CHAPTER 7 — Neutral Table Fallout
The Neutral Table wasn’t a table so much as a verdict waiting to happen.
Black stone. Pale marble. And a third material that looked like glass but felt like law—the kind that remembered names, measured intent, and punished lies without raising its voice. The air was warded so tightly even breathing felt like signing something you didn’t read.
Neutral scribes sat in a crescent with chained quills and storm-ink. Every time someone shifted, the quills twitched like they were impatient for history to spill. Above the Table, faint symbols drifted in slow orbits—wards that didn’t glow unless they needed to.
King Malphas entered like the room had already wasted his time.
He took his seat without ceremony. Calm. Still. The kind of calm that wasn’t peace—just confidence that nobody in the chamber could afford to blink first.
Malphas exhaled once, barely more than a sigh.
“Speak,” he said. “I have a child to correct… and a problem growing teeth.”
Holy King Aldric Veyne stiffened like the word correct was an insult.
“That,” Aldric said slowly, voice tight, “is how you address the Neutral Table?”
Malphas didn’t even look up.
“This is how I address people who arrive with a plan and pretend it’s a conversation.”
The Neutral Arbiter in mirrored chain tapped a bell.
Clink.
The sound wasn’t loud, but the wards drifted lower anyway—like the ceiling remembered it could crush.
“The Table recognizes all sovereigns,” the arbiter said. “It does not recognize—”
“Save it,” Malphas cut in. “I’m here because your envoy is dead.”
Outrage rippled down the Holy side—knights shifting, clergy whispering prayers like blades being sharpened.
Aldric’s fist hit the Table.
The chamber answered with a low hum—displeased, not surprised.
“You admit it,” Aldric snapped.
“I admit my retainer found him where he didn’t belong,” Malphas said, pointing lazily over his shoulder. “Near a Neutral entrance. Behaving like a thief who learned manners.”
Aunt Sera stood behind him with folded arms. No apology in her posture. No regret in her eyes.
“So she killed him,” Malphas added, like he was finishing a report.
The arbiter’s bell chimed again—sharper.
Clink.
“Envoy-killing is a breach,” the arbiter warned.
Malphas nodded once, the movement small enough to be insulting.
“Then log the breach,” he said. “But log this too.”
He drew a sealed parchment from inside his cloak and placed it on the Table.
The glass-law surface shimmered as it accepted the object. Wards licked around the seal like tongues tasting poison. The scribes’ ink darkened, like it wanted to drink the moment.
“She found this on him,” Malphas said.
His gaze finally lifted—just enough to pin Aldric.
“Explain why your ‘Golden Mouth’ carried a letter meant to be spoken aloud in this chamber.”
The air shifted.
Not wind—authority.
The chamber made space as if law itself stood up.
Light cracked overhead—Neutral, not holy and not demonic—and a figure descended like gravity worked for him.
Boots touched stone without a sound.
Vaelrick.
Even the Holy knights flinched like their bodies remembered the name.
“I will serve as Judge for this session,” Vaelrick said.
Malphas blinked slow.
“Judge,” he repeated. “So you gave the work to your brother.” A thin smile followed. “Scorin has my condolences.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
A couple demons made disciplined noises that were absolutely not laughter. A Neutral scribe’s quill hesitated like it wanted to commit treason.
Vaelrick didn’t react.
“Stop,” he said flatly. “Your daughter is already annoying enough.”
Malphas’s smile didn’t grow.
“So he’s reporting,” Malphas said. “Good. Saves me time.”
Vaelrick’s gaze cooled.
“One more attempt at humor,” he said, “and I’ll rule your mouth a hostile instrument.”
Malphas leaned back, unbothered.
“Then write the ruling neatly.”
The Table hummed, low and displeased—as if it hated confidence.
Vaelrick looked at the letter.
“You will not read that aloud.”
Aldric bristled.
“Why not? If it is harmless—”
“Because this chamber is a contract,” Vaelrick said, voice level. “And I will not allow phrasing to become a weapon.”
A stormglass basin was placed on the Table.
It looked empty until the wards reflected inside it—then you realized it wasn’t normal glass.
It was memory.
Vaelrick slid the letter into the basin without breaking the seal.
“Neutral Witness,” he said.
The basin chimed softly, like a throat clearing before testimony.
With one gesture, the seal unlatched itself—no flame, no force—just law obeying law.
The parchment unfolded in the basin like it wanted to be seen.
Vaelrick read with his eyes.
The Table hummed low.
Unhappy.
“It is framed as a ‘Safety Audit Request,’” Vaelrick said.
The Holy side relaxed too fast.
Malphas didn’t smile.
His calm did something worse than a smile—like he’d just watched someone step on a trap he didn’t even have to set.
Vaelrick continued, voice precise.
“It contains a binding custody clause keyed to this chamber.”
“It requires the subject’s full name and a Neutral invocation that would place a jurisdictional hold over a minor not present.”
Aldric’s face hardened.
“That is standard—”
“It is coercion,” Vaelrick corrected. “And the Table has recorded the intent.”
The scribes resumed writing—faster now, harsher.
You could hear ink scratching like rats in walls.
Malphas finally spoke again, soft as poison.
“You didn’t send peace, Aldric. You sent law with a smile.”
Vaelrick lifted a hand.
“This meeting expands its scope.”
