A few hours had passed since Ivan Zakharovic Kozlow's return to Calot, and already the castle grounds were bustling with activity to decorate it appropriately. Preparations were well underway for a monuntal occasion: the marriage between Ivan and Gwenyra Pendragon.
The event had been announced weeks earlier, and the news was projected onto the enormous floating screens scattered across the capital, ensuring no one could miss it. Still, despite the constant reminders, the citizens of Calot found it difficult to accept.
"I can't believe this is happening…"
"Princess Gwenyra… why?"
"She's doing it for us, obviously. Don't be an idiot."
"Yeah, I guess…"
Though many were upset, their anger wasn't directed at Gwenyra. She had beco a symbol of hope, frequently visiting the people and offering them comfort in the wake of their suffering. They believed she had agreed to marry Ivan not out of desire, but out of a sense of duty—to protect her family and her people. And, in truth, they weren't wrong.
Far from blaming her, their admiration for Gwenyra had only grown. In their eyes, she was sacrificing her own happiness for their survival.
One man, watching the screens, clenched his fist in silent anger. "That monster… he doesn't deserve our princess."
"Quiet, you fool!" A nearby worker hissed, quickly covering his friend's mouth. His eyes darted nervously to the streets, scanning for any sign of trouble. Several of Ivan's followers were patrolling the area, taking shifts to guard the city. "Do you want to get yourself killed?"
If Ivan's n had overheard the outburst, the punishnt would have been swift and rciless—execution on the spot.
In just a month, the people of Calot had learned one harsh truth: Ivan was treated as a god by his followers, seen as the chosen ssenger of Seraphiel. His na was spoken with reverence by every soldier in his Legion. They praised him as if he were more than human, a divine force sent to reshape the world.
Few citizens had ever t Ivan in person, but the ones who had were dead—killed when they had tried to resist him. Despite their anger and resentnt, the people of Calot felt powerless. They weren't rebuilding a new city; they were trying to restore their own, the one they had grown up in, though it was Ivan's war that had reduced it to ruins.
Still, they toiled without complaint. It was their city, after all, and they took pride in rebuilding it, even if they loathed the man they now served. Much of their diligence was owed to Gwenyra. Her presence alone lifted their spirits, keeping them from sinking too deeply into despair.
But even with Gwenyra's strength, the people of Calot had already begun to accept their fate. They had fallen into a pit of submission so deep, they no longer entertained the thought of reclaiming their empire. Instead, they worked diligently, quietly, exactly what Siver King, one of Ivan's persona was looking for by sparing Gwenyra's life.
Despite the looming dread many felt about the wedding, the workers in Calot couldn't afford to approach the event with anything less than full dedication. It was, after all, their Princess's wedding—even if the groom was a man they feared and resented. The throne room was undergoing a massive transformation.
Fresh decorations were hung ticulously, and even the wall Kamila had destroyed in her outburst was being carefully repaired. Every move they made was watched closely by Ivan's ever-vigilant guards.
In one of the castle's guest rooms, however, a different kind of tension brewed. Three people were inside: Laura and Jostin, two young mbers of Gevurah, stood towering over a trembling figure on the floor.
That figure was Charlie Dust, a young reporter from the Daily Arcadia, one of the most prestigious news outlets in the entire world of Arcadia. The Daily Arcadia was world-renowned, and despite Arcadia's existence being a secret to most of the population of New Earth, those within the 5% who knew of it followed the newspaper religiously.
Thanks to their articles and high-tech website, they didn't need to physically visit Arcadia to stay inford.
Charlie, one of the top reporters for the Daily Arcadia, had been 'invited'—or rather, swiftly kidnapped—by Ivan's n to cover the live broadcast of this extraordinary event: the wedding between Princess Gwenyra Pendragon of the Holy Britannia Empire and Ivan Zakharovic Kozlow, one of Gevurah's most famous Commanders. The gravity of the event could not be overstated.
It would shake the world, both in Arcadia and on New Earth.
Charlie appeared to be in his early twenties, with ssy brown hair and glasses perched on his nose. Dark circles frad his wide, fearful eyes, though whether his sleeplessness was due to his natural workaholic tendencies or the sheer terror of his current predicant was unclear.
His body shook as he stared up at Laura and Jostin, both of whom wore the black cross of Seraphiel around their necks—a symbol of Gevurah that sent a chill down Charlie's spine. These two, despite their youthful appearances, were anything but ordinary.
Though Laura and Jostin weren't at the level of Gevurah's highest-ranking mbers, their strength was far from negligible. They were terrifying in their own right, despite being teenagers. They could easily rank among the top 20 of Ivan's elite Exorcist academy if they really wanted to, especially in terms of raw power.
"Why are you this pathetic?" Laura grimaced, watching Charlia shiver. The look on her face was one of disappointnt, as if the man before her fell far short of the reputation that preceded him.
Jostin, standing beside her with his arms crossed, seed equally unimpressed. "Aren't you supposed to be one of the top reporters at your company?"
'You kidnapped !'
Charlie wanted to scream, but fear kept him silent.
He cautiously surveyed his surroundings. Despite being a guest room, the space was lavishly decorated, with high-end furniture befitting a royal palace. And now, he was certain of it.
He was in Calot.
Far, far from Prionia.
An entirely different country, in an entirely different continent.
Charlie, though not particularly imposing, was well-inford. Unless soone had been living underground, they would have heard of Britannia's fall to Gevurah's forces, led by Ivan's devastating attack. As a journalist, Charlie had been interested by the events.
Any good reporter would have considered investigating the situation firsthand, but he wasn't eager to put himself in the middle of a warzone.
It had only been a month since the attack. Perhaps in another six months—or a year—he would've made the trip, gathering valuable information and building his na in the field. But not now. Definitely not now.
"W-What do you want from ?" Charlie stamred, his voice shaking with fear.
"The Followers of the Savior are really as dumb as they seem, aren't they?" Laura muttered, irritated.
"Hii!" Charlie flinched again, quickly looking away from the scary woman.
Laura hadn't ant to scare him, but this was the third ti she'd explained things, and his confusion was starting to grate on her nerves.
"You don't need to be afraid," Jostin said, crouching down to et Charlie's gaze. His tone was softer, almost coaxing. "In fact, I think you'll find the job we're offering quite appealing."
With that, Jostin began explaining their proposal. It was a straightforward assignnt, really. All they needed was for him to act as a caraman at a wedding—and in exchange, he could gather any information he wanted for his stories.
Despite his fear, Charlie's eyes lit up with curiosity. As an ambitious journalist on the rise, the offer was tempting, and he couldn't help but swallow hard in anticipation.
They were offering him a treasure, one that could elevate his career.
Jostin and Laura watched in silence, giving Charlie ti to process. They had made their offer, and if he refused, they'd simply dispose of him for wasting their ti and find another journalist to do the job.
Everything about the wedding—the event itself, the paperwork, the information leaks—had been ticulously arranged by Ludmila. She had chosen Charlie specifically, not by chance, but because he served her purpose.
What she wanted was clear.
"Propaganda..." Charlie muttered, this ti looking directly at them, his fear montarily replaced by clarity.
When his mind was fully engaged, he could remain calm, even appear sharp.
"You're planning to use the wedding—the 'happy union' between two factions that couldn't have possibly co together just a month ago—as a way to influence the other nations of the Holy Continent. Maybe even the whole world," Charlie continued, piecing it together aloud. "You want to soften your image. Rebrand yourselves. This is all about... image rehabilitation."
Jostin and Laura exchanged a glance, montarily caught off guard by Charlie's insight.
Charlie stood up, newfound confidence in his posture. "A terrorist standing beside a kind and beautiful bride, forming an alliance, would look a lot less evil in the public's eyes. Of course, it wouldn't work overnight. It would need to happen repeatedly, over ti."
Jostin smiled, genuinely impressed. "Not bad. You're not as clueless as you first seed. Now that you understand, it makes things easier. We want you to use your best skills, give it your all, and make this what you called it—image rehabilitation."
"Do you understand, four-eyes?" Laura snapped with a glare.
"F-Four eyes?" Charlie stamred.
"Do you understand or not?!"
"Y-Yes!" Charlie blurted, his earlier courage no more there.
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