Chapter 266: Preparations

The inn was modest, but it was close to the arena.

Nathan sat in his room, Moonlight across his knees, the wooden token with his number on the nightstand. The window looked out over a busy street, and the sounds of the city filtered in—merchants shouting, children laughing, the distant clang of a blacksmith’s hammer.

He had spent the morning gathering information.

The royal family, he learned, had five children. The order was: girl, boy, boy, girl, boy. Princess Amelia was the first—the eldest. She was beautiful, beloved by the people, and rumored to be the kingdom’s greatest asset in diplomacy. She was also, according to whispers, planned to be married off for political reasons. Not yet, but soon. Some said to a prince of Valdris. Others said to a noble of Solara.

The first prince—the heir to the throne—was a different story. He was smart. Quiet. Introverted. He rarely appeared in public and almost never spoke during council meetings. Some said he was a recluse. Others said he was a strategist, watching and waiting.

The archmage who had performed the summoning was named Lady Seraphina. She was old—over a hundred years old—and she was the most powerful mage in the kingdom. She lived in the royal palace, in a tower that was heavily guarded. No one was allowed to see her without the king’s permission. Not even the nobles.

Nathan filed the information away.

The tournament was in six days. He needed to prepare.

He spent the afternoon in the training yard behind the inn, practicing his archery. He didn’t use any skills—just basic shooting. Draw, aim, release. Over and over until the motions were muscle memory.

The other guests watched him from a distance. Some whispered. Most ignored him. He was just an F-Rank archer. Nothing special.

---

Across the city, in a grand inn near the palace, three hooded figures sat in a private room.

The room was luxurious—velvet curtains, silk sheets, a fireplace that crackled with warmth. But the three elves didn’t seem to notice. They were too busy arguing.

"The disrespect," one of the males muttered. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with sharp features and silver hair tied back in a warrior’s knot. "That giant put his hands on the princess. If we hadn’t been in public—"

"You would have killed him," the other male interrupted. He was leaner, younger, with a scholar’s build and a permanent frown. "And then we would have been arrested. Or worse, caused a war between kingdoms"

"Better a war than letting her be touched by a human."

"Enough."

The voice was soft, but it cut through the argument like a blade. The two males fell silent.

The third figure—the smallest, the one they called princess—pulled back her hood. She was young, barely out of her teens, with delicate features and long silver hair that cascaded down her back. Her eyes were the color of pale green jade, and her ears were long and pointed.

"We are not here to fight humans," she said. "We are here to uncover the truth."

"The truth?" the warrior echoed. "The humans summoned a ’hero’. That’s the truth."

"The humans caused a dimensional instability," the princess corrected. "The summoning ritual didn’t just pull a hero from another world—it tore a hole in reality. A hole that could grow. A hole that could swallow this world whole."

The scholar nodded. "The Demon King is a threat. But he is a known threat. The instability is unknown. We need to understand it before it’s too late."

The warrior crossed his arms. "And if the humans refuse to cooperate?"

The princess’s eyes hardened. "Then we make them cooperate. The Demon King might not be the end of this world. But if we let humans keep operating with magic they don’t understand, it will be."

---

In the royal palace, Kenji was training.

He held a sword—a real one, not the wooden practice blades he’d used in kendo class. It was heavier than he expected. His arms were already sore.

"Again," the instructor said.

Kenji swung. The instructor, a grizzled old man with a scar across his face, corrected his stance.

"Your feet are wrong. Your grip is too tight. Your swing is too slow. Again."

Kenji swung again. And again. And again.

He was exhausted. But he was also excited. This was real training. Real progress. He was becoming a hero.

Amelia watched from a balcony above the training yard. She smiled warmly when Kenji looked up at her. He blushed and returned to his training with renewed vigor.

But Amelia’s smile faded the moment he looked away.

Pathetic, she thought. He’s barely trained. He’ll be useless in a real fight.

The door behind her opened. She didn’t turn.

"You’re wasting your time," a voice said. It was calm. Measured. The voice of someone who had never needed to raise his voice to be heard.

Amelia’s expression didn’t change. "Brother. I didn’t expect you to grace us with your presence."

The first prince stepped onto the balcony. He was tall and slender, with silver hair like his sister’s and eyes the color of pale sapphires. He was beautiful—more beautiful than Amelia, though neither of them would admit it. He moved with a quiet grace that made everyone else seem clumsy by comparison.

He was also, as rumored, a recluse. He rarely left his chambers. He rarely spoke to anyone. But when he did, people listened.

"The hero is a child," the prince said, looking down at Kenji. "You’re manipulating him."

"I’m guiding him," Amelia corrected.

"You’re using him."

"Same thing."

The prince was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "He doesn’t trust me."

Amelia smiled. "No. He doesn’t."

"Why?"

"Because I told him not to."

The prince studied her. His expression was unreadable. "What are you planning, Amelia?"

"A better future," she said. "For Albion. For our family. For me."

"And the hero?"

"He’s a tool. Nothing more."

The prince didn’t respond. He simply sighed then turned and walked away.

---

Kenji finished his training session and collapsed onto a bench, gasping for breath. His arms felt like lead. His legs were shaking. But he was grinning.

He had made progress. Real progress. The instructor had even said so.

A shadow fell over him. He looked up.

The first prince stood there, a waterskin in his hand. "You’re improving," he said.

Kenji’s smile faded. He remembered what Amelia had told him: Don’t trust my brother. He’s jealous of you. He wants to control the hero for himself.

"Thanks," Kenji said, his voice flat.

The prince offered the waterskin. Kenji hesitated, then took it.

"You’re from another world," the prince said.

"Yes."

"What was it like?"

Kenji blinked. No one had asked him that before. They’d asked about his world’s technology, its magic, its weapons. But no one had asked what it was like.

"It was..." He paused. "Normal. Boring. I was just a regular kid. I went to school. I played games. I read manga. I wasn’t special."

"And now?"

"Now I’m a hero." He said clenching his fist.

The prince nodded slowly. "Being a hero isn’t about being special. It’s about doing what needs to be done. Even when it’s hard. Even when no one thanks you."

Kenji frowned. "And What do you know about being a hero?"

The prince met his eyes. "More than you think."

He turned and walked away, leaving Kenji alone with the waterskin.

---

That night, Nathan sat in his room, staring at the fifth cocoon.

It was pulsing. Stronger than before. The energy radiating from it was warm, almost comforting. But there was something else there too—something unfamiliar. Something that made Nathan uneasy.

He didn’t know what was inside. He didn’t know when it would hatch. But he knew it was getting closer.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

---

Far away, beyond the borders of Albion, beyond the forests of Solara, beyond the mountains of Valdris, there was a castle.

It was dark. Twisted. Black stone rose from the earth like the claws of some ancient beast. Miasma hung in the air, thick and choking. The sky above was a permanent twilight, lit by a moon that never moved.

Inside the castle, in a war room carved from obsidian, the Demon King’s generals gathered.

There were five of them. Each one was a monster in their own right—a being of immense power and ancient malice. Their forms were vague in the dim light, their features shifting and indistinct.

At the head of the table, a figure sat in shadow. The Demon King. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. But his presence filled the room, pressing down on everyone like a physical weight.

One of the generals spoke. "The humans have caused a dimensional instability."

Another nodded. "They summoned an anomaly. A being of immense power."

"A hero," a third said. "From another world."

The room fell silent.

The Demon King shifted. His voice, when it came, was soft. Almost gentle. But it carried the weight of centuries.

"Nip it in the bud."

The generals bowed.

"We will, my lord."