Location: Myriad Realms, Yellow Plains, Freedom Fighter's headquarters.
"Henricks, I thought you were smarter than to trust the Southern Princess again," the fake Baylor sighed, shaking his head as if Henricks had let him down. His tone was thick with disappointment, like a teacher chastising a student who should have known better.
Then, turning his attention to the other demigods at the table, he continued, his voice carrying a knowing edge.
"If there's one thing I know about women, it's that they hold grudges—deep ones. And that goes double for powerful ones like the Southern Princess. You all remember what she did to Gainover. The poor guy had no choice but to flee to the Northern Royal Family, while his second wife and her entire family were wiped out."
He let that sink in for a moment before leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping just enough to force them to listen closer.
"She will never forgive you for stealing from her. She made that clear when she was willing to throw away the Silver Beach Dungeon and the dungeon relocation apparatus—just to get back at you. Now, I don't know how you managed to weasel your way back into her good graces, but are you really sure you can trust her? She's proven time and again that common interests aren't enough to erase old grudges."
His gaze swept over the table, his sharp eyes locking onto each demigod in turn before finally settling on Luna. He lingered there, sensing the tension, the unresolved bitterness.
"How sure are you that the 'safe passage' she's offering isn't just another trap?" He shrugged, voice almost casual. "I'm not saying it is… but are you really willing to take that risk?"
The room grew heavy with silence.
The fake Baylor smirked inwardly. His job was simple: get the Freedom Fighters to abandon their desperate crawl back to the Southern Princess and instead, turn to his master. And judging by the looks on their faces, doubt was already starting to take root.
"Is that it?" Henricks asked the fake Baylor coldly. Glancing over all his captains, he pulled the head chair back and announced, "Since you guys are too shy and chicken to introduce yourself, let me introduce you to the new leader of the Freedom Fighters, Dalton Wyatt."
Wyatt slowly walked and took his seat on the head chair under the astonished gazes of everyone present while Henricks stood behind as if his butler. Looking at the dumbfounded fake Baylor, Wyatt smirked muttering, "Interesting," resting his hands on the round table, instantly drawing everyone's attention. His gaze locked onto the robed figure, his eyes narrowing with sharp intensity.
Then, without warning, he uttered, "Celestial Blood Rule Domain."
A deep crimson hue washed over the entire meeting hall, consuming everything within it. The air grew thick with an oppressive energy, pressing down on those present like an unseen weight.
"Henricks, what's the meaning of this?" Blair demanded, rising from her seat. Her glare burned into Wyatt, but she also flicked a glance at Henricks from the corner of her eye, waiting for him to answer her. To her shock, he didn't intervene with Wyatt's action. When he finally spoke, his voice was firm and unwavering, "Sit down, Blair. Let the leader finish."
Blair stiffened. For a moment, she held his gaze, frustration flashing in her eyes. But seeing no room for argument, she clenched her jaw and reluctantly lowered herself back into her seat, feeling wronged.
Wyatt, however, paid no mind to the tension of others on the round table. His focus never wavered from the robed figure as he spoke, his voice laced with something between curiosity and amusement, "What name do you go by now? Sansa Baylor? Or perhaps Professor Sansa Orian? Or would you prefer… the Matron?"
With the shocking revelation, a cold silence settled over the room. Eyes darted toward the robed figure in alarm, disbelief flashing across the gathered Freedom Fighters' faces. Wyatt's words had sent a ripple of unease through them, a tension that thickened the air. They were both mortified and relieved. Mortified that the infamous Matron was amidst them while relieved that Luna wasn't behind Ned's disappearance.
However, the robed figure stood motionless—unbothered, unaffected. Even the fake Baylor, seated before them, remained eerily calm, as if none of this concerned him in the slightest.
Henricks, despite all his years of experience, felt a chill creep down his spine. His brows furrowed as he glanced at Wyatt from behind and asked the only question that mattered at that moment, "Are you sure?"
"Hundred." Wyatt asserted without hesitation. His lips curled into a sneer as he turned to the robed figure and grudgingly asked, "How do you want to die?"
The fake Baylor rose from his seat without a word. His robed companion stepped forward, smoothly taking his place while he moved to stand behind them. Settling comfortably into the stone chair, the figure finally pulled back the hood and lowered lowered the face mask, revealing a cascade of wild golden hair framing a perfectly symmetrical face with unrealistically beautiful features, it seemed like an master piece.
Though she had a gentle and soft smile on her face the manic light in her eyes sent a shiver through the gathered demigods. None of them dared to underestimate her. Her gaze flicked toward Wyatt, studying him with an unsettling intensity before she finally spoke, "Your eyes… they look just like Ellen's—"
"Keep my mother's name out of your mouth." Wyatt's voice was cold, edged with steel. Without looking away, he gave a subtle signal to Henricks.
Henricks didn't hesitate and activated his origin card. A space gate flared open behind him, and with a smooth, practiced motion, he stepped back entering it. The space gate closed sending him from the Yellow Plains straight to Lil Red Storm.
As the gate sealed shut, Sansa—unfazed—let out a small, almost amused sigh.
"Don't worry," she said nonchalantly, "even I'm repulsed just thinking of her name. If it were up to me, I'd erase her from the entire Card World's memory."