Book cover of “Jig Jinns“ by EmZiki

Jig Jinns

  • Genre: Fantasy
  • Age: 18+
  • Status: Completed
  • Language: English
  • Author: EmZiki
  • Uploaded by user827395
In the somber expanse of the United Realms, the MainStays hold dominion, revered and cherished by the populace. Yet, beneath this veneer of harmony, a clandestine faction simmers with discontent, and powerful families weave webs of intrigue and betrayal. Within this realm, where magic is as potent as political power, concealed blades and hidden ide... 

Chapter 1 - Here & There.

The courtroom of PearlMere provincet was a grand chamber of polished marble and towering columns, an ostentatious display of the might and authority of Mungaria Queendom. The air was thick with anticipation as the trial of Atkis Foraighn, a supposed criminal of heinous deeds, began. Rows of spectators filled every available seat, their eyes fixed on the raised platform at the front where the head judge sat, a figure of formidable presence.

Atkis stood in the center of the chamber, his hands bound by heavy chains. He met the accusing gaze of the head judge with unwavering defiance, a glint of determination in his eyes. The head judge's voice boomed through the chamber, laden with authority.

"Silence!" he commanded, and the room hushed.

"In the name of Maya Geordan the Queen, the United Realms's Ten, and the people of Mungaria, we gather here to judge Atkis Foraighn for the crimes committed within the Green Greed hotel."

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd, eyes widening in morbid curiosity. Atkis' supposed actions were whispered of in dark corners, a shadow cast upon the pristine reputation of the Ten and the Queen herself.

"As the head judge of this great land," the judge continued, his voice dripping with solemnity, "I hereby present the evidence against this traitor, this disruptor of our peace."

The prosecution presented a series of images and documents, painting Atkis as a menace to society. The gallery of onlookers gazed at the images in shock and judgment, their expressions alternating between horror and disdain.

Atkis maintained his defiant stance, his eyes narrowing as he observed the evidence being laid before him. He knew that the head judge and the Ten were manipulating the truth, desperate to silence his efforts to uncover their hidden agendas.

The head judge's voice rose, resonating with indignation. "Look upon these images, citizens of Mungaria! This man, this Atkis Foraighn, has dared to trample upon the sanctity of our realm, committing acts that defy the very principles upon which our United Realms stand!"

The crowd's murmurs grew louder, a wave of condemnation crashing over Atkis. He clenched his fists, feeling the weight of the false accusations bearing down upon him.

The head judge's gaze fell upon Atkis, a mixture of superiority and scorn in his eyes. "And what say you, Atkis Foraighn? Do you deny these charges? Do you deny that you are a pawn of chaos, a thorn in the side of our united society?"

Atkis lifted his head, his voice clear and unwavering. "I deny nothing. I deny your twisted version of reality, your manipulations, and your attempts to suppress the truth!"

The courtroom erupted into a cacophony of gasps and protests. The head judge's face flushed with anger, his control over the Air slipping.

"You dare-" the head judge began, his voice a dangerous growl.

"I dare because the people deserve to know the truth!" Atkis declared, his voice echoing through the chamber. "The United Realms, these so-called Fucken Ten, they are not what they seem! They are wolves in sheep's clothing, manipulating the masses while indulging in their own depravity!"

A collective gasp swept through the spectators. The head judge's face deformed with rage, his eyes blazing with fury. "Order!" he shouted, banging his gavel.

Atkis' words had struck a nerve, and the head judge was quick to silence him. Guards moved in, forcefully restraining Atkis and silencing his protests.

"You will pay for your insolence, Atkis Foraighn," the head judge spat, his voice dripping with venom. "You will rot inside SpikPyke City Prison in Dunvale Country, a warning to all who dare to challenge the authority of the United Realms."

As the guards led Atkis away, his gaze remained fixed on the head judge, a defiant smile playing on his lips. The truth may have been suppressed for now, but Atkis knew that the fire of rebellion still burned within him, and that the secrets of the Ten would one day be exposed, no matter the cost.

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{Three days earlier}

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The midnight rain paints the fancy streets of Mungaria in a shimmering haze. The downpour creates a symphony of rhythmic patter against the city's surfaces, masking the arrival of a parked car outside the fabled Green Greed Hotel. Inside the car, illuminated by the soft glow of the dashboard, sit four distinct individuals, their presence shrouded by the veil of night.

Atkis (grumbling): "Oddo, seriously? What the fuck did you eat? It smells like you've been rolling in onions."

