"Who did they find?"
Rudious asked without looking up from his desk, still going through papers.
"Jorthan. In Rejmor. He's preparing an attack."
Robert's voice was flat, professional.
"Jorthan." Rudious set the papers down. "The northern baron's bastard. The one who attacked the western county during the Rebellion."
"The same, My Lord."
"Oh." Rudious's eyes sharpened. "That bastard. So they found him."
"Yes. But Rejmor is short on soldiers. The commander isn't available. Reinforcements will take time."
Jorald, standing in the corner, stroked his beard. "It's been a long time since we've had a chance at that bastard."
"How many men does he have, Robert?"
"About forty, My Lord."
"Forty?" Rudious raised an eyebrow. "Where did he get that many?"
"We're still investigating, My Lord." Robert paused. "And we don't know why he's attacking Rejmor either. Something's been happening lately. Many strange things. It feels like something big is coming."
Rudious was quiet for a moment.
"Go. Keep me informed."
"Yes, My Lord." Robert bowed and left.
Rudious turned to Jorald. "We leave this evening."
Jorald's eyes widened slightly. "You're going too?"
"It's been a while since I've had blood on my hands."
Jorald smiled. "Then we go together. Tonight."
Then Jorald added, "I've already sent the knights ahead. They'll manage until we arrive."
Rudious nodded. "Good thinking."
Both of them looked at each other and grinned.
---
Somewhere far away. A dark room.
A single candle burned in the center, casting weak light on a round wooden table. Shadowy figures sat all around it.
One of them stood up.
"Our experiments keep failing. Nothing works anymore."
"The monster attack in the north didn't go as planned either," another added.
"They have nothing except those Dragon Knights."
"Don't forget the Black Wings."
They started arguing among themselves.
Then the man at the head of the table slammed his hand down.
"Silence!"
The room went quiet.
"What news do you have?"
"We sent the Northern Hunting Hound west."
"Good. Any report?"
"Not yet, My Lord. Tonight. He attacks the village tonight."
"Perfect." The man smiled in the darkness. "After he destroys it, King Solaris will look west. And while he's distracted — we move in the capital."
---
That night, after dinner.
Drake was exhausted. He went straight to his room without a word. Rudious watched him go, then looked at Jorald.
"Ready?"
"Always, My Lord."
They slipped through the manor's back corridors and jumped from a balcony into the dark. Rudious pulled on his outer gear — light black armor underneath his coat, thin but strong. He picked up a knight's helmet from Arthur and put it on.
"Whatever happens," Rudious said, voice muffled through the helmet, "no one finds out who we are."
Arthur nodded from the gate. He had been waiting there in silence.
Together, the two of them leaped over the manor wall in one smooth motion and vanished into the night.
---
By the edge of a forest, near a small village.
*Slash*. *Thud.
Two large men with heavy axes stood over dead bodies. They were laughing.
"So weak. These knights are nothing."
"Exactly. Almost done here."
Then a voice came from behind them.
"Finished talking? Good. Then finish the job. Tonight this village becomes a graveyard."
The two axemen grinned. A troop of armed men emerged from the trees behind their leader.
Then another voice — calm, cold, cutting through the night.
"Is that so?"
The leader spun around. "Who said that? Show yourself!"
"Gladly."
Out of the darkness stepped fifty knights. Black armour, drawn swords. The Velrend insignia glinted in the moonlight.
"Velrend knights," their leader announced.
"Hyahhh!"
Both sides charged.
Swords clashed. Steel rang against steel. The Velrend knights held their ground, cutting down enemy after enemy — but they were taking hits too. Blood soaked the grass.
Jorthan — the enemy leader — growled. "This technique... this style... it's annoying."
He swung his heavy axe and took off a knight's head.
"Sir Velen!"
A knight screamed from behind.
"Bastard!"
Three knights rushed Jorthan. Slash. Thud. Two heads fell. But the knights were badly wounded too.
Jorthan snarled. "I don't have men to waste."
He raised his axe over the wounded knights—
"Hyaah!"
*Whoosh.
*Dhap.
"Huh?"
The axe didn't fall.
A hand — bare, strong — had caught the blade mid-swing. A man in black armor stood there, holding the axe like it weighed nothing. His helmet gleamed in the moonlight.
"Attacking the wounded is the mark of a coward," he said quietly. "Bastard."
Jorthan's eyes went wide. "Who are you?"
*Slash*. *Thud*.* Agh!
Four of his axemen fell in the span of a heartbeat. Their bodies hit the ground one after another.
"Knight Master!" the Velrend knights shouted.
Jorald stepped forward, not even breathing hard.
"All of you — take the wounded and leave. Now."
The knights obeyed without question, dragging their injured comrades away.
Jorthan scrambled to his feet. "You—!"
*Bam.
A fist slammed into his stomach. He flew backward and crashed into the dirt.
The remaining soldiers froze, staring at the black-armored figure in the moonlight. His helmet glowed silver. His stance was steady.
"Keep your eyes on the fight," the figure said. "You don't want to look away."
Jorthan coughed, struggling to rise. "Who... who are you?"
The black-armored man didn't answer. He simply raised his sword.
"The one who's going to remind you why you should have stayed hidden."
---
[Chapter 38 — End]