Deep within the damp caverns of the Falcon Forest's northwest quadrant, a dimly lit chamber flickered under the warm blaze of enchanted braziers.
Ancient roots twisted around the moss-ridden stone pillars like serpents, as if nature itself tried to strangle the cursed place.
There, seated on a throne made not of gold, but of bones, an artistic statement, no doubt, was Varkis.
The commander of Unit One, a wiry man with a scar across his cheek and the badge of three blades on his cloak, knelt before him.
His name was Krael. Of the five commanders, he was the most pragmatic, and the most terrified to be in that room.
"My lord," Krael spoke, voice echoing through the hollow chamber, "according to Marla's report, the Falcons have uncovered our ties with Griffin Vale… and possibly even our coordination with the Leon Duchy."
Varkis didn't respond immediately. He leaned forward, resting his chin against the edge of his fist, the faint sound of his armor creaking breaking the silence. His crimson eyes shimmered like dying embers.
"They found out about our pact with that selfish bastard Draziel? Impressive," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Krael hesitated, then added, "Marla also said they plan to personally mediate trade talks between Orion and the Elves. Personally, my lord."
Now that made Varkis raise an eyebrow.
"Personally?" he echoed, tone razor-sharp. "Shouldn't a crest bearer be attending if that's the case? Is Everard himself going to the border with Orion, then?"
Krael shook his head. "No, my lord. A letter has already been received at the royal palace. Duke Everard will arrive there in few days to meet the Emperor."
For a moment, the room fell quiet again.
Then Varkis barked a laugh so sudden and violent it echoed off the cave walls and startled even the slumbering hounds near the chamber entrance. The torches seemed to flicker with unease.
"What the fuck is happening in Falcon lands?" he growled between laughter. "Everard, that cautious bastard, is suddenly bold enough to leave his own son's side?"
Krael swallowed and said, "Then… if Hugo is truly the one escorting Orion to the border… won't now be the perfect opportunity, my lord? If both the Duke and his right hand Sebastian are headed to the capital, and Hugo travels separately with an elite guard… won't the castle get weaker? Should I prepare to stike the castle directly?"
A stillness followed.
Varkis's amused expression dulled into something cruel. He leaned back on his throne, eyes cold as iron.
"That's just the illusion," he said.
Krael blinked. "My lord?"
Varkis stood, the motion alone sending a chill through the chamber. His towering frame was laced with scars and adorned in blood-colored armor. His presence weighed down the air itself.
"There are still two powerhouses in that castle. Even if by some miracle you managed to contain Seraphina…" he paused, then continued with a voice that chilled the spine, "If Wulfric smells blood, none of us would leave that castle alive."
"The… librarian?" Krael asked, uncertain.
Varkis's lips curled into something that might've been a smile in a better man. Here, it looked more like a wolf baring its fangs.
"Wulfric has no loyalty to Everard. That's what makes him dangerous. He doesn't care who rules the duchy… only that the name Gyrfald still sits upon the throne. He swore blood-bound fealty to the Falcon lineage. As long as Serena bears the Gyrfald name, His blade will follow her."
Krael paled. "Then… are we letting this chance go unused?"
Varkis turned, walking slowly toward the edge of the stone dais. His boots echoed with ominous rhythm.
"No. We'll change the target," he said. "Find the route Hugo takes to reach the border. I'm guessing the northeast passage. It's longer, flatter, but safe. It also brings them dangerously close to Leon Duchy."
Krael nodded slowly.
"Gather an elite unit. I want the commanders of all five units in it, you can throw in promising individuals, but keep the unit number less than eight. I will lead the strike personally."
That made Krael shoot up from his kneel, alarmed. "My lord! That's too risky. The outer forest trails and exit routes are under heavy watch. Falcon patrols have doubled since Marla's escape. If you get caught…"
He hesitated.
"You're too important, my lord. Five commanders will be enough."
Varkis spun to face him. His expression was stone, his voice venom.
"Don't be foolish, Krael. Five commanders, even if you idiots slip past Falcon eyes, will be slaughtered the moment Clara draws her blade. Their elite guard unit isn't for show."
He stepped closer, one gauntleted hand landing on Krael's shoulder with the weight of fate itself.
"You want this mission to succeed? Then I must go. It's our only chance at killing that boy."
Krael's eyes flicked downward. He bowed deeply, but a cold sweat had already begun to trickle down his temple.
"Yes… my lord."
.
We stopped for the night in a dusty town clinging to the edge of the Falcon Duchy like a desperate tick. Stone-paved roads cracked under the weight of wagons, and the air smelled like dried grass and disappointment.
Two days of travel, just two, and I already missed my bed. The royal-looking one. Not the one I had before I got yeeted into this world.
This town was one of several rest stops we'd planned ahead of time.
Once we crossed the border, we'd be stuck camping for three days before finally reaching Leon Duchy.
Three days of bugs, questionable food, and pretending not to panic when Clara unsheathes a knife at the sound of a squirrel.
The grassy no-man's-land between Falcon and Leon was a stretch of miserable, open terrain. Not much shade. No good taverns.
The plan was simple: cross Falcon, meet Orion and Sylvia at the border, and then continue to the Elvian envoy's residence nestled along the edge of the Elvian Kingdom and Leon Duchy. On paper, it was a diplomatic trip.
The whole annulment of Orion and Sylvia's engagement five days ago was part of the scheme. A flashy public statement, complete with socially acceptable levels of drama, that said "We're no longer engaged but still friends, please don't suspect secret elf dealings."
And then Orion conveniently invited me to Leon as his personal guest. So the world sees it as two noble houses keeping good ties post-annulment.
It was all beautifully staged.
Too beautifully.
A gentle knock on my chamber door.
"It's me," came the soft, familiar voice.
I was seated at the writing desk, pretending to read over logistics reports while really doodling stick figures getting stabbed. My kind of meditation.
"Come in," I said.
The door opened with a quiet creak, and in stepped Clara. Her back was straight, uniform pristine, and hair tied into that signature braid that somehow never came undone.
She gave a slight bow, as she always did, then closed the door behind her.
"Lord Hugo," she began, "I came to provide updates on tomorrow's departure."
"Please tell me we're taking a detour through a five-star hot spring."
She ignored that, naturally.
"We resume travel at dawn. Carriages are being checked now. No damage to wheels or axle. Supplies remain above minimum threshold. We are set to reach the Falcon-Leon border in three days if no complications arise."
"Good," I muttered, shifting on the hard wooden chair like it might magically soften if I willed it.
"Once we reach the border," she continued, "Lord Orion and Lady Sylvia will receive us. They departed Falcon Castle five days ago, following the official annulment of their engagement."
"Yep," I said, popping my neck. "Still haven't wrapped my head around how good that plan was."
Clara tilted her head slightly.
"The annulment?"
"No. The act. The big show. Publicly breaking the engagement just to make it look like there's no hidden agenda, then privately coordinating a secret negotiation route with me while keeping royal factions distracted with noble gossip."
I paused.
"Which somehow makes it worse."
She didn't disagree.
"Once Orion and Sylvia join us," she said, returning to business, "we will proceed to the Elvian envoy's residence near the Leon border."
"Where, hopefully, no one tries to kill us before the elves even say hello."
A beat of silence.
She turned to glance at the window, where moonlight filtered through worn curtains.
"These two days have been peaceful," she said. Her voice was quieter now. "No sightings. No signs of surveillance. No abnormalities in mana flow."
I looked at her, really looked. The line of her jaw was tense. Her brows, usually relaxed unless in combat, were drawn ever so slightly. Not visible unless you were as bored as I was watching people breathe.
"And?" I asked.
She hesitated only a beat.
"Do you think the threat has passed? That we may consider it cancelled?"
I scoffed. Loudly.
"Cancelled?" I repeated. "Clara, this isn't a royal banquet. It doesn't get cancelled. It gets postponed, relocated, or worse, served cold." My tone lacked usual casualness.
Her expression didn't change, but I noticed her hands clasped tighter.
"The next three days," I said, voice dropping slightly, "are when it happens. If it happens at all."
I leaned forward, elbows on the desk, chin in hand.
"Personally, I don't think they'll waste this chance. I mean, look at the setup. Duke's not here. Sylvia and Orion left days ago. We're exposed in flat, open terrain with only a tiny guard unit and one handsome genius leading the charge."
She blinked. "You mean yourself?"
"Obviously."
She didn't humor that either. Cruel.
"But," I added, straightening, "if we make it to Leon's border, we're good. Once Orion and Sylvia rejoin us, we'll have more eyes, more blades, and less chances of ending up gutted like fish."
Clara finally nodded.
"I will remain alert," she said.
"No doubt," I murmured.
For a second, we just sat in silence. Her standing like a loyal shadow, me lounging like a tired idiot with a heavy crown made of imaginary stress.
Three more days. That's all we had to survive.
And something told me those three days were going to be hell.