Oddo (chuckles): "Me? Onions? Oh ho ho, just some meat and bread, mate. You're probably smelling that fancy cologne of yours mixed with the city's aroma."

Atkis (rolls his eyes while looking at the rain from his driver seat): "Yeah, right... You.. and your big brain shitty excuses. I can't believe I'm stuck in here with you lot. We've got work to do."

Rin (quietly): "Let's not waste time then, Atkis. We're here for a reason."

Rum (nodding): "Brother is right. We need to focus on the task at hand."

As the rain dances on the car's roof, Atkis leans forward, gripping the steering wheel and letting out a daunted sigh.

Atkis: "Alright, alright. Let's get down to fucken business. We've got a lead that the Panditys kiddo is in there, and Razmuth SwestinBerg the king of ShitBerg is down on the Vip casino floor, as if he owns the damn place. We need to be careful and keep a low profile. The rain's in our favor, but we can't let our guard down."

Oddo: "No worries, Atkis. With my ability. I can phase us through any walls they put in front of us as always, rain or shine."

Atkis (with an exasperated glance): "Good. Just remember, we can't afford any slip-ups. Bronze Mist agents are not exactly on the good side of the law."

Rin (lean and elegant, with long Lavender hairtail cascading over his shoulder, his eyes concealed behind a black visor): "What about Razmuth's mask? Harbinger of chaos. Should but one of his six Ironees Knights be summoned, chaos awakens. To call forth all is beyond imagination."

Oddo: "People call him the Neglectful King, that's what they say. Public perception doesn't faze him, even though they know he's one of the five DireDoms, the dark rulers of black enterprises. As the SwestinBerg heir, he walks away from the throne, pursuing his deepest cravings. Empowered by his Mask ability, he operates without restraint, immune to scrutiny. Meanwhile, the mantle of SwestinBerg's rule falls to his younger sibling, Shwartes, the Fill Influence MainStay."

Atkis: "We'll address it if it occurs. But for now, on the subject of DireDoms, we're seeking explanations about the matter of a different DireDom, Albert Panditys, and why his son is up on the high floors of the hotel. Now, let me give you all a little reminder about us. We're the Bronze Mist - those troublemakers they label us as. But you know what? We've seen through the charade of those so-called MainStays and their glistening United Realms of lies. We're determined that a time will come when the Ten MainStays's true nature will be unveiled. They're far from heavenly saints, that much is clear for us."

Throughout the chatting, the car's radio softly plays a tune, only briefly interrupted by a sudden burst of news.

Radio Announcer: "...breaking news from SwestinBerg! MainStay Shwartez SwestinBerg, the Fill Influence, is about to make a public announcement regarding recent developments. Stay tuned for further updates."

Atkis (scowling): "Just listen to that crap. They're about to spin their web of lies again. They can talk all they want about us. We're the ones who reveal the truth behind their golden masks."

Rum (with spiky purple hair and a confident demeanor, his eyes covered by a black specs): "I have full confidence in my brother's and my own ability to swiftly infiltrate the hotel. Should we encounter any Mask or Dagger user, I'm prepared to confront them with my firearm, while Rin's exceptional sword skills come into play."

Atkis: "Listen up, I'm pretty sure we ain't gonna run into extra masks, 'cause world only know of like five so far. But daggers, man, they give me the creeps. Imagine this: you jab that Chaos Dagger into your heart, and it just melds right in, givin' you some nifty power while you're stuck dealin' with that spooky Vision Curse. And trust me, as a dagger user myself, you're stuck with that blade till you kick the bucket!"

Rum: "Is the Vision Curse that bad for you and Oddo?"

Atkis: "Picture this: an icy shiver clawing down your spine, an unrelenting terror gripping you. An abhorrent entity, twisted and beyond description, its very presence twisting your soul. It's haunting me, demanding the masks, or it threatens to strip my very visage away."

Oddo: "It's like you got an uninvited guest, right inside your brain. You're in there all by yourself, wrestling with this unsettling presence. Gives you the creeps, being trapped with some otherworldly force, no one to keep you company."

Rum found himself at a loss for words, his silence speaking volumes.

Rin: "And the son's Dagger? The Magnet Dagger?"

Atkis: (leans back, his expression darkening) "Yeah, the Magnet Dagger. It draws things together - forces that can't be torn apart. It's a pain in the ass ability."

