Beldon Tyndall was a man who often found himself being right. Most of the time, that was something he took great pleasure in. But there were times when he would have preferred the alternative.

He surveyed the scene before him with a serious expression. The ballroom, which had been a hub of conversations and merrymaking just an hour ago, was now filled with wounded nobles and other influential guests. Some appeared only slightly disheveled, while others lay on the floor with blood-soaked clothing as their companions tended to them.

The air was heavy with the scent of burnt wood and singed fabric, mingling with the faint aroma of spilled wine and shattered pride. The walls, adorned with beautiful frescoes and delicate reliefs commissioned by dukes from past generations, bore the marks of the Tribe of Sin’s onslaught. Vibrant paintings were slashed, and the once-polished dance floor was littered with shards of glass, splintered furniture, and scorch marks.

Beldon walked across the room, taking note of all the wounded. He observed the fear in the eyes of those who hadn’t had the strength to fight back but were unable to escape when the Tribe initiated the attack. In one corner, a group of elderly and young individuals huddled together, recovering from the ordeal while the knights who had protected them rested on the ground, catching their breath.

It was a scene of destruction and disorder that he would have preferred never to have witnessed in his own home.

Perhaps it could be considered a saving grace that the majority of the casualties seemed to be on the Tribe’s side, and most of the non-combatants had escaped serious harm. The duchy would spare no expense in treating those present, so he suspected few would leave Windgrove with more than a scar. Healers were likely already being roused throughout the city to rush over and provide their aid.

However, considering what they might have lost tonight, he wasn’t sure how comforting that thought was.

As he walked, he spotted his father in the center of the room, stepping onto what remained of the stage there.

Santos Tyndall wore his usual stern expression, but the ash and blood on his clothes revealed how vulnerable he had been during the attack. As did the cold fury behind the man’s eyes.

“Esteemed guests,” his deep voice resonated across the entire ballroom, likely reaching even the adjacent chambers. “I stand before you now with a heavy heart, dismayed by the senseless attack that has been carried out against us all. Some of you may remember when our empire battled against them and pushed them back over a decade ago, but for those of you unaware, this vile act was perpetrated by none other than our most contemptible and eternal enemy: the Tribe of Sin.”

Whispers of shock rose around the room, but most remaining guests likely already knew this.

“We may not know the complete reasoning behind their actions,” the Duke continued, “but one thing remains clear, as it has not changed since the inception of our empire. The Tribe of Sin is still nothing more than a gathering of cowards who seek to instill fear and panic among our numbers. However, I will tell you this: we will not be cowed by their dastardly deeds. As we have done in the past, we will stand tall, with our heads held high, and we will not yield to their will. We will not allow their despicable acts to disrupt the peace and prosperity that we and our predecessors have worked tirelessly for generations to achieve.”

He peered out over the crowd, like a dragon inspecting his domain. “To those of you who have been injured, know that I stand with you in this time of need. Our duchy does not abandon those who tread upon our lands as honored guests. We will do everything within our power to support you and your close ones. And to the Tribe of Sin, I say this: You may have struck us tonight, but know that you have gained nothing. Like our forefathers before us, we will emerge stronger than ever, and as loyal citizens of the empire, we will make you face the consequences of your actions.”

The man’s words hung in the air for a few seconds as everyone’s attention was aimed at him. There were many less-than-pleasant things one could say about Beldon’s father, but the man had always possessed a way with how he spoke. There was a weight to his speech that was difficult to ignore. Despite the circumstances, many of those who appeared weary or shaken by the attack actually seemed invigorated by his words.

“Tonight I pledge to you all, esteemed guests, that Windgrove and its allies will stand at the forefront of the effort to bring these criminals to justice. We will not rest until justice is delivered on behalf of those present tonight and as retribution for this assault against the empire and His Majesty's authority. Heed my words. May we continue to stand united even in the face of adversity.”

There was some applause, and some—mostly nobles—seemed to echo his sentiment. Despite his disheveled appearance, Duke Santos Tyndall truly looked like a man who did not let this incident affect his composure. But Beldon knew his father well, and it did not escape his attention that the duke concealed both hands behind his back throughout the entire speech.

It had been a lie that they didn’t know the motive behind the Tribe of Sin’s attack. His father was fully aware of what the Tribe’s goal had been.

And presumably, they got it.

Although it was pure speculation, Beldon imagined that if the Duke were to show his left hand at that moment, the guests would see that a finger was missing, along with the ring that had adorned it.

