We all reluctantly stare at the letter, the weight of our latest mistake settling in.

  Ravyn tilts his head, grinning. “So, who’s gonna open it?”

  Before anyone can even answer, he grabs the letter and rips the seal open.

  Lena sighs. “What’s the point of asking if you’re just gonna do it anyway?”

  Ravyn ignores her, unfolding the parchment. His smirk fades almost immediately, his eyes scanning the contents with surprising focus.

  I don’t like that look.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  Ravyn doesn’t answer at first. Instead, he clears his throat and reads aloud:

  From the Office of Baron Callis Evendawn

  Holy Kingdom of Sletopia

  To Grand Inquisitor Valen Mordane,

  The situation is deteriorating faster than expected. Our sources confirm that an unidentified faction is moving against us, disrupting Church operations and interfering with our demon purification efforts. Their exact motives remain unclear, but their influence is spreading.

  As per our agreement, I expect you to handle this personally. The Evendawn Inquisitors exist for this very purpose—ensure they are reminded of their true purpose.

  Additionally, preparations for the "Grand Invocation" are nearly complete. The Saintess remains unaware of the finer details, as per our arrangement. When the time comes, she will serve as the catalyst.

  Continue to silence anyone who asks too many questions. The Light must prevail—at any cost.

  Signed,

  Baron Callis Evendawn

  (Stamped with the golden sun insignia of House Evendawn.)

  A heavy silence follows.

  I stare at the letter, my brain trying to process what I just heard. “...Okay. That definitely doesn’t sound good.”

  Lena frowns, arms crossed. “The hell is the ‘Grand Invocation’?”

  Mark remains silent, his expression unreadable.

  Ravyn whistles, flipping the letter over. “No idea. But I do know one thing.”

  I hesitate. “What?”

  He grins. “We just stole something very, very important.”

  Lena groans. “Great. Because we weren’t already in enough trouble.”

  I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “So, just to summarize—we robbed a noble’s house, turned a pig into a holy fugitive, and now we’re in possession of a top-secret letter about some kind of massive Church conspiracy?”

  Ravyn claps me on the back. “You’re catching on quick, newbie.”

  I groan. I am going to die.

  What a cool side quest. It’s like those books I’ve read.

  I scratch my head. “I’m guessing we won’t be leaving anytime soon.” I glance at Ravyn. “So, how exactly are we gonna find out where this ‘Grand Invocation’ is happening?”

  Ravyn taps the letter, grinning. “Well, lucky for us, high-ranking nobles and inquisitors don’t just scribble down top-secret doomsday plans on paper.” He flips the parchment over. “Buuut they do leave breadcrumbs.”

  Lena raises an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

  He smirks. “Meaning we don’t need to find the Grand Invocation—we just need to find the Grand Inquisitor.”

  I frown. “The guy this letter was meant for?”

  Mark nods. “Valen Mordane.”

  The name sits wrong. Maybe it’s the way Mark says it. Maybe it’s because anyone with “Grand Inquisitor” as their title is probably not someone I want to meet.

  Lena crosses her arms. “Tracking an Inquisitor isn’t exactly easy. These guys don’t exactly host tea parties in public squares.”

  Ravyn hums, thinking. “True, true… But we do know where a certain overdramatic priest lives.”

  I blink. “Wait. You mean—?”

  Lena groans. “Oh, gods. Not Gabriel again.”

  Ravyn grins. “Come on! If anyone has dirt on the Inquisition, it’s a rogue priest who’s definitely been blacklisted by them.”

  I sigh. “Why do I feel like this is going to be another terrible idea?”

  Lena shrugs. “Because it is.”

  Ravyn claps his hands together. “Alright, then! Next stop: annoying Gabriel until he spills some holy secrets!”

  Fantastic. Another visit to the most jealous priest in existence.

  I regret everything.

  The moment we step inside the chapel, Gabriel’s eyes lock onto Lena. His whole body stiffens like he’s been struck by divine revelation.

  Then, in true Gabriel fashion, he dramatically throws himself forward, sliding on his knees like a man begging for salvation.

  “My beloved Lena! You have returned to me once more!” He grabs her hand like a desperate lover. “Tell me, have you finally come to accept our destined love?”

  Lena yanks her hand away immediately. “No.”

  Gabriel clutches his chest like she just stabbed him through the heart. “A cruel rejection! And yet… how radiant you are in your defiance!”