As Atkis finishes his explanation, the four agents exchange glances, a shared understanding passing between them. With their roles defined and their purpose clear, they prepare to venture into the depths of Green Greed Hotel, ready to unveil the truths hidden behind the shimmering facade, raindrops glistening like stars in the dim night.

Atkis: "Time to go, folks. Stay sharp, stay focused. We've got a rendezvous with destiny inside those walls."

With resolute nods, the Bronze Mist agents exit the car. Oddo, the massive fellow, true to his enigmatic abilities, slipped through its metal confines without even bothering to open the door. Their mission unfurls before them as they stride into the very heart of intrigue and peril. The relentless downpour becomes both ally and shroud, veiling their stealthy advance.

Atkis (voice resonating with conviction): "Let the rain wash away the lies, my friends. We are the storm that will reveal the truth."

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(In the upper floors of Green Greed Hotel)

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Rain cascaded in silvery curtains outside the luxurious hotel room, its tranquil symphony mingling with the low hum of city life below. Within, the room exuded an air of elegance and opulence, every furnishing an emblem of grandeur. Amidst this setting stood Orbit Panditys, a figure both commanding and enigmatic.

Orbit leaned against the balcony's rail, a crystal goblet of fine wine clasped delicately in his hand. Tall and commanding, he possessed an effortless magnetism that drew attention wherever he went. His black hair, swept back from his forehead, framed a visage of striking handsomeness. Yet, it was his distinctive purple eyes that held a profound allure. An instinctive hue that seemed to peer into the very essence of existence.

As the rain kissed his skin, Orbit's thoughts danced in the shimmering tendrils of the night. His voice, rich and resonant, carried across the expanse of the balcony as if he were addressing a silent companion.

"Life, my friend, is a tapestry crafted from the choices we make and the desires we hold. A dance of shadows and light, where family binds us to the past and propels us into the future."

His words mixed with the rain's whispers in a reflective moment of solitude. Yet, unbeknownst to the casual observer, another presence was there, a beaten man clinging to the edges of Orbit's balcony.

Amidst the solemnity, the chilling cry pierced the air. Beyond the balcony's boundaries, a man hovered in mid-air, the man's metal vest, held in air by Orbit's two fingers using a strange power, is the only thing preventing him from falling. His face contorted in agony, he begged for mercy, his pleas echoing through the night.

Orbit's gaze shifted, and his gaze locked onto the desperate figure. "A lesson in humility, it seems," he remarked, his voice laced with a mixture of amusement and irritation.

"Please, I beg you! Spare me!" the man's voice trembled, tears mingling with raindrops as he dangled precariously.

Orbit's brow arched, and a hint of a smirk touched his lips. "A bounty hunter, are you? Targeting me for an easy opper coins?"

As the man's voice quivered, he confessed, "It was... it was your bounty. I thought... I thought it would bring me fame and power."

"Fame and power," Orbit mused, his tone laced with irony. "A timeless pursuit, yet often leading to one's own downfall. Is that's all Mr. Unlucky?"

As if realizing the gravity of his actions, the man's voice wavered. "And... and a chance to meet Monica Swestinberg..."

Orbit's eyes narrowed, a trace of curiosity in his expression. "Ah, the allure of beauty and prestige. I'd do the same if I lived in your shoes. She is considered the most beautiful woman in the world. Not my type though."

Without further warning, Orbit released the unseen force, allowing the man to plummet towards the ground. Before impact, however, the man found himself arrested mid-fall, the power returning to lift him back towards Orbit.

The rhythm was broken by a sudden intrusion. A black bird that swooped down, bearing a message in its beak. An interjection that acted as a sanctuary for the suspended man, regardless of whether Orbit had any intention to terminate his life. The knocked out man's fate remained uncertain, hanging in the balance.

With a flourish of its wings, the bird delivered the message, its content a riddle that left Orbit bemused. "Trust the man who sees the truth and the purple shall continue sparking."

Orbit raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a wry smile. "Well, well, well, looks like someone's trying to outdo themselves in the world of secret messages. Next thing you know, they'll be sending us riddles and Sudoku puzzles.."

"Is this for you?" Orbit asked the floating man. "W...whaat?" The dazed man answered, his voice a mix of agony and bewilderment. "Nevermind," Orbit replied, rolling his eyes before turning away.

Before he could muse further, the bird shattered into a cascade of obsidian fragments that tinkled upon the balcony floor. Orbit's attention shifted once more, this time to a communication device that chimed insistently.

