"Must I follow someone?
Must someone follow me?"
"Have you even given a second thought to Lord Alen's suggestion?"
Sir Jaxon asked, trying to conceal his amusement beneath an almost mocking tone of laughter.
Dame Diana and Commander Lila, in contrast, did not share the same lighthearted ease that lingered between Sir Khallian and Sir Jaxon.
"There is a limit to how much Lord Alen must joke for our comfort,"
Sir Khallian replied, equally struggling to mask a smile of his own.
"Right?"
Sir Jaxon asked, now sounding somewhat set back, as though the joke had gone too far.
"I mean, we had families even back when we joined and strove to become Imperial Knights… Knowing full well that the survival rate of Imperial Knights is the lowest..."
"Now that you mention it—"
Dame Diana cut them both off, raising a single eyebrow with a sharp ironic expression that screamed one word: pathetic.
"You two newbies clearly don't know who Sir Alen is, do you?"
she asked. The men frowned, clearly displeased with the condescension.
This was the first time these four had even spoken as a unit—let alone shared a mission. Until now, each had commanded their own squads and gone on missions separately or with their subordinates. And clearly, camaraderie did not come easily.
Sir Jaxon, the youngest among them, was also the youngest to become a Squad Commander of the 7th Imperial Knights Order. Born into a renowned marquess family of tacticians, he had earned fame for his clever schemes and exceptional battle tactics.
Sir Khallian, Commander of the 4th Imperial Knights Order, was among the most skilled swordsmen of the empire—and a famed toxophilite. Disciplined, hard-working, and dedicated, he hailed from a viscount's house.
Dame Diana, a commoner by birth, yet Commander of the 3rd Imperial Knights Order, was the most stable and balanced among them. With three years of successful leadership under her belt, she had come to be known as "The Dame"—the most honorable lady of the empire.
Commander Lila, on the other hand, was the daughter of none other than Grand Duke Alen—a princess of royal blood. She commanded not only the First Imperial Order but was also ranked directly beneath the emperor as the overall commander of all imperial knights. Yet she was less known than any of the others—often dismissed as a product of nepotism, her noble birth and royal backing questioned more than praised.
All four had heard rumors—mostly bitter ones—about the others. Particularly about Diana and Lila. And now, Lila had been made their superior, while Diana had been appointed vice commander.
"Obviously, precious Dame,"
Sir Khallian replied sarcastically, slamming his palm on the table—not too hard, but enough to make his point.
"He is the Grand Duke, uncle of our dear emperor, and father of our beloved commander."
"Glad to know,"
Dame Diana answered, still calm and dignified.
"But you're forgetting that he was a royal advisor not only to the current emperor—but to the former emperor as well."
She paused, then continued, voice sharp and clear.
"Let me put one thing straight. She was chosen as our commander not just because she's the commander—but because she holds that position for a reason. And YOU were chosen as vice commander because you hold the next highest rank after her—once again, after her. Sir Alen was chosen to lead this mission for one simple reason: the emperor ordered it. Nothing more. Nothing less.
But I'm sure all of you know that already.
Here, there are no squads. No subordinates. No titles. Just us. So let's put these frivolities behind us. The one with the most abilities—particularly awareness and conduct—will prevail. Regardless of who holds what title."
This time, Jaxon spoke—his voice low as he poured himself a mug of beer and set the bottle down in the center.
No one replied. Only Commander Lila stood, and as she turned to leave, she spoke:
"I am going to inspect the surroundings.
Dame Diana, you are in charge of the security of this mansion and the Empress. No one is to enter. Build a trench or do whatever is necessary—just make sure not a single enemy steps foot inside.
Sir Jaxon and Sir Khallian, both of you are responsible for the surrounding territory. As with Dame Diana, do whatever it takes to protect the land and its people.
I will handle everything else.
No matter the circumstances, we will report our progress to Sir Alen and to each other daily. We have chosen not to return. I trust each of you will personally inform Sir Alen of your decision to stay.
Adjourned."
SLAM.
THUD.
The mug Sir Jaxon had poured fell to the ground as Commander Lila shut the door behind her.
Jaxon muttered, "Fancy noble," under his breath.
Dame Diana followed shortly after—leaving without a single word.
"They just wanted to leave before us,"
Khallian said with a smirk that suggested, oddly, that the meeting had been satisfying.
Back at the mansion, a day had passed since Alen had arrived with the knights.
Jannet remained in a precarious condition—malnourished, unconscious, bruised, and sickened from the beatings.
Each day, the frail old doctor would arrive to change her bandages, disinfect her stitches, and massage her stiff limbs. Meanwhile, Sara the maid was trying to feed her—just a spoonful of soup or broth four to five times a day. She would shake Jannet awake, help her sit up, and beg her to eat.
Alen had already inspected the entire territory upon arrival.
How tragic it was that he could assess an entire land with a single glance—yet failed to see the scars on the face of the very person he was escorting. The same mistake he had made time and time again: failing to truly look at those important to him—seeing only the mirage his mind created of them.
"They'll reach here within the week…"
Alen murmured, staring out the window.
Turning back toward Jannet, he walked to her side, sat down, and gently patted her head.
In her subconscious haze, Jannet began to cry and whisper, "F-a-ther…"
The warmth of that touch... no one had patted her head since her father.
Alen had sent a full report to Tharion the night before. By now, he was certain Tharion had read it.
The castle had been conquered.
"You have to wake up, EMPRESS."
In Tharion's tent, a hawk landed on his desk bearing Sir Alen's letter.
Tharion was wiping blood from his body while Sir Elijah—the royal secretary and Commander of the Second Imperial Knights—stood by, discussing logistics.
Then, another minister spoke.
"My lord, thanks to your wisdom, we conquered the castle with ease. But I worry about the other territories. Each Count and Viscount has their own defenses. The Barons and lesser nobles will inevitably rally to war… I fear they'll try to expand their domains. If we stop here or retreat—"
SHHINK.
Tharion's sword was at the minister's throat before he could finish.
"Who do you think I am?"
Tharion growled, lowering the blade.
Sir Elijah quickly stepped forward, taking the sword and bowing.
"You are the only one here not to forget your place, Minister.
Do you know where the other ten squads and commanders are?
This war will end within a month. The emperor returns to the capital this week. He has already chosen the next king."
The minister gulped and bowed deeply to both men before hurrying away, his hands shaking.
Tharion turned to his desk, retrieved the hawk's letter, and sliced it open with a dagger.
Sir Elijah let out a long sigh, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips.
"These fools…" he muttered.
Then, after a moment of silence, he asked:
"There's something I still don't understand."
Tharion said nothing, but Elijah knew he was listening.
"You sent four of your most capable commanders to escort the Empress. And not just any four—with Sir Alen, no less?
I mean—"
Elijah stopped mid-sentence. The emperor's expression had darkened—darker than Elijah had ever seen. A chill spread through the room.
Silence fell. Cold wind blew through the emperor's chambers. Time passed. Neither of them moved.
"They were lacking something,"
Tharion finally replied.
"This mission will help them find it."
Elijah bowed, silently preparing to leave.
"Have them prepare a cold bath,"
Tharion ordered.
Elijah nodded and shut the doors behind him.
"I suppose not…"
he whispered to himself as he made his way out of the castle.
"He won't let those people live another week. One must wonder what they did to provoke that look…"
There was both amusement—and a faint trace of bloodlust—in Elijah's voice as he vanished into the cold, night air.