A palpable silence permeated the throne room after Jack’s declaration regarding Rhys.

’Control your mana,’ Tharaxis’s voice cut through Jack’s consciousness with the precision of a blade. ’You’re killing them. Their nervous systems can’t process this level of electrical density. If you continue, half the chamber will experience cardiac arrest before you finish speaking.’

Jack’s awareness shifted inward for a fraction of a second. The dragon was right. The ozone smell had become so intense that guards and council members were gagging.

The golden lightning beneath his hood was still flickering, still ionizing the air, still pushing every biological entity in the chamber toward the threshold of what their bodies could endure.

He consciously pulled the electrical manifestation inward, reining in the raw power that had been bleeding from his presence like an open wound.

The golden light beneath the hood dimmed. The ozone smell began to fade. The guards’ breathing, which had been on the verge of hyperventilation, began to stabilize.

’Good, control it.’ Tharaxis confirmed, his mental voice carrying approval.

’They are insects at our feet. Obliterate them where they stand.’ Emberion barked. The magma dragon’s presence is far more aggressive than Tharaxis’s. ’Crush them. Show them what happens when kingdoms dare to obstruct your plans.’

Jack’s mental response was immediate and certain.

’No. They’re more useful alive. Especially given what I intend for Rhys.’

The statement hung in the shared consciousness between Jack and his bound dragons. Both creatures understood immediately. Alive, the Elven Kingdom could be leveraged, manipulated, and directed toward purposes that served Jack’s broader strategy. Dead, they were simply ash.

’As you command,’ Emberion acknowledged, though reluctance colored the magma dragon’s mental tone.

King Maelor’s ancient eyes tracked Jack with renewed intensity. The comment about Rhys had landed exactly as intended.

A stone dropped into still water, creating ripples that were just beginning to spread across the surface.

"You claim my son cleared an S-rank dungeon," Maelor stated, his voice emerging measured and controlled. Not a question, but a statement seeking confirmation. "Alone."

"I don’t claim it," Jack replied, his tone matching the King’s precision. "It’s a fact. Rhys entered the Moonwell dungeon. He emerged with the harvested remains of a Disaster-class Dryad. He accomplished what your entire magical establishment would consider impossible."

The moment the words left his mouth, the council members who had been attempting to maintain some semblance of composure erupted.

Six of them began speaking simultaneously, their voices overlapping in a desperate attempt to drown out Jack’s statement with alternative narratives.

"Impossible," one council member, a male with iron-gray hair and eyes that had seen centuries, stated flatly. "Rhys is Rank 300-something. A third-year student. The Academy’s own records confirm he’s been statistically average in all magical disciplines. You’re describing an achievement that contradicts everything we know about his capabilities."

"A statistical anomaly," another added, a female council member with deep wrinkles and a tremor in her voice. "If true, and I stress the conditional, it would suggest either extraordinary circumstances or fabrication. A third-year cannot simply clear what Disaster-class entities guard."

"The bridge," a third council member interjected, desperation bleeding through his words. "You destroyed the bridge. You manifested a dragon and obliterated ten thousand years of construction. Why should we believe anything you say? You’re here to sow discord. This ’achievement’ you describe for the King’s son is designed to create false hope, to manipulate the Crown into making decisions based on lies."

"Yes," a fourth council member added, seizing on this line of argument with visible relief. "This is chaos. Pure chaos dressed as fact. You’re a walking catastrophe claiming the King’s bastard son is somehow powerful enough to accomplish what even our strongest mages would struggle to achieve."

Queen Morvana rose from her throne.

Her commanding demeanor, a physical assertion of authority, redirected the chamber’s attention toward her.

She had regained her composure. The intense emotions she had experienced were now channeled into a more strategic and formidable approach.

"You claim to represent King Eric Valdris," she stated, her voice cutting across the council members’ desperate protestations. "Yet everything about your behavior suggests the opposite. A true emissary would negotiate with grace. Instead, you destroyed our most sacred fortification and now stand in our throne room making inflammatory claims designed to fracture our kingdom from within."

She descended from her throne with grace. She had regained complete control over her situation.

"The ’achievement’ you describe," Morvana continued, her tone becoming almost conversational in its coldness, "requires belief in circumstances that defy everything we understand about magical capability. A half-blood third-year student clearing an S-rank dungeon solo? This isn’t a fact. This is cruelty disguised as information."

She turned to face King Maelor directly, her expression carrying something that might have been pity.

"Your Majesty, this being is here to sow discord. He destroys our bridge, terrorizes our people, and now seeks to manipulate you with false promises about a son you’ve already accepted has... limitations. Why would he do this unless his goal is to destabilize the crown? To create conflict between the throne and the Council? To make you question those closest to you?"

Her voice dropped to almost an intimate level.

"I have spent three centuries protecting you from disappointment. From false hope. From the pain of accepting that your son, despite your love, is not capable of the achievements you might wish for him. And now this... this destroyer stands before you, dangling a fantasy, asking you to believe in something that contradicts everything we know."

Jack’s mental connection with Tharaxis flickered with amusement at the Queen’s performance.

’She’s lying spectacularly,’ the ancient dragon observed. ’I can taste the fabrication. The manipulation beneath the words.’

’Let her continue,’ Jack responded internally. ’She’s playing directly into what needs to happen next.’

King Maelor had gone completely still.

Not the comfortable stillness of a ruler secure in his position, but something else entirely.

His hand had stopped tapping against the throne’s armrest.

His breathing had become shallow and regulated. His aged eyes had narrowed with intense focus as he assimilated the information presented. Specifically, Jack’s assertion regarding Rhys and Morvana’s defensive maneuver.

The cognitive dissonance was visible in the tension that had begun to manifest across his shoulders.

His son. A Rank 300-something failure according to years of Academy reports. Yet this being, this terrifying human who had destroyed the Azure Gate bridge with casual indifference, claimed Rhys had cleared an S-rank dungeon.

One of those statements had to be a lie. The question was which one.

Another council member, one of the six attempting to dismiss Jack’s claim, seized on Morvana’s momentum.

"The Queen speaks truth," he stated, his voice carrying renewed confidence now that Morvana had provided a framework for understanding the situation. "Your Majesty, this is manipulation. A calculated attack designed to create internal conflict. We have been monitoring your son’s progress for 3 years. He is competent but unremarkable. Nothing in his record suggests..."

"Then explain the Dryad core," Jack interrupted, his voice cutting across the council member’s words with absolute finality.

He gestured, and a portal opened directly in front of King Maelor’s throne.

The object that emerged was impossible to deny.