The capital was still healing from the archmage's attack. She still wore the wounds of it, multiple buildings reduced to rubble, their remains yet to be cleared. Mages were incredibly powerful, archmages moreso, but even they were no match for ten seasoned cultivators. The threat had been contained and destroyed, but it would not be the last of Combec's infiltration. If one mage could wear the skin of a powerful figure like Maekin and blend in so convincingly, who was to say there were not others already inside the kingdom, giving the king counsel while he suspected nothing?
King Astadan lay on his bed, unclothed, with several bodies sprawled around him. Angelic bodies whose sole purpose was to satisfy the king's appetite. His harem. It was morning, and the royal rooster had crowed more than once, pulling him from his sleep. He rose from the rest of them and walked to his window, yawning into the back of his hand.