  I lean toward Ravyn. “Are we sure this guy is actually a priest?”

  Ravyn grins. “Hard to say.”

  Gabriel suddenly turns to me, eyes narrowing. His entire demeanor shifts from pathetic love-struck fool to jealous rival ready to commit homicide.

  “You.” His voice is dead serious.

  I blink. “...Me?”

  He marches right up to me, grabbing my shoulders. “How dare you return?”

  I frown. “What? What did I do?”

  Gabriel leans in. “You exist too close to Lena.”

  I stare at him, unblinking. “...What.”

  Lena rubs her temples. “Gabriel, we didn’t come here for this.”

  Gabriel dramatically sighs before finally stepping away. “Very well. What is it you seek from my infinite wisdom?”

  Ravyn wastes no time. He holds up the stolen letter. “What do you know about the Grand Invocation?”

  The second Gabriel sees the name, his face immediately darkens.

  Silence.

  Lena crosses her arms. “Well?”

  Gabriel hesitates. His usual dramatic, lovesick personality completely disappears. He suddenly looks… serious.

  “The Grand Invocation…” He exhales, rubbing his chin. “Where did you hear of this?”

  Ravyn waggles the letter. “Oh, y’know. Just from the desk of Baron Evendawn himself.”

  Gabriel snatches the letter from Ravyn’s hand and reads it fast. As his eyes scan the words, his jaw tightens.

  Then, very quietly, he mutters:

  “That bastard… He’s actually going through with it.”

  I stiffen. “So you do know something.”

  Gabriel hesitates again, his fingers gripping the parchment tightly. Then, after a long pause, he finally speaks.

  “The Grand Invocation… is a ritual.”

  I narrow my eyes. “A ritual for what?”

  Gabriel looks at me, his usual arrogance gone.

  “For ascension.”

  Silence.

  Lena frowns. “Ascension? Into what?”

  Gabriel exhales sharply. “That… I do not know. Only the highest-ranking nobles and inquisitors are privy to its full details.” He glares at the letter. “But I do know this: it requires a catalyst.”

  I suddenly remember a specific line from the letter.

  "The Saintess remains unaware of the finer details, as per our arrangement. When the time comes, she will serve as the catalyst."

  I freeze.

  Lena catches on immediately. “Wait. You don’t mean—”

  Gabriel nods grimly. “Yes. The Saintess of Sletopia, Elza Evendawn.”

  My stomach drops.

  The Church’s most beloved figure. The symbol of purity and divinity.

  And she’s about to be used in some kind of ascension ritual.

  Ravyn whistles. “Well, that escalated quickly.”

  Lena looks at Gabriel, eyes sharp. “If this is true, then why the hell hasn’t anyone stopped it?”

  Gabriel scoffs. “Do you have any idea how much power the Evendawn family holds? Their control over the Church? Over the paladins? Over the entire damn kingdom?” He shakes his head. “The people wouldn’t believe it. And those who do believe?” He gestures vaguely. “Well. They tend to disappear.”

  A cold feeling creeps into my chest.

  “So…” I exhale. “The ‘Saintess’ has no idea she’s about to be sacrificed.”

  Gabriel shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not.” His expression darkens. “But if this letter is accurate… then the Grand Invocation is happening soon.”

  I stare at the letter again. What the hell did we just get ourselves into?

  Ravyn grins. “Well! Looks like we’ve got a mystery on our hands.”

  I shoot him a look. “This isn’t a mystery novel, Ravyn. This is real life.”

  He winks. “All the more reason to play the hero, newbie.”

  I groan. “We are literally criminals.”

  Lena crosses her arms. “Regardless, if what Gabriel says is true… we have two choices.”

  She looks at all of us.

  “One: We ignore this, walk away, and let whatever happens to Elza happen.”

  Silence.

  “Or two…” Her eyes harden.

  “We stop the Grand Invocation.”

  The room is silent.

  I take a deep breath. Why do I feel like this just became a main quest?

  I look at Father Gabriel, still trying to wrap my head around everything. “Well, first of all, this Evendawn guy is really shitty for making his own daughter a sacrifice.”

  Gabriel scoffs. “Oh, you have no idea.”

  I shake my head. “And second… if they need a catalyst to trigger the ritual, that means they’re summoning something, right?”

  Gabriel pauses, his expression tightening. “That… would be a logical assumption.”

