Chapter 117: Wallhack
A murmur swept the hall. Everyone knew of the Silverfury gift: a piercing sight that could read the marrow of a soul, glimpsing what one might become, what choices one might make. Never precise, never perfect — but enough to unmask lies.
Silverfury’s eyes glowed brighter. He swept the chamber once, slowly, and when his gaze settled, some nobles shifted in their seats. Two — a Foxkin and a Ramari, who had been whispering earlier — stiffened visibly.
A voice, nervous but defiant, broke the silence. Lord Thirven of the Boarfolk stood.
"That’s ridiculous. His ’sight’ is a party trick. He never joined the Alliance, never agreed to be a witness. Why should we trust him now?"
Others followed, their voices rising, many of them already steeped in secret cult ties.
"Yes, a hoax!"
"How convenient that a loner shows up just when everyone is suspicious!"
"Master Altan, you cannot—"
The chamber fractured into shouting, some condemning Silverfury, others fearful but uncertain.
Altan’s wings unfurled in a flash, a single beat of wind slamming across the hall. Scrolls burst from tables, flames guttered, and every voice fell silent. His golden eyes glared over them, sharp as blades.
Silverfury’s paw rose. He pointed, slow and steady.
"There. And there. Ten of them. Liars. Cultists of Pentademonica. They specialize utilizing demonic energy."
Gasps erupted. Nobles shouted in outrage, others in denial. The ten named — including the Foxkin Selvarine and the Ramari Marquis Velwool — shot to their feet, faces pale, hands trembling.
"Lies!"
"He’s just picking people at random!"
"This is treachery!"
The uproar swelled until chairs scraped and fists pounded the tables. Then, one of the accused, a Lupen noble with sweat pouring down his brow, if he was gonna captured, they would torture him and his family for days seeking answers. Then he swallowed a dark purple pearl and shouted.
"FOR THE DEMON KING!!"
His body convulsed. Bulges spread across his skin, glowing red as fire built beneath his flesh. Nobles screamed and scrambled from their benches. Before the blast could rip through the hall, one of the Gryphon knights blurred into motion, faster than sight, and conjured a shimmering sphere that swallowed the explosion whole.
The contained blast shook the chamber like thunder. Then the other seven named cultists convulsed in the same way, shrieking their death-cry.
"FOR THE DEMON KING!!"
There were too many of them. The Gryphon guards cut down some with silver spears before detonation, but most ignited. Fire and blood surged across the hall, the force of the explosion was large enough to swallow most of the bystanders alive, but not enough to destroy the entire chamber. Altan himself unfurled his wings, shielding Baron Silverfury within a dome of sky-born force. The blast charred stone and timber, blackened tapestries, and hurled nobles from their seats.
When the flames died, the council hall was a ruin. Dozens of bodies lay lifeless and charred across the hall. The Ursarok nobles survived the blast better than most, their massive frames scarred but standing. Others — Lupen, Ramari, Foxkin, Frogkin nobles and representatives— lay in heaps, burned or broken. The Gryphon knights stood unflinching, their armor singed but unbowed.
Among the survivors was Knight-Commander Urma of Stonehorn Crossing, his fur scorched but his stance unbroken. Near him staggered Lady Ylvima, rushing to her father’s side. Then, in a flash of blue light, another presence arrived. Lady Yulena Silverfury, wife of the Baron, her mane crackling with lightning, eyes like a lion’s burning bright. Her gaze swept the devastation.
"What happened here?"
Knights and retainers surged into the hall behind her. Survivors wept at the sight of kin among the dead. Some Ursarok stooped to carry away their fallen. Others stared at Altan and Silverfury in stunned silence.
Altan turned to the Baron, his wings folding.
"What did you see?"
Silverfury’s golden eyes dimmed, the glow fading to a weary glimmer.
"Pentademonica. They were part of the cult. But just low-level followers. I didn’t see anything about your child’s location... only shadows. Both the cultists and the orcs are working together, they might know the location of your child, master Altan
Altan’s beak clicked, sharp. Then he shook his head once.
"A clue is still a clue."
He spread his wings again, rising into the air. "I will not wait, for these insects to act on my behalf." And with a single beat, he ascended through the shattered ceiling, gone into the skies. Behind him, the council lay in ruins.
Yulena turned to Baron. "What happened here?
Baron said in a low voice staring at the bodies of the former council members, "Pentademonica happened. Master Altan called for my help to find clues among the council members and cultists who may have an idea about the missing gryphon hatchling, rebelled.
In desperation, the cultist members, sacrificed themselves in the name of a demon king, then this."
