In Illsarius, the capital of Dirmistan, a rather unusual event occurred one morning. A simple carriage, devoid of ornamentation or noble emblems, stopped before the imposing gates of the government palace—a place reserved almost exclusively for official parades and pre-announced processions. However, any attentive observer would have immediately noticed the contradiction: this humble vehicle was drawn by enormous warhorses, beasts trained for the battlefield, not for civilian transport.

  It was unusual for a carriage to be allowed to stop at that point. But the person traveling inside was far from ordinary.

  Within minutes, the guards stationed at the gates reacted with a coordination that betrayed barely contained panic. Authorities, officials, and palace staff hastily emerged from within, organizing an impromptu reception, as if afraid of making the slightest mistake in the presence of an unexpected—and evidently important—visitor.

  When the carriage door opened, a single person stepped out—a woman. She wore a plain, functional blue combat outfit, unmistakable to anyone familiar with the sects originating from the Eternal Empire. She wore no visible insignia or rank symbols, but the quality of her equipment spoke for itself. Her long, straight black hair fell freely down her back, and her pale green eyes scanned her surroundings with a calmness that contrasted sharply with the commotion her arrival had caused.

  The lower half of her face was covered by a dark cloth mask. Even so, the visible features made it clear that she didn't come from any of the southern kingdoms of the continent. And yet, there was something about her that made one feel she belonged there, as if the capital weren't foreign to her at all.

  "Lady Leonor…" said a middle-aged man, stepping forward quickly before the guards could even make their move.

  He wore ostentatious clothing, clearly befitting a high-ranking official, though the perspiration beading on his forehead betrayed his nervousness.

  "Your visit has surprised us all," he continued, forcing a diplomatic smile. "If you had given us advance notice, we could have prepared a more appropriate welcome."

  Leonor inclined her head slightly, studying him carefully before replying. "That's precisely why I decided to give last-minute notice," she said in a soft but firm voice. "I want this to be as discreet as possible. I don't like unnecessary attention.”

  The man nodded quickly, swallowing hard. "Of course, Lady Leonor. My name is Andrés, Minister of Security," he introduced himself. “If you'll allow me, I'll take you to the chancellor immediately.”

  Leonor said nothing more and simply nodded. Immediately, Andrés led her inside the palace, escorted by a group of guards. They proceeded through endless corridors of polished stone and high vaulted ceilings, decorated with banners and paintings that narrated the history of the nation. The palace was full of life: officers crossing paths with scribes, hurried messengers, officials arguing in low voices.

  It was, on the surface, a busy day like any other. But Leonor's presence altered the very atmosphere of the place.

  After what seemed like an interminable walk, the group finally arrived at a large hall. The space was arranged with numerous tables and chairs, clearly designed for assemblies and state meetings. In one corner, away from the center of the hall, stood a group of five people. All men. Three were standing, while two were seated.

  Upon noticing Leonor's arrival, the three men standing were the first to react. They advanced with gestures of profound reverence, introducing themselves as ministers of state: the Minister of War, the Minister of Economy, and the Minister of Intelligence. Each displayed a rehearsed smile, too perfect and carefully crafted. They were trying to present their best selves.

  “We are grateful that you accepted our invitation, Lady Eleanor,” said one of the seated men.

  His tone was firm, authoritative, and he didn't need to rise to command attention. He was undoubtedly the chancellor. He was a man of imposing stature, dressed in elegant, impeccably tailored clothes. He had short brown hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and brown eyes that observed with calculated attention.

  Eleanor responded without hesitation. She stepped forward and curtsied politely. “The pleasure is all mine, Chancellor Damocles.”

  The man nodded, and for a moment, he let his mask of political coldness fall. “Words cannot express our gratitude for what you did for us at Cythontion,” he said with genuine appreciation. “We could easily say that you prevented a war that was already inevitable.”

  “I was close enough… and I simply decided to act,” Eleanor replied seriously, without a trace of arrogance. “After all, this is still my home.”

  The second man seated let out a harsh, exaggerated laugh that echoed through the large hall. "You were lucky," he exclaimed. "Very lucky, I'd say. Those idiots didn't have anyone strong enough to give you a real fight."

