[: 3rd POV :]

On the other hand, Luke and Maiya were still investigating the whereabouts of the slave merchants who had passed by the forest.

At the same time, all of the captains found themselves at a loss.

The grim truth about the Black Pirates weighed heavily on their minds, and none of them could figure out how to present such news to the Empress.

The thought of her reaction alone made their hearts uneasy—her wrath, once roused, was a force of nature, something that could level cities and silence armies.

Yet, in their hearts, they knew they would never blame her for it.

If the Empress did rage, it would be for a reason more than justified.

They gathered in the dimly lit war council chamber, the air thick with tension. No one spoke for a long while.

Maps and reports lay scattered across the grand oak table, but their eyes were fixed on the centre, as though the truth itself might burn a hole through the wood.

"What… exactly are we supposed to say to her?" Victor finally broke the silence, his voice low but edged with apprehension. "If we deliver this as it is, she might—" he stopped himself, shaking his head.

"She will," Selindra interjected, arms crossed. Her tone carried no doubt. "And I would not fault her for it''

''But the timing… It's dangerous. One wrong spark and this could lead to more than just wrath—it could lead to war."

Before they could spiral deeper into speculation, word arrived from the outer gates.

A messenger bearing an invitation.

It was sealed in the crest of the Empress, the golden emblem of unity gleaming under torchlight.

The letter was concise, yet formal.

It spoke of an event soon to take place in Virelia Plaza, a grand ceremonial square renowned for hosting some of the most significant gatherings in history.

This time, it was for a celebration that would be remembered for generations—the Founding Day of Apex Academy.

This day was more than just an anniversary of the academy's establishment.

It was a commemoration of an age-defining victory: the day the First Empress and the First Generation of Rulers had triumphed in the Great War of Despair.

Legends told of how that war had nearly drowned the world in darkness, of how the combined armies of every race had been crushed again and again until unity was forged in desperation.

Apex Academy was founded soon after, becoming the cradle of future rulers, warriors, and protectors—its walls echoing with both history and hope.

The captains exchanged glances, the weight of their grim discovery still heavy.

Perhaps this event could be the moment… or perhaps it was the worst possible time.

The grand celebration was in full bloom.

Banners of gold and crimson rippled in the gentle breeze, carrying the insignia of the Apex Academy across the sprawling plaza.

Noble carriages and cars lined the wide marble streets, each one gilded and polished to perfection, as the guests of the century arrived in stately processions.

The courtyard itself was alive with movement—students in pristine uniforms mingling with veteran rulers in ceremonial armour, their cloaks trailing behind them like banners of war.

Noble families stood in tight circles, voices low but eyes sharp, while representatives of famed organisations exchanged subtle glances, each gauging the other's influence.

Every year, the honour of hosting the Apex Academy's Founding Day rotated between the continents.

But this year was special—this year, the event was under the personal hosting of the Empress herself.

Her presence alone elevated the gathering from a mere tradition into a historical moment.

Yet, beneath the gilded splendour, not every guest had been invited for noble reasons.

Among the crowd, a man of darker reputation walked beside a towering figure in deep, wine-coloured robes embroidered with the crest of House Ashburn.

His attire was deceptively elegant, but the way the guards kept their eyes on him made it clear—this man did not belong here by right.

It was because he was brought as a guest to the house of Ashburn.

The man known as Black Pirate, leader of a notorious slave merchant network, bowed slightly to his escort.

"My deepest thanks, Lord Velroth," he said smoothly, his voice carrying that oily politeness of one too used to bartering favours in shadows.

"Your generosity in bringing me here will not be forgotten."

Velroth didn't slow his pace.

His sharp, hawk-like gaze flicked toward Black Pirate with cold disdain. "Generosity?" he scoffed under his breath.

"If it weren't for the filthy work you've done for me, I wouldn't waste my breath bringing you within sight of the Empress's court."

Black Pirate's smile stiffened, but he inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Business is business, my lord. I honour our arrangement."

Velroth stopped just long enough for his voice to drop to a razor's edge.

"Remember our deal—cause so much as a ripple of trouble for me, and I will be the one personally separating your head from your body. Slowly."

A thin sheen of sweat appeared at the merchant's brow, though his tone remained falsely casual.

"Yes… I'll remember, Lord Velroth. I'm only here to… expand my list of clients. Nothing more."

Velroth's lip curled in a humourless smirk.

"See that you do. There are too many eyes here tonight, and not all of them will look away from your kind."

With that, they resumed their walk toward the glittering heart of the celebration, their figures vanishing into the swirl of music, chatter, and the faint, ever-present tension lurking beneath the Academy's most sacred day.

The higher the status of the people he could do business with, the higher he could climb—and that was precisely his purpose here.

The Black Pirate's ambitions were not whispered dreams; they were calculated steps, each one measured by the weight of gold and the influence of the hand shaking his own.

Most slave merchants would have baulked at the thought of targeting the most prestigious gathering on the continent, especially one under the watchful gaze of the Empress herself.

But he was different.

Only he was daring—or perhaps arrogant—enough to consider it, and only Velroth was foolish, reckless, or desperate enough to allow such a man through the gates.

Each noble house had been granted the privilege to bring guests—three at most—who were not formally invited.

It was a luxury that came with prestige, but also a responsibility.

Those chosen as companions would be seen, spoken of, and remembered, for better or for worse.

In most cases, families treated this privilege with utmost caution, selecting allies, benefactors, or at least figures of good repute.

After all, this was a celebration, a moment to display the best of their alliances.

The air was thick with elegance—rulers in flowing silks conversing under glittering chandeliers, nobles in tailored attire adorned with enchanted jewels, students from Apex Academy proudly wearing their crested uniforms.

The grand hall shimmered with a strange harmony of modern craft, medieval regality, and subtle threads of magic woven into the décor.

This was a night where appearances mattered, where a single misstep could echo for years in political memory.

And yet…

Velroth had brought him.

The Black Pirate's smirk was faint, but it clung to his face like oil to water, an unshakable sheen of confidence that didn't belong among the refined.

His coat, though clean, still bore the faint salt stains of the sea; the subtle bulge of hidden blades spoke of a man who never travelled unarmed.

His gaze swept the crowd like a predator surveying potential prey, lingering on the richest silks, the most gilded rings, the confident yet careless laughter of the powerful.

Every handshake here is a ladder rung. Every smile is a price tag, he thought. And if I can sell to the top… I'll own the middle.

Velroth stood beside him, posture proud yet eyes sharp with the wariness of a man who knew the danger of his own choice.

The noble leaned slightly toward his guest, his voice low and sharp enough to cut through the hum of the gathering.

"Remember our deal," Velroth murmured without turning his head.

He reminded me once again.

The Black Pirate chuckled under his breath, dipping his head in a show of mock humility. "Yes… I'll remember that, Lord Velroth. Your generosity will not be wasted."

The noble's gaze hardened.

"See that it isn't. Melira herself is watching tonight, and I won't have my house's name tarnished because you couldn't control your greed."

The Black Pirate's smile grew, faint but unmistakable. "Greed… is what brings profit, my lord. And profit… benefits us both."

Velroth said nothing, but the tightening of his jaw betrayed his irritation.

He knew this was a gamble.

He also knew that if the Black Pirate saw opportunity, there would be no restraint.

Across the hall, laughter rose as crystal glasses clinked, and the Empress's silver-clad attendants glided among the guests. None of the other houses would have been so bold—or so careless—as to invite a man whose trade could spark scandal in an instant.

No one, except House Alburn.