Chapter 1535: Narrative Warfare

’Ping.’

The sound was soft, almost trivial, yet it cut cleanly through the low hum of the room.

Fredhardt glanced down at his phone. For a heartbeat, his face remained impassive, then the corner of his mouth lifted, a knowing smile slowly curving into place. He turned toward Lucas, who sat across the table, shoulders squared, eyes locked onto a stack of reports as if the pages might confess something under sufficient scrutiny.

"They managed to get out," Fredhardt said lightly.

Lucas paused. The report lowered in his hands, and with it, some of the tension drained from his face. He leaned back into his chair, exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

"That’s good," he said. Relief softened his voice. "Very good."

Fredhardt’s smile didn’t fade. If anything, it sharpened, edged with quiet intrigue. "And the information they obtained..." He tilted his head slightly. "It’s more than I expected."

Lucas’s brows rose. "Oh?"

"Thomas should have received it by now as well," Fredhardt added.

A low chuckle escaped Lucas. "Then he must be drowning in work at this very moment."

Fredhardt laughed, the sound brief but genuine. "Well, it’s not easy filling the shoes Jay left behind as N.I.M.S. Director."

"No," Lucas agreed. "It really isn’t."

After the Dark Ages War ended, Jay briefly took over as Director of N.I.M.S. (the National Institute of Magic and Science) to oversee the facility’s reconstruction. Under Jay’s supervision, ruined wings were rebuilt, lost archives restored, and new foundations laid.

He personally recruited brilliant thinkers from both the Creators and the Gifted, drawing together minds that could bridge magic and science under one roof.

Once N.I.M.S. had stabilized, Jay handed the position over to Thomas Ackerson, a man seasoned by years of service as Dorian’s assistant, the previous Archknight. In Jay’s eyes, there was no one more suitable.

With the institute in capable hands, Jay returned to his real job, which is to control the flow of digital information that connected to Harland and the Lucients’ family.

Though till this day he still retained the title of Chief Scientific Officer (CSO), however, most operational authority was delegated to Thomas Ackerson, but when it came to sensitive matters that would affect the King’s well-being, Thomas would still turn to Jay’s direct guidance and approval.

Then, suddenly, a sharp knock sounded at the door. Before either of them could respond, it opened, and Fargo strode in with long, urgent steps. He reached for the remote on the table without ceremony.

"Apologies for the interruption, Your Majesty," Fargo said, already turning toward the screen. "But you need to see this."

The lights dimmed as the display flared to life. Then came a news footage filled the room, smoke-stained skies, shattered streets, emergency sirens wailing in the background. The headline scrolled relentlessly beneath the image.

HAVOC IN BLACKRIDGED

The anchor’s voice remained grave as she spoke of explosions, casualties, and spreading chaos. Authorities were already labeling it a terrorist attack. Preliminary reports pointed toward the same group responsible for the assault on the Saintess and Alexander Behrenn.

Then the broadcast shifted.

The anchor straightened, her tone turning brisk, almost eager, as footage of burning structures and shattered steel filled the screen.

"Late last night," she said, "we received reports of a major attack on the Blackridged area, the site of Zenon’s largest ongoing development project. According to the latest information, a group of terrorists successfully infiltrated Blackridged and destroyed the entire district."

Images flickered past, emergency crews moving through smoke, collapsed frameworks, flashing red and blue lights reflected in broken glass.

"What remains unclear," the anchor continued, "is the motive behind the attack on Blackridged. The project was intended to be a luxury commercial, business, and convention hub, with no known ties to political or military interests.

This raises the question of why terrorists would target such a location. However, as of this moment, we have received no official statement from Blackridged’s governing authority."

"Well," Fargo said cynically, "if other countries knew what they were concocting inside that place, no one would stay quiet."

Fredhardt let out a low, humorless scoff. The corner of his mouth twisted into a cold sneer. "Let’s see how Theodore plans to bury this one."

Lucas’s gaze remained fixed on the screen. "Keep the news trending," he said evenly. "I want the entire world watching."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Fredhardt replied with a courteous incline of his head.

All of a sudden, the broadcast shifted once more.

"—Oh, we’ve just received new footage," the anchor announced, her voice tightening, "showing one of the terrorists involved in the attack on the Luxemborough soldiers."

The screen flared to life with footage captured in the dead of night.

Zhao Li Xin appeared suspended in the air, a lone figure against the darkness. In his hands burned Crimson Lightning, the legendary blade radiating a violent red glow.

With each swing, arcs of energy tore through the sky, slicing cleanly through helicopters and aircraft alike. Metal parted as if it were nothing more than softened butter, rotors shearing away, fuselages splitting open. One by one, the aircraft spiraled downward, swallowed by fire as they vanished into the city below.

When the anchor spoke again, her voice was no longer steady. It trembled, caught between fervor and dread.