  He was an elderly man, with abundant gray hairs intertwining with his black locks, but his voice retained a surprising, almost intimidating, vitality. There was no weakness in his posture or his gaze; on the contrary, every gesture conveyed a contained strength, the kind of presence acquired only after countless real battles.

  The chancellor cleared his throat softly, forcing a diplomatic smile. “I believe my friend here needs no introduction,” he said. “Our current protector can be… a bit eccentric, and occasionally speaks more than he should.”

  Eleanor understood the implied message. Even so, she took a small step forward and offered a brief but respectful curtsy. “Lord Cleon. It is an honor to meet one of the pillars of the nation.”

  Cleon did not respond immediately. He observed her for a few seconds, assessing her as a veteran on the battlefield might, more interested in what was left unsaid than in formal words.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  He was one of the few mystic warriors who had reached the pinnacle of power in Dirmistan. A Mystic Lord (level eight), at the very top of that rank. In a small nation like that, that level of power was not only rare, but crucial for maintaining the stability of the government.

  Dirmistan possessed only two Mystic Princes (level 9), entities of immense power who rarely left their residences. They did not intervene in politics nor appear before the public except in extreme situations. The nation's true defense rested on the dozen Mystic Lords in the service of the government.

  And among them all, Cleon was the strongest. The chancellor's guardian. The shield of the palace.

  "The only demon slayer in our nation… and she happened to be a woman," Cleon remarked, his tone dripping with irony. "Proof that our blood has potential. And, at the same time, a disgrace that you had to be trained elsewhere."

  Eleanor didn't react with annoyance. She lowered her gaze slightly, as if accepting some of the criticism. "It was luck on my part to face a demon with little combat experience," she replied humbly.

  Cleon's expression hardened immediately. "That's nonsense."

  His voice no longer held a trace of mockery. “Every single one of them was a real threat during the Great Invasion,” he continued. “On equal footing, we needed three or four of us to defeat them. And even then, we almost always lost at least one of our own. Our numerical superiority was the only thing that allowed us to win that war.”

  The chancellor intervened, trying to ease the tension. “Perhaps we’ve improved,” he remarked with a measured smile. “After all, it’s been a very long time since the last invasion.”

  Cleon didn’t even look at him. “It’s idiotic to think that,” he retorted bluntly. “The true veteran demons, the strongest, don’t participate in that farce that is Tabraga. Only the weakest go there… or those sent to train.”

  Then his gaze fixed directly on Leonor. “But even those ‘weak’ ones are still stronger than us,” he continued. “And I, frankly, wouldn’t dare face one of them in a one-on-one duel.”

  There was a brief silence. Cleon leaned back slightly and gave an odd smile, a mixture of pride and resignation. “That’s why I celebrate you, little demon slayer. I don’t think there are many at your level who could defeat you in this place. I would venture to say that even several of our mystic Lords would have serious difficulty defeating you.”

  "Precisely for all these reasons, we would like to have your help, Lady Eleanor," the chancellor added sincerely. "Your mere presence could mean a considerable boost to the morale of our troops... and also to that of the civilian population."

  Leonor tilted her head slightly, weighing the words carefully. “Is the situation really that delicate?” she asked.

  The chancellor sighed discreetly before answering. “At least on our end, we are doing everything possible to prevent the conflict from escalating. Every move we make has been calculated with extreme care. However, Fullgorth continues its contradictory behavior. On the one hand, they assure us they have no involvement in what happens on the border… and on the other, they shamelessly finance all the mercenary companies that are harassing us.”

  The finance minister chimed in, his tone more pragmatic. “Fortunately, we have received significant support from other Free States. Especially from Chernia, which has donated enough funds to cover at least 20 percent of the total cost of our mercenaries.”

  “Even Misoroto has offered to send some of its best companies,” added the war minister, crossing his arms. Unfortunately, we don't currently have the necessary budget to accept that help.

  Leonor listened attentively. After a few seconds, she sat down in one of the nearby chairs.

  "And what about Lutia and Vsererezia?" she asked. "Can't they intervene?"

  The chancellor shook his head slowly. “They’re dealing with far more serious problems to the south. Belzmia and Vovetia are practically under direct threat from Fullgorth’s armies. On the grand chessboard of the central government… our situation is almost insignificant.”