He had warned his father against keeping the artifact on his person in such a manner. He had cautioned his father against keeping it within the duchy, on their own lands. It was an unnecessary risk. But his father was a stubborn man, and there were few individuals who he trusted implicitly. Beldon himself was barely among that group, and the Duke would not hand over such a vital item to the Ustrum Assembly or any of the mage towers. The Shields Guild was not much better, in the man’s opinion. Little more than a principled mercenary group, not loyal to the empire itself.

Santos Tyndall saw it as part of his duty to protect the ring himself. And he had never doubted his ability to do so.

Beldon let out a snort as he shook his head.

Tonight had demonstrated how correct his father had been in that belief. The Tribe of Sin—or perhaps he should say the Hallowed Cabal—had succeeded in the end. They had caught them all off guard.

That vexed him.

He had anticipated an attack from the Cabal eventually, but he had never expected it tonight, of all times. Not when several of the empire’s strongest individuals were gathered in one place like this. There were small nations that could be toppled with just a select few of them. Beldon couldn’t even begin to count the numerous other occasions that would have been more suitable for an ambush. Yet, instead, the Cabal had mustered precisely enough force to execute tonight’s assault, sacrificing dozens upon dozens of lives solely to target his father and the artifact the man wore.

If Beldon was not already aware of how terrifyingly capable the Cabal could be, he would have considered them fools for recklessly squandering their resources. Instead, he found himself trying to decipher their reasoning.

The most likely explanation was that they had intended to send a message, both to the Windgrove duchy and to the empire as a whole. However, there were many other ways of doing that without taking the risk they did now.

What had compelled them to choose tonight, in particular? Was there something that had pushed them into action?

He recalled reading reports about the joint efforts of the Solar Knights against several known bases of the Tribe and the Cabal across the empire. Warley Godwin and Rosanna Adlam had provided more intelligence than anyone else on those, which had played a crucial role in organizing the efforts. Despite the Cabal’s seemingly endless resources, it must have dealt a significant blow to them.

Rosanna was well known for her hate towards the Tribe, and the S-ranked Shielder was often considered one of the foremost experts in battling them. The involvement of the Dean of Elystead Tower, however, had been somewhat surprising. There were still questions about how the man had obtained information on the Cabal’s movements, especially since Beldon had seen reports of him being in Visian and other kingdoms west of Voneia in recent months.

Personally, Beldon suspected that Imperial Advisor Blackwood had been involved in some way. The Dean’s movements were always difficult to track, but recent events indicated the two had met at least once.

Regardless of the true cause behind the Cabal’s actions, he doubted it was a simple matter. He knew there were more actors engaged in these conflicts than met the eye. Actors who did not always want to make their existences known.

But one thing was clear to him. The Cabal had expended more than just manpower in their attack tonight. He didn’t know the exact method they’d used to create portals and teleport so many individuals in such a short amount of time—the Hallowed Cabal had access to knowledge and magic that no one else had—but it must have come at a cost. The protective enchantments around the castle had been eased to avoid disturbing the guests—perhaps a contributory factor as to why they chose tonight—but even an archmage would have needed time and a significant amount of mana to break through those defenses. The Cabal clearly desired the ring they had come here for.

The question was what would happen now that they had obtained it.

Much to his frustration, Beldon didn’t know much more than his father about the true purpose of the ring. The Duke had never revealed where he found the artifact, but they both knew it was connected to the Cabal in some way and to the Dragon Rampage that had occurred seven years ago. His father seemed to believe it was also linked to the Tribe’s initial attacks when they first revealed themselves again a few months earlier.

While those less knowledgeable saw those attacks as simple acts of terror, Beldon was aware that such things were always secondary for the Cabal. Surveys of the locations where the attacks had been carried out showed that the Tribe had been searching for something beneath them. Most likely, they had found whatever that was as well.

However, he wasn’t entirely convinced of the connection between those attacks and the ring. He suspected there had been a different purpose behind the earlier attacks, though he disliked not knowing for certain. But the unfortunate truth was that even an organization like Mirage struggled to keep tabs on the Cabal.

The same couldn’t be said in reverse.

The Cabal possessed a disturbing ability to extract any information they wanted from the agents they captured. This had been particularly frustrating in the past year as their activities escalated, and the Cabal made a habit of kidnapping Beldon’s people at every opportunity to milk them of what they knew. It had forced him to take significant and drastic precautions that severely affected the efficiency of Mirage’s work, but even then, he couldn’t completely avoid the issue.

