The horse nearly collapsed as it crossed the gates of Avernor.
Covered in dust, with his cloak torn and his face gaunt, the nobleman dismounted without waiting for assistance. His boots left trails of mud on the polished marble of the main entrance, an obscene contrast to the elegance of the royal castle.
The guards looked at him with confusion.
"Where is your escort, Lord Merrow?" asked one, his hand near the hilt of his sword.
The nobleman slowly raised his head.
There was something broken in his eyes.
"...Dead."
"An ambush?"
"No," he corrected bitterly. "A choice."
That single word was enough for silence to spread like a stain.
Without waiting for permission, Merrow strode down the corridors toward the council chamber. Each step echoed like a hammer against his pride. He hadn't just failed… he had been humiliated. And Avernor didn't know it yet.
But it would know soon.
---
The Lesser Throne Room was full.
Not of soldiers, but of words.
Twelve nobles seated in a semicircle. Silken cloaks. Lineage rings. Gaze that had learned to despise effortlessly. In the center, the kingdom's banner hung heavily, as if listening too.
"Lord Merrow," a herald announced, "sent to Dreisburg."
Conversations ceased.
Merrow advanced to the center, knelt… and took a second longer than necessary to do so.
"Speak," ordered one of the senior counselors. "Why have we received no tribute? Why has no report reached us until today?"
Merrow clenched his teeth.
"Because Dreisburg… no longer answers to the kingdom."
A murmur ran through the room.
"A starving village?" someone laughed. "What joke is this?"
Merrow lifted his head.
"It's not a traditional rebellion."
"Then what?"
"They didn't attack us."
"Did they negotiate?"
"No."
The noble took a deep breath, as if saying the next part caused him physical pain.
"They let us enter. They fed us. They observed us. And then… they offered us a choice."
Silence fell more heavily.
"Explain yourself," said another counselor, his voice tense.
Merrow closed his eyes for an instant.
"The commander… Adelheid. Used her power in front of everyone. Not to order killings. Not to impose loyalty to an enemy kingdom."
"Then for what?"
"To force us to look at ourselves."
Some frowned.
"Mind magic?"
"Yes. But not as you know it."
Merrow clenched his fist.
"She said: 'Kneel… or be left behind.'"
A counselor slammed the table.
"And our men?"
"A portion of them… knelt."
"TREASON?"
"No," corrected Merrow. "Conviction."
The word fell like blasphemy.
"There was food," he continued. "Shelter. A purpose. Not empty promises. Not fear."
"And the leader?" asked a different, colder voice. "Who is behind this?"
Merrow hesitated.
"A young man. Black hair. A calm gaze. He didn't present himself as a king. Nor a hero."
"Name?"
"Kaito."
Some counselors exchanged uncomfortable looks.
"Kaito…?" one whispered. "Isn't that the…?"
The elder in the center raised his hand.
"Continue."
"He ordered no executions. He celebrated no victory over us. He only said something that… still echoes."
Merrow swallowed.
"'I have not come to rule through fear.'"
A dense silence took hold of the room.
"So, why did you flee?" asked a golden-bearded noble with contempt.
Merrow looked up, furious.
"Because I had already lost."
"A village does not defeat Avernor!"
"No," he replied. "But an idea… can."
---
The laughter wasn't long in coming.
"Exaggerations."
"A psychological trick."
"Grateful peasants."
One of the strategists stood up.
"I'll send a larger detachment. This is resolved with authority."
"No," interjected another. "It must be an exemplary punishment."
The elder at the center narrowed his eyes.
"If we don't crush them now… others will think they can do the same."
That was the moment.
The decision that sealed the kingdom's mistake.
"We will mobilize the army," he decreed. "No negotiations. No delays."
"Who will lead?" someone asked.
The elder smiled smugly.
"Not one of our generals."
The side doors opened.
A figure entered.
Young. Straight-backed. White armor with sacred symbols. An aura that didn't entirely belong to this world.
The murmurs turned into expectation.
"One of the Summoned Heroes."
The young man stopped before the council and bowed.
"I have been called," he said with a firm voice. "My name is Eldric."
Merrow opened his eyes in horror.
"A hero… against a village?"
"It is not a village," the elder replied. "It is an infection."
Eldric frowned slightly.
"Whom will I face?"
"A rebel leader."
"Name?"
"It is not relevant."
Merrow wanted to speak.
He wanted to warn him.
But no one was listening.
"You will lead the punitive force," the counselor continued. "You will restore order. You will show what happens when the kingdom is defied."
Eldric nodded.
"So it shall be."
But as he withdrew…
A flicker of doubt crossed his gaze.
---
That same night, the barracks burned with activity.
Soldiers marching. Banners unfurling. Orders shouted.
Avernor's army was on the move.
And in Dreisburg…
Calm still reigned.
---
Far from the castle, in a forgotten tower, a mage watched a dark water mirror. Runes glowed faintly.
"So they've decided to send a hero…" he murmured. "What irony."
The image showed a black glove.
Cards turning slowly.
Feminine shadows waiting to be called.
"They still don't understand," the mage smiled. "They are not marching against a village."
The surface of the water trembled.
"They are marching against a commander."
---
Back in the castle, Merrow remained alone.
He looked at his trembling hands.
He remembered Adelheid's words.
Choose.
And for the first time…
He felt fear for the kingdom he had served his entire life.
A soldier approached and whispered, almost with pity:
"The castle will not forgive you for this."
Merrow closed his eyes.
---
The army departed at dawn.
A hero at its head.
A kingdom confident in its superiority.