The days that followed the League's arrival were filled with a cold, relentless efficiency.
Grain carts rattled through Solspire's half-ruined streets under armed escort. Smithies blazed day and night, forging new blades stamped with Solspire's mark. At the docks, the shipwrights of Saphir oversaw the raising of new hulls, their commands sharp and alien against the guttural brogue of Solspire's native craftsmen.
On the surface, the city thrived.
But beneath — beneath the haggard banners and the half-mended stones — something darker stirred.
Spies whispered through the markets, cloaked in merchant garb. Couriers dashed through alleys with sealed letters clutched close to their chests. Coins from foreign mints changed hands in smoke-filled taverns where the old names — Veylor, Drastan, Merin — still carried weight.
The rebel nobles were moving faster than Lee Sung had anticipated.
It was Ysrael who brought the first proof.
He slammed a blood-smeared parchment onto the council table one grim morning — a ledger of names, payment records, and crude maps marked with secret meeting places.
"We caught the courier trying to slip out past the Western Gate," Ysrael said. His voice was low, controlled, but a vein throbbed in his temple. "Paid in Crimson Blades' coin. Letters promising allegiance in exchange for 'liberation from tyranny.'"
Lee Sung's gaze swept the parchment coldly.
House Veylor. House Merin. House Drastan. No surprises there.
But others too — minor lords, merchant princes, a captain of the outer watch.
Rot. Deeper than he had feared.
Commander Dalia leaned forward, armor creaking.
"Give the order, my king," she said. "Tonight. We'll gut them before they can breathe."
Ysrael was slower to speak, studying Lee Sung's face carefully.
"If we strike openly, there will be blood on the streets. Fear in the hearts of the guilds. Perhaps even a revolt."
Lee Sung nodded once.
"Not openly," he said. "Not yet."
He tapped the list once with two fingers, a slow, deliberate beat.
"We do not cut the head from the snake. We crush the heart first."
He turned to Ysrael.
"Take your best shadows. Watch the meeting places. When the conspirators gather... trap them. Quietly."
Ysrael bowed, a predatory gleam in his eye.
"And the ringleaders?" Dalia asked, her hand already drifting to her sword.
Lee Sung's voice was quiet, but it cut through the room like a blade.
"Bring them to the Black Cells. I will deal with them myself."
---
That Night — The Broken Wheel Tavern
The Broken Wheel had once been a merchant's guildhall before the wars. Now it sagged drunkenly against the crumbling city wall, its windows broken, its floors slick with spilled ale.
It was here the first meeting took place.
Under the pretense of trade discussions, the conspirators gathered — fat merchants and thin-blooded nobles, their eyes darting like rats at every creak of the floorboards.
And unseen in the rafters above them, the Blackguard waited.
When the door bolted shut, when the lanterns guttered low and the rebels unfurled their plans across the table, Ysrael gave the signal — a soft whisper through the cold.
The descent was swift and merciless.
Steel flashed. Sleep-darts flew. Men slumped over the table mid-sentence, poisoned by wine dosed with soporifics slipped in by Dalia's spies.
In less than five minutes, the room was silent but for the soft groans of the captured.
Ysrael knelt beside the eldest of House Drastan — a paunchy, red-faced lord who had once called Lee Sung a gutter-king behind his back.
He pressed the edge of his dagger lightly against the man's throat.
"You plotted against the crown," Ysrael said softly. "You begged for foreign chains to replace your own pride."
The old lord whimpered.
"We only sought... stability. Protection."
Ysrael smiled grimly.
"You'll find none here."
The Blackguard worked swiftly, binding wrists, gagging mouths.
By sunrise, the Broken Wheel was empty.
And beneath Solspire, the Black Cells echoed once more with the sound of weeping traitors.
---
The Black Cells — The Next Morning
Lee Sung stood before them — the captured nobles, their fine clothes stained with sweat and filth.
He said nothing at first. Only watched.
Some tried to meet his gaze with defiance.
Most could not.
At last, he spoke — his voice low, measured.
"You were given a second chance when Solspire rose from ash. You were offered safety, power, a place in the new order."
He paced slowly before them.
"And yet you would sell your brothers, your sisters, your city... for promises whispered by liars and cowards."
He stopped before Lord Merin — a tall, thin man whose family had once ruled the copper mines now ceded to the League.
"You," Lee Sung said. "What did they offer you?"
Lord Merin spat at his feet.
"Freedom," he hissed.
Lee Sung's expression did not change.
He turned away — and nodded once to Dalia.
Without hesitation, she drew her dagger across Lord Merin's throat.
The others flinched as the body slumped forward, blood pooling on the cold stones.
Lee Sung's voice rose, carrying over the chamber.
"Freedom," he said. "Freedom is won, not given. And traitors win nothing but death."
He faced them fully now.
"You have one choice. Swear the Oath of Iron — body, soul, and blood bound to Solspire — or join him in the dark."
Some wept. Some cursed.
But in the end, one by one, they knelt.
And the Oath was seared into them, magic burning through their veins, branding them as Solspire's creatures until death.
---
At the Ramparts — That Evening
The storm had passed, but the sky still roiled with dark clouds. Thunder muttered low on the horizon.
Lee Sung stood once more atop the walls, Ysrael at his side.
Below, the harbor buzzed with life — shipwrights hammering, merchants unloading, guards patrolling.
The city lived.
For now.
Ysrael spoke quietly.
"You move faster than they can see."
Lee Sung's mouth twisted into something that was not quite a smile.
"And yet not fast enough," he said.
He looked southward — toward the Free Cities, the Crimson Blades, the unseen powers that circled like wolves beyond the hills.
The Azure League had planted its hooks deep.
And now others came sniffing at Solspire's gates, drawn by the scent of rebirth — and the promise of power.
Above them, the first black banners of the League snapped in the high winds, and somewhere beneath the stones of Solspire, the blood of traitors still soaked into the thirsty earth.
The real war was coming.
And Lee Sung would be ready.