Nearly two thousand soldiers marched in formation. The ground trembled beneath their boots.
Lucien's eyes swept across the column... and froze. Among the endless stream of troops, a familiar figure stood out.
The eldest son of Harold Coalheart.
Darius Coalheart.
The only one on horseback, elevated above the mass of foot soldiers.
Lucien's expression darkened.
Darius was the man who had once cursed him, the reason he had died once. If not for the Life-Link Talisman, Lucien wouldn't be standing here at all.
The rage he had buried stirred. This was the moment he had been waiting for.
At his side, Sebas's gaze sharpened.
"Young Lord… I see assassins among them. From the Assassin's Guild."
Lucien's eyes flickered but it was Maxim who spoke next.
"Their stance gave them away. Soldiers sway when fatigue sets in but those assassins don't. Their steps are measured, backs straight, eyes sharp. All positioned at the front… one hundred forty-eight of them, exactly."
