Monarchs.

In a castle's throne room, sat a man. An old man, re-crowned the Monarch of his country years ago.

In front of him sat two boys, each of them holding books, and a girl with a shield.

"Now, kids, considering what I told you about the bakery's helpers, can you think of a few ways to settle this issue without it escalating to violence?"

The older boy lifted his hand, but a certain maid came into the room.

"Yay, Aunt Mary!" yelled the youngest one, as he dropped the book and ran up to the elderly woman.

The old woman patted the energetic child, smiling, only for the girl to approach. 

The older brother remained seated, deep in thought.

"Maxie, the meeting will start in three minutes. You should go," stated Mary, calmly.

"Understood. Thanks, sister." answered the king, with a gentle, time-worn smile.

"It's nothing," she replied.

And so, he left her in the throne room with the three kids, and two armored guards.

The old man's face turned grim as soon as he left the others' vision field. "… Like father, like son."

… Orwell walked through a few corridors, until he reached a set of stairs. He placed his hand on the wall, creating a peculiarly detailed magic circle, which caused the wall to rumble.

The stones moved, revealing a hidden staircase.

He walked in, closed the "way" again, and went down. As he descended, the Monarch made sure to take two small breaks. Which he took advantage of by catching his breath.

Before the third break was needed, he arrived at a rather dark room. A few scarlet crystals fought against the darkness by illuminating the room rather dimly.

"I'm here."

The gems emanated a crimson glow, illuminating the room broughtly. This allowed six figures to appear, all standing in a circular formation.

"Greetings, Monarch Orwell," stated a bulky man, wearing a set of armor, mostly red in color.

"Monarch Harnold. It is good to see you again."

"Likewise."

One of the figures inquired about the whereabouts of two certain humans, only for Orwell to answer. 

"Unfortunately, the Heads of the houses aren't available. Both of them are currently dealing with some concerning issues."

This convinced the others, which allowed the meeting to start.

Minutes passed, as topics were addressed… Eventually, one of the Monarchs spoke to another one.

"Ahem, Monarch Orwell. A few associates of mine have heard a few rumors involving that new Adventurer of yours. Y'know, the Grade 3 guy…"

Orwell's eyes turned into slits for a fleeting moment, only to face the figure speaking.

A relatively average male, in terms of height, stood upright, dressed with high quality robes. Long, dark hair flowed down the left shoulder, with the right one bearing the blue flag of a certain Kingdom.

"What about him?"

"You know how you sent him to investigate something in a small town, near the outskirts?"

He nodded, and the hologram-like figure spoke again. "Apparently, someone has reported many occurrences of disturbances during his stay. That he has assaulted and threatened to murder multiple unarmed humans…"

Orwell's eyes widened in surprise, while the hologram finished his report with a suggestion.

"Please keep him in check. It'd be a pity if this issue were to escalate to something worse, after all… Especially, considering the effort and resources you must have used in nurturing him…"

Orwell's poker face didn't change, but his thoughts did show concern. Something that remained in his mind, and only there.

"I see… In that case, do you have any suggestions?"

"Actually, yes, I do."

The Monarch almost winced, cursing himself for asking, but the deed was already done.

"You see, they also told me a few things about a hidden deposit in Edelchia… one belonging to Teutonia, that is."

"... I'll keep it in mind."

The meeting continued without much issues, besides that one. 

"Alright. Gentlemen, and lady, given that we've discussed all the relevant points, shall we consider this session to be finished?"

Everyone nodded, except for one person.

"Mister Conteil? As the Head of the Springful Diamonds house, do you have anything to add?" asked Harnold, as he stared at a man with short hair, and a green coat.

"..... I do not, Monarch."

And like that, the reunion came to an end shortly after.

The holograms vanished, leaving Orwell alone in the room.

"... Really, Randall? Not even a month and you're already poking the clans with a stick?"

He let out a dry laugh, as he covered his eyes with one of his palms.

"..... Unfortunately, we can't just wipe them out yet. Especially those from Buried Shovels…"

Buried Shovels.

Orwell's expression darkened with nothing but pure hatred, upon muttering that name.

… That clan was one of the greatest headaches he had to deal with, ever since he had to sit down on the forsaken throne, once again.

And the one problem that he couldn't even eradicate properly, because whenever he had a shot to deal a killing blow, something would happen.

Always.

".... I have to end the war as soon as possible," he muttered to himself, as he reached a wall.

Placing his hand on it, a magic circle appeared.

Ten seconds later, the man walked back to the throne room, and the opening went back to its sealed status.

…

In another land, one of the Heads from the meeting found themselves sitting in a room, surrounded by magical crystals.

His short, brown hair covered his cold gaze, along with one of his dark hands.

Grass and plants sprouted all around the room, extending in irregular patterns. Some acted as mere decoration, while others served as improvements for the few pieces of furniture located in the space.

But a few of them, like the red mushroom the man sat on, were the furniture.

As soon as he got up from the natural chair, he let out a sentence.

"... It really is difficult." 

Taking a peculiar photo out of his pocket, he stared at it.

A few trees and shrubs appeared within the paper frame, acting as the background. The spotlight of the slightly worn-out picture fell on two individuals.

A man with brown hair, and a green coat. Glasses shielded his green eyes, while his arms wrapped themselves around someone's waist.

As for the other one, it was a beast with a body shape that resembled that of a female demon. 

A pair of dark, feathery wings emerged from her uncovered, lavender back, while two arms glued themselves to the man's neck.

One resembled the average demon arm, but the other lacked both fingers and skin, instead having dark scales and a deep purple pincer, instead of a conventional hand.

In the picture, neither of them seemed to pay any mind to her peculiar limb, as both of them almost glued themselves together.

… The man blinked, which snapped him back to reality. The reality where he was the Head of one of the four Great Houses of Weildener.

"We'll meet soon. Definitely," he muttered firmly, as he carefully stored the old picture in his coat.

The same green coat from that day. It was worn down due to time, but he still maintained it quite well.

He let out a sigh, and left the room.