The morning sun broke through the gray shroud of clouds, spilling muted light across the Duchy of Verentis. It was the second day since Achilles had sent his ultimatum to House Marestel, and the air itself seemed taut, like a drawn bowstring, ready to snap at the faintest touch. The streets of the duchy remained restless, alive with whispers of war. From commoners who had only recently begun to recognize their long-lost duke returned, to hardened soldiers polishing their blades with feverish anticipation, the tension was palpable.
Achilles stood atop the battlements of the Verentis estate, the cold wind tugging at the dark cloak draped across his shoulders. His eyes were fixed on the horizon—the invisible line that divided their land from the Marestel's. His jaw was set like stone, his hands folded tightly behind his back. Around him, his captains waited silently, sensing the weight of their commander's thoughts.
Two days had passed since the first letter had been delivered to the enemy. Now, on this morning, another missive had been dispatched, written not in the hand of Achilles but in the name of his father, Duke Caldus. It bore the final warning:
One day remains. If House Marestel refuses to return what is ours, the Duchy of Verentis shall march to their gates.
The letter was not merely a message—it was a blade pressed against the neck of their enemies.
---
The War Council
Inside the estate's grand hall, a meeting was already underway. Captain Kael stood beside Achilles, his dark eyes alert and sharp. Skotos lingered in the corner, half in shadow, his presence as unsettling as ever. Other executives filled the chamber: grizzled veterans who had bled at the border for two decades, younger knights hardened by recent battles, and the Verentis household retainers, their faces lined with worry and resolve.
Achilles turned from the window and let his gaze sweep across them. "We have one day," he said flatly, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "One day before the deadline expires. By the dawn after tomorrow, House Marestel must make their choice—return Lira in exchange for Maren, or face us before their gates. Of course, we already have Lira. Why were doing this is for complete revenge."
There was a ripple of grim approval around the hall, though not all faces showed the same certainty. One of the retainers, a gray-haired steward who had served under Duke Caldus for decades, raised his voice.
"My lord," he said carefully, "what if they do not come to terms? What if the Marestels gamble that we will not dare spill noble blood and call their bluff? The mine is already a heavy wound for them, but Duke Maren's life—"
"—is leverage," Achilles interrupted, his tone calm but unyielding. He looked at the steward with eyes that burned like frost. "They will not dismiss his value so easily. The pride of House Marestel lies in its bloodline. To lose a duke to the executioner's block is a humiliation they cannot risk."
Skotos stepped forward from the shadows. "They may try to deceive you, my lord. To feign surrender, only to strike when you least expect it. Already, they have likely sent spies to confirm the mine. If they learn too much, they will prepare their defenses accordingly."
Achilles nodded. "That is why I ordered you to intercept their messenger, Skotos. If the Marestels never learn that the mine has already fallen into our hands, they will remain uncertain, fearful. Fear is a sharper weapon than any blade."
Kael crossed his arms. "And what of the soldiers? The men are restless. They have tasted blood at the estate, and many yearn for more. Their morale is high, but if this drags on without decisive action, it may wane."
Achilles's eyes hardened. "They will have their war soon enough."
---
Duke Maren's Captivity
Beneath the estate, in the cold stone dungeon, Duke Maren of House Marestel sat shackled against the wall. The proud duke who once ruled with arrogance now wore the look of a man gnawed by fear and sleepless nights. His finery had been stripped, replaced with coarse cloth stained by dust and sweat.
When Achilles entered the chamber, the guards straightened and stepped aside. Maren lifted his head, eyes narrowing at the sight of his captor.
"You play a dangerous game, Verentis," Maren rasped, his voice still carrying a trace of pride. "One false move, and the kingdom itself will turn its gaze upon you. Do you truly believe your house can survive the wrath of the Marestel bloodline and the King itself? The King forbids war between two big houses!"
Achilles did not reply immediately. He studied the man in silence, letting the weight of his stare sink into him. Finally, he spoke:
"The King forbids war between our houses? How laughable. It was you who struck the first blow, and yet the King, in his silence, did nothing. And now he dares forbid us the right to answer?"
"You speak as though your words carry weight here. But look at you. Shackled. Helpless. The only reason you draw breath is because you are still of use to me. Do not mistake that for mercy."
Maren forced a laugh, though it rang hollow in the cold chamber. "Kill me, and you gain nothing. Spare me, and you invite ruin. Either way, you are trapped in a game you cannot win. My kin will not abandon me. They will march for me, and when they do, your house will burn."
Achilles leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that was more terrifying than a shout. "And when they march, I will be waiting. You underestimate what twenty years at the border has taught me. I have faced worse than your bloodline."
"Do not trouble yourself. I shall see to it that your so-called King learns his lesson as well."
For the first time, Maren faltered, his eyes flickering with unease. The cold detachment in Achilles's gaze was unlike anything he had faced among nobles—an unshakable, merciless steel forged not in politics but in war.
---
Marestel's Council
Far to the north, in the fortified halls of House Marestel, the atmosphere was no less grim. The letter bearing Duke Caldus's seal lay upon the council table, its words heavy with threat.
One of Maren's cousins, Lord Halric, slammed his fist upon the wood. "This is madness! First the mine falls silent, then Lira disappears, and now this demand for exchange? It reeks of trickery!"
Another voice chimed in, Lady Ysoria, Maren's sister, her sharp eyes scanning the letter. "If Duke Caldus has truly taken Lira, then it changes everything. But what if another house has her, and this is merely a ploy? What if Caldus seeks to weaken us further while we stumble in the dark?"
The chamber erupted in arguments. Some demanded they prepare to sacrifice Maren and cut their losses to preserve the mine. Others insisted that abandoning him would shatter their prestige, embolden rivals, and invite rebellion among their vassals.
Finally, Ysoria raised her hand, silencing them. Her voice was measured, cold as a serpent's hiss.
"We cannot ignore this letter. Whether or not Caldus truly holds Lira, he has Maren. That much is certain. And with the mine already at risk, the Verentis have gained too much ground. We must tread carefully."
"But if we send more guards to the mine," Halric argued, "and find it empty—what then? What if this is a trap?"
Ysoria's lips curved in a thin smile. "Then we crush them when they reveal themselves. Double the guards. Triple, if needed. Let the Verentis believe they are hidden in shadow. We will smoke them out soon enough."
---
Back in Verentis
When word of the Marestel's reinforcement orders reached Achilles—intercepted through Skotos's network of spies—he merely smiled.
"They are walking into their own grave," he said. "The more men they send, the deeper their wound will bleed. Skotos, continue your work. Let no word of the mine's state reach their council."
Kael frowned. "And if they march before the deadline?"
"Then," Achilles said coldly, "we march sooner."