Stepping back into the room to ensure privacy, Orbit answered the call. His expression shifted from amusement to a mix of exasperation and affection as he heard his oldest sister's voice. "Sister!, please, try not to let your temper be inherited to the little one," he quipped, his voice tinged with fondness. He had entered the room to shield the conversation from the ongoing commotion outside.

His sister's voice, a blend of worry and frustration, filled the airwaves. "Orbit Panditys, why in the realms have you vanished? You're in Mungaria! How did you just leave without a word!"

"Gwewe, I assure you, I'm perfectly safe," Orbit reassured his sister while scanning the outside view from the window, his voice calm but tinged with amusement.

"Safe? Safe?! You call vanishing without a trace safe?!" his sister's voice rose in pitch, fueled by a combination of worry and anger. "And it's Gwendolyn, asshole." She followed.

Orbit chuckled softly. "Alright, alright, no need to get your feathers ruffled. I'm on a... personal matter, let's say."

"Oh, personal matter, huh? That's your explanation? And what about us, your family? We deserve an explanation!" Her words were punctuated by a huff of exasperation.

"Gwewe, listen, I promise I'll explain everything soon. Just know that I'm pursuing something important. It's Wizzy's little sister. I'm closer than ever to her!" Orbit's voice grew intensely serious and concerned as he mentioned Wizzy's sister.

His sister's voice softened slightly, the concern in her tone undiminished. "Orbit, you've always been one to march to your own drumbeat. But don't forget, you have a family who cares about you."

A genuine warmth entered Orbit's voice. "I know, Gwewe, I know. And I care about all of you, too."

Her anger seemed to melt into a sigh of resignation. "Fine, fine. But you owe me an explanation, Orbit Panditys."

Orbit's lips curled into a playful smile. "I promise, once I'm back, I'll share every detail. Until then, try to keep that fiery temper of yours in check, especially for the little one's sake."

His sister grumbled but eventually conceded, her voice laced with affection. "Just come back in one piece, you hear me?"

"Of course, Gwewe. Take care."

After ending the call, Orbit leaned against the window of his balcony, facing the floating man who was now peering through the glass balcony doors. He moved his lips in exaggerated gestures, his hands performing intricate signs, as if engaging in a bizarre form of silent communication. The man outside watched in perplexity, trying to decipher the meaning behind Orbit's peculiar actions.

Amusement danced in Orbit's eyes as he held up one finger, then mimicked a downward motion with his hand, accompanied by a lowering of his voice. "Don't worry," he mouthed, his expression earnest. "I'll make you glide gently to the city ground." He punctuated his promise with a reassuring thumbs-up, his lips curling into a mischievous fiendish grin.

With a nod of finality, Orbit straightened up, his demeanor transitioning to one of determination and focus. He knew he had little time to spare. A little girl's whereabouts remained a riddle, hidden somewhere within the vast expanse of the hotel. Resolute, he stepped back into the center of the room, preparing himself for the task ahead.

In a purposeful stride, Orbit strode towards the door, his stance radiating unwavering resolve. As he exited the room and entered the elevator, his voice resounded in a low, fervent mumble. "I'll find you, Lucy. I'll keep my promise to your sister."

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(Far NorthWest)

(Benemere Capital of SwestinBerg - SwestinBerg High Council Hall)

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The moon hung low in the night sky, veiled by heavy clouds that threatened rain. Benemere's cobblestone streets shimmered under the soft glow of lamplights as they converged toward the imposing SwestinBerg High Council Hall. The air was charged with anticipation as reporters and press crews, their equipment glistening with moisture, had gathered to witness an announcement of great significance.

The street outside the Council Hall was a frenetic hub of activity, the rain drizzling relentlessly. Camera crews worked diligently, covered by protective tarps, while journalists huddled together, their breath visible in the chill of the night. Reporters from prestigious networks, obscure journals, and everything in between vied for coveted spots to capture every moment of the impending event.

Among the crowd of journalists stood Samantha Red, a notable figure in the world of reporting. Her tall, statuesque frame was wrapped in a tailored coat, and she wore high heels that accentuated her already commanding presence. A wide-brimmed hat perched elegantly atop her head, shielding her from the relentless rain.

Samantha was known for her sharp wit and unrelenting pursuit of the truth. Her tanned complexion and striking features had earned her a legion of admirers and a reputation as one of the most formidable journalists in the realms. With a practiced air, she surveyed the bustling scene before her, preparing to dive headfirst into the whirlwind of events about to unfold.

