Chapter 92: Formation of The Royal Knights, Part 2: A Mertens on A Mission
At the Lodging House of the Royal Capital
"Why the hell is this so delicious?" Lars muttered, seated at a table with a mix of Coral Peacocks and Blue Roses. "Ezequiel might have been onto something when he said that food was life's greatest pleasure…"
"You glutton," Lucia teased, knocking him on the shoulder.
"No, Mertens is right!" Ximena said, stuffing her face with another bread roll. "This food is to the great Ximena's liking! The highest of compliments!"
"How arrogant…" Madeleine snarled, already having taken a dislike to this girl.
"That's just the way she is," Yul interjected, ripping a large chunk of steak off with his teeth, chewing it carefully and then continuing. "It's not her fault - she was dropped on her head when she was a baby, making her not only incredibly gifted, but also keeping her head at baby proportions to the rest of her body."
"Because babies have big heads," Amaryllis muttered, staring eerily at the mix of potatoes and fish on her plate. Lucia snorted, while Dana chuckled boisterously, almost leaning too far back on her chair, but she was saved by Sharya's watchful (yet shaking from laughter) hand. She had decided to keep her signature white jacket under her Magic Knights robe.
A vein on Ximena's forehead pulsed in anger, and she just about restrained herself from slamming the table in anger. "You seem awfully confident for someone who went on a 0-32 record against me - in one day. Or shall I remind you why they call me the greatest Earth Magic user in the world?"
Yul's face blanched, but he muttered something along the lines of "only you call yourself that" and resumed his eating.
"I believe her arrogance is endearing," Kirsch said, flicking his hair in his signature manner. "Like one of those tiny luxury dogs."
"Your arrogance is endearing," Ximena retorted, sticking her tongue out.
"Sticking your tongue out makes you look so undignified," Zoe scoffed, eating tiny pieces of fish slowly and carefully.
"I get the reference," Theresa smiled.
"You can't just copy one of my retorts! I'll take you to court!" Lars exclaimed, brushing his hair back.
Everyone on the table laughed, and resumed their jovial conversation, smiles and backhanded yet lighthearted insults being thrown around. Suddenly, they heard the clinking of glass at the opposite end of the room, where Puli and Hamon were. The latter had clinked the glass, and directly in front of them was a chair. All four Blue Rose Knights seated with the Coral Peacocks grew pale in complexion as they realised what was about to happen, even the well-tanned Madeleine.
All four abruptly stood up.
"Wait, what's happening?" Theresa said, turning to Dana with curious eyes.
"Madame Puli would like to share the gift of song with us," Hamon said.
"A song? Lets-" Lars started, but then was cut off by Lucia's hand over his mouth.
"Don't encourage her, or she's going to get ambitious," the redhead whispered, furrowing her brow. "If she overhears you…"
"The best thing to do is to leave while she's warming up," Zoe said, making a beeline for the door, her usually pale face even paler (if that was possible).
"She will shatter your eardrums," Dana added bluntly, shoving another roast potato into her mouth and following after Zoe.
Across the room, Frida's Eye of Wisdom showed her a warning. Turning pale as well, she excused herself from her conversation with Aramond and left the room.
"Please, she can't be that bad," Oda said. "You guys are giving her a hard time. Surely she-"
Puli finished her impromptu warmup, and began to sing.
What ensued out of Puli's mouth could only be described as a calamity wrapped in vibrato. Her voice ricocheted off the walls like a wayward spell, each note more off-key than the last. It wasn't just bad - it was as if the concept of melody had been taken into a dark alley, jumped by every roadman, gang member, and supervillain to ever exist throughout all time and, it's lacerated body not chunks of meat strewn across the street floor. left for the rats to consume it. The first note hit like a tidal wave, sending shockwaves of auditory distress throughout the room.
pUlI, pUlI, pUlI, mY SkIn's sO PrEt-tY!
i'm a lOvElY La-dY WhO SiNgS So sWeEt-lY!
Zoe, who had been halfway to the door, froze mid-step. Her pupils shrank to pinpoints, and her normally serene demeanor shattered like fine china dropped from a tower. "It's worse than I remember," she whispered, clutching her head as though trying to physically hold her sanity together.
Dana winced so hard that her roast potato, still half-chewed, flew out of her mouth and landed unceremoniously on the floor. "Oh gods, my ears," she groaned, doubling over and gripping her head like it was about to explode. "It's like someone threw a harp into a woodchipper!"
