THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

Moonlight streamed through the jagged opening in the ceiling, illuminating the wreckage below. A man in a dark robe stood amidst the chaos, brushing debris off his cloak with deliberate, almost casual movements. His face was concealed by a silver mask, intricately marked with lines that seemed to glow faintly under the pale light, giving him an air of eerie authority.

The room held its breath as another object crashed through the ceiling with a resounding thud, sending tremors through the floor. Sir Richard acted swiftly, driving his sword into the ground, and with a surge of crimson energy, his aura expanded into a formless shield. The debris that followed shattered harmlessly against the barrier, protecting those behind him.

Sir Fredrick strode forward, his crimson cape rippling as he approached Richard. "What's the status?" he demanded.

Sir Richard straightened, his focus unwavering as he observed the intruder. "One figure. No immediate reinforcements. Whatever came down after him is... unusual."

The dust finally settled, revealing a massive metallic box lying motionless beside the masked figure. The man turned his attention to the box, his gloved fingers gliding across its surface in a practised, deliberate motion.

A faint clicking sound echoed in the hall as a hidden compartment slid open. From within, he drew an obsidian dagger, its blade shimmering with an unnatural darkness that seemed to consume the surrounding light.

"Stand down, intruder!" Sir Fredrick's voice thundered through the hall, his commanding tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Lay down your weapon, or face the wrath of the Knights of Flame."
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The intruder did not respond, his focus unwavering as he gripped the dagger tightly. His movements were precise, unhurried, as though the threats hurled his way were of no consequence.

Sir Fredrick's jaw tightened, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "You dare test me?" he growled. "I am Sir Fredrick, third-class King-ranked swordsman of Lysora County. You'll face my true sword if you persist in your foolishness!"

The man remained silent, his silver mask gleaming ominously in the moonlight. Without warning, he raised the obsidian dagger and drove it into the air. The fabric of space itself seemed to rend apart as if sliced like paper. A dark veil materialized where the blade had struck, rippling with a foreboding energy.

From the veil stepped two figures cloaked in pristine white, their masks marked with jagged blue patterns. One was towering and broad-shouldered, radiating an imposing presence, while the other was smaller, almost petite, yet no less intimidating. The air around them grew heavy with a palpable tension, as though the room itself recognized the danger they brought.

Sir Richard's grip on his sword tightened, his voice low but urgent. "This is bad," he muttered. "One was manageable, but now there are three. And these two... they're different. Their presence... it's suffocating."

Fredrick glanced at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

Richard's face was grim. "They're not ordinary. I can't say for sure, but if they're King-ranked like us, it's already a problem. If they're higher-ranked..." His voice trailed off, unwilling to voice the worst-case scenario.

Fredrick's expression darkened, his resolve hardening. "We can't let them leave here alive, no matter what."

The masked intruder stepped back, folding his arms as if inviting his companions to take the stage.

The petite figure tilted her head slightly, her gaze sweeping over the grandeur of the hall before landing on the Archon. "So this is the Golden Coast Castle, built from fire," she said, her voice dripping with mockery.

Sir Fredrick's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, his crimson aura flickering like a restless flame. "Identify yourselves and stand down," he commanded, his tone laced with finality. "This is your last warning."

The masked woman chuckled, a low, haunting sound. "Followers of true chaos do not bow, knight. Compliance is not an option—only submission."

Sir Fredrick's eyes narrowed as his patience snapped. The fiery energy surrounding him flared to life, casting an intimidating glow across the room. "Your time has expired," he growled, unsheathing his sword. With a burst of speed, he launched himself toward the intruders, his blade blazing with unrestrained power.

The air grew tense as Sir Fredrick closed the distance in a blur of speed, his sword raised high to deliver a decisive blow aimed at the feminine figure. However, just as he brought the blade down, her hulking companion moved with unexpected agility, intercepting the strike with his thick wrist. Sparks erupted from the clash, lighting up the space between them.

The force of the collision pushed Sir Fredrick back, but he landed gracefully, retreating as swiftly as he had attacked. His eyes flicked to Sir Richard, a grim determination etched on his face. "They're no ordinary swordsmen," he said, his voice low but firm. "They're strong. King-ranked, for sure. We can't underestimate them."

Before Sir Richard could respond, the hulking figure stepped forward, flexing his massive arms beneath his white cloak. The movement caused the fabric to stretch taut, revealing hints of corded muscle beneath. His voice rumbled like an avalanche, resonating through the hall. "This should suffice... as a warm-up."

The feminine figure tilted her head, the edges of her jagged mask glinting in the dim light. She seemed almost amused, her hands still poised as though she might clap them together at any moment. But her companion's enormous hand remained firmly around her wrist, restraining her.

"Save your theatrics," the hulking man growled. "I'll handle this."

Her gaze lingered on Sir Fredrick for a moment before she relented, lowering her hands slowly. "Do try not to ruin the atmosphere entirely," she said, her voice light but laced with mockery.

The hulking man ignored her as he rolled his neck, the sound of cracking joints echoing ominously. His focus locked onto Sir Fredrick, who shifted his stance, gripping his sword tightly as the crimson aura around him flared brighter. Sir Richard stepped closer, his own energy beginning to coalesce into a defensive field, his shield shimmering faintly with crimson light.

"You think this is a game?" Sir Fredrick asked, his voice a sharp contrast to the man's casual arrogance.

The hulking man let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "No," he said, his deep voice dripping with menace. "But it will be entertaining."