Beyond the gathering throngs of reporters, the streets surrounding the SwestinBerg High Council Hall had undergone an incredible transformation. SwestinBerg's elite royal guards, clad in their resplendent uniforms, had descended upon the area. They moved with a precision and discipline that was nothing short of awe-inspiring.

The guards erected imposing metal barriers that encircled the Council Hall, forcing the curious onlookers to maintain a respectful distance. It was evident that no chances were being taken with security. Their stern expressions and unwavering vigilance conveyed a sense of both authority and readiness.

Sir Javad Ulf Lad, the venerable knight and the oldest of the Six Ironees, emerged as the commanding figure among the guards. Despite his sixty-three years, he radiated an aura of strength and unwavering loyalty to the SwestinBergs. He bore the responsibility of overseeing the security preparations for the night's event.

Sir Javad stood tall and imposing, his silver hair gleaming in the dim light. His countenance was marked by years of battles and unwavering service to the SwestinBergs. In his weathered hands, he carried a colossal shield, a symbol of his steadfast commitment to the safety of the realm. The shield, adorned with the crest of the SwestinBergs, was more than a mere piece of metal; it was a testament to his unbreakable resolve.

Under Sir Javad's watchful eye, the guards executed their duties with the utmost precision. Some patrolled the perimeter, while others scanned the crowd for any potential threats. It was evident that no detail had been overlooked in the pursuit of safeguarding the night's proceedings.

As the preparations continued, the rain persisted, its persistent patter against the cobblestones serving as a solemn backdrop to the orchestrated security measures. SwestinBerg's safety was paramount, and Sir Javad Ulf Lad was determined to ensure that nothing would disrupt the proceedings of the night.

Amidst the controlled chaos of the security preparations, Samantha Red, the renowned reporter, found herself standing before Sir Javad. Her presence was commanding, despite the formidable knight's towering stature.

Samantha, tall and graceful with a distinct air of confidence, tilted her microphone towards Sir Javad as she prepared to initiate the interview. Her eyes shimmered with a blend of curiosity and respect as she addressed the knight.

"Samantha Red here, broadcasting live from the SwestinBerg High Council Hall, where preparations are bustling for what appears to be an unexpectedly significant occasion. Joining me today is Sir Javad Ulf Lad, a devoted protector of SwestinBerg for many years, and the esteemed guardian of King Razmuth, serving as the Shield among the renowned six Ironees."

Sir Javad offered a nod of acknowledgement, his rugged countenance graced by a fleeting yet genial smile. "The privilege is mine, Miss Red. It's not often that a seasoned knight like me has the chance to converse with a lady of such beauty and wit. The palace may jest and chide me for indulging in this unexpectedly sweet exchange," he chuckled, "but in truth, they'll do no such thing," he added with a hearty laugh.

The knight's eyes sparkled with a deep sense of pride and duty. "This gathering represents a coming together of the realms, a moment where we set aside our differences and work towards a brighter future. I implore everyone to embrace this opportunity for unity and understanding."

Samantha offered a warm smile, her respect for Sir Javad evident. "Thank you for your time, Sir Javad Ulf Lad. It's clear that you and your fellow guards are committed to ensuring our safety tonight."

She then leaned in, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Sir Javad, considering your crucial role in the security preparations, can you provide any insights into the nature of tonight's event and the potential significance of the upcoming announcement?"

Sir Javad's expression turned serious, and he paused for a moment before responding, "Miss Red, I must admit that the exact nature of tonight's event and the specifics of the announcement remain undisclosed to me at this time. My duties primarily concern security, and I've been focusing on that aspect to ensure a safe and smooth gathering. However, I trust that the SwestinBerg High Council Hall is abuzz with excitement and anticipation for what promises to be an important occasion."

He raised his palm, and with a subtle, deliberate movement, he conjured the grains of sand from thin air. The tiny grains came together, forming a perfectly shaped sand clock.

"As a knight," Sir Javad began, his voice carrying a weight of responsibility, "I've learned that patience is a key virtue, much like the sands of time themselves." He gestured to the intricately shifting sand clock. "But patience also serves as a reminder of vigilance. In times of change, we must remain watchful, for the sands of time can bring both prosperity and uncertainty. Let us all hope that this gathering brings the former, rather than the latter." The visual sand began to scatter, taking on a disordered and chaotic pattern.

The crowd gathered around, a hint of warning detected in Sir Javad's act, and Samantha nodded in appreciation of the knight's message.

