The five Royal Guards stood rigid, their movements halted by the powerful presence of Empress Armada. The air in the chamber was sharp, coiled with her silent command.

  "Raise your heads," Armada instructed, her voice a low, precise instrument. The five men, handpicked for their skill, lifted their gazes.

  "You are being sent into the Cursed Land for an assassination," she stated, tapping a slow, rhythmic pattern on the arm of her throne. "But understand this: you might equally be walking into a trap set by Vikram, or perhaps even by Valerian himself."

  The guards exchanged nervous glances. "Forgive me, my Lady," one spoke, "but Vikram has served you for decades he was your personal bodyguard back in the nation of Darga, just like us. We cannot conceive of him turning traitor."

  "I don't necessarily believe he has betrayed us," the Empress countered, her brow furrowing in cold analysis. "But he vanished for two years and reappeared with a polished plan to slow Valerian's momentum. To me, that shift in strategy is deeply suspicious. I send you because I want to know his true endgame. And I have enough confidence in your five-man unit to at least escape if the environment turns hostile."

  "We are honored, Empress," they replied in chilling unison, their faces masks of disciplined resolve. "We will not disappoint you."

  "Good. Now go."

  The long journey ended at a hidden cleft in the fortress wall, a back-breaking secret entrance that required them to climb a half of the five-hundred-foot vertical stone surface. Exhausted, the five guards collapsed near the makeshift camp while Vikram, strangely energized, began boiling stew over a meager fire.

  "This entrance is brutal," grumbled one guard, wiping grime from his face. "I'm already weary just thinking about the return trip."

  Vikram smiled, a predatory warmth in his eyes. He took a sip of the stew and then, with deliberate slowness, tipped a small, corked bottle, letting a few drops of pure white liquid fall into the pot.

  "The Cursed Land is inaccessible except through the Twin Peak safe point," he lectured, adding more white liquid. "We risked the wall climb to avoid being spotted. I understand it was tedious," he said, the white fluid dripping steadily, "but you are six knights. If you can't manage a simple climb, the demons will consume you without effort."

  "What exactly is that?" a vigilant guard asked, pointing to the bottle.

  "This?" Vikram chuckled, taking a theatrical gulp directly from the bottle. "A famous brew from Oasis City. Excellent seasoning for Cursed Land stew." He held the bottle out. "Care for a taste?"

  Three guards demurred, but the vigilant one—a man named Kael—stepped forward. As he raised the bottle, the metal chain around his neck remained silent and still. This artifact, known to detect toxins, gave no warning. Kael smiled grimly, concluding, No poison, then. He gulped the tasteless liquid, handing the bottle back to Vikram. Then all off then gathered before the fire and they all watched Vikram finish his bowl before eating their own, their suspicion momentarily quelled.

  "How far do we go into the forest?" Kael asked, his appetite overriding his caution.

  "It’s a manageable distance. We'll reach the rendezvous point in a day," Vikram replied, "thanks to a detailed map drawn by Anya."

  As they rested, chewing meat and exchanging low words, a faint rustling sound echoed from the deep, dark shadows of the forest. The five guards instantly drew their weapons, their eyes wide with combat readiness. Vikram, however, remained perfectly still, a calm that chilled Kael to the bone.

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  The Empress was right, Kael realized, his heart seizing. The loyal Vikram has betrayed us. Confident in his knight-level speed, Kael tensed his muscles, preparing to bolt.

  "At ease," a clear, soft voice instructed from the gloom.

  The voice was not directed at the guards. They stared, horrified, as Vikram, the loyal servant, instantly dropped to one knee, lowering his head.

  "Yes, my lord," Vikram murmured, his face replaced by devout adoration.

  Before Kael could flee, his vision blurred. An agonizing pressure built behind his eyes, and a wave of nausea buckled his knees. He fell, violently vomiting a pure, incandescent white fluid—the very substance he had drunk. The others were collapsing simultaneously, coughing and retching the light onto the cold earth.

  Then, the true horror began. The white fluid on the ground pulsed, then snapped back, racing up the guards' throats. Kael instinctively jammed his hand into his mouth to stop it, only for a searing pain to engulf him. The white light was not a poison; it was a corrosive essence. His hand was visibly dissolving, turning into pure, agonizing light that stripped away muscle and bone.

  They tried to scream, but their voices were choked, stolen by the consuming light that now crawled over their bodies. In their final, frantic seconds, they saw a single image: a pair of small feet stepping out of the darkness, followed by the hem of a dark, pristine tunic.

  As the five bodies vanished—muscle, gear, and soul converted into energy—the white light coalesced. It flew toward the young boy and condensed into a single, large, pulsating silver-white orb floating above Azuma’s outstretched hand.

  "Good job bringing them here, Vikram," Azuma said, his voice quiet but echoing with undeniable authority. "This would not have been possible without your preparation," Azuma continued calmly. "The continuous infusion during the journey saturated their cores. Without that white essence anchoring them, I could not have dissolved and reconstructed them so cleanly."

  "It is my duty, my lord," Vikram replied, his forehead pressed to the dirt.

  "Hmm." Azuma nodded. A chilling transformation swept over him: his deep blue eyes flashed and settled into a piercing silver, and a momentary silver sheen dusted his dark hair. He then channeled a deep azure-silver magic into the orb. Five brilliant rays of light shot out and began constructing five new figures. Slowly, agonizingly, the energy spun into bone, sinew, and skin. Within moments, the five royal guards stood again. Their energy signatures, memories, abilities—everything was perfectly replicated.

  The newly formed guards opened their eyes, saw the small figure before them, and immediately dropped to their knees, their heads bowed low.

  "Master," they intoned in perfect, eerie synchronization. "Thank you for granting us rebirth."

  "I am pleased you are here," Azuma said, the glow of the orb fading. "I expect great things from you all."

  Their hearts, new and fiercely loyal, swelled with elation at his simple praise.

  "What changes do you notice after your rebirth?" Azuma inquired.

  "None, Master," one replied instantly. "We retain all memories, and we are now free from the curse of death, bound only to serve you for eternity."

  "Excellent. Here, take this inscription." Azuma handed Kael a small, folded piece of paper. "From this moment, you listen to Vikram. He will be our point of communication and, temporarily, your leader."

  "Yes, my lord." They did not rise, finding inexplicable comfort in the posture of submission.

  Azuma turned to Vikram. "You did very well. Tell them the plan. I must go see Anya off."

  Vikram’s face, still pressed to the earth, squirmed. He hated the mention of Anya's name. She was too close to his master, an irritating shield who had even allowed Azuma to be endangered and imprisoned. He longed to beg Azuma to stay, to make him his sole lieutenant, but restrained himself. The sadness that washed over him was profound but fleeting.

  The five reborn guards and Vikram huddled together in the empty camp.

  "Your mission is simple for now," Vikram began, his voice snapping back to its familiar, sharp command. "You will monitor the Emperor and Empress's actions and report to me. That is all. Take this formation schematic, and tell them that we met with obstacles and could not eliminate Anya. Instead, we followed the demons and managed to kill one of them, disguised as people from Oasis City, to create immediate enmity."

  He handed the schematic and then a small, inconspicuous trinket to the guard leader. "Place this inside the mainframe of their Imperial Formation. Take your time. Do not be spotted."

  "We will exchange information via Boris's merchandise, and I will contact you monthly. Being inside the forest is dangerous, so we leave now. Let us speak next month."