Western Bailey – Mortal Official Hall
The room was heavy with silence.
Chairs creaked softly as people shifted uncomfortably, waiting for someone to speak.
A man finally spoke.
(Gru — Upper Seats, Prime Minister of the Mortal Hall. A soft-spoken but strategic figure. Hero-coded. Always calm, always calculating.)
His back was straight, but his eyes carried years of pain.
In front of him, a team of Western Bailey officials sat silently, doing their own things.
"We need to form a new team," he said.
In the hall, everyone knew exactly who he was talking about:
Wanderers.
(A formation of individuals who possess unique abilities. From centuries past, this formation evolved — each time something threatened the world, the Defense Division gathered the best fighters from across the regions and built a unit known as "Wanderers."
But that formation only lasted until the late 16th century… when it backfired. The legends were never the same again.)
But the people seated in the hall didn't look pleased.
The sentence was quiet…
But it echoed like thunder.
Whispers rippled.
Some shocked. Some confused.
Some already afraid of what it meant.
A girl sat on the right side of the council chain, clicking her fingers.
Not just her — the man seated beside her seemed more afraid of her than of what the Prime Minister just said.
He reached out and gently touched her hand.
It snapped her back to the present.
Rikiya
(Upper Seats — Minister of Offense, Mortal Hall. A fierce presence. Even those seated near her felt uneasy.)
Her heart tightened.
⸻
"I'm not going to give permission for it."
Rikiya's voice rang out, slicing through the chamber like a blade drawn too fast.
She turned, walking straight toward the doors.
"Rikiya," Gru called out — a rare crack in his voice.
He took one step forward… but she didn't slow.
Didn't even look back.
She kept walking.
Some officials followed her with nervous eyes.
Others simply sat — heads low, lips pressed into thin lines — as if hoping to disappear between their scrolls.
Well, well…
A cracking voice echoed from the right — fourth seat in the Defense Row.
The kind of voice that didn't just speak — it stabbed.
"Now's not the time for emotional exits, wouldn't you agree?"
He didn't wait for a reply.
He was aiming his words like arrows — and everyone knew the target.
"You're the Minister of Offense, Rikiya.
Surely you should know how to control your emotions."
That smirk in his tone was louder than his actual words.
He wasn't trying to build a team.
He was trying to humiliate her.
Rikiya halted — one step from the threshold.
She turned slowly. Her eyes found him.
Damon
(Upper Seats — Minister of Defense, Mortal Hall. Second Sub-Commander of the Flame Invaders. Logical. Strategic. Rikiya's rival in everything.)
He hadn't even stood.
Didn't need to.
The venom in his voice traveled far enough.
Ilve, who had been quietly trying to follow Rikiya, stepped back.
Even he knew this wasn't his moment anymore.
⸻
Rikiya's voice dropped
Low.
Sharp as frostbite.
"My days haven't gone that bad…
That a croaky old man with his ass glued to a council chair —
a man who's never set foot on a real battlefield —
feels qualified to lecture me about duty."
⸻
The silence broke — not with voices, but with reactions.
Gasps.
Hands shifting in laps.
A scroll fell from someone's grasp.
A few stifled chuckles… quickly smothered behind clenched lips.
Eyes flicked toward Gru.
He didn't speak.
Didn't stop her.
Damon grit his teeth.
But he swallowed it.
He leaned back just slightly, voice smoother now — mockery stretching wider:
"Well, what can we expect from Miss Rikiya Herben…
The great Iron Flame…"
He paused — dramatically.
"If I recall correctly — and my memory's still sharp, thank you —
you were once part of the Wanderers, weren't you?"
⸻
That hit deep.
The words didn't just land — they stabbed.
The room went cold again.
Rikiya didn't respond.
Didn't lash out.
She just stood there… for a breath.
Eyes burning.
Fists clenched.
Then she turned away — and walked out.
The doors shut behind her with a soft thud.
⸻
And what followed was not silence.
It was chaos held in polite breath.
Whispers rose.
Ilve sank back into his seat, exhaling through his nose.
One official whispered, "This council's falling apart."
Another murmured, "It's starting again…"
At the head of the chamber, Gru closed his eyes.
The shadows around the table didn't move.
But the weight in the room…
It deepened.