"Authorities have confirmed that the perpetrators are Gifted individuals," the anchor said, her voice measured, "though it remains unclear which group they belong to." Even as she spoke, her phrasing subtly reinforced the familiar refrain—the danger posed by the Gifted if left unchecked and unsupervised.

The screen shifted to a panel of commentators.

They spoke at length about the necessity of regulation, emphasizing public safety, accountability, and the risks posed by exceptionally powerful Gifted like the one shown in the footage. The language was careful, clinical, yet the implication was unmistakable.

"It seems they found the way to bury the story," Fredhardt sneered coldly.

"They’ve redirected the story," Fargo said, eyes fixed on the screen, his expression darkening. "From whatever they were hiding inside Blackridged... to the Gifted people themselves."

"That cunning old man, they want to kill two birds with one stone, no, three birds..." Lucas murmured. His fingers rested against his chin as his gaze sharpened. "Not only did he manage to divert public attention away from Blackridged, but he shifted the blame onto the Gifted people, so when the truth about M.A.D.D. comes out, no one will oppose it..."

Fredhardt’s jaw tightened. "Heck, they might even support it."

"...And if we opposed it, they will turn the public against us," Fargo added, frustration weighing down his voice.

Harland was ruled by the most powerful Gifted bloodline in existence, the Lucient family. It was also the largest nation to openly shelter Gifted individuals as citizens rather than assets or weapons.

If hostility toward the Gifted continued to spread, it would not scatter aimlessly. It would be deliberately steered to aim at Harland first, and more precisely at the Lucient family. Political rivals and foreign powers would exploit the fear, recasting the Lucients not as protectors, but as symbols of unchecked power.

Under the guise of public safety, they would push sanctions, oversight, and intervention, all while framing Harland as a kingdom incapable of controlling its own people.

In the end, the attack would not be against the Gifted alone. It would be against Harland’s sovereignty itself.

"Make it four birds then," Lucas smiled wryly.

"We can’t let this narrative go on," Fredhardt said sharply. "If it does, it will divide our people."

Harland was built on a fragile but deliberate ideal, a safe haven created by the Lucient family where the ordinary, the Gifted, and the Creators lived side by side in hard-won harmony. That diversity was not an accident; it was the very reason Harland existed. And they would not allow anything to fracture it.

Lucas contemplated for a moment before he spoke, "We turn the narrative back to Luxemborough," Lucas said decisively. "We can’t reveal the truth yet, but we can make people question the official story. Stir the scandal surrounding the unexplained operation, and deaths there, bring up the old case, including what happened to the Samuel family. Let the conspiracy theorist circles latch onto it."

The words came out clean and controlled, yet his brows knit for a brief moment, a small fracture in his composure.

The truth was, Lucas harbored conflicted feelings about such people. They were erratic, often delusional; occasionally, they stumbled onto something real, but more often they were so consumed by their own fabrications that they failed to recognize the truth even when it stood plainly before them.

Nevertheless, they were useful. Like silt churned up from the riverbed, conspiracy theorists had a way of clouding the water, perfect for moments like this.

Fargo let out a low chuckle. "Conspiracy theorists, huh? That should be interesting."

Lucas exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Anyway, we need the public to remember that coexistence between the Gifted and everyone else has never been the problem, not now, not in all these years."

"I understand, Your majesty," Fredhardt said. "I think I already have a few ideas." He pulled out his phone and began typing, fingers moving quickly.

Fargo continued staring at the screen, his brows slowly knitting together. "By the way, we also need to protect Zhao Li Xin’s identity. Fortunately, he wore a mask during the fight. If his face had been exposed..." He trailed off, the implication grim. "There’s no telling how they’d twist the story around him."

Until Zhao Li Xin publicly revealed himself as Lory’s husband, nothing could be allowed to tarnish his reputation. Not because they cared, but because others would. After all, Lory was the First Princess of the Kingdom of Harland and the heir of the Lucient line. Her spouse, by expectation if not by law, had to be beyond reproach, for both their sakes.

Thus, the duty of safeguarding Zhao Li Xin’s image and that of the Lucient family as a whole fell squarely within the Archknights’. It was not a responsibility Fargo or the others dared to take lightly, especially with so many secrets surrounding Zhao Li Xin that had to remain buried.

"Yeah. Especially now," Fredhardt said in agreement. "With the enemy’s eyes turning toward us, the public is going to scrutinize the Lucient family more than ever."

Lucas tapped his fingers lightly against the table. "Take every precaution to conceal Zhao Li Xin’s identity. Make the public believe he’s still in Harland, preparing for his next exhibition, working on a painting, whatever is necessary. And if the enemy grows suspicious..."

"Then let the enemy think he’s one of ours," Fargo said, a faint, knowing smirk on his lips. "A Noxcra operative will suit him perfectly."

Lucas gave a slow, approving nod. "Very well. I leave that job to you, Fargy."