  Cleon clicked his tongue, visibly annoyed. “It’s unlikely that a large-scale open war will break out,” he remarked. “The kingdoms of Lightlia and Isisa wouldn’t stand idly by. That’s why Fullgorth has opted for a slow and methodical strategy. They’re conquering us province by province, wearing down our economy, our morale… and our will.”

  “Until we have no other option but to rejoin the Empire,” the chancellor concluded, his voice grave.

  Silence fell over the hall. It was a heavy silence, laden with resignation and political calculation. After a few moments, it was Leonor who broke it.

  “My intention in returning to my old home,” she said firmly, “was to reunite with what little remains of my family and, for the first time in many years, enjoy a period of peace. However, it seems that wherever I go… conflict follows me.”

  The chancellor inclined his head slightly. “Your family’s safety can be guaranteed,” he replied. “We can bring them to the capital and offer them immediate protection. You could settle here, at least for now.”

  He paused briefly before continuing. “To be clear, we don’t need you on the front lines. Your true value lies far more in your role as a public figure, as a symbol. Your presence can garner support, bolster public confidence, and deter those who doubt our strength.”

  Cleon nodded slowly. “It’s still too early to require the intervention of warriors of your caliber,” he added. “Cythontion was an exception… not the rule.”

  “This is something I need to consider,” Eleanor replied, rising calmly.

  “Of course,” the chancellor said, offering a measured smile. “Take all the time you need. This conflict isn’t going to disappear overnight.”

  The impromptu meeting seemed to have drawn to a close. The ministers began to relax, and Eleanor prepared to leave the room. However, just as she was a few steps from the door, Cleon’s deep voice stopped her.

  "I don't think it's anything to worry about," he said, almost indifferently, "but about a year ago we received a warning from the dwarves. They detected extreme dimensional activity in this region."

  Leonor stopped dead in her tracks. She turned slowly on her heels and stared at him.

  "Dimensional activity?" she asked. "Is that true?"

  "Absolutely," Cleon replied without hesitation. "There's a possibility, small but real, that demonic portals may have opened. Of course, if there had been an open invasion, we would already know. That's beyond doubt. Even so… it's something worth keeping in mind."

  "And why are you telling me this?" she asked, her voice more tense.

  Cleon met her gaze. "Because I understand you've spent most of your life fighting them," he replied. "And because there's a real possibility that demons have infiltrated the area. It's not uncommon these days… though it is unusual for a nation as small as ours."

  "How accurate were those detections?" Leonor pressed.

  “Enough to encompass the territories of six different nations,” he replied. “And, unfortunately, we’re right in the middle of that range.”

  Leonor was silent for a moment. “Thank you for telling me,” she said finally, her expression serious.

  Without another word, she turned and left the room.

  Leonor's footsteps echoed down the corridor until they faded into the distance. Only then did the chancellor turn to Cleon.

  "Was it really necessary to tell her that?" he asked, frowning.

  Cleon crossed his arms. "As I understand it, she's been fighting demons for eighty uninterrupted years," he replied firmly. "At best, if she chooses not to help us directly, we'll have her patrolling the nation in search of shadows. Her mere presence will boost the morale of soldiers and civilians alike."

  He paused briefly before continuing. "Besides, she already intervened once without our asking. We can assume she might do it again. And, to be perfectly honest, our best-case scenario would be Fullgorth making the mistake of killing a Demon Slayer. That would provoke the wrath of the free armies and create a diplomatic disaster of enormous proportions... perhaps even involving the sect to which she belonged.”

  The chancellor grimaced. "That doesn't exactly sound honorable," he said, forcing a smile.

  “Don’t misunderstand me,” Cleon retorted. “It’s just one of many possibilities that could benefit us. I actually quite like her. But wars aren’t won with good intentions.”

  The chancellor sighed and changed the subject. “Tell me something… do you really think there are demons infiltrated in Dirmistan?”

  Cleon shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest idea,” he replied frankly. “And, to be honest, I couldn’t care less right now. We have far more pressing problems with our neighbors.”

  Silence settled once more in the room. A silence heavy with calculations, anticipated sacrifices… and truths that, for the moment, no one was willing to confront.