It was unlikely that Mirage would be able to uncover the ring’s true purpose on its own. But he had the unsettling feeling that they would soon face the repercussions of its theft.

“Beldon.”

He paused and looked up as his brother approached, quickly glancing over the man’s appearance and noting the bloodstains on his legs and the large gash on one of his sleeves.

“Father asked me to oversee the preparations in case the Tribe of Sin returns,” Gideon said. “He wants you to work with our people and document everyone who is missing, injured, or dead while he deals with the rest of the aftermath.”

“I have already started,” Beldon replied, choosing not to mention that their father would need to have his hand healed first. There were only a few healers in Windgrove capable of completely regrowing limbs, and that was only if one acted fast enough. Of course, Santos Tyndall prioritized maintaining his own reputation over that.

His brother showed a brief look of surprise, but soon nodded and turned around as he started issuing orders to some nearby guardsmen to follow him.

Beldon returned his attention to the rest of the ballroom, scanning the faces of the guests and assessing their current conditions. He casually intercepted a tired servant carrying containers of water and instructed them to send a message to Mireya as well as fetch some paper.

His father would likely want a comprehensive list before the night was over, but not all the guests would patiently wait until then. Some of the more daring ones would seize this opportunity to reproach their family and their inability to prevent this attack, demanding compensation for damages and injuries that may or may not exist. It was best to work preemptively in such situations, and Mireya would know what to do.

Beldon’s gaze continued to roam the room, lingering on the more notable individuals here.

Alcot Thackeray of the Vanguards stood at the center of a group of battle-worn people, his bear-like figure towering over them. His exposed chest was bloody and burned from his encounter with a high-ranking Tribe member. As expected of his reputation, Thackeray had taken on the brunt of the attacks, ensuring others escaped relatively unharmed.

Not far away, the Dean of Elystead Tower conversed with Rodmun Ainsworth, the only other archmage in attendance. Both appeared mostly unscathed, but Beldon had seen the powerful opponents they’d faced during the battle. Everyone present was fortunate that both sides had exercised some restraint.

Count Knottley stood with his family, wearing a grim expression. On the floor beside him was a large axe, while his petite daughter helped clean blood off his face from what looked like a broken nose.

The eldest Delmon son sat with a dour look on what remained of a chair, attended to by a pair of servants as they cleaned and treated a serious injury on his right arm.

Valdemar Hayden lay unconscious on a table, seemingly without any visible wounds. Beldon would have to inquire for more details about that later.

Marchioness Thackeray approached her cousin with assertive steps, her usually well-kept grey-white hair ruffled and hanging freely over her back. Other than that, she appeared perfectly unharmed.

Shepard Yardley, the captain of the Amber Knights, was surrounded by several of his men as they worked to clean up the aftermath of the attack and left to search through the other chambers.

Iyana Webb entered the ballroom as well, displaying one of the most expressive faces Beldon had ever seen on the swordswoman as she walked over to some of the other knights with a scowl. He hadn’t seen her during the battle itself, so presumably she had been caught up elsewhere.

Amidst his observations, his eyes caught sight of a yellow-haired priest in a bright red overcoat, moving among the people and using magic that shone a bright gold to heal those in need. Beldon had to mentally run through the list of priests who might have deigned to attend tonight before he recognized the man.

A small smile found its way onto his lips.

It seemed that even with the turmoil within the Follower’s circles at the moment, the Quorum had chosen not to keep a tighter leash on their youngest member.

In between checking over the faces of those around him, Beldon also observed the conditions of others he recognized and who passed him by, intending to write it all down later.

Finally, his gaze settled on a pair of sisters. One sister had neck-length auburn-colored hair and looked as though she might fall asleep at any moment, while the other had long, dark-red hair and a composed expression as she spoke with an older lady. Beldon noted that Baroness Scarlett Hartford was now wearing an entirely different outfit from what he had seen her in earlier. Had she managed to change clothes during all the chaos? No, that was more likely the result of one of those artifacts she seemed to have a near-endless supply of.

He watched her for a brief while longer.

Scarlett Hartford was another enigma that Beldon was still attempting to unravel.

Until a few months ago, the mapping of her actions had been predictable and straightforward. Nothing he hadn’t already seen from a dozen other nobles, albeit a tad more audacious. However, something had changed, and he wasn’t certain what the cause of it was.

Yet. He wasn’t certain of it yet.

Initially, he had assumed there was someone else pulling the strings behind the noblewoman. A high-ranking noble using her as a front for their own schemes. The Delmons had been the prime candidate. Count Knottley had also been a possibility, but it was unlikely considering the man’s personality.