Lucia, wide-eyed and horrified, clung to Lars for support. "Why does it hurt?" she hissed, her voice barely audible over Puli's wailing. "It feels like she's stabbing my eardrums with her vocal cords!"
Maddy, usually composed even in dire circumstances, was not immune to the auditory assault. Her hands clamped over her ears in a desperate attempt to block out the sound. "This is a war crime," she muttered, her voice laced with a mix of disbelief and fury. "Someone stop her before she takes out the entire building."
Even Lars, who had been skeptical of the warnings, found himself flinching with every new note. His hands twitched toward his grimoire, the urge to bury himself in Gedankenreich overwhelming. "This… this isn't normal," he said, his voice shaking. "I've fought cursed beasts with more harmony than this."
Yul was leaning against the wall, his face pale but resolute. "They warned you," he said, shaking his head at Oda, who was rooted to the spot in disbelief.
Theresa, ever the optimist, leaned over to them. "What if she gets better?" she whispered, hopeful. Then Puli hit a particularly egregious high note, and Theresa reeled back, clutching her heart. "Nope, never mind. She's getting worse."
Across the room, Hamon stood dutifully by Puli, nodding as if he were hearing a symphony. His unyielding composure was almost as unsettling as Puli's singing. "Magnificent as always, Madame Puli," he said, clapping politely between verses.
Back at the table, Sharya had given up all pretense of restraint and was laughing so hard she was nearly in tears. "Why… is this… so bad?" she wheezed between gasps. "It's like she's trying to summon something ancient and angry!"
Frida, who had not quite made it out of range, was glaring daggers at Aramond. "Why didn't you warn me sooner?" she demanded, her voice barely audible over the din.
Amaryllis, eerily unaffected, calmly continued to eat her fish and potatoes. She looked up at Lars and tilted her head. "It's not that bad," she said, entirely unconvincingly, as a window in the corner cracked under the pressure of Puli's latest sustained note.
A/N: amaryllis is canonically tone deaf.
By the time Puli reached the end of her impromptu performance, the room was a battlefield of shattered nerves and fractured sanity. As her voice faded into silence, a collective sigh of relief swept through those who had survived.
"That… was an experience," Lars finally said, his voice hoarse. "One I hope to never repeat."
"I'm gonna be sick," Sharya whispered, "with laughter."
…
The moon hung high over the Royal Capital, its pale light filtering through the tall windows of the Magic Knight headquarters. Frida Mertens sat alone in the records room, her fingers deftly flipping through stacks of mission reports and classified files. Her brow furrowed, her eyes sharp as she scanned page after page. Each document brought her closer to her goal: uncovering Abraham Velcor's next move.
The room was eerily quiet except for the faint rustle of papers. Frida paused, staring at a map pinned to the wall, marked with recent attacks. Her crystal-blue eyes, usually steely and confident, softened with a hint of vulnerability.
"Couldn't sleep either?"
She turned abruptly to find Lars standing at the doorway. He looked disheveled, dressed in a loose shirt and trousers, his usual sharp demeanor replaced by something more subdued.
"Lars," Frida said, her voice betraying surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same," Lars replied, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "But I think I know the answer. Velcor's been keeping you up at night, hasn't he?"
Frida's lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't respond immediately, instead glancing back at the map. "It's not just him. It's what he represents. Manipulation, betrayal… and Father."
Lars approached, standing beside her. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, he broke it. "I know what you mean. I've been thinking about him too. About everything he's done… everything he's allowed."
Frida's gaze didn't waver from the map. "We were pawns in his games, Lars. Tools to further his ambitions. And now Velcor… he's carrying out whatever twisted plan they devised together."
Lars clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "I hate it. Knowing that Father's actions shaped who we are today. But I refuse to let that define us. We can stop Velcor, Frida. We will."
Before Frida could reply, muffled voices drifted into the room from the hallway. Both siblings turned their attention toward the sound.
"...another attack," a secretary whispered urgently.
"Velcor's torturing them," another replied, his voice trembling. "He's waiting for something. He's dragging it out, but why?"
"We can't mobilise any magic knights at this time!" the capital mage exclaimed quietly.
Frida and Lars exchanged a glance. Without a word, they moved toward the door, slipping out into the hallway to intercept the conversation.
"Where is it?" Frida demanded, her tone icy but commanding.
The secretaries jumped, startled by her sudden appearance. One of them hesitated, then stammered, "A village south of the capital. Near the Redleaf Forest. But Captain Vermillion ordered everyone to rest for the raid tomorrow. You're not supposed to-"
"We're going," Lars interrupted, his voice firm.