  Lena crosses her arms. “Great. So, what the hell could be so important that they need the Saintess herself to activate it?”

  Gabriel lets out a long breath. “That, I do not know. But if it requires a catalyst of divine purity, then whatever they’re trying to summon is something that requires immense holy power.”

  I frown. “So, what? An angel?”

  Gabriel grimaces. “Possibly. But not just any angel.” He glances back at the letter, his fingers gripping it tighter. “There are old records—long buried by the Church—of higher celestial beings. Entities beyond even the Archangels. Beings whose mere presence could reshape the world.”

  Ravyn raises an eyebrow. “You’re saying they’re trying to summon a god?”

  Gabriel doesn’t answer immediately. His silence is more telling than words.

  Lena exhales sharply. “That’s insane. No mortal should be able to summon a god.”

  Gabriel nods. “Precisely. Which means whatever Evendawn is doing… is dangerously unnatural.”

  I rub my temples. “Fantastic. So not only did we piss off a powerful noble, but now we’re probably tangled in a world-ending ritual.”

  Ravyn grins. “Told you this was getting fun.”

  I glare at him. “This isn’t fun, Ravyn.”

  Mark finally speaks. “Then what’s the next move?”

  The room falls silent.

  Lena glances at Gabriel. “You said the ritual is happening soon. How soon?”

  Gabriel hesitates. “…If the preparations are nearly complete, then I would estimate within the next few weeks.”

  My stomach sinks. That’s not a lot of time.

  Lena exhales. “Then we need to move fast. We need a way into Evendawn’s estate, or better yet, straight to Elza herself.”

  Gabriel frowns. “Easier said than done. She’s the most protected person in the kingdom. The Evendawn estate is practically a fortress.”

  I sigh. “So what, do we just knock on the front door and ask to see her?”

  Ravyn suddenly snaps his fingers. “Actually… that’s not a bad idea.”

  I blink. “What.”

  He smirks. “Why sneak in when we can get invited?”

  I stare at him. “And how exactly do we get invited?”

  Ravyn leans back, grinning. “Easy. We crash a noble’s party.”

  Lena groans. “Oh, gods.”

  I sigh. I am going to regret this.

  I look at Ravyn with a stern expression. “Go on.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Ravyn grins, throwing his arms up. “Ah, come on, don’t you trust me?”

  Lena snorts. “No.”

  Mark nods. “No.”

  I sigh. “Not even a little.”

  Ravyn gasps, clutching his chest like we just stabbed him. “You wound me! But fine, I’ll lay it out for you.” He straightens up. “First, we need clothes—something fancy. Then, we just, y’know... steal invitations from a few noble suckers and walk right in.” He shrugs. “Easy.”

  He looks around, waiting for approval.

  I grab his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “At least you have a plan now.”

  He chuckles. “Of course I do. I’m the leader of The Grave Walkers, after all!”

  I stare at him. “Yeah, you didn’t have to scream our group name out loud.”

  Lena groans. “Not cool.”

  Mark sighs. “Not stealthy.”

  Father Gabriel—who had been quietly watching all this—suddenly bursts out laughing.

  “Pft—hahahahaha! Grave Walkers?” He doubles over, wheezing. “That’s your group’s name?! What are you, a bunch of brooding mercenaries writing poetry about death?”

  Ravyn glares at him. “Excuse me?! That name has history! It carries weight!”

  Gabriel wipes a tear from his eye. “Yeah, yeah. Weight like a bad tragedy play.”

  Lena grins. “I mean, he’s not wrong.”

  I cross my arms, smirking. “Sounds like something a dramatic bard would come up with.”

  Ravyn looks absolutely offended. “You— I— We—” He dramatically points at Gabriel. “You just don’t appreciate branding.”

  Gabriel chuckles, waving him off. “Whatever you say, ‘oh mighty leader of the Edgy Walkers.’”

  Ravyn grumbles something under his breath while Lena and I try not to laugh.

  Finally, I sigh. “Alright, fine. We’re really doing this, huh?”

  Lena shrugs. “Apparently.”

  Mark nods. “We need disguises.”

  Ravyn claps his hands together, immediately snapping out of his sulking. “Right! Fancy clothes, stolen invitations, and then we party with the nobles.”

  I shake my head. “This is gonna be a disaster.”

