"Your High… ness…"
When Surt finally stumbled into the camp's outer perimeter, the sight that greeted him felt like a bucket of ice water doused over his head.
There was none of the resistance he had prayed for, let alone the victory he had dared to hope for. The camp lay deathly silent, and the ground glistened with corpses under the moonlight—enough to sink the general's heart to the bottom of the abyss. He staggered forward, gritting his teeth in a desperate bid to find even a sliver of hope, but as far as his eyes could see, there was nothing but bloodstains and bodies—the remains of his own men, and those of the black-cloaked assassins.
"Your High…"
Surt opened his mouth to call out for the ones he had sworn to protect, but he had already reached his breaking point. Even with soul power coursing through his veins, the poison was far from easy to suppress. The golden glow of his soul aura had all but faded away, and blood seeped from the corners of his eyes, his vision blurring by the second. Finally, as his gaze landed on the young boy's crumpled form on the ground, the last shred of resolve in his heart shattered completely.
*Thud.*
Unable to hold on any longer, he collapsed to the ground. Numbness had spread throughout his entire body, and now Surt lay there with his mouth agape, finding it even difficult to draw a single breath. He stared up at the full moon, its light fragmented by the canopy of leaves above, feeling the world grow colder and more desolate with every passing second.
"General Surt, I entrust them to you. No matter what happens, you must get them out alive. As long as the royal bloodline of Orlt endures, we will always have a chance to rise again. So long as they can live healthy, happy lives… then our deaths will not have been in vain…"
"Your Majesty…"
The late king's final words echoed in the general's mind once more. He closed his eyes, whispering the king's name as tears of regret streamed down his cheeks. At the same time, the cold, numbing sensation crept into his chest. Surt shut his eyes, feeling his heart beat feebly one last time before he opened his mouth to speak.
An invisible hand closed around that fragile, flickering spark of life, and the words Surt had been about to say died in his throat. They never emerged as coherent speech—only as a hoarse, gurgling gasp that was swallowed up by the quiet night, vanishing without a trace.
Then the moonlight faded, shrouding everything once more in darkness.
And that faint, struggling heartbeat ceased forever.
*Crash!*
An expensive crystal goblet was smashed violently against the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces the moment it made contact with the luxurious marble tiles. But the sound did little to quell the fury of its owner.
"Someone tell me what in the blazes is going on?!"
King Wester V's face was ashen with rage as he glared coldly at the three generals standing before him, growling through gritted teeth.
"It was just a simple mission! Is that too much to ask for, gentlemen?! General Celt—you! Explain to me why! Why did things turn out this way?!"
"I can only say that I do not know, Your Majesty," General Celt replied, a look of deep embarrassment crossing his face. He let out a long sigh and shook his head.
As the mastermind behind this conspiracy, the Kingdom of Wester had never intended to ignore the aftermath. In fact, on that very night, upon receiving word from his scouts, Celt had immediately dispatched a team to the scene to conduct a thorough investigation. But what they found there left them utterly dumbfounded. The Orltan royal guards were dead—that much was to be expected. Moreover, the bodies of Prince Orlt and General Surt had been found in the camp, which should have meant the mission was a resounding success. But that was far from the case. And Celt had never anticipated that things would end up like this.
The elite special forces unit tasked with carrying out the operation had been completely wiped out. That alone was shocking enough. If their deaths had been the result of a fierce battle with the Orltan guards, it would have been understandable. But according to the investigation report, these men had not died during the fight—they had been killed *after* the battle had already ended. That single detail was enough to make Celt, one of the kingdom's three top legion commanders, realize the gravity of the situation. He had quickly pieced together what must have happened. But now, dwelling on those deductions was pointless. As a king, Wester V was not one to fly into a rage over the loss of a few soldiers. In truth, there was only one line in the report that had sent him into such a fury: **The body of Princess Fili, the first princess of Orlt, was nowhere to be found.**
That was the true reason for the king's explosive anger. After secret negotiations with envoys from the Sith Empire, Wester V had weighed his options carefully before finally biting the bullet and agreeing to their proposal. For all his grand speeches to his ministers about resisting aggression, when the Sith army had massed at his borders, the king had wilted like a dried flower. He had originally thought that Orlt would not fall so quickly—that with them holding out and his kingdom lending covert support, they might even stand a chance of defeating the detestable Sith Empire. But fate had other plans. Word from Orlt told of a kingdom on its last legs, while the Sith Empire's military might continued to grow stronger by the day. What was more, the Sith boasted four Born Knights in their ranks, whereas the strongest of his own three legion commanders was merely a high-rank upper-tier swordsman. The difference in power was like night and day. In such a situation, avoiding war was by far the best option.
And the Sith envoys had given Wester V a way out. Though he was loath to show weakness as a king… the pressure from the Sith Empire was simply too great. Wester V had no confidence whatsoever in his ability to resist their invasion. That was why he had ultimately agreed to the Sith's demands. After all, in his eyes, a royal heir from a fallen kingdom was nothing more than a useless liability. If their deaths could secure peace for Wester, he would not hesitate for a second to sacrifice them.
But now, even though the mission had been mostly successful, the missing body of Princess Fili had left the king seething with rage. He knew full well that if the princess were to escape alive, his reputation—and that of the entire Kingdom of Wester—would be utterly ruined. A nation that betrayed its allies in their hour of need would never be trusted on the international stage. If word of this treachery got out, everything his father and ancestors had worked so hard to build would be destroyed in an instant!
"I want you to come up with a solution—*now*! No matter where that princess has gone, I want her found! Dead or alive!"
With the bodies of General Surt and the prince in their possession, they should be able to appease the Sith Empire for the time being. In the meantime, Wester V's only priority was to track down the princess and silence her forever.
*Bang!*
As the heavy door slammed shut behind the king, the three generals exchanged bitter smiles and shook their heads helplessly, falling silent.
"I know this is a terrible thing to say… but I am almost grateful for this failure," Celt finally said, letting out a long, weary sigh.
"At the very least, it has given us a chance to reject the 'peace' that was being forced upon us."
"The Four Scourge Knights of the Sith are nothing to be afraid of. We are not as weak as the king seems to think," Ashur, who was usually a man of few words, said, a rare glimmer of passion in his eyes.
"We will not repeat Orlt's mistakes. We have ample intelligence at our disposal, and we are more than ready."
"Nevertheless, we cannot disobey the king's orders," Duke Barron said, throwing up his hands in a gesture of helpless resignation. He understood his fellow generals' feelings all too well. As soldiers, they were naturally unwilling to cower before the enemy without a fight. And the king's decision was a clear sign that he did not trust their abilities. It was little wonder that the three most senior military commanders in the kingdom were so dissatisfied. But dissatisfaction was one thing—obedience was their duty as soldiers.
What was more, they themselves were somewhat intrigued by the turn of events. After all, Celt knew the caliber of his men well. He had handpicked his most trusted, elite soldiers for this mission, yet they had been killed before they even had a chance to draw their swords. That alone was proof that their unknown foe possessed far greater strength than anyone could have imagined.
"I think we need to dig deeper into this matter. First and foremost, we must find out who was behind this."
"But that will not be an easy task," Ashur frowned, a look of concern crossing his face. As a commander specializing in intelligence and assassination, he knew all too well the challenges they were facing.
"Whoever was capable of eliminating our special forces unit must belong to an extremely powerful organization. Yet our intelligence network picked up not the slightest whisper of their presence. That means they have a highly sophisticated and far-reaching network of operatives. In all our years of gathering intelligence on the Kingdom of Wester, we have never come across any organization or faction with such capabilities. The Mage Association and the Holy Grace Church might be powerful enough to pull off something like this—but I cannot fathom what motive they would have to do so. Furthermore, there have been no unusual movements from either the church or the mages as of late…"
"My old friend, I think you may be overcomplicating things," Celt cut him off unexpectedly, waving a hand to dismiss his colleague's train of thought. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
"This is an intelligence report we received from Orlt some time ago. It details exactly how Prince Orlt and his entourage managed to escape the country…"
"You mean…?"
At Celt's words, Ashur and Barron both froze for a moment before frowning in thought.
They had certainly heard the rumors. In the southwestern territories controlled by the Byrd family, there was a powerful lord who ruled over the Twilight Forest. He himself was said to be a high-rank swordsman, and he had two subordinates who were equally skilled.
Rumors spread like wildfire among the nobility, and the Byrd family had done little to discourage them—if anything, they had encouraged them. Before long, the story had become a favorite topic of conversation at noble dinner parties. Of course, few actually believed the rumors were true. After all, according to the tales, the young lord was barely twenty years old and had not even undergone his formal noble consecration ceremony. And his two so-called subordinates were a pair of girls no older than ten or eleven. No one in their right mind could believe that such youngsters possessed such formidable power. It was precisely because the rumors were so outlandish and utterly preposterous that they made for such excellent after-dinner entertainment.
Naturally, the three generals had also heard the gossip—but unlike the average noble, they had not dismissed it out of hand. After all, they had discussed the matter in a royal council meeting once before. The topic had been brought up in connection with a young lady who was suspected to be Princess Euphoria of the fallen Star Kingdom. But shortly afterward, the court archmage Mobius had forbidden any further discussion or investigation into the matter, and since then, King Wester V had never mentioned it again. The three generals were all seasoned veterans—how could they not sense that something was amiss? For that reason, they had not treated the rumors as a mere joke. Anyone who could make the court archmage, who had served three generations of kings, so nervous must surely possess extraordinary power.
But still…
"Even if they really do have three high-rank swordsmen in their ranks, this could all just be a coincidence," Ashur argued, voicing his doubts.
"The Twilight Forest is an extremely barren fief. That young lord should be focusing all his efforts on developing his lands right now. Besides, as a noble of Wester, what possible motive could he have for interfering in this matter? It is true that high-rank warriors are few and far between—but precisely because of that, they should be even more careful about keeping a low profile. Flaunting their strength so openly in front of everyone is hardly a wise move."
"You make a valid point… but," Celt trailed off, waving a hand as if struggling to find the right words. In truth, one of his spies had been among the Sith soldiers stationed at the second outpost and had personally witnessed the battle against Blake. Though Blake's movements had been too fast for his face to be seen clearly, the spy had been able to confirm that their attacker was a young man with black hair. That single detail was more than enough to make Celt's mind race with possibilities.
"Regardless, the king has ordered us to investigate. We cannot afford to overlook a single lead."
"You are right about that," Duke Barron nodded, letting out a sigh of relief. Though he did not approve of the king's decision to negotiate with the Sith Empire—believing that such a deal would do far more harm than good—there was little else he could do or say as a loyal subject.
"So, how do we proceed? If you need any assistance, I would be more than happy to lend a hand."
"No need for that, old friend," Celt replied without hesitation, rejecting Barron's offer.
"Your position is far too sensitive, and we do not yet have any conclusive evidence. The last thing we want is to alert the enemy prematurely. The frontline war zone falls under my jurisdiction—I think it would be a perfect excuse to visit the surrounding territories in my capacity as frontline commander and demand that they provide supplies and provisions for the upcoming war effort."
"Since you have already thought this through, I have nothing more to add. We will conduct our own investigation as well… I hope we can get to the bottom of this soon."
With that, the three generals fell silent once more, staring at the round table before them, saying nothing further. After a long moment, Barron let out a deep sigh.
"Gentlemen… if I may speak frankly—do we stand any chance of defeating the Four Scourge Knights?"
"We will never know unless we try," Ashur replied, his expression as cold and impassive as ever. With those words, he turned on his heel and strode out of the meeting room, leaving the other two men to exchange bitter smiles.
"As a soldier, I would never say that we should cower before the enemy without a fight," Celt said.
"Does that mean you *are* feeling a little afraid, then?" Barron teased.
"…"
Faced with his old friend's question, Celt neither nodded nor shook his head. Catching the look on his face, Barron chuckled wryly and quickly changed the subject.
"So, old friend—what do you plan to do now?"
"I am going to pay a visit to Archmage Mobius," Celt replied without hesitation, clearly having already made up his mind.
"I have a feeling that this young man named Blake is far more than he seems. Perhaps… perhaps I should have a talk with Archmage Mobius about him. For some reason, I cannot shake this sense of foreboding."
"…"
At Celt's words, Barron's eye twitched slightly. He glanced at the battle map hanging on the wall, where the projected combat zones were marked in a vivid, blood-red hue.
"So do I," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
---
**A/N: Thank you to all the readers! Your support is the driving force behind my updates!**