"You need to rest-"
"There are lives at stake," Frida cut in sharply, her eyes blazing. "If we wait until morning, it could be too late."
The secretaries exchanged worried glances but didn't argue further.
…
In the Lobby of the Lodging House
"We can't get our Royal Knights robes dirty or anything - it needs to be like this never happened," Frida said. "Just wear your usual attire."
"I have a better idea," Lars smiled. "Cade gave me this because he had a sneaking suspicion we might do something like this."
He rushed back to his room, and a few minutes later, came downstairs bearing identical combat uniforms - both a deep blue, the signature colour of the Mertens, and perfect for sneaking around unnoticed.
"These look really good," Frida said. Lars smirked, knowing that Cade would appreciate another compliment to his craftsmanship.
"Change and let's go," Lars said. "We can't afford to waste any more time."
Frida nodded, and though her pride was slightly wobbled by having to take orders from her brother, she complied and swiftly went upstairs to her room. Lars did the same, the two siblings' minds filled with anticipation, their hearts bursting with a righteous desire for vengeance.
…
The moon's pale glow bathed the village in a sickly, spectral light. The once-bustling settlement was now nothing more than a ruin, the homes abandoned and scorched, their roofs collapsed into heaps of charred wood and debris. What was left of the fields had been trampled under the weight of heavy boots, and the air was thick with the stench of decay. The sound of distant cries echoed faintly from behind the shattered walls, an eerie symphony of suffering. The faint rustle of the wind stirred the remnants of destroyed crops and scattered bones.
In the center of the destruction stood a figure, tall and cloaked in dark crimson - a man who watched with sadistic pleasure as the last of the villagers cowered in the wreckage, their wills crushed beneath the weight of his cruelty. Abraham Velcor. His eyes glittered with madness as he took in the devastation, his lips curling into a wide grin.
Lars and Frida arrived at the outskirts of the village, their steps silent, bodies tense. The place was a ghost of its former self - smoldering ruins and the faint echo of desperate souls hanging in the air. Lars' eyes narrowed in fury as he took in the sight. He could feel the weight of the destruction around him, the weight of lives lost. This was no ordinary attack; this was a message.
"Lars…" Frida muttered, her voice barely audible. "He's here."
A figure appeared in the distance, silhouetted against the rising smoke. Velcor. His robe flowed like liquid fire as he approached, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling light. His presence was overwhelming, as though the air itself bent to his will.
"Well, well," Velcor's voice rang out, sharp and almost gleeful, as he stepped into view. "The Mertens have arrived. I was wondering when you'd show up. Though I expected it to be sooner. You two are more predictable than I thought."
Lars clenched his jaw, his anger bubbling to the surface. "Why? Why are you doing this?"
Velcor's smile stretched wider, a twisted expression of satisfaction. "Why? You really don't understand, do you, Lars?" He gestured broadly to the devastation around them, as though showing them his masterpiece. "Look at this. Look at how everything has fallen into place so perfectly." He chuckled to himself, the sound grating and unsettling. "I lured you here, you see. Every attack, every death. All of it was to bring you to this moment. The heavens have aligned in my favor. Every move I made, every life I've destroyed - it's all been part of a grand, beautiful plan."
Lars took a step forward, his fists clenched at his sides. His voice trembled with fury. "This isn't a plan. This is madness. You're killing innocent people for no reason."
Velcor's expression twisted into one of derision, as though Lars had just insulted him. "Madness? Madness is the world we live in. It's all weak, fragile, pure things, masquerading as something worth saving. The kingdoms, the people, they're all fools, so blind to the truth. They follow the rules, the lies. They think they are strong because they have their laws, their 'order.' But they don't know what true power is. The world is nothing but a festering pit of weakness. Everything I've done - the manipulation, the suffering—it's all because I hate this world, Lars. I hate everything about it."
Lars felt a surge of disgust. He was repulsed by the cold malice in Velcor's eyes, the casual cruelty in his words. But beneath it, he saw something else: a twisted, festering desire to tear down everything that had ever been built.
"I learned science, you know," Velcor continued, pacing now, his hands animated as he spoke. "Not because I wanted to understand the world, but because I thought it might be fun. Manipulating people, ruining their lives - it was all just a game to me. It amused me to watch them suffer, to watch them struggle. Their hopes and dreams, so fragile… so easily crushed. And you, Lars—you're nothing more than a pawn in this game, just like your father was. Everything I've done, every move I've made - it's been for my amusement."