  Gabriel smirks. “Oh, definitely. But hey—at least you’ll look good while ruining everything.”

  Then, without missing a beat, he waves us off. “Now, get out of my church if you have nothing else to say.”

  I blink. “Wait, aren’t you gonna help us?”

  Gabriel freezes.

  His expression immediately shifts into pure, unfiltered rage. His face turns so red it looks like a tomato that just exploded.

  “WHY WOULD I HELP YOU?!” He gestures wildly at me. “DO YOU THINK YOU’RE MY EMPRESS LENA?!”

  Lena groans. “Oh for the love of—Gabriel, shut up.”

  He dramatically crosses his arms, pouting. “I refuse! My divine loyalty belongs to my one true goddess!”

  I stare at him. “...You are not normal.”

  Gabriel ignores me. “Besides!” He scoffs. “If I go anywhere near that noble gathering, I’ll probably get killed on sight.”

  I frown. “Why?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Do you have any idea how many inquisitors want my head? I’m basically a heretic in their eyes!” He flips his hair dramatically. “A handsome, intelligent, irresistible heretic—but a heretic nonetheless.”

  Ravyn grins. “Well, that’s what happens when you call a high priest an ‘old fart with a stick up his ass’ in public.”

  Gabriel scoffs. “That man had it coming.”

  Lena shakes her head. “Fine. We’ll do it ourselves. Not like you’d be useful anyway.”

  Gabriel gasps, clutching his chest. “How dare you?!”

  I sigh. “Alright, we’re really wasting time here.”

  Gabriel waves us off again. “Yes, yes, go, go, be reckless criminals elsewhere! And if you somehow survive, don’t come back bleeding all over my floors.”

  I roll my eyes and start heading for the door. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

  The streets of Sletopia are quieter at night, but not empty. The occasional lantern flickers, casting long shadows across the polished stone roads. Despite the risk of running into patrolling guards, we walk openly—dressed in simple cloaks to avoid drawing attention.

  We stop in front of a high-end tailor shop, the kind that only serves nobles and merchants with too much money.

  Ravyn claps his hands. “Alright! Time to spend our totally legally acquired fortune.”

  Lena rolls her eyes. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  We step inside, and immediately, the air shifts.

  The place is way too fancy. Silk curtains hang from the ceiling, golden embroidery decorates the furniture, and the overwhelming scent of expensive perfume makes my nose itch.

  A middle-aged tailor, dressed in flawless robes, raises an eyebrow as he approaches us. He looks us up and down like we just dragged mud across his pristine floors.

  “Yes?” His voice is soaked in judgment.

  Ravyn grins, tossing a heavy coin pouch onto the counter. It lands with a satisfying jingle.

  “We need clothes.”

  The tailor’s entire attitude shifts instantly. His eyes widen, and suddenly, we’re worthy of his time.

  “Ah! But of course, esteemed guests!” He bows slightly. “What style are you looking for?”

  Lena crosses her arms. “Something noble-looking. Dresses, suits, cloaks. Enough to pass as high society.”

  The tailor nods eagerly. “Ah, a fine choice! You wish to attend one of the grand gatherings, I assume?”

  Ravyn smirks. “Something like that.”

  The tailor snaps his fingers, and a swarm of assistants appear out of nowhere, immediately dragging us toward different sections of the shop.

  I don’t know how it happens, but within minutes, I’m standing in front of a mirror wearing some of the most expensive clothes I’ve ever seen.

  A dark, well-fitted noble coat, a high-collared shirt, and formal gloves—it’s way fancier than anything I’m used to.

  Lena steps out of the dressing room wearing an elegant black and crimson gown with silver embroidery. She tugs at the fabric, looking mildly irritated.

  “This feels weird,” she mutters.

  Ravyn, of course, is thriving. He spins in place, admiring his deep red noble jacket lined with gold. “Oh, I could get used to this.”

  Mark, the mountain of muscle that he is, wears a dark coat with silver trim, looking like a walking fortress. He doesn’t react much—probably because he doesn’t care.

  I adjust my collar uncomfortably. “Do we really need to go all out?”

  Lena sighs. “We’re pretending to be nobles. If we look even slightly out of place, we’re screwed.”

  Ravyn grins. “Exactly! We have to own it, newbie. Nobles don’t dress up—they become the outfit.”

  I glare at him. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  The tailor claps his hands together. “You all look magnificent! With these outfits, you shall be the stars of the evening!”

