Caesar of Alphamos sat upon his throne, clad in deep blue velvet robes. In his left hand, he held a staff with a curved handle; his right hand gripped the armrest of the throne tightly. When the door slowly opened, the soldier in blue armor stepped in with a bow. He knelt, lowering his head to the ground.
"Hail to the Caesar, born under the shadow of the god Mania. I bring news concerning Asmanda, my lord."
"Speak."
"Great Caesar, from the Asmanda front…"
Caesar lowered his head slightly, looking down at him, his voice deep and commanding.
"Speak. My time is short."
Without raising his eyes, the soldier continued.
"There was a night raid in Asmanda… Nevan forces attacked, but…"
At that moment, Caesar's eyebrows furrowed. The soldier went on.
"…the raid was repelled. However—"
A foot stomped down. The marble floor of the palace trembled as if it could not bear Caesar's fury. A small stone lying before the throne jumped up from the force of the strike. With startling speed, Caesar used his other foot to strike the stone mid-air, aiming it like a sharpened spearhead directly at the soldier's head. The stone pierced straight into the soldier's right eye.
He collapsed backward without so much as a scream. His skull struck the marble floor, and not a sound, no groan, no whisper escaped his lips. Blood pooled quickly around the embedded stone.
Caesar took a deep breath and released his grip on the throne's armrest. From the far end of the chamber, two palace guards stepped forward to carry the body away.
Caesar muttered to himself.
"Defeat... Tongues that carry that word upon their lips must be torn out at the root. Eyes that have witnessed it—ripped from their sockets."
At that very moment, Attila and Ebren were waiting outside the chamber doors. The deep echo that followed Caesar's foot striking the floor—sharp and resonant—seemed to ripple through every stone of the palace. Standing before the massive doors of the throne room, both Attila and Ebren heard the sound clearly.
Ebren raised an eyebrow and turned to Attila, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
"Seems the entertainment inside has already begun... At least it won't be boring."
Attila kept his eyes fixed on the door, his expression unchanged. He remained silent. It was the kind of sound he had grown used to hearing on battlefields an omen, a herald of violence. But here, echoing within the stone confines of a throne room, it foretold a different kind of horror.
As the echo of the heavy thud faded, a sharp, commanding voice from within sliced through the stillness like a blade.
"The envoys shall be admitted."
The doors creaked open with a weight and grandeur to match their size. A wave of intense, warm air spilled out — not just the scent of torches, but the very essence of absolute power and tension. At that moment, two guards carried out a bloodied soldier. His body hung limp, the stone lodged in his eye still firmly in place. Attila didn't hesitate, but Ebren cast a sidelong glance at the corpse and muttered mockingly,
"Looks like... they've run out of salt in the palace."
Attila didn't even nod; he advanced resolutely. Attila and Ebren stepped forward, their footsteps echoing as they approached within twenty meters of Caesar's throne, then silence fell over the hall. Even Ebren ceased his jokes. When Attila stopped, he fixed his gaze on Caesar.
Caesar sat like an immovable statue upon his enormous throne. His long blue robe cascaded from his shoulders to the floor, and his eyes shone sharper than the red gemstones adorning his crown. It was the gaze of a man forged by powerful charisma and dangerous intelligence.
Attila's eyes quickly shifted to Belisarius standing to Caesar's right, then to Aurelius on his left. Belisarius sat upright like a statue in his metal armor. Despite palace rules, his sword was still sheathed on his back. His eyes held an icy discipline; his posture was that of a flawless soldier. Aurelius, cloaked in deep purple, had his hands clasped and lips still. His presence was like a silencing threat — clearly someone who wielded power, though when and how was unknown.
Leaning back in his throne, Caesar began to speak with a thin smile.
"So, the Whip of God, Attila, has arrived…"
"I never thought your father Balamir would send his only son alone into the lion's den. Or… did he give up on you? Or has your old fool of a father forgotten you're his only son?"
Ebren, being offended that he was being ignored, stepped forward, spreading his arms wide and bowing his head, though his words did not quite match the gesture.
"We seem to have no name or fame… At least say 'and his companions' so we have a place in the story. Just saying 'Attila has come,' do you think we're merely the servants carrying his shoes? How strange… Those who take the stage of history are always named, while those who walk beside them are met with silence. But remember, blue-clad Caesar, some shadows show where the true light comes from…"
Before the sentence finished, Belisarius tensed like a drawn bow. With unshakable military discipline, he stood up, his armor echoing with a metallic sound.
"How dare you interrupt the words of the Noble Caesar, insolent one?!"
His sword was about to be drawn from its sheath, and the atmosphere in the hall instantly grew cold. Everyone held their breath, but Caesar raised a hand and signaled to stop. Belisarius immediately stepped back, narrowing his eyes but obeying the order. Caesar turned his gaze to Ebren. This time his smile was more chilling—a cold smirk as he looked at Ebren.
"Don't speak, insect. This is no place for your words. I give neither titles nor voice to insects."
After Caesar's contemptuous words, Attila noticed the spark in Ebren's eyes. Before Ebren could react to the sharpness of the words, Attila intervened. Without changing his posture, he spoke with a firm but measured voice.
"Ebren. Come to me." (He pauses for a moment, locking eyes with him.)
"This is a place ruled by words, not swords. Be silent. Don't throw more sparks onto this dry ground."
Ebren nodded with a faint smile at the corner of his lips, about to say something, but Attila's eyes were a clear warning. He quietly returned to his side.