As soon as King Varyndor took his place at the head of the long, ornate table, his voice carried through the chamber with steady authority.

"Gentlemen, today we welcome a guest and representative of the Demon Kingdom—Kaedros."

The…. Ironclad Warlord

With a slow, deliberate motion,

The doors creaked open.

A deep, resounding echo filled the chamber as Kaedros, the Ironclad Warlord, entered. Each step of his heavy boots against the marble floor felt like a war drum, a foreboding rhythm that set the tone for the room. His black, iron-plated armor gleamed menacingly under the grand chandelier's glow, catching the light in sharp, intimidating angles. The helmet he wore was adorned with intricate, demonic engravings, and though his face was obscured, his presence alone carried the weight of raw power.

Poll Nightvale—seated among nobles, war strategists, and high-ranking officials—watched the demon warlord with quiet intrigue. His sharp, observant eyes widened just slightly.

So this is Kaedros, huh?

Even from across the room, Poll could feel the pressure the warlord exuded, as if the air itself had thickened.

He looks like he could bench-press a mountain.

Despite himself, a twinge of excitement stirred in Poll’s chest.

Kaedros scanned the room with a controlled, calculating gaze, his attention lingering on Poll for only a fraction of a second before moving on. The flicker of acknowledgement was brief, but enough to leave an impression.

Once the demon had taken his place, the king continued.

"Kaedros will represent the Demon Kingdom in our negotiations."

Kaedros gave a respectful nod, his deep, gravelly voice reverberating through the chamber.

"I am here to ensure these discussions are conducted with honor and to safeguard the interests of both our realms."

The meeting proceeded with formal introductions. Each noble, minister, and military officer stood, stating their name and title with the usual measured grace expected of high-ranking officials. The atmosphere remained stiff—each word careful, deliberate.

As if everyone had collectively forgotten that, in this highly confidential room…

There was a kid.

Then,

          One of the men further down the table rose, bowing slightly before speaking. His tone was polite, yet laced with subtle curiosity.

"Your Majesty, forgive my interruption, but I must ask—who is this boy?"

He gestured towards Poll, his gaze narrowing slightly.

"He seems… important, yet I do not recall ever seeing him at such gatherings."

A pause.

Silence stretched across the chamber like a drawn bowstring.

Poll could feel every eye turn toward him.

King Varyndor’s expression flickered with brief confusion.

Poll’s father, Eryndor, seated nearby, felt a single bead of sweat slide down his temple.

...Oh.

This might be a problem.

Eryndor had brought his son to what was supposed to be a highly confidential diplomatic meeting, and now, all attention was fixed on Poll.

The tension in the air was almost palpable.

Eryndor, ever the statesman, kept his posture firm and composed. Yet, he did not speak, choosing instead to wait. To see how his son would handle this moment.

And, without missing a beat, Poll rose from his chair.

His movements were measured, his face calm.

Then, he spoke.

"I must apologize for not introducing myself earlier," he said, his tone composed, yet light, carrying just the right amount of confidence.

He offered a small, polite smile.

"I am Poll Nightvale."

The name landed in the room like a well-placed chess piece.

He continued, his voice smooth and articulate.

"I must commend those responsible for preparing these documents."****" He gestured slightly toward the neatly arranged papers before him. "This meeting is of the utmost importance—not only in terms of political and economic discussions but also regarding military structure and, most crucially, the relationship between our two kingdoms."

His words were precise. Sharp.

A boy in a room full of high-ranking officials, yet he spoke with a presence that demanded their attention.

"As we all know, corruption is a serious threat," he continued, his gaze meeting those of the attendees. "A force that endangers both our people and the Demon Kingdom alike. That is why I am here—to observe these discussions and the decisions that will shape the future of our nations."

The atmosphere in the room shifted.

Poll could feel it.

He had seized control of the narrative.

His presence, which had been a point of confusion just moments ago, now carried weight.

"If anyone has any questions for me, feel free to ask," he finished, bowing his head slightly. "Now, please—continue the meeting."

Then, with complete composure, Poll sat back down.

For a moment, the room remained silent.

Every official, every noble present seemed to process what had just happened.

A mere boy—Poll Nightvale—had spoken with a clarity and confidence that some of them, despite their years of experience, struggled to match.

Even Kaedros, the Ironclad Warlord, regarded him with newfound curiosity.

King Varyndor, having observed the entire exchange, exhaled slightly.

Then, something clicked in his mind.

...Nightvale.

The weight of the surname settled in his thoughts.

"I understand your concerns, Poll Nightvale," the king said, his tone measured and controlled. "You have given us much to consider. However, there are matters at hand that require your attention elsewhere."

His gaze locked onto Poll’s—steady, unreadable. Yet beneath the royal composure lay something unspoken. A test. A quiet warning.

"For now, I believe You’ve made your point."

A pause. Just long enough to make the meaning clear.

Now you can leave.

He nodded, standing up once more with the same composure as before.

"Of course, Your Majesty," he said, bowing respectfully.

And yet…

Just as he reached the door, he paused.

Poll couldn't resist one last parting shot

Turning slightly,

he glanced back over his shoulder and added—

"Oh, and Your Majesty?"

A slight, effortless smile graced his lips.

"I would appreciate receiving a summary of the meeting in theory papers. For my personal study, of course."

His tone was light. Almost casual.

Then, without another word, he stepped out.

The heavy doors closed behind him with a soft but decisive thud.

Inside the chamber, the silence stretched once again.

The assembled officials exchanged glances.

Even the demon warlord, Kaedros, sat still for a moment, deep in thought.

Who was this boy?

Poll Nightvale.

A name now etched into the minds of every person present.

Though the meeting continued, the impact of his presence lingered.

Outside the chamber,

Poll walked down the grand hallway, his expression unreadable.

But inside?

Pure panic.

What did I just do?

His mind reeled.

I spoke to the king like that… I might have just sealed my fate. The king is definitely going to order my execution.

His steps remained steady, but inside, his thoughts spiraled.

That was reckless! Why did I act like I belonged in that meeting?! What should I do now?!

Poll exhaled slowly. Maybe I should run away... No, that would make things worse. Maybe the King won't take it seriously? He gulped. Who am I kidding?

Think, Poll.

I need a plan. I'll talk to Father. Maybe he can fix this....

But then…

Naa….

I’ll fix this myself. He clenched his fists slightly

And with that, he kept walking.

Toward whatever came next.

***