  I doubt that.

  Lena sighs. “Let’s just pay and go.”

  Dressed like we actually belong here, we approach the gates of the massive estate where the noble gathering is being held. The place is packed with finely dressed lords, ladies, and merchants—all flashing invitations to the guards as they enter.

  We don’t have invitations. Yet.

  Ravyn adjusts his cuffs. “Alright. Time for part two of the plan.”

  I sigh. “Which is?”

  He grins. “We mingle. We chat. And when the time is right… we borrow a few invitations.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You mean pickpocket.”

  He winks. “Details.”

  Lena pulls up her hood slightly. “Let’s split up. Less suspicious that way.”

  Mark nods. “Understood.”

  I exhale slowly. Here we go.

  Ravyn claps me on the back. “Go make some rich friends, newbie.”

  With that, we blend into the crowd, ready to steal our way inside.

  We move through the crowd, casually scanning the guests for an easy target. The problem is, most nobles aren’t idiots—they keep their invitations close, tucked into their coats or inside fancy little envelopes.

  Just when I’m starting to wonder if this plan is going to fall apart, Ravyn grabs my shoulder.

  “Newbie,” he says, smirking. “We just hit the jackpot.”

  I follow his gaze toward a side alleyway, tucked between two buildings. There, stumbling against a wall, is a very, very drunk nobleman.

  He’s draped in expensive silk, a deep purple coat with golden trim, but at the moment, he looks pathetic. He sways on his feet, a half-empty bottle in one hand, and he’s surrounded by two girls—clearly hired escorts—who look less than impressed with his condition.

  “Ugh,” one of them sighs. “You said you were going to take us inside, not pass out in an alley.”

  The noble slurs something completely incoherent, waving his bottle around.

  Lena peeks in. “Seriously? This guy?”

  Ravyn grins. “What? He’s perfect.”

  Mark cracks his knuckles. “Easy target.”

  Lena sighs. “Alright, let’s just—”

  Before she can even finish, Ravyn walks right in.

  The noble barely notices him approaching. “Hey, hey—who’re you?” he slurs, blinking blearily. “You—hic—you want a drink?”

  Ravyn smiles. “Nah, I want your invitation.”

  The noble frowns. “Huh? My what?”

  Ravyn doesn’t even bother explaining.

  He just punches the guy in the face.

  The noble immediately collapses.

  The two girls scream, stepping back in shock.

  “What the hell?!” one of them shouts.

  Ravyn grins and flips the noble’s coat open, pulling out a neatly folded invitation. “Bingo.”

  I stare. “That’s it? That’s the whole plan?”

  Ravyn shrugs. “Hey, he was gonna pass out anyway.”

  Lena groans, rubbing her temples. “You’re unbelievable.”

  The escorts are still frozen in place, staring at us like we’re lunatics.

  Ravyn turns to them, flashing his usual cocky grin. “Ladies,” he says, handing them a few gold coins. “For the inconvenience.”

  Then, as if we didn’t just assault a noble in an alley, we casually walk away.

  We regroup near the estate’s gate. Ravyn waves the stolen invitation with a smug grin.

  Lena sighs. “That was messy.”

  Ravyn winks. “But effective.”

  I shake my head. “So what now? We all use the same invitation?”

  Ravyn nods. “Yup. Nobles don’t get checked too hard. We flash this, talk our way in, and boom—we’re inside.”

  I exhale. Here goes nothing.

  Ravyn steps forward first, flashing the invitation to the guards. “Lord Theobald Falcrest,” he says smoothly. “I trust everything is in order?”

  The guards barely glance at the parchment before nodding. “Go ahead, my lord.”

  Ravyn grins, stepping inside.

  Lena follows. Then Mark.

  Then me.

  And just like that—

  We’re in.

  I take a deep breath, looking around at the sea of wealthy nobles, expensive decor, and dangerous company.

  This is either going to go really well…

  Or horribly wrong.

  Everything is made out of gold. and every corner is guarded.

  I look around a suddenly Ravyn is already a head of us talking to girls.. Why is he acting different

  Everything is gold.

  The floors? Polished marble lined with gold trim.

  The chandeliers? Massive, dripping with golden candle holders.

  The damn pillars? Gold-plated.

  I stare at the sheer unnecessary wealth on display. “Okay, this is just excessive.”

  Lena mutters, “Rich people.”