Suddenly, as the interview continued, a sense of urgency rippled through the crowd and the security team. Sir Javad Ulf Lad's sharp gaze spotted a dark sedan approaching the security perimeter at an unusual speed, its engine roaring amidst the soft pattering of raindrops. It was heading straight for the fancy cobblestone building.

The royal guards, well-trained and alert, swiftly sprang into action. Their formation tightened, and they raised their shields and weapons in unison, creating an impenetrable barrier. They shouted orders at the approaching vehicle to halt, but it showed no signs of slowing down.

Amid the chaos, Samantha Red noticed the ominous gleam in the eyes of the driver, a man shrouded in darkness behind the wheel. His intent was clear: he was determined to breach the security and disrupt the event.

The sedan raced closer to the security line, its occupants seemingly unfazed by the threat of imminent danger. The guards, equally determined, braced themselves for the impending collision. They had faced challenges before, but this situation felt different, more dire.

With a sudden and powerful surge of sand manipulation, Sir Javad Ulf Lad sprang forward. His massive shield, imbued with his extraordinary Sand Dagger ability, expanded in size, enveloping the front of the speeding car. The sand-coated shield, resembling a colossal fortress wall, met the oncoming vehicle head-on.

The impact was deafening, and the ground trembled as the sedan collided with the shield. The sand cushioned the blow, absorbing the force of the collision, preventing any harm to the occupants within. The guards, momentarily blinded by the dust and debris, quickly regained their composure.

As the dust settled, the once speeding sedan was now a crumpled heap of metal, barely recognizable as a car. The driver and passenger had managed to leap from the vehicle just before impact, avoiding certain death. They rose to their feet, their faces concealed by blue hoods and masks, and announced their presence as members of the notorious Bronze Mist.

Unfazed by their threats, Sir Javad Ulf Lad invoked his Sand Dagger ability once more. He summoned a swirling vortex of sand that encircled the Bronze Mist members, intending to trap them in a whirlwind of abrasive particles.

With a confident demeanor, the intruders holstered a formidable weapon and fired what appeared to be a powerful blast, dispelling the swirling, rain-soaked vortex. They leaped into the air with remarkable agility, leaving the terrified crowd far behind, and taunting the elderly knight, "How will your sand hold up in this heavy rain? Right now, it's just mud." They grinned as they spoke.

Sir Javad retorted, "Whoever told you wet sand is useless?" He swiftly gathered the scattered sand from the car's impact, molding it into two colossal, solid fists. These fists moved with lightning speed, converging into a single, deadly blow aimed at the two attackers inside. One of them met an instant demise, ensnared by the relentless grip of the wet sand, while the other narrowly evaded the crushing force. With a sarcastic tone, Javad remarked, "It's still just sand, my friend. Merely a bit more solid." This left the surviving attacker in stunned disbelief.

The surviving attacker, frustration etched across his face, hissed at Sir Javad through gritted teeth, "You old relic! You won't stop us that easily!" As the crowd trembled in shock, the attacker made a desperate attempt to speak. "The Mainstays, they are a bunch of-" Before he could utter another word, a sharp spear of sand erupted beneath him, impaling him from bottom to top. The spear branched out, encasing the intruder and his weapons in its sandy grasp. Then, in a swift and merciless motion, it contracted, erasing any trace of the attackers from existence.

With an unwavering gaze, Sir Javad addressed the onlookers, his tone heavy with authority. "Let this be a lesson to all who seek to disrupt the peace of SwestinBerg. No mercy, no tolerance for criminals." His words reverberated through the crowd, leaving no doubt that safety was paramount within the walls of SwestinBerg.

The reporters buzzed with excitement as they recounted the extraordinary events that had transpired outside the SwestinBerg High Council Hall. Their words painted vivid images of heroism, audacious intruders, and the breathtaking display of Sir Javad's dagger.

Amidst the animated discussions, an observer's keen gaze pierced through a window from within the very heart of the SwestinBerg High Council Hall. Their intent scrutiny transcended the rain's delicate veil, penetrating the threshold of the grand cobblestone courtyard and the unfolding spectacle beyond. This enigmatic figure was none other than Shwartez SwestinBerg, one of the Ten MainStays, known among the people as the The Filled Influence. He is the mastermind who orchestrated the destiny of SwestinBerg. He was the true ruler behind the throne, for his brother, King Razmuth, remained as he always had been - distant from the responsibilities of rulership. This time in Mungaria indulging in his own pleasures.