The smoke had not yet cleared. The once-proud council hall was blackened and broken, its marble pillars cracked, its banners burned to tatters. The cries of the wounded mingled with the low rumble of Ursarok knights pulling bodies from the rubble. The stench of charred flesh and scorched stone clung heavy in the air.
Baron Silverfury stood among the ruin, tall and unyielding, his golden eyes dimmed but still carrying weight. At his side, Yulena’s mane sparked faint with stormlight, and behind them Ylvima helped brace an injured cousin, her own fur streaked with soot.
The great doors groaned open, and a group of elder figures entered — former representatives, men and women who had once held authority in the Alliance and still carried the ears of clans. They stopped short at the sight of the devastation.
Elder Dovrak Ironmuzzle of the Ramari broke the silence first. His voice was sharp, but it trembled at the edges. "Baron Silverfury... what happened here? I left this chamber full of voices, and now I find it full of smoke and corpses. Explain this madness."
Baron Silverfury’s answer was steady. "Master Altan asked me to use my sight. I looked into this hall, and I saw them — liars, cultists, ten in number. I named them. They revealed themselves, just as you all saw. They chose to burn rather than be unmasked."
Dovrak narrowed his eyes, shaking his head slowly. "You expect us to believe that a handful of words made ten nobles destroy themselves? You point, they ignite, and this is proof? How do we know this wasn’t sorcery of your own making? You have never stood with the Alliance before. Why should we trust you now?"
Silverfury did not flinch. "You saw it. I accused them, and they cracked. They shouted for their Demon King and chose death. If this were trickery, would I have risked standing here among you while they exploded like firebombs? If I had lied, would they not still be sitting smugly in their chairs?"
Elder Maelrik Stonehide, an Ursarok noble with his fur darkened by ash, pushed forward with a growl. "I saw it myself. The Baron named them. Their faces broke, their bodies twisted, and they burned us all with their madness. Call it a trick if you wish, but the blast nearly took my head. No illusion does that."
Another elder, Varrin Cloudtail of the Foxkin, wrung his hands nervously. His tail twitched, and his voice came out brittle. "Ten nobles, gone in fire... ten families ruined. Do you understand what this means? If what you say is true, Baron, then the cult has been here for years. Sitting at our tables. Voting in our councils. Gods help us, perhaps shaping our laws."
Silverfury’s golden eyes shifted toward him. "That is the truth. You all lived beside them and did not see. I looked once, and their masks shattered. They were low ranks, pawns only. Their minds were empty of the child, empty of plans. I glimpsed only shadows of orcs crossing their path. Nothing more."
Dovrak jabbed a finger at him. "So you tell us that you can point at our peers, ruin their names, and when they burst into fire you claim victory? And still you offer no lead on the Gryphon’s missing child?"
Silverfury’s voice was low, but each word was heavy. "If they had known where the child was, I would have said it. I found no answer there. But do not mistake their ignorance for innocence. Pentademonica has burrowed into this Alliance. That is what tonight has shown you."
Lord Karvek Frosthide, a younger Ursarok noble streaked with soot, stepped forward. His voice carried clearly over the arguments. "I was here. I saw the cultists rise. If the Baron had not spoken, they would still be sitting among us, plotting who knows what. He did what none of us could — he unmasked them."
Dovrak snapped back. "Or perhaps he provoked them into frenzy with his accusations. Perhaps his meddling destroyed lives that could have been spared."
Karvek snarled. "Spared? You think those creatures beside you would have spared anyone? They screamed for a Demon King while they burned us alive. You would defend that?"
Dovrak’s mouth opened, but no words came.
Maelrik Stonehide raised his heavy paw. "Enough. We all saw it. They died by their own hand. No Ursarok craft, no Foxkin coin, no Ramari trade could fake what we just endured. The Baron’s sight may be feared, but today it saved us."
The chamber grew quieter, though the air was thick with grief and unease.
Baron Silverfury finally spoke again, his tone flat and pragmatic. "You all saw what happened when truth pressed against them. This Alliance is not whole — it is rotten. Pentademonica is here, inside these walls. They will not argue with you. They will not trade with you. They will not be bargained down. They kill, and they will keep killing until you face it."
The words settled like stones dropped into water.
For a long moment, no one answered. Then Varrin Cloudtail lowered his head, his voice breaking. "Then it is true. We are compromised. And if the Gryphons are not answered with results soon... then the Alliance itself will die with us."
Around them, Ursarok knights moved through the wreckage, setting guards at every archway and hauling survivors from the rubble. The council that had begun in pride ended as a wake.
And in the center of it all, Baron Silverfury stood, half-feared, half-vindicated, while the shadow of Pentademonica stretched darker over Hearthglen.