With a careless clang, the Warden tossed Arthur’s longsword onto the floor.

  “There, I will take all of you out of this place—this ‘Orchard World’ that has long since become too small for you.”

  “To the Demon Hunter Academy?” Arthur asked, smoothly adopting the term he’d only just learned.

  The Warden gave a satisfied nod.

  “If you have any other questions, ask now—but quickly.” He glanced at the obsidian bracelet on his wrist, its silver glyphs still faintly pulsing. “I have many more stops tonight. I can’t linger.”

  “So we should leave as soon as possible—before ten tomorrow morning?” Arthur pressed, instantly grasping the urgency.

  “Correct.”

  “What about the zombies on the road?”

  “Don’t worry.” The Warden smiled—a thin, bored gesture, as if swatting away a gnat. “From this moment on… they will no longer be your obstacle.”

  Zombies won’t be an obstacle anymore?

  Did he already wipe them all out? Or—were the zombies his doing all along?

  That single sentence hit Arthur like a punch to the gut. His pupils contracted. For the first time, in his very bones, he finally understood the true meaning behind the title “Warden.”

  “Fine,” Arthur said, swallowing his pride. “I’ll get everyone ready.”

  Seemingly satisfied, the Warden turned to leave—but paused at the doorway.

  “One last thing,” he said, glancing back, his shadowed eyes locking onto Arthur one final time. “All the survivors. Every last one. Don’t lose anyone. Don’t leave anyone behind.”

  “And when you arrive,” he added, voice dropping to a near-whisper, “stay calm. Don’t cause trouble. Once you’re at the Demon Hunter Academy, all your questions will be answered.”

  He let that hang for a beat—giving Arthur room to absorb it. “And if… you perform well,” the Warden continued, his tone now laced with a condescending offer, “I might even extend you a bit of… assistance. Say… knowledge others wouldn’t normally access. Or insight into the Academy’s unwritten rules. After all…”—his voice dipped even lower, sharp as a blade sliding between ribs—“Life at the Academy isn’t exactly peaceful. Death? Injury? They happen… all the time.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Arthur’s chest tightened.

  He watched the Warden’s final, cryptic smile—

  and at last, fully, bowed his head.

  The Warden turned.

  The unnatural fog—thick, light-swallowing, alive—flowed after him like an obedient tide, retreating from the City Hall and vanishing into the night.

  Only then did Arthur let go. His body, coiled tight with terror and tension, finally exhaled a long, shuddering breath. His knees nearly buckled as he sank into the plush velvet chair—the very seat of his “kingship.”

  Fury and humiliation warred in him.

  It had only been a few days since he’d crowned himself king of this new era. Everything had gone so smoothly—aside from a few minor “betrayals” he’d dismissed as irrelevant. He’d already tasted power’s sweet nectar: the awe in their eyes, the unquestioning obedience, the thrill of imposing his will on this tiny world.

  And now?

  In the face of that black-robed figure, it all looked like a child’s sandcastle—fragile. Ridiculous. Pathetic.

  He knew, deep down: this kingship was over. But what choice did he have? Against that incomprehensible power, all he could do was kneel.

  “Demon Hunter…” Arthur whispered the word like a prayer to a god of war.

  His fists clenched. His nails dug into his palms—pain sharp enough to anchor him, to give his seething shame a place to bleed.

  ………………

  Now, if some otherworldly observer—say, a seasoned web novel reader—were to witness Arthur’s fall and subsequent resolve, they might slam their desk and shout:

  “Damn! ‘Don’t mock the poor lad—fortune turns with time!’ This is classic protagonist setup!”

  Surely, next would come the mysterious mentor, the fateful encounter with a red-beauty, and legions of villains crying, “This child must not be allowed to live!”

  But… what did any of that have to do with Pandora?

  She, after all, was just a noble girl who—right now—wanted nothing more than to sink back into the warm, gentle embrace of her maid.

  At this very moment, Pandora had finished her bath.

  Every muscle in her body felt loose, her bones nearly melted by Elsa’s hands—those hands that moved with a strange, hypnotic precision.

  Now, she lay sprawled across her wide, soft bed, her head pillowed on Elsa’s supple arm, pressed gently against the warmth of her perfectly curved form—

  And she was already…

  fast asleep.

  She slept so deeply, she didn’t wake until dawn.

  But alas— the universe wouldn't let her have a perfect slumber.

  Just as her dream reached its most blush-inducing, deliciously improper moment—

  a strange fog, laced with morning mist, seeped silently through the window cracks and into the manor.

  The moment Elsa saw that ominous vapor, she woke Pandora from her sweet dream.

  “Mmnn…” Pandora murmured, half-annoyed, half-drowsy. She grumbled—

  but one second later, she understood why Elsa had roused her.

  She sat up instantly.

  Her sleep-heavy eyes, still half-lidded, sharpened into crystal clarity.

  Without a word, she changed into the simplest of tunics, then sat quietly behind her bedroom door—waiting.

  Truth be told… she was nervous.

  This was almost certainly the new Warden.

  But what was his stance toward her? Did he know she’d killed the last one—Bradley Dulles? Was he here… to kill her?

  And if so—had the Demon Hunter Academy armed him with something far worse than what Dulles had wielded?

  A storm of thoughts swirled in her mind like wind-torn cobwebs.

  Pandora shook them off.

  No use guessing without facts.

  So she did the only thing she could:

  She stilled her breath.

  Cleared her mind.

  And prepared—

  not for what might come…

  but for who she needed to be when it did.