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(Inside a fancy room in the High Council building)

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Shwartez SwestinBerg, in his late-40s, possessed a commanding presence. His light-brown skin bore the wisdom of years spent in the shadows, while his sharp, penetrating eyes hinted at the depths of his cunning and calculation. His countenance remained eternally serious, a reflection of the control he exerted over the intricate web of SwestinBerg's politics. Adorned in a resplendent black suit that exuded authority, he clutched a cigar in his hand, the wisps of smoke curling around him like the tendrils of his influence.

With a wry smile, he remarked to others in the room, "It's like watching kids engage in child's play. It seems their so-called influential leaders possess the same level of cunning as youngsters. They are mere lads playing a game without truly comprehending their objectives."

Within the room, the gathering comprised the following individuals: Shwartez, a prominent presence and orchestrator of western SwestinBerg's political landscape; Minister Harold Fal, the appointed leader of SlemHal, positioned in the farthest reaches of the eastern realms; Apram SwestinBerg, the youngest among the four brothers, occupying a distinguished seat beside his influential sibling.

Seated together at an opulent table adorned with fine wines and exquisite cuisine, discussing matters of utmost importance.

Surrounding this trio of power-brokers, like silent guardians of their ambitions, were Monica SwestinBerg, younger daughter of Apram, widely renowned for her unmatched beauty, considered by many to be the epitome of allure; William, the youngest scion among Shwartez's three sons, exuding youthful vitality; and Cael, the eldest son of the family, his seasoned experience etched upon his countenance.

Shwartez turned his attention back to the room's occupants and sat. "The Bronze Mist, though a nuisance, are the least of my concerns. Our main focus today is the Panditys family," he stated firmly, his gaze piercing.

Minister Harold Fal, the appointed sovereign of the distant and eastern realm of SlemHal, acknowledged Shwartez with a solemn nod. "This time, Shwartez," Harold declared with a weighty voice, "we must ensure that no detail eludes your meticulous preparations."

In response, Shwartez fixed his unwavering gaze on the blank canvas of their strategic plans. There was a palpable pause, a moment pregnant with the gravity of their impending actions. With measured intent, Shwartez turned to his brother Apram, his voice carrying the weight of their shared destiny. "What is the current status of the train?"

Apram, the youngest of the four SwestinBerg brothers, replied, "It's currently in Molda city, situated within the Phir Realm, and is making steady progress, almost nearing Stipler city."

Shwartez nodded contemplatively. "Still a long road," he mused.

Cael, the eldest son of Shwartez, interjected with confidence, "I'm confident it will take less than three days with the Golden Train, Father."

Instantly, all eyes turned toward Cael, and a tense silence settled over the room. Shwartez's gaze, in particular, bore a stormy intensity, though no words escaped his lips. Cael, acutely aware of the tension, hastily added, "My apologies," avoiding his father's piercing stare.

Monica and William, positioned at a distance from the rest, exchanged hushed words. "It's your brother's nature to end up on the disappointing side of Uncle," Monica murmured, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. She glanced at the eleven-year-old William, who fought back a smile and responded with subtle gestures, silently urging Monica to cease her comments.

Apram, who had been observing the two, rose from his seat, cradling his wine glass. He silently moved toward the window where they stood, sending shivers down their spines without uttering a word. After giving them a smile, he gazed into the distance, commanding an eerie presence.

"No one would dare to raid or trespass the Golden Train," Apram declared confidently, his voice ringing with authority. "We have four Ironees, our brother Daud, and elite United Realms of Heaven knights stationed at every point along the train. It's a death sentence for anyone attempting to breach it and lay hands on the Bundle."

Harold interjected, his tone carrying a note of pride, "And let's not forget my brother, Mirioshka."

"This time, with the arrival of the Bundle, the game changes," Harold declared with conviction. "Albert Panditys and his family, along with his whore of a wife, will find themselves backed into a corner, and we'll have the opportunity to banish them from SwestinBerg for good." Shwartez's face bore a broad smile.

"I received word earlier that his son is currently residing in the Green Greed Hotel in PearlMere, Mungaria." Apram affirmed,

Whispering, young William shared with Monica, "That's where Uncle Razmuth is, as far as I know." Their hushed conversation was abruptly disrupted by a powerful delighted smack from Shwartez, resounding through the fancy wooden table.

"That's even better!" Shwartez exclaimed, his voice filled with satisfaction. "One less problem to contend with. Given our reckless king, it's almost certain that he'll cross paths with the Panditys' son and burden himself with his troubles. And even if the boy manages to escape the hotel unscathed, he won't have a home to return to." He laughed heartily while reclining in his elegant chair.

