian. And considering the word going around saying you were kicked out of your precious guild, you might be trying to save what you can, so..."

Clink.

A pair of gold coins landed on the table between them, glinting in the sunlight.

Lucian's voice cut in. "Come on now, even I'm not that cheap."

Azrel glanced down at the coins, then back at Lucian. "No... but you are dramatic." He slid the parchment across the table.

Lucian unfolded it carefully, eyes scanning the contents. As he read, a cold expression appeared on his face.

"So it's true," he murmured.

Azrel leaned on the table with one elbow, resting his chin against his palm. "Oh, it's worse than true. It's planned. Coordinated. And the crazy part is, they are working with the Holy Church of U'Tael."

Lucian folded the paper and tucked it into his coat. "Then I suppose I'd better hurry."

Azrel grinned. "That's the Lucian I remember. The bastard with a dagger under every word."

Lucian stood, dropping a third coin on the table as a tip.

He looked over his shoulder. "Tell your master I'm happy doing business as always."

Azrel gazed at the golden coin and smiled. He stood up, gave a graceful bow, plucked the coin from the table, and slipped it into his cloak.

"I guess I'll see you later, Executioner."

Then, with a rustle of fabric and a gust of wind, he vanished once more into the crowd, leaving no trace behind.

Lucian sighed, finally turning to the water he hadn't touched once during the entire exchange. He lifted the glass halfway and swirled it, paused, then set it back down with a faint smirk, watching the water slowly settle.

"I'll soon be stepping into troubled waters... How exhilarating."

He stood, adjusted his coat, and disappeared into the winding streets of Valtharen.