That night, the royal council chamber was filled with grave faces. Torches burned dimly on the walls, shadows swaying across the stone. A cold draft crept along the floor, pressing down on the room like an invisible weight.
At the round table sat Captain Lionel Drest, Commander Rurik, and Sergeant Orwin, joined by High Magus Alaric and Archmage Merek of the Magic Tower. They spoke in low voices, trading guesses about the sudden summons.
"Why call us in the middle of the night?" Rurik muttered, tapping his finger against the table.
"If it wasn't urgent, His Majesty wouldn't have summoned us," Lionel replied curtly.
Archmage Merek narrowed his eyes. "Something is wrong. I can feel traces of dark magic stirring nearby."
Sergeant Orwin shifted uneasily. "Could it be an uprising in the city?"
Alaric shook his head. "If it were an uprising, the alarm bells would already be ringing. No… this is something quieter."
Orwin sighed and lowered his head. "Whatever it is, I don't like being called without reason."
Lionel shot him a sharp glance. "Stop complaining. If the King demands our presence, it means something serious."
Their words fell silent when the heavy wooden door creaked open.
Arthur entered with steady steps. He had already bathed and changed, his robe neat, his hair still damp. Behind him, Marcel carried a stack of documents, while Sebastian, the Shadow Guard on duty, swept the chamber with sharp eyes.
Everyone stood in respect. Arthur raised his hand, motioning them to sit.
"Thank you for coming quickly," he began, his voice calm but firm. "Tonight is urgent. I've just received word from Hendrik. The tracking unit has found traces of the Demonic Cult. Their location… the Grimhollow Forest, east of the palace."
The chamber fell silent. Faces tightened, unease spreading from one man to another.
Arthur continued, "Without realizing it, we've allowed the enemy to build their nest inside our own borders. I fear Hendrik's team will not last long. That's why we must move at once."
Archmage Merek leaned forward. "Could it be that Mordred is behind all this?"
All eyes turned to him. Arthur nodded for him to go on.
"I once saw Mordred meeting someone in the eastern quarter of the palace,years ago. It was before he staged his coup against King Mario Valoria," Merek said heavily.
Lionel struck the table with his palm. "That makes sense! Mordred's forces were far too strong for a mere rebellion. They could never have defeated King Mario's army alone."
Rurik added quickly, "If the Demonic Cult supported him, they must have been infiltrating us for years."
Orwin nodded grimly. "If that's true, then we've been too late from the very beginning."
Arthur exhaled and cut them off. "Maybe so. But what's done is done. We must focus on the threat in front of us." He turned to Lionel. "Can we march tonight?"
Lionel bowed his head slightly before answering. "Of the three thousand active soldiers, only fifteen hundred are ready to move now. The rest just returned from border patrol."
Arthur nodded firmly. "Then tonight we march with fifteen hundred. By morning, another seven hundred fifty will follow. The remainder will stay to guard the palace."
He shifted his gaze to High Magus Alaric. "How many magi can you send?"
Alaric exchanged a glance with Merek before answering. "Ten senior magi, and twenty more of mixed rank. That is the most we can spare without leaving the tower undefended."
"That will suffice," Arthur replied. "Thank you."
He rose to his feet, scanning the faces around him. "Ready the army. We leave tonight."
An hour later, the palace courtyard roared with activity. Torches blazed, shadows danced on the walls. Fifteen hundred soldiers stood in formation alongside thirty magi from the Tower. Horses stamped their hooves, armor gleamed under the firelight.
Arthur strode through the ranks, soldiers straightening as he passed. Some faces were hard with resolve, others young and pale with nerves. A recruit swallowed hard, trying to hide his fear.
Arthur stopped before the eastern gate. His voice boomed across the courtyard.
"To the Grimhollow! May God bless your steps!"
The reply thundered back in unison. The great column surged forward, hooves clattering against stone. That night, the city of Valoria lay silent in sleep, unaware that thousands of its defenders marched toward a cursed forest.
By morning, the sun cast its light over the long column of soldiers. The clatter of hooves and the jingle of armor echoed along the road. The army wound past rice fields and through villages veiled in light mist.
Villagers turned in shock. Some dropped their tools mid-work, others emerged from homes carrying children. They whispered nervously, eyes full of questions.
"Are we at war?" a farmer asked under his breath.
"Why is the King riding with them?" murmured another.
"Is this a convoy… or has an enemy come so close?"
Arthur, riding at the front, heard their murmurs but kept his composure. At times he raised his hand, offering a simple wave. Some villagers bowed deeply, others looked only more unsettled.
Normally, the march from Valoria's east gate to the Grimhollow would take two days on foot. With horses, they had already covered half the distance in one night. When the sun climbed higher, Lionel ordered a halt.
The soldiers rested in an open field beside the road. No tents were raised,only small fires to cook a meager breakfast. The scent of porridge and bread drifted as men removed helmets and wiped sweat from their brows.
Arthur dismounted and approached Lionel. "How much farther?" he asked plainly.
"By noon, we should arrive, Your Majesty," Lionel replied, bowing his head.
Arthur nodded. "Rest thirty minutes. Then we move again."
The men ate quickly, some sitting on the ground, others remaining at their posts. No laughter, no songs. Only the snort of horses broke the silence. They all knew this was no ordinary march....it was the prelude to something far more dangerous.
After half an hour, the column advanced once more. The road narrowed, winding through smaller towns outside the capital. Again, villagers stared in silence. Children stopped playing, mouths open. Women covered their lips with scarves, while men stood still at the roadside, watching.
Arthur waved again, offering a faint smile. Deep inside, he knew it was not for their comfort, but for his own resolve.
Meanwhile, deep within the Grimhollow, Hendrik stirred awake. His head throbbed, his mouth stuffed with cloth. His hands and feet were bound tightly to a wooden pole, his body slung across the shoulders of two hooded men trudging slowly through the mist.
His vision blurred, the fog thickening with every breath. His chest heaved, each jolt of the pole sending fresh pain through his wounds.
Then, through the shifting haze, he saw it.
In the distance stood a small castle. Its towers were stunted, its walls dark, as though it had grown out of the earth itself. Crimson mist swirled around it, casting a sickly glow that made it look like a nightmare given form.
Hendrik blinked rapidly, unsure if his eyes deceived him. "Is this real… or just an illusion?"
His eyelids grew heavy, his body swaying. Yet the image of that castle burned into his mind, a vision that refused to fade.