The Legendary Mage (Alavin)

"Old relic, do you think the Northlands royal house stands undefended?" The mightiest of the Five Lords, Lord Falconcrest, stepped forward with his hands clasped behind his back, ready to face the challenge. Yet, he was stayed by the hand of Lord Warbringer.

Now was not the time to strike. The Eight Orders' Commanders were sly as foxes, never as straightforward as they seemed. What if the Five Lords launched a joint assault, and the three neutral Commanders saw it as an opportunity to cause trouble? If they were both weakened from battle, would the Stellar Precepts' Commanders then reap the spoils?

The Grand Elder, standing behind them, suggested, "If we secure the support of the Blessed Citadel, we will have an absolute advantage."

Lord Mountguard responded coolly, "That might also provoke the Eight Orders into reforming their alliance."

For the first time, Lord Skyveil spoke, "Is Alavin in Stormcast? Why did he not flee before things spiraled out of control?"

The Grand Elder replied, "Alavin values his family, the ancient city his parents left behind. He won't leave easily unless absolutely necessary. I've thought it through, and there's only one possibility - Alavin and his kin are playing a deeper game. Since the secret would be uncovered sooner or later, it would be better that they spread the word themselves, drawing the Eight Orders and the Five Lords to clash amongst themselves. In the chaos, they might just force recognition of their legacy. But perhaps they did not anticipate the stance of the Stellar Precepts' Commander and his allies... Heh."

Lord Skyveil nodded thoughtfully, finding the explanation acceptable.

The Grand Elder continued, "No more hesitation. While the Stellar Precepts' Commander and allies are still undecided, let us join forces with the Blessed Citadel and storm Stormcast. In the chaos, we shall capture Alavin."

"And then?" Lord Mountguard glanced coldly at him, clearly not fond of this rebellious Elder.

"Regardless, after this turmoil, the relations amongst the Eight Orders will never be as solid. A split into factions is possible. By then, Jarad and Banneth and the other old fools won't stand a chance of wresting Alavin from our grasp."

"I mean...how will we divide the spoils?"

"Split amongst the six of us," the Grand Elder said, feigning calm, though it pained him to share the treasure he had plotted treason to obtain.

Lord Warbringer, Lord of Mountguard, Lord Falconcrest, and Lord Skyveil spoke in unison, "It'll be divided amongst the Five Lords. You get nothing."

"You..."

"You won't be returning to Cobalt Strike. From now on, nobody in the Northlands will harbor a traitorous scoundrel like you. You help us now, and afterward, we may consider aiding you. Forget about laying hands on the Kings' Acceptance," Lord Falconcrest decided coldly.

The Grand Elder made a subtle plea to Lord Viperbane with his eyes. But Lord Viperbane, severely wounded and now in a deadlock for meddling in the Cobalt Strike affair, was already grateful that Lord Falconcrest hadn't stripped him of his share. Lord Viperbane knew them well; any plea for mercy would likely cost him his portion. "Grand Elder, serve us or go into exile."

The Grand Elder's face darkened terribly, his teeth grinding, but he knew he had no room to bargain.

Lord Falconcrest surveyed the gathering, his right hand slowly tightening, ready to order the assault.

However... Just then, the Five Lords and the Eight Commanders all frowned simultaneously. The other Archmages also sensed it, turning their gaze southward, where a strong energy seemed to be emerging. At the edge of the southern wilds, the crowd fell silent, parting to create a path that stretched deep into the wilderness.

The air grew inexplicably tense. Hundreds, thousands stood silent, barely daring to breathe, cautiously watching the group approaching from afar.

They walked in silence, passing through the crowd and heading into the wilderness. Clad in simple black garb, their long hair tousled, and their eyes sharp, each man bore the same visage and carried a blackened blade, exuding an ominous and oppressive aura.

"Who are they?" someone asked curiously, only to be hushed by the person next to them, signaling to stay quiet.

"What's the matter? Why do you all seem frightened?" the person wondered, but no one answered. An eerie silence pervaded, and many powerful mages even sweated, discreetly moving back.

This procession of a hundred men, no more, no less, brought a deathly stillness to the southern wilds. They walked casually, yet with a murderous air. Their upright figures seemed to meld with the black blades on their shoulders. Their presence was sharp and chilling, enough to make one shiver in dread.

Thousands in the southern wilds held their breath as they watched the group disappear into the depths, heading toward Stormcast.

Someone inhaled deeply, sweat beading on their forehead. "The Iron family!"

"They've come to join the fray."

"The Iron family population is barely two to three hundred, yet here are over a hundred of their men, all of age. Are they also here to seize the Kings' Acceptance?"

"These are not men to be trifled with."