  Even worse, every corner is guarded.

  Paladins in immaculate silver armor stand at key positions, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons. They’re not just standing around, either—they’re watching. Every movement, every person.

  I tense instinctively. One wrong move and we’re done.

  I glance around, checking on the others—

  And then I see Ravyn.

  He’s already ahead of us, standing near a group of noblewomen—laughing, smiling, and looking like he belongs here.

  What the hell?

  I frown. “Why is he acting different?”

  Lena follows my gaze, then sighs. “Oh, right. You haven’t seen this side of him yet.”

  I blink. “What side?”

  Mark speaks up, his voice low. “The noble side.”

  I pause. “...The what?”

  Lena crosses her arms. “You think Ravyn learned how to act like this out of nowhere? He grew up around nobles. Before he was a criminal, he was one of them.”

  My eyes widen slightly. “Wait—Ravyn was a noble?”

  Lena nods. “He doesn’t talk about it much, but yeah. That’s why he’s so good at playing the part.”

  I look back at Ravyn. His usual cocky thief personality is gone. Instead, he’s speaking with effortless charm, using the kind of polite, well-mannered tone I’ve never heard from him before. The noblewomen giggle at whatever he just said, and he smiles back at them like he’s done this a thousand times.

  I narrow my eyes. “That sneaky bastard.”

  Lena smirks. “Welcome to the real Ravyn.”

  I exhale, shaking my head. “Alright, enough gawking. What’s the plan?”

  Lena looks around. “First, we need to figure out where Elza Evendawn is.”

  Mark nods. “Or where the high-ranking nobles are gathering.”

  I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off my nerves. “Alright. Let’s split up and—”

  A loud voice suddenly cuts through the room.

  “Introducing! The Saintess of Sletopia!”

  I freeze.

  The entire hall goes silent as all eyes turn toward the grand staircase.

  And then—

  Elza Evendawn appears.

  She walks down the steps with a graceful elegance, her white and gold robes flowing behind her. Her radiant golden hair shines under the chandelier light, and her face—calm, composed, perfect—holds the softest of smiles.

  She’s exactly what the rumors said she’d be. A holy figure, adored by the people.

  But something about her feels off.

  Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. There’s a strange distance in her expression, as if she’s somewhere else entirely.

  Lena murmurs, “There she is.”

  I whisper to Lena. "How are we gonna get to talk to her? What's the Plan?"

  Lena responds. "We just need to keep a low profile–"

  Before Lena can even finish the room fills in gossip and shock.

  We look at why and guess why. Well no other than Ravyn, He took the fucking saintess hand

  I lean closer to Lena, keeping my voice low.

  "How are we gonna get to talk to her? What's the plan?"

  Lena keeps her eyes on Elza, her tone calm but focused.

  "We just need to keep a low profile—"

  Before she can even finish, the entire room suddenly erupts into gossip and shocked whispers.

  A wave of murmurs sweeps through the crowd like wildfire, gasps mixing with frantic whispers. Nobles clutch their pearls, some turning to their companions with expressions of pure disbelief.

  I feel a pit form in my stomach.

  Oh no.

  Lena and I both turn our heads toward the source of the commotion.

  And guess what?

  It’s Ravyn.

  Holding the damn Saintess’s hand.

  I stare in horror.

  Lena groans, already rubbing her temples like she can’t believe this is happening. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  Mark just sighs, the deep exhale of a man who has witnessed too much stupidity in his lifetime.

  Ravyn, ever the master of chaos, stands there with a charming grin, holding Elza’s delicate hand as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

  Elza blinks, clearly caught off guard, her serene expression faltering for just a second. She isn’t yanking her hand away, but she also isn’t saying anything. It’s impossible to tell if she’s surprised, amused, or just processing the sheer audacity of this man.

  The nobles? They’re losing their minds.

  "Who is that man?!" Someone gasps.

  "How dare he touch the Saintess?!" Another voice shrieks.

  "Is he a foreign lord?!" A noble mutters in disbelief.

  "This is scandalous!" someone hisses, nearly spilling their drink.

  I hear a wine glass shatter in someone’s grip. One elderly noble lady looks like she’s about to faint.

  Meanwhile, Ravyn just smirks, looking completely unbothered by the social earthquake he just started.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. "I hate him so much."

  Lena sighs, her patience wearing thin. "Yeah. But we better go back him up before he gets executed."

