The silver trumpet's blast shattered the tension in the Ironspire guardroom. Its majestic echo bounced off the damp stone walls, forcing Baron Cedric to lower his trembling sword. Silas did not break his stance; his mace remained raised, shielding Alistair.
"Royal envoys?" Cedric hissed, his flushed face turning deathly pale. "Why have they come to this dung heap so early in the morning?"
Captain Vane sheathed his sword swiftly. As a soldier, the sound of that trumpet was the supreme law. "My Lord, we should receive them. If they find you drawing steel on a prisoner outside of execution hours..."
"I know!" Cedric snapped. He snatched up his slightly loosened glove, pulling it tight until it covered his scaly wrist. He shot Alistair a look filled with a promise of murder. "Don't think this is over, Julian. If you leak a single word, I'll ensure you're dead before you can blink."
Alistair only replied with a thin, mocking smile. "Careful, Baron. Stress worsens your blood circulation, and that is... very bad for your precious 'scales'."
Cedric growled, then turned and marched out in a hurried stride, followed by Captain Vane.
The room suddenly fell silent. Silas lowered his mace, panting heavily. He turned toward Alistair. "You are truly insane. Defying Baron Halloway... you know he could crush you with a flick of his finger?"
"He already tried to crush me last night, Silas," Alistair replied as he stood up slowly. He adjusted the linen wrapping his hand. "And look, I'm still standing. How's your neck? Still throbbing?"
Silas felt his bandage. "It feels much lighter. But... what happens now?"
"Something massive is unfolding at the Palace," Alistair murmured, his eyes fixed on the door. "And that is our ticket out of this hell."
Meanwhile, at the heart of the Kingdom of Aethelgard, the atmosphere was far from majestic. The usually grand Ebon-Gold Palace was shrouded in the scent of air-purifying incense and a gripping fear.
Inside the vast royal bedchamber, King Theodoric stood beside a massive canopied bed. His usually sharp eyes were red and weary. Upon the bed, Princess Elara von Astrea lay helpless. Her porcelain-white skin was now marred by prominent black lines—veins turning dark and hardening like obsidian stone.
The Obsidian Veins.
"How far has it spread?" the King asked in a hoarse voice.
Grand Maester Valerius, the long-haired, white-bearded royal physician, bowed low. His hand, holding a golden elixir, trembled slightly. "Forgive me, Your Majesty... the black veins have passