Noon. The blazing sun hung high in the sky.
The central square of Blackstone Territory was already a sea of people, a dense, dark mass of spectators. On the temporarily erected high platform stood several wooden stakes. Ed stepped onto the platform and cleared his throat.
"By the decree of the Duke! Monde, the former Baron of Ironthorn, driven by wild ambition, conspired with bandits to murder the Duke's bloodline—a crime of utmost gravity! Today, Monde and his kin of three generations shall be beheaded for all to see!"
Below the stage, the hundred-plus Ironthorn captives who had been brought to witness the event broke into an uproar. Most were knights loyal to Monde who had fought Blackstone's army under his orders. They had initially viewed Blackstone as an invading enemy; they never expected this reversal—that their own lord was the traitor who had plotted against the Ducal house.
Many of them had harbored a lingering hope that the Duke would, at most, punish Monde severely and confiscate his lands. No one expected a punishment this draconian: the extermination of three generations.
In the center of the crowd, Baron Monde—his hair disheveled and his face haggard—was forced to his knees by two Blackstone soldiers. Hearing Ed's proclamation, his face turned ashen, and his body began to shake like a leaf. He knew he was finished. Completely.
He struggled to lift his head, his eyes scanning the crowd frantically. When he saw First Prince Elliot standing to the side of the platform, dressed in fine robes with a frigid expression, a final, desperate glimmer of hope ignited in his eyes.
"Highness! Prince Elliot!" Monde shrieked with all his might, his voice as harsh as a night owl. "Highness, save me! I am wronged! I have always been loyal to the Duke!"
"Eldest Prince, for the sake of our past friendship, save me! I am still useful! I can do anything for you!"
He spoke incoherently, tears and snot streaming down his face, a pathetic display of cowardice.
Elliot stood there, silent. His already somber face seemed to be covered in a layer of frost. He slowly drew his knightly longsword from his waist, the blade reflecting a cold, murderous light in the sun. He knew that by swinging this sword, he would sever the loyalty of those he had spent years winnowing, but at this moment, he had no choice.
He looked toward the south. The master of this Duchy was not yet himself; the man high upon the throne could wash away years of his effort with a single sentence.
Seeing Elliot draw his sword, Monde's wailing stopped abruptly. He seemed to understand everything. The last light in his eyes vanished, replaced by an endless abyss of despair and terror. "No... no... Your Highness, you can't—"
Elliot didn't give him the chance to finish.
"Traitor, Monde." Elliot raised the blade. "By the order of the Duke, I execute you."
The longsword swung down with a sharp whistle.
Squelch!
A head flew into the air, tracing a crimson arc before hitting the ground and rolling away. Its eyes remained wide, frozen in a mask of final terror. Blood geysed from Monde's neck, staining the platform red.
Elliot sheathed his sword without expression.
"Ahhh!" Monde's two sons and several grandchildren, some still in their youth, lost their wits, their screams and cries filling the square. But the Blackstone soldiers showed no mercy. Blades rose and fell, and soon, several more headless corpses lay upon the platform.
The crowd fell silent for a heartbeat before erupting into a world-shaking cheer. "The Duke is wise!" "Death to the traitors!"
The Ironthorn captives, however, were deathly pale, their bodies trembling like leaves in a gale. The smell of blood began to steam under the midday sun.
The Tense Toast
The bodies were quickly cleared, and the blood scrubbed away. Leylo watched Elliot closely; the First Prince's face was so dark it looked as if it might drip ink.
"Highness, and fellow knights, please move to the castle. I have prepared a banquet to welcome you all," Leylo said at the opportune moment.
Elliot nodded coldly without a word. In contrast, the leader of the Thunder Dragon Knights—a burly man with a thick beard—heartily slapped Leylo's shoulder. "Baron, you are too kind! We were merely following orders, we don't deserve such hospitality. But after the long journey, I certainly wouldn't mind a taste of Blackstone's famous fruit wine!"
The knights behind him let out a good-natured laugh, and the tension eased significantly.
Inside the banquet hall of Blackstone Castle, the long oak tables were laden with food: sizzling wild boar, heaps of sausages, golden bread, and flagons of fragrant fruit wine.
Leylo raised his cup. "Today's justice is thanks to the Duke's wisdom, the Prince's decisiveness, and the hard work of the Knights. On behalf of Blackstone, I toast to you all!"
"To Baron Leylo!" The knights raised their cups, the clink of glass echoing through the hall.
As the wine flowed and the food vanished, the atmosphere grew boisterous. The knights laughed and boasted of their adventures. The only one out of place was Elliot, sitting to the right of the host. He barely touched his food and only sipped symbolically at his wine. He remained immersed in his own thoughts, seemingly deaf to the noise.
Leylo saw it all. He knew the Prince was likely worrying about the power vacuum Monde's death left behind—and how to explain this to his remaining followers. More deeply, he was likely reeling from the Duke's forced display of dominance. Leylo didn't try to flatter him; instead, he focused on drinking with the knights, laughing along as if he were truly enjoying himself. He knew men like Elliot would only be made suspicious by overt flattery.
"Baron," the Knight Commander walked over, his face flushed with drink. "I heard you have a Storm Griffin under your command? That's a rare beast!"
Leylo smiled. "Just a bit of luck. It's wild and doesn't listen well."
"Haha! What magical beast isn't wild? Our Prince's Thunder Dragon—now that is a temper!"
A nearby knight chimed in. "Exactly! Last time in the Soul-Severing Mountains, the Prince's dragon turned a Land Dragon into charcoal with one breath!"
The conversation shifted to powerful magical beasts, the mood reaching a peak. But just as the banquet was at its most lively, a massive, unusual sound erupted from outside.
BOOM!
A dull, heavy thud shook the castle, as if something gargantuan had fallen from a great height. The entire banquet hall trembled. Cups and plates rattled against each other.
The noise in the hall stopped instantly. Knights dropped their cups and instinctively gripped their sword hilts.
"What was that?" "An earthquake?"
Then came a sharp, high-pitched screech—full of rage and violence. It pierced through the thick stone walls of the castle, clear to everyone's ears.
Elliot snapped his head up, a flash of alarm and suspicion crossing his brooding eyes.