  Mark silently nods.

  I groan, already feeling the headache forming.

  This is not how I wanted this to go.

  Lena and I exchange a look. Neither of us moves.

  Mark doesn’t either.

  We all just stand there, watching this disaster unfold.

  Ravyn, completely unbothered by the sea of horrified nobles around him, lifts Elza’s hand ever so slightly, as if he’s about to kiss it. The air in the room tightens—half of these people look like they’re about to drop dead from shock.

  But then, just before he can take things too far, Elza gently pulls her hand away.

  The room goes silent.

  Ravyn, to his credit, doesn’t look fazed. He simply tilts his head, his usual smirk lingering as he studies her reaction.

  Elza, for her part, remains calm. She isn’t flustered, nor is she visibly offended. If anything, she looks... mildly curious.

  She tilts her head slightly, golden eyes locking onto Ravyn’s with quiet amusement. “You are quite bold,” she says, her voice soft yet clear enough to command the entire room’s attention. “I do not believe we’ve met before.”

  The tension shifts. The nobles, still murmuring among themselves, wait with bated breath.

  Ravyn places a hand on his chest and gives a slight bow. “Lord Theobald Falcrest,” he lies effortlessly. “A traveler from distant lands. Forgive my forwardness, but when one stands before divinity itself, it is only natural to be drawn in.”

  There it is. The noble charm act.

  Elza’s expression doesn’t change, but something flickers behind her eyes. Amusement? Curiosity? Suspicion? It’s hard to tell.

  She glances at the paladins stationed around the hall. They remain tense but make no move to intervene—not yet.

  Then, to everyone’s surprise, Elza simply smiles.

  “A traveler,” she muses. “And what brings Lord Falcrest to Sletopia?”

  I see Ravyn’s shoulders relax ever so slightly. He has an opening.

  “Many things,” he replies smoothly. “But none as radiant as this evening’s gathering.”

  Some noblewomen swoon. Others scoff, rolling their eyes.

  Elza just continues to study him, as if peering through the mask he wears.

  Does she see through him?

  Lena leans toward me, whispering. “I can’t tell if he’s pulling this off or digging his own grave.”

  “Both,” I whisper back.

  Mark simply watches in silence.

  For now, we wait.

  Elza studies Ravyn for a moment longer, her golden eyes sharp yet unreadable. Then, she smiles again—small, composed, yet undeniably curious.

  “A silver tongue,” she muses. “One might wonder if it is a gift from the heavens or a tool sharpened by the world.”

  Ravyn chuckles softly. “Perhaps a bit of both, my lady.”

  The tension in the room eases slightly. Some nobles, still whispering, seem torn between scandal and admiration. Others look ready to demand his execution. But Elza? She doesn’t seem offended at all.

  If anything, she looks intrigued.

  She tilts her head. “Tell me, Lord Falcrest… have you visited Sletopia before?”

  Ravyn doesn’t hesitate. “Once, long ago. But never have I seen it shine as brilliantly as tonight.”

  The nobles eat it up. A few women swoon. Even some older lords nod in appreciation.

  Elza chuckles softly, the sound almost musical. “You flatter the Holy Kingdom, Lord Falcrest.”

  Ravyn places a hand over his heart, bowing his head slightly. “Truth requires no embellishment.”

  Lena mutters beside me, “This is actually working?”

  I exhale slowly. “I have no idea.”

  Then—

  The atmosphere shifts.

  A cold, heavy pressure sweeps through the hall, crushing the warmth of the moment.

  It’s subtle at first. A slight stillness. A tightening in the air. The kind of feeling that makes your instincts scream before your mind can catch up.

  The nobles don’t notice immediately, still caught up in Ravyn and Elza’s exchange. But I do.

  And so do the paladins.

  Their backs straighten. Their hands tighten on their weapons.

  Elza’s smile falters, ever so slightly.

  A single set of footsteps echoes through the grand hall.

  And then, the nobles finally notice.

  The whispers die instantly.

  The crowd parts as a tall, cloaked figure enters the room.

  He wears the robes of an inquisitor, dark and adorned with silver sigils of the Church. A heavy, reinforced mantle drapes over his shoulders, but it does nothing to hide the overwhelming presence he carries.

  He walks with calm precision, every step measured. Controlled.

  His mere existence is suffocating.

  His eyes, cold and piercing, scan the room like a predator searching for its prey.