However, subsequent interactions had cast doubt on that assumption. Both because the nature of Scarlett’s relationship with most influential nobles seemed tenuous at best, and because Beldon simply couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t that simple. The woman didn’t strike him as someone who would readily bend her knee to most others. If she was working with someone, it wasn’t as a subordinate.

Of course, it was possible that her entire persona was an act as well. He didn’t doubt that she was a capable actor.

What intrigued him most was not just the apparent changes surrounding her in recent months or the waves she was making in certain circles across the empire. It was the knowledge she seemed to possess. Not only had she provided him with precisely the type of information he sought—suggesting she was intimately familiar with Mirage and its workings—but she also demonstrated a deep knowledge of ancient artifacts, ruins, and even sacred relics. Beldon’s informants within the Shields Guild had reported that the Guild’s leadership was keeping a close eye on her as well, and the same went for the Followers and some of the mage factions.

It also hadn’t escaped his attention that there had been increased activity in the Withersworth barony shortly after Baroness Hartford’s reported stay at their Autumnwell estate. Further inquiries by his agents had suggested that the curse plaguing their domain had been dealt with.

It did not take a genius to connect the dots.

If his suspicions about the Baroness’ involvement were correct, it conveniently placed the Withersworths in her debt. This had only been further confirmed by the fact that the elderly couple had accepted the invitation to tonight’s ball, despite not having attended for several years. And by the fact that Lady Withersworth was currently speaking with the woman.

It seemed as if Baroness Hartford was assembling allies. None that were too influential yet, but the Withersworths had many connections. Neither Lord nor Lady Withersworth was to be underestimated, even after distancing themselves from most of high society.

What exactly the Baroness was trying to do with all of this, however, was still a mystery.

But if only that was all. Beldon had caught a glimpse of her during the earlier fighting as well, and her capabilities had surprised him. It did not align at all with what he’d learned about her supposed ineptitude as a mage. Although he supposed that was simply further proof suggesting she was not as simple as she seemed. By now, he was certain that the noblewoman most thought they knew was part of an act of some kind, at the very least.

He seemed to share several similarities with the woman, now that he thought about it.

Hopefully, he would still be able to meet with her in the morning. It might be difficult finding time after the attack, and his father would undoubtedly not cancel the gathering that was supposed to take place tomorrow, but he didn’t think the Baroness would depart before then. If she did, though, it would be troublesome for him to visit Freybrook later solely to meet her. He would have to think of a solution for that, just in case.

“Brother,” a voice reached him from the side. He paused in his ruminations, turning to look at his approaching sister.

“Mariele. I see you’re still here.” He inspected her appearance. The dark-haired young woman was unharmed, having been protected by several guards during the earlier chaos. “Correct me if I’m mistaken, but Gideon must have told you to go to your quarters and rest, no? Your presence here leads me to believe you have chosen not to adhere to that.”

“I already sent Anne away, but the danger is over. I’m currently assisting with the efforts.”

“Ah, what a kind sister I have. Prioritising the well-being of those around her over avoiding a week of confinement in the castle for defying an order.”

“It’s better than doing nothing,” she replied. Stopping next to him, she looked around. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing much. Simply waiting for my trusted subordinates and some writing implements to arrive so that I can get to work.”

Mariele’s head turned in the direction Beldon had been looking earlier, her eyes stopping on the two Hartford sisters for a moment. “That’s the woman you spoke with earlier tonight, isn’t it? Baroness Hartford?”

“I am flattered that you remember even my briefest of dalliances so well, dear sister.”

She frowned. “What is your relationship with her?”

Beldon smiled. “Mere acquaintances, I assure you. I fear I might lose a limb or two if I were to ever pursue something more. Moreover, her fiance happens to be the current vice-captain of the Imperial Solar Knights.”

“I am familiar with Sir Leon. He is not the type to act out of envy.”

“I wasn’t suggesting he was.”

His sister studied him for a bit, then spun around. “I am going to try to gather the healers when they arrive and help in organizing their efforts. I was intending to ask if I could have Mireya or someone else help, but I suspect you will have her occupied. Don’t get yourself killed by forgetting to rest even for a moment.”

Beldon watched her depart, the small smile still lingering on his lips until she was far enough away. Then, it faded.

He cast one last glance towards the Hartfords before refocusing on his current task. There was much that called for his attention at the moment, but everything had its time. As for the Baroness, their talks could wait until they next crossed paths.