Lars' fury reached its peak. The words Velcor spoke were poison, dripping with disdain for everything Lars held dear. His mind raced, and before he could even think, he raised his hand.
"Mind Magic: Kraftvoller Gedankenstoß," Lars muttered through gritted teeth, a surge of power emanating from his palm. The air around him trembled as his spell took form, a violent pulse of energy that shot forward.
But Velcor was faster. With a flick of his wrist, the air around him shimmered, and the blast of Mind Magic was deflected with ease. The ground cracked and splintered where the energy collided with the earth, but Velcor remained unharmed, his grin only widening.
"Is that all?" Velcor mocked. "How predictable. How weak." He raised his hand, and the ground beneath them seemed to tremble in response. "Let me show you something truly magnificent."
A dark aura began to swirl around Velcor, gathering in the air above him. His voice took on a low, almost reverent tone. "Blood Magic: Angels of Death."
From the darkness, shapes began to emerge. Spectral figures, wings made of blood and darkness, each one a twisted, grotesque form. They hovered in the air, their presence suffocating. The scent of iron filled the air as they descended upon Lars and Frida, their eyes glowing with a malevolent hunger.
Lars's heart pounded in his chest.
Blood Magic.
He knew it was dangerous, but he never imagined it could be so grotesque, so powerful.
Frida stepped forward, ready to engage, but Lars's hand shot out, stopping her. He was determined now, his resolve hardening. "We can't let him win. Not like this."
Velcor laughed, his voice rich with satisfaction. "Oh, but I already have. This world is mine to reshape. Your father failed, and now it's your turn to suffer. I'll enjoy watching you both drown in despair."
The blood-soaked angels circled them, ready to strike, and Velcor stood at the center, a twisted puppet master with the world at his feet.
Three angels surrounded Lars, and three encircled Frida, crimson sabres beginning to form in their hands.
Frida, not taking the time to mess around, immediately summoned King Solomon's Sword, sticking it in the ground for later use. Lars raised his hands, trying to activate Gedankenreich, but nothing happened.
What the hell? Iskra!
"Before I end your pathetic life," Velcor said, a twisted curiosity beginning to form in his voice, "tell me, boy - how did you regain your magic?"
"Your curse was weak in its foundation, not like the ones that - makes," Lars said. "Wait, now I can't say her name too? What a pain."
"That doesn't explain how you broke it," Velcor shot back. "Who helped you?"
"I had help from a celestial," Lars said, and Velcor's eyes momentarily widened behind his iron mask. "The Celestial of Instinct, Iskra."
Velcor snarled. "Let me see this celestial, then."
Lars deadpanned. "She seems to be… unavailable at this current moment."
The blood mage was shocked for a moment, and then he started to laugh - a bone chilling sound that echoed throughout the whole village. The remaining villagers huddled together for warmth upon hearing this sound, their fear intensifying.
"She's unavailable!" Velcor finally exclaimed, cackling madly. "Unavailable! Even the fates bow to me! Oh, it's going to be a massacre!"
He extended his hand towards them. "Slaughter, my angels of death! Make them regret ever coming to face me!"
The angels' eyes glowed a menacing red, and then one each rushed at Lars and Frida, brandishing their weapons.
"Mind Magic: Infinite Thought Shield!" Lars said, the crimson projection's blood sabre clashing against the translucent barrier. Lars's stare was cold as his blue eyes pierced into the featureless face of the angel, its robotic movements intensifying as it pushed into Lars's barrier.
"Amethyst Crystal Magic: Wall of Jericho!" Frida said, a crystal wall erecting itself at the flick of her hand in front of her angel. The crimson conjuration, however, was unfazed, and with one fell swoop, slashed straight through it like it was butter.
Frida didn't flinch. She moved her hands inwards in a biting motion, and in a fraction of a second, the crystal wall had broken apart, the long purple shards rushing towards the angel, impaling it from every side.
"These things have a core, don't they?" Lars muttered, his gaze now directed towards Velcor, who sat casually on top of a building, his sadistic gaze never wavering.
"Well, you know what they say," Frida said, casting Regicide, and the Angel of Death she was fighting, being penetrated by the multitude of crystals below it, burst into a blood red shower. "If it bleeds, we can kill it."
…
The world within Dorothy's dreams shimmered like an endless kaleidoscope, a cascading array of colors and shapes, shifting and reforming without rhyme or reason. Glamour World was her sanctuary, her reprieve, her never-ending playground—and yet, tonight, it felt different. There was a weight in the air, heavy and pressing, as though something unseen watched from the edges of the swirling expanse.