Aldric’s Cardinal surged to his feet.
“You can’t—”
Vaelrick looked at him once.
The Cardinal sat as if his knees remembered gravity.
“I can,” Vaelrick said, calm. “Because this was not negotiation.”
“This was an attempt to trap Neutral Law.”
He turned his gaze back to Aldric.
“And now we speak of summoning.”
Aldric’s eyes flashed.
“That is a holy rite—”
“Don’t recite scripture at me,” Vaelrick said. “I’ve read your rites. I’ve read what you wrote in the margins too.”
A sealed Neutral packet slid onto the Table—black wax, Neutral sigil.
The wax looked colder than the room.
“You have been hunting for a replacement,” Vaelrick said.
Aldric’s jaw tightened.
“For the one you sealed,” Vaelrick added.
Silence answered.
Vaelrick’s voice stayed calm, which made it worse.
“What do you do with the summoned who arrive with shitty blessings?”
The phrase landed ugly. Priests flinched. Knights shifted.
“You call them failures,” Vaelrick said. “You assign them ‘service roles.’ You tell them they’re still useful.”
He paused.
“And then you use them.”
Aldric’s Cardinal protested, fast and practiced.
“We provide shelter—”
“And chains,” Vaelrick finished.
“And the rare ones,” Vaelrick continued, “the ones with special blessings… the makers.”
Aldric’s expression twitched. A tiny tell.
“The ones who can craft artifacts,” Vaelrick said. “Relics. Stabilizers. Scripture-steel. Tools you call gifts.”
He tapped the packet once.
“You force them to produce.”
“Until they break.”
Aldric rose, furious.
“We are at war with Hell—”
“And so you justify slavery,” Vaelrick said flatly.
A Neutral scribe’s quill snapped.
Ink bled into the page like it agreed.
Vaelrick leaned forward, voice low.
“I don’t need to prove it today. I only need to open the record.”
He glanced at the scribes.
“And once the record is open… every Neutral nation will start asking why your ‘holy summons’ looks like a supply chain.”
Malphas murmured, amused.
“Now this is interesting.”
Vaelrick didn’t look at him.
“And don’t get comfortable, Malphas.”
“If they’re abusing summons… and you’ve been exploiting the fallout…”
He paused.
“Then you’re both building your kingdoms on other people’s lives.”
Vaelrick’s gaze snapped to Malphas.
“I heard you cashed in a big deal.”
The Holy side blinked—confused, then alarmed.
Malphas leaned back, casual.
“Yeah. Found something interesting in the Beast Kingdom.”
“The Beast Kingdom?” a cleric hissed.
Aldric stood again, face flushing.
“Are we small-scale to you now? After all these years?”
Malphas’s eyes were calm.
“They matter. Just not to you. Yet.”
Vaelrick’s voice cooled.
“And for once… stop pretending you’re the only monster at the table.”
Aldric’s patience finally snapped.
“This is absurd. These accusations are false.”
“And if Neutral Grounds won’t stop corruption—then the Holy Kingdom will deliver divine punishment.”
He turned like leaving was a verdict.
Malphas spoke softly, perfectly timed.
“Before you go—remember what happened last time you sent that Hero.”
Aldric froze.
Malphas’s calm returned like a blade sliding free.
“We fought until he was basically lifeless.”
Aldric’s jaw clenched. Anger overrode caution.
“Yes. And it proved your hidden ability.”
Neutral scribes paused mid-scratch. Vaelrick’s eyes narrowed a fraction.
Aldric kept going anyway—leaking it like venom.
“When you die, you don’t stay dead. Your core is anchored in Hell.”
“And when you’re pushed past the line…”
He pointed.
“…it drags you back.”
The room chilled.
“You returned ten years old,” Aldric hissed. “A child. Your mind intact. Your body rebuilt.”
His voice sharpened with disgust.
“And ninety percent of your demonic energy—burned—just to reconstruct you.”
Malphas looked pleased.
“Yes,” he said softly. “Cindercore Rebirth.”
Aldric’s eyes flashed.
“And that calamity hero fought you for four days.”
“Four days—long enough the border forgot how to be land.”
Malphas leaned back, relaxed.
“And now, since I’m back with everything returned to me…”
His eyes glinted.
“I can go another round with him again.”
Vaelrick’s voice cracked through the chamber like a gavel.
“Enough.”
The wards flared—law made visible.
The air pressed down, and everyone standing felt their bones remember they were guests here.
“Holy King,” Vaelrick said, cold, “you will not declare punishment here.”
He turned to Malphas without softening.
“And you will not bait him into breaking Neutral jurisdiction just to smile over rubble.”
Vaelrick’s gaze cut both ways.
“This meeting is adjourned.”
“If either of you wants war—do it honestly.”
He paused.
“Don’t hide behind envoys, summons… or children.”
Aldric stormed out.
Neutral wards refused to let the doors slam, which somehow made it worse.
Malphas exhaled, satisfied.
Vaelrick didn’t sit.
“You’re getting ambitious,” he said.
“I’m getting prepared,” Malphas replied.
The Table hummed again.
Not approval.
A warning.
Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a like/follow (and a comment if you have thoughts—feedback helps a lot). As mentioned above, AI is used as a writing assistant, but the creative work and decisions are my own, and I keep draft snapshots for transparency. See you next chapter!
