Pelzerin stood in the center of the hall, his face dark as he stared down at the crimson carpet beneath his feet.
"Pelzerin? I think we *owe* you a debt of gratitude for everything you've done for House Byrd."
A cold, sneering voice cut through the air, dripping with undisguised mockery.
"Thank you—thank you for making our noble house the laughingstock of the entire realm. I think you ought to go outside and listen to what the other nobles are saying about us. Oh, but perhaps you don't need to listen. Just know this: you have brought shame upon House Byrd in ways we never thought possible!"
*CRASH!*
A golden wine goblet was hurled violently to the floor. The rich red liquid inside splattered across the carpet, blending seamlessly with its color, while the delicate, elegant cup itself dented and cracked upon impact. A priceless work of art lay ruined—but to the assembled nobles, this was a trivial matter, utterly insignificant compared to the damage done to their family's honor.
"What have you to say for yourself?!"
The voice suddenly exploded with rage.
"Do you remember what you told me before you left? Do you?! You said you would wipe out the bandits—to boost our family's prestige with the Merchant Guild, to show those who eye our lands greedily that we have ties to the Pale Eagles, the kingdom's finest elite unit! You *promised* me that after crushing those petty outlaws, we could expand the power of our dear ally, Daros! Do you remember these words?!"
"I remember," Pelzerin ground out through clenched teeth, his fists balled tightly at his sides. He could feel the eyes of the others upon him—eyes filled with scorn and derision. The humiliation burned like fire in his veins. He was Pelzerin! The pride of House Byrd! He was meant to stand amid flowers and applause, not be dragged before this damned hall like a lowly criminal to be judged! Holy Light, why him? Why did *he* have to be the one to suffer this cursed misfortune?!
"And now?!"
The voice paused, then softened—ever so slightly.
"Now, our bandit-hunting campaign has ended in utter failure. Listen to what the nobles are whispering: 'Ah, the great and glorious House Byrd spent a fortune hiring one of the kingdom's most powerful legions… to chase after bandits that no longer exist! They took those soldiers tramping through the forest for a *picnic*! Holy Light, if they wanted to curry favor with the Pale Eagles, they'd have been better off inviting them to a feast and sending over a few pretty maidens than this idiotic scheme!'"
Pelzerin bit down so hard on his lip he tasted blood, saying nothing. Those mocking words were like a thousand sharpened blades, slicing into his flesh and leaving wounds that burned with a searing, unforgettable pain.
"House Byrd has been humiliated beyond repair. And that's not even the worst of it. Daros, Pelzerin—tell me, where is our dear, loyal ally now?"
"I believe… he is dead," Pelzerin replied, his voice barely audible.
"I don't care what you *believe*!"
The sudden roar made Pelzerin jump, and even the whispered murmurs of the onlookers fell silent. The hall was plunged into an eerie quiet—the calm before a storm.
"If he is dead, where is his body? Did you see it? Did you bring it back to me? DID YOU?!"
Pelzerin remained silent, his head hanging low.
"Enough."
The voice sounded suddenly tired, as if it had no more energy to waste on anger.
"I've said enough for now. Pelzerin, you stay. The rest of you may leave. And I expect you all to remember—what was said here today stays here. Do not breathe a word of this to anyone outside these walls."
The assembled nobles exchanged knowing glances. It was clear—Pelzerin had escaped severe punishment, at least for now. They understood perfectly why he had been ordered to stay behind: his sentence would be pronounced in private, which meant it would not be a harsh one. This rankled many of them, but there was nothing they could do. Reluctantly, they filed out of the hall.
Silence descended once more.
Then, the voice spoke again—this time, warm and gentle, filled with fatherly affection.
"Raise your head, my son."
"Father!"
Pelzerin dropped to one knee, his eyes brimming with tears as he looked up at the elderly man seated before him.
"I have dishonored the glory of House Byrd. Punish me, I beg you—any punishment you see fit. I will accept it without complaint!"
"You have not dishonored House Byrd," the old man said softly. His voice was no longer sharp and accusatory; the fire in his eyes had faded, leaving only a quiet, weary wisdom. He was a small, thin man with snow-white hair and a beard, but there was a quiet authority about him that commanded respect.