  I already know—

  This man is dangerous.

  Ravyn stays perfectly still. His smirk is gone. His body tense.

  Elza exhales softly before turning toward the inquisitor, her voice composed. “Grand Inquisitor Mordane. You arrive sooner than expected.”

  Grand Inquisitor?

  My stomach tightens.

  This is Valen Mordane?!

  The man stops a few feet away, his sharp eyes locking onto Ravyn.

  His expression?

  Completely unreadable.

  Then, finally, he speaks—his voice low, smooth, and laced with authority.

  “This gathering is no place for pretenders.”

  The weight of his words sinks into the room like iron.

  Ravyn, for once, says nothing.

  And just like that—

  The night has taken a very, very bad turn.

  The entire hall stands still.

  Grand Inquisitor Valen Mordane’s presence alone is suffocating. The air feels heavier, as if even the light of the golden chandeliers dims in his wake.

  His piercing gaze remains locked onto Ravyn, his expression unreadable. “This gathering is no place for pretenders.”

  The tension is thick. The nobles, once eager to gossip, now hold their breath. Even the paladins shift slightly, their hands subtly gripping their weapons.

  For once, Ravyn doesn’t have his usual cocky smirk. His body is relaxed, but I can tell he’s on edge. A predator meeting another predator.

  Still, he doesn’t falter. Instead, he bows slightly—just enough to be respectful but not submissive.

  “My apologies, Grand Inquisitor,” Ravyn says smoothly. “I did not realize the Inquisition handled guest lists now.”

  Mordane doesn’t blink. “We handle many things.” His voice is cold, measured—like steel pressed against the throat. “Your name, Lord Falcrest.”

  Lena stiffens beside me. She knows what this is. A test.

  Ravyn’s fake identity. If he hesitates, if he misspeaks, it’s over.

  But, of course, Ravyn just tilts his head slightly, feigning mild amusement. “Surely a man of your station doesn’t waste time memorizing every noble from distant lands?”

  The tension sharpens.

  Mordane takes one step forward.

  Despite himself, Ravyn tenses. It’s subtle, but I see it.

  Mordane studies him, his gaze unwavering. Then, in a slow, deliberate motion, he raises his hand. Holy energy crackles in his palm. A faint golden glow—a warning, not an attack. Not yet.

  But if Ravyn makes one wrong move, it will be.

  “Lies,” Mordane says simply.

  I feel my pulse spike.

  The paladins tense further. One of them subtly reaches for his sword.

  This is about to turn into a fight.

  Lena shifts slightly beside me, ready to move. Mark’s fingers twitch. We’re seconds away from all hell breaking loose.

  Then—

  Elza moves.

  With a simple, graceful step, she places a hand on Mordane’s arm.

  The entire room watches.

  “Grand Inquisitor,” Elza says, her voice gentle but firm. “I do not believe violence is necessary tonight.”

  Mordane doesn’t look at her immediately. His gaze lingers on Ravyn, as if debating whether to strike anyway.

  Then, finally, he exhales and lowers his hand. The golden energy fades.

  “As you say, Saintess,” he murmurs.

  Only then do I realize I had been holding my breath.

  Elza turns to Ravyn, her expression unreadable. “Lord Falcrest, I trust you will not cause any more disturbances.”

  Ravyn, to his credit, bows smoothly, slipping right back into his noble act. “Of course, my lady. I am but a humble traveler, here to admire the radiance of Sletopia.”

  Her golden eyes linger on him for a moment longer. Then, with a final nod, she turns away, stepping back toward the center of the hall.

  Mordane doesn’t move immediately. He gives Ravyn one last look before slowly stepping back into the shadows. Watching. Waiting.

  The tension lingers, but the nobles—hesitant at first—gradually resume their conversations. The disaster is avoided.

  For now.

  Lena exhales sharply. “That was too close.”

  I rub my temples. “Ravyn, I swear to—”

  He just grins. “Oh, come on. That went great.”

  I glare at him. “You almost died.”

  Ravyn winks. “Almost.”

  Lena shakes her head. “We need to move. Now that Mordane’s suspicious, we have less time to figure out what’s going on.”

  Mark nods. “We separate. Blend in.”

  I exhale, trying to push down the nerves. We got lucky. If Elza hadn’t stepped in, this would have turned into a bloodbath.

  We need to act fast.