Between frantic gulps, the general kept sneaking cautious glances toward Roy.
Eryndra noticed the shifting eyes. She tightened her shoulders instantly, rolling her weight forward onto the balls of her feet. "Is there a problem?" she demanded.
The general stiffened, swallowing a mouthful of broth. When he spoke, the sharp edge of his pride sounded entirely worn down. "This may sound strange," he admitted, his gaze remaining fixed on Roy. "I have never experienced flavors of this magnitude." He hesitated, shaking his head slowly. "Never mind. I should not say it. I do not want to ruin this. Just know I was not hostile. I was anything but."
Roy lifted a hand slightly, gesturing for Eryndra to stand down. "Easy. We are fine."
Leaning forward in his chair, Roy let his expression shift into a cold, businesslike focus. "Now you can eat and speak," Roy instructed. "So you will tell me what I want to know."
Roy shifted in his chair and gestured toward the far side of the table. "Story time," he called out. "Get over here."
Andri, Rava, and Orin exchanged uncertain glances before abandoning their plates and gathering around the seated captive. Orden floated over immediately, dropping to the floor and sitting crisscross on the magical asphalt. He rested his chin in his hands, looking exactly like a hyperactive child settling in for a campfire tale, completely unbothered by the battered, bleeding monster sitting a few feet away.
Roy tore a piece of bread from a warm roll and held it between his fingers. "What is this place? What have you built out there?"
The general swallowed hard. He lifted his chin, letting the broken fragments of his pride stitch themselves back together. "A kingdom," he stated firmly. "A council of those who stopped being prey."
"Why are you monsters so...strange looking. Even my highly knowledgeable scholars aren't able to identify you or what you are," Roy asked.
"Almost a thousand years of mass breeding has blended most individual species into forms not resembling the pure forms," the general responded after wiping crumbs from his face.
"Giant monster orgies, got it. How is your leadership structured?" Roy asked, leaning forward slightly. "Who rules?"
The general hesitated, his jaw tightening.
Roy tossed the piece of bread onto the asphalt near the general's knee. The starving monster snatched it immediately, chewing quickly before answering. "We are led by a council of seven," the general explained, his voice dropping in volume. "It began decades ago when one of them realized that some bosses retained their memories after death. She recruited Delvar Palar, and together they built an army through sheer fear. Delvar impaled dissidents on massive spires, leaving them to fuel his magic. The population did not need ideology. Fear provided a perfect structure."
Roy tore off a piece of turkey meat and pitched it forward. The general caught it in his hand, swallowing it almost without chewing.
"If they were climbing the dungeon, why did they stop here?" Roy pressed.
"They reached the edge of the world," the general said. "One of the council members punched directly through the Outer Boundary Wall of this floor. She found nothing but pure emptiness. The dungeon outside was still incubating. Once Delvar realized ascending further was entirely pointless, they established the capital right here on this floor."
Roy broke off another piece of bread but held onto it. "You said there is a council of seven. If you traveled up so many floors, why did only seven bosses join you?"
"That is something only the female wizard knows," the general replied cautiously. "You should ask her, assuming you are so unlucky as to run into her."
Roy tilted his head, catching the strange phrasing. "You are avoiding something. Why not just say the name?"
"Some names draw attention," the general muttered, keeping his eyes fixed on the remaining bread in Roy's hand. "Speaking them acts as a signal. We refer to her only as the number between fifth and seventh plus female wizard."
Roy paused. He stared at the monster, letting his brain process the absurdly literal riddle. "Sixth... Witch?"
The general offered a single, rigid nod.
"Does she have any relation to the First Witch?" Roy asked, his tone shifting from theatrical to genuinely curious.
"By basic logic, yes," the general answered carefully. "But I would be lying to you if I told you I knew for certain."
Roy tossed the bread. He watched the general eat, letting the silence stretch for a moment before moving to his real target. "So where is Delvar Palar right now?"
The general paused again, and this time the silence carried a heavy, terrified weight. "As far as I know, he has not been the same since an earlier incident. Another group of humans came down to this floor."
Roy narrowed his eyes. "What do you know about that? Give me specifics."
"A slaughter," the general recounted, dropping his voice to a hushed murmur. "They decimated our decoy outpost. Delvar was moving his forces for revenge. The survivors reported it was a man and his allies. The leader wore long brown attire covered in pockets for tools or weapons, though he carried none. His hair was dark, but a shade lighter than yours. He was unusually tall. His skin was deeply tan, not possessing the pale, sickly look you have."
Roy clenched his teeth, his annoyance flaring instantly. "I am going to ignore that. Pockets?"
The general flicked his eyes down toward Roy's tactical jacket. "Yes. Those things."
"Continue," Roy ordered.
"The human looked at Delvar directly through the wall," the general whispered, leaning forward as if the memory itself was dangerous. "He looked through solid stone as if possessing the power of sight. Delvar later confessed to another general that he felt nothing but death. Death in every conceivable manner, yet he could recall none of the actual memories."
Roy remained completely motionless. He let the description settle over the room, recognizing the terrifying reality warping the monster had just described. "Ardent Blacktide," Roy named him, the words laced with profound distaste.
"Since that incident," the general added, "Delvar has refused to leave his throne room."
Leaning back in his chair, Roy crossed his arms. "Interesting stuff," he declared, letting a clear tone of dismissal ring out for the hovering cameras. "You may leave now."
Lynder scoffed loudly, dragging a sound of absolute disgust from the back of his throat.
Roy's facial expression remained completely neutral, but the air inside the Convention shifted violently. Suffocating mana exploded outward from him in a crushing wave. The sheer pressure made the ambient light dim, rendering it physically painful for anyone in the room to look directly at him. Lynder raised a hand, instinctively shielding his eyes against the oppressive force.
"Lynder," Roy said, keeping his voice dangerously smooth. "I do not remember asking for your opinion."
Roy delivered a slow, barely visible wink. Lynder caught the subtle cue instantly, understanding the performance for what it was. He dropped to one knee, lowering his head in a perfect display of subservience. "Understood, Thunder Rider," Lynder apologized, completely draining the defiance from his voice. "I was out of place to speak. Do forgive me."
Roy nodded once, looking regal and entirely satisfied. He turned his attention back to the captive.
"Go," Roy ordered. "Leave. Tell your nation what is about to happen to them. Tell them the Thunder Rider is here to teach them exactly how fragile their little kingdom is."
The general scrambled to his feet. He turned and tried to run, but the crushing sovereign pressure of the Convention forced him to move as if wading through deep water. He stumbled toward the edge of the paved road, breached the glowing barrier, and finally vanished into the long, dark grass.
Roy looked up at the hovering drones. "Cut the fake conflict," he instructed, his tone dropping back to a calm, managerial baseline. "I do not want Lynder looking weak on the broadcast."
The red recording lights blinked off. The drones drifted backward to reset their positions.
Lynder slowly stood up and stared at Roy across the asphalt. The ancient elf looked deeply unsettled, his eyes darting between Roy and the spot where the general had just disappeared. "Roy," Lynder said, his voice entirely devoid of humor. "I think I might agree with Rava. I am not quite sure you are who you say you are."
Roy let his head fall back against his chair. His terrifying persona evaporated, leaving nothing behind but pure, unadulterated exhaustion.
"I am not doing this again," Roy groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. "Treat me the way I treat you, and you will be fine."