Re:Crafting in Another World
Chapter 128: Never ending chaos

Chapter 128: Never ending chaos

The grand throne room of Sturgon was quiet, but the air was thick with tension.

Mandira knelt on the cold marble floor, her head lowered in respect. Before her, King Soris Sturgon sat mightily upon his obsidian-carved throne, eyes sharp with judgment. His crimson cape flowed down the sides like a river of blood. The councilmen flanked him on either side, whispering in hushed tones.

"You disappoint me, Archmage Mandira," Soris said slowly, his voice as cold as the stones beneath her knees. "You were in charge of the situation at the dungeon. Yet here we are. No Sir Juno. No Shennong. And dungeons opening across the kingdom like weeds in spring."

Mandira lifted her head slightly, surprised by the king’s opening remarks. But what startled her more was what hadn’t been said yet.

"Your Majesty," she began carefully,

"Don’t give me what if answers, sister. Listen to me!" Soris cut her off while calling her sister after a long time. "Which brings me to the point of this council. We’re not here to question rumors or fairytales. We are here to ask: Where is Sir Juno? And what happened to Shennong?"

Mandira took a breath.

"I was observing from a distance," she said. "Sir Juno entered the dungeon of his own will. He intended to face Shennong directly."

The king leaned forward.

"And?"

"And... as Shennong warned, there was a dark presence around Sir Juno. Not just magical corruption, but something deeper—something bound to his sword."

"The sword," one of the councilmen muttered. "Again that cursed blade."

Mandira nodded gravely. "It’s likely that, right now, Sir Juno is either fighting Shennong—or battling that entity."

A ripple of murmurs ran through the room.

"But," she added, "this isn’t just about Shennong anymore. That sword is not ordinary. It’s a vessel for something ancient and dangerous."

The heavy doors opened behind her with a groan.

Footsteps echoed across the hall.

A tall man with short blond hair, sharp eyes, and a noble air strode in. His expression was stiff, his face pale. Duke Marciel, the younger brother of Sir Juno.

"Apologies for the delay, Your Majesty," Marciel said, bowing deeply. "I came as soon as I received your summons."

Soris didn’t acknowledge the bow.

"You are here to answer for your brother," he said flatly. "You’re also here because you, Duke Marciel, were in possession of a sword that fits the description of Ebonfang."

Marciel blinked. "What?"

The king gestured to a guard, who stepped forward with a long, black-bladed sword wrapped in enchanted cloth. He unwrapped it slowly.

Gasps echoed through the chamber.

The blade shimmered with a faint, sickly aura, runes etched deep into its spine. Its hilt was unmistakable—curved like the jaw of a beast.

"This," the king said, "matches every record we have of Ebonfang. Every sketch. Every description. So tell me, Duke Marciel—how is it that your brother, Sir Juno, has a blade that looks nothing like this, yet calls it the same name?"

Marciel stood still, his lips parted in confusion.

"This is the sword my father gave me," he said at last. "He said it was strong. I thought it was a family heirloom—a powerful but normal sword. I didn’t think it was Ebonfang."

The council broke into murmurs again.

King Soris studied him.

"I’ve known you for years, Duke Marciel. I do not doubt your words. I know that this sword has been in your possession since your knighthood ceremony."

Marciel gave a small nod. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Then what does that make the sword Juno wields?" Soris asked coldly. "What did your brother find? Or... what found him?"

Mandira stepped in again. "That blade... isn’t just cursed. It may be a fake Ebonfang, or worse—something designed to mimic and amplify darkness. A parasite of legends."

The king rose from his throne, his cloak falling behind him like a storm cloud.

"Enough," he declared. "The time given to Sir Juno is over. I hereby declare both Sir Juno and Shennong to be fugitives of the crown. They will be captured—alive—and brought before me."

Mandira lowered her head again. She had expected this.

"Understood, Your Majesty."

"But this doesn’t end there," Soris continued. "You mentioned a dark entity within the sword. A threat larger than man. Then why—tell me, Archmage—why haven’t you called for aid from the Mage Garden?"

Mandira hesitated. "Because... they don’t usually involve themselves in matters of mortal nations."

The king narrowed his eyes.

"I didn’t ask what they usually do."

Mandira bit her lip. Then said quietly, "This is bigger than politics, I admit. They will come. Eventually."

Soris let out a long sigh.

"Eventually," he repeated bitterly. "But how many will die until then?"

He turned, his boots echoing as he stepped down from the dais.

"I will not sit on a throne while monsters crawl from the ground and knights lose their minds to cursed blades. I will go to the dungeon myself."

Gasps erupted. One of the older councilmen stood up.