"Pay no mind to the idle gossip of those fools, Pelzerin. House Byrd has ruled this region for two hundred years. We have weathered countless wars, countless crises—and we have always emerged stronger. We are the masters of these lands, a great noble house. Do not stoop to their level by caring about their petty words. They can do us no real harm—they only take pleasure in their cruel little jokes. To respond would be to lower ourselves to their station. However… you *have* embarrassed the royal family with this fiasco. That is a problem that will not be easily fixed. But do not worry overmuch—I will personally apologize to His Majesty the King and Duke Barron. I believe they will show me the respect my years of service deserve. In the meantime, though, you would do well to lay low. Remain in the family estate and avoid drawing any more attention to yourself. Do not give those vultures another chance to pick at our bones."
"…Yes, Father. I understand," Pelzerin replied, his voice thick with emotion.
"Failure is not a disgrace," the old man said, a faint, reassuring smile touching his lips. Then his expression turned serious once more, his eyes sharpening with a shrewd intensity.
"But I expect you not to make the same mistake twice. Now, stand up. Tell me everything that happened. You withheld something from the council today, my son. I want to know what it was."
"Yes, Father."
Pelzerin rose to his feet, the look of remorse vanishing from his face, replaced by a cold, steely calm. He began to recount his experiences in full detail, holding nothing back. As he listened, the old man's brow furrowed deeply. He said nothing, lost in thought, until Pelzerin had finished his tale. Then he let out a long, heavy sigh.
"It seems you truly encountered a formidable opponent."
"Father—could this be the work of another noble house trying to undermine us?" Pelzerin asked, his voice tense with suspicion.
"No," the old man shook his head firmly, cutting him off mid-sentence.
"I do not believe any of our rivals possess such power. Think about it—Daros was a High-Tier Swordsman. To kill a man of that caliber, the culprit must be no ordinary warrior. If another noble house had such a weapon in their arsenal, we would have heard whispers of it long ago. Only a Knight could kill a High-Tier Swordsman and escape unscathed. And a Knight of that skill would never remain unknown for long."
"But Father—"
"Tell me something," the old man interrupted, his gaze piercing. "What of the new lord of Twilight Castle?"
Pelzerin blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change of subject. He thought for a moment, then recalled.
"You mean the Felix boy? It was simple—we coveted the fertile plains that belonged to House Felix, so we proposed a land exchange… Rest assured, Father, everything was done strictly according to the rules. We did not overstep our bounds in any way."
Pelzerin did not need to elaborate. The old man understood perfectly what his son meant by "strictly according to the rules."
"And the rest of the Felix family? What became of them?"
"The old lord and his wife died of illness. Only their son went to take up residence in the castle and claim the title. As far as I know, he is the last remaining member of House Felix."
Pelzerin had made certain to investigate thoroughly before moving against the Felixes. Even a fallen noble house might have powerful allies—and if he had failed to check, the consequences could have been disastrous.
"I see," the old man nodded slowly, his expression unreadable.
"Do you suspect… could it be him?" Pelzerin asked hesitantly, his eyes widening with disbelief.
"After hearing your report, I had my men look into it immediately. But aside from that boy, nothing out of the ordinary has happened in the Twilight Forest lately. No mercenary bands have entered the area—no one who could possibly be a Knight."
"But Father," Pelzerin frowned, utterly confused. "I don't understand. Are you suggesting that this *boy* is somehow behind all of this? I find that impossible to believe. If House Felix had ties to a Knight, they would never have fallen into such decline! I made certain to investigate his family's connections and relatives thoroughly before we moved against them. There was no trace of anyone with Knight-level power. Otherwise, we would never have dared to touch them—no matter how desperate we were."
"Remember this, my son," the old man said, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, there was a glint of cold, calculating wisdom in his gaze.
"No matter how absurd a possibility may seem, it remains a possibility until it is proven otherwise. Right now, we have no other leads. And I see no harm in striking up a conversation with this young lord. I want to see what kind of man he is—what he plans to do with his new lands. It never hurts to be cautious."
"Shall I go to him, Father? I will handle it personally."
"No," the old man shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. His eyes narrowed, and a sharp, shrewd light flickered in their depths.
"I have already sent Von to deal with the matter. If that boy is hiding anything… if there is anything unusual about him at all… Von will send word back to me at once."