"It's far too premature for you SwestinBergs to celebrate," Harold cautioned. "This marks your third attempt, and with your later announcement this evening, every success or failure will be scrutinized by the public. Frankly, any missteps could prove highly embarrassing for you."

"You would do well to watch your words, Minister Harold," Shwartez's warning thundered through the room. "Remember, it is us the Ten Mainstays who granted you the seat of power in SlemHal!"

Harold, his tall cotton brown hat and pointed mustache giving him an imposing presence, responded with an unwavering smile. He stepped closer to the towering Shwartez, their faces mere inches apart. That gentle smile grew in strength as he turned away from Shwartez, distancing himself from the confrontation.

"I ascended to rule a land that had long been without a ruler," Harold explained calmly. "I did so by invoking a union between the SwestinBergs and the Fals, not merely through marriage into your family. Let's be honest here; you'd rather be on my mother's good side than facing another legend like Albert Panditys."

His words hung in the room, freezing the very air with their weight. Without another word, Harold concluded, "I shall take my leave for now. Tonight, I'll secure a front-row seat for our impending event!" He raised his wine glass in a toast before departing the room, leaving the others behind to contemplate his veiled message.

Shwartez's laughter began as a low, ominous rumble, steadily growing in intensity until it filled the entire room with its malevolence. The younger members of the assembly couldn't help but feel a creeping unease, a cold sweat forming on their brows, while Apram, the brother, allowed a mischievous smile to play on his lips as he rolled his eyes at the ground in sly amusement.

"Antonya and her bold offspring," Shwartez chortled, the sound reverberating like a sinister echo in the room.

Shwartez and his brother Apram rose from the lavish table, laden with food and wine, and gracefully exited the room. Following closely were William and the striking Monica. She placed her hands on William's shoulders, teasing him with a playful smile as if she were steering a train, treating him like an impish younger brother. William, flustered, gently pushed her hand away, signaling to his 18-year-old cousin not to playfully taunt him.

Regaining his composure, William turned to his father, Shwartez, and reported, "The broadcast team has informed me that everything is prepared on the set, Father." Shwartez beamed at his son, affectionately ruffling his hair and said, "Ah, what a dependable son you are." His expression softened with paternal pride.

In the room, Cael stood alone by the window, gazing out at the crowd below. His solitary contemplation was soon interrupted by the arrival of two royal guards who sealed the room's entrance behind them. The guards conveyed to Cael," We've spoken to the reporter, Samantha Red. She's waiting in solitude just outside, near a discreet door. She's been told she'll have an exclusive interview with Shwartez as you instructed my lord."

Cael responded to this news with an ominous smile, his voice tinged with intrigue as he instructed the guards,"Follow me and ensure no one disturbs us when we're alone."

As Cael and the two guards were leaving, upon opening the door, they were met with none other than his infuriated father, Shwartez. A truly towering and heavily built MainStay, Shwartez acted swiftly. With a single shove from his hand into his son's chest, Cael was sent sprawling across the room, hitting the wall and sliding to the floor. "You Fucken idiot," Shwartez muttered in anger.

Without hesitation, Shwartez then grabbed both guards by their fancy, dark helmets, each with one of his massive hands, and flung them against the left wall of the room with such force that the stone wall cracked slightly from the impact of both the guards and their metal armor, leaving them unconscious.

Cael, slowly regaining his balance and standing up, found himself face to face with his father, who closed the distance. Shwartez seized his elder son by the collar of his clothing, lifting him effortlessly. He growled, "You fucker! Not today. I won't allow you to cause any disturbances, especially not on this day." With a contemptuous toss, he released Cael, causing him to fall to the floor.

Shwartez then approached the two senseless guards, touching their heads. A hazy gray light emanated from his hand. He commanded, "Forget Cael's orders. Forget what transpired in this room. You merely skipped duty and drank yourselves into a shameful stupor." A truly fearful power.

Turning back to his son, Shwartez's face was filled with disappointment. "Remember the favor I granted you with that woman. You'd be a corpse if she ever knew what you did to her," he reminded him with a cold stare. Expressing his contempt, he spat on the face of his son before departing, uttering, "It seems our family has an enduring legacy of firstborn sons who let us down." With a storm of conflicting emotions, Cael remained on the floor, his wrist hiding his eyes, and his teeth clenching...

To Be Continued.

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