Dorothy leaned back against a floating throne spun from threads of light, her chin propped on her hand as she languidly swung one leg over the other. A ripple passed through the dreamscape, soft at first, then stronger, sharper, until it gathered at the center of her vision and began to take shape.
Three figures emerged from the brilliance. They were faceless, names swallowed by the void, but their presence was unmistakable.
The first was a young woman with skin kissed deeply by the sun, her dark hair cascading down her back like a sheet of silk. Her features were sharp, dignified, and her posture carried the weight of someone who had crossed countless miles to stand where she did. Her eyes, almond-shaped and piercing, glimmered with determination, though a shadow of loneliness lingered in their depths. Her attire - a simple, weathered dress of muted golds and browns - suggested she wasn't from the Clover Kingdom. She stood tall, proud, and unyielding, her lips pressed into a line that told Dorothy everything she needed to know: this one was a survivor.
The second figure was a boy, a man, a creature of contradictions wrapped in a wisp of silvered mist. His presence was unsettling yet magnetic, a serpentine elegance in the way he leaned ever-so-slightly forward, his head tilted at an angle that made it impossible to gauge his thoughts. The corners of his mouth curled into a perpetual, playful smirk, a smile that could charm or devour depending on the light. Everything about him was sharp—his gaze, his movements, his energy - but there was no malice. Not outright, at least. If he carried any emotion, it was hidden behind the polished mask of a fox that had long since learned to laugh at the world's follies.
And then, the third recruit, standing off to the side, was a figure cloaked in shadow, her form almost ethereal, as though she was only half-present in this world. She was pale, her features delicate but sharp, her eyes narrow as if constantly measuring the space around her. She exuded an unsettling calm, a coldness that seemed to swallow the air around her. There was something predatory about her—like a predator that was always watching, always waiting, her eyes tracking every movement, every breath. Her movements were fluid, almost too smooth, like someone who had learned to blend seamlessly into any situation, to fade into the background only to strike when the moment was right.
The three figures moved without moving, their shapes shifting as though carried by an unseen current. Dorothy reclined further into her throne, one finger idly tracing the edge of a glowing teacup she'd conjured.
"Hmm," she murmured to herself, her voice echoing in the endless expanse. "New little birds, ready to fly."
As the figures coalesced, they began to orbit three others, familiar presences, tethered by threads of fate that glimmered faintly in the dreamscape.
Dorothy observed them all from the distance, watching as they navigated the grounds of the exam, each one utterly unique in their approach. As they wandered the field, there was a shift—suddenly, it became clear who would guide them.
Lars, with his ever-growing confidence, stood before the first recruit, his hands steady, his eyes intense. He would teach her to harness her strength, to channel the power that burned within her. Dorothy could feel his connection with the woman - strong, yet subtly tender, the kind of bond that came from shared struggle, from the weight of expectations and the drive to prove themselves.
But there was something else… his eyes were fixed behind her, on something unseen.
Lilian, ever the quiet force, watched over the second recruit, her eyes narrowed as she analyzed the young man with a gaze that could cut through steel. The way Lilian observed him spoke of a connection that went beyond mere mentorship. She would help him unlock the depths of his potential, guide him through his trials and challenges, not just as a teacher, but as someone who understood the weight of carrying a burden.
Finally, Malakai, with his usual mixture of quiet authority and hidden depths, stood beside the third recruit, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. There was a softness in the way he touched her, a contrast to the sharpness of her demeanor, but his eyes told a different story. They told of years spent observing, learning, waiting for the right moment. He would be the one to teach her how to control her instincts, how to sharpen her mind and her skills into something precise and deadly
Dorothy tilted her head, letting out a soft hum of approval. The dream wasn't a prediction, not really; it was a glimpse, a suggestion, a whisper of what might be.
"Interesting," she said, her voice carrying a note of amusement as the figures began to fade back into the kaleidoscope. "Oh, this will be fun."
The colors shifted again, growing brighter, more vivid, until the world became a dizzying blur of light and sensation. Dorothy let herself sink into it, a laugh bubbling up from her chest as the dream spun on without her.
When she awoke - after a long time, in her signature form - she would forget the specifics, as she always did. But the feeling - the spark of something new - would linger, like the taste of honey on her tongue.
A/N: oooh yeah time to resolve a crucial storyline!
this is gonna be so fun - and time to see velcor suffer