"Your Majesty, please reconsider—!"

But Soris raised a hand.

"I’ve decided."

He turned to the tall, armor-clad knight standing near the left pillar—Adrian, temporary commander of both Order One and Two. His face was stoic, a scar running down one cheek.

"Adrian," Soris said. "Make the preparations. I want a full escort ready within the hour."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Adrian bowed.

"Mandira," Soris said without looking at her. "You will accompany me. You’re the only one who’s studied this dungeon up close."

Mandira rose to her feet.

"As you command."

Soris began walking toward the doors.

"And bring the sword," he added. "If the original Ebonfang is here, I want it with me. Let’s see if its presence provokes the one Juno carries."

The guard rewrapped the blade in glowing seals and handed it to another knight.

Marciel stepped forward hesitantly.

"Your Majesty... I’d like to come too. If my brother is truly lost, then I must see it with my own eyes."

Soris paused, then looked over his shoulder.

"If you come," he said slowly, "you do so as a brother, not a duke. The battlefield does not respect titles."

Marciel nodded firmly. "Understood."

Mandira walked beside the king as they exited the throne room.

"Do you truly believe Sir Juno is beyond saving?" Soris asked, voice low now that the chamber was behind them.

"I don’t know," Mandira admitted. "The man I knew would never fall to such madness. But whatever is inside that sword... it’s feeding on him. Shennong tried to warn us."

"Do you trust this Shennong even though he killed our soliders?"

"I trust that he’s not lying," she said. "But he has his own goals so I have no reason to trust him. But I belive we can focus on two threats at the same time rather than ignoring one."

"Then we must see it for ourselves," Soris said grimly.

The doors to the outer halls opened.

Outside, soldiers were already gathering, loading wagons, preparing mounts, and sealing magical scrolls.

The sky above was overcast.

And in the far distance, where the dungeon pulsed like a heartbeat beneath the earth...

Something stirred.

***

Princess Maria paced left and right in her mansion hall, her boots clacking sharply against the polished floor. Her brows were furrowed, lips tight with frustration.

"Your Highness," one of her female guards finally spoke up, worried. "Is something the matter?"

"Where is Mandira?" Maria snapped, her cape swishing behind her. "Why hasn’t she returned yet?"

The guard straightened. "Archmage Mandira is currently at the royal castle, Your Highness. She’s meeting with King Soris to discuss the current threat and—"

"And?" Maria’s eyes narrowed.

"There are immediate orders from the Empire. They request your return. For your safety."

"No!" Maria barked without a second of hesitation. "I’m not going back yet."

The guards exchanged uneasy glances.

Maria turned, fire in her eyes. "One of you—send a messenger to my father. Tell him exactly what I say. If I know the Emperor, he’ll hold those orders the moment he hears my reasons."

She grabbed a piece of parchment and quickly scribbled a message, sealing it with her crest. "And get the horses ready. I have someone I need to see."

"But, Princess—!" the guard tried to object.

"I gave you an order!" Maria shouted, her voice sharp like a drawn blade. "You are under me. Do what I say!"

The guards hesitated, then bowed reluctantly. "Yes, Your Highness."

Moments later, Maria emerged in full plate armor, her long blonde hair tied behind her. She carried her sword at her waist, her expression grim and determined.

But as she stepped out of the mansion gates, her face twisted with frustration.

Several units of the Order stood there, armored and silent, blocking the entrance.

"Tch..." she ground her teeth. "This is... troubling."

She tightened her grip on her sword. "So you won’t let me go out either, huh..."

Meanwhile, in the heart of an ancient sanctuary, Shennong stood with his arms folded, watching Cassandra and Christina.

Cassandra was already relaxed in the main room, lounging comfortably like it was her own home.

Christina, on the other hand, was quiet. Distant. Her usual fire around Shennong had dulled into wary silence.

Cassandra glanced at the crystal walls, then back at him. "So... how are things going outside?"

Shennong smirked. "The fire’s already burning. Everything’s moving faster than I expected."

"You say that so casually," Cassandra muttered.

"I already won," he said simply. "Now it’s just a matter of seeing what I can take from Juno... or whatever monster is sealed inside his sword."

Cassandra’s eyes widened. "You... won? You actually beat him? The strongest knight of the Principality?"

"I told you I would," Shennong replied calmly. "And I told you—you’ll get everything you deserve."

Cassandra stared at him for a second longer, then suddenly stepped forward and hugged him tightly.

Shennong stiffened in surprise.

"That’s not what I’m worried about, idiot," she whispered. "It’s your life I care about..."

He didn’t say anything.

But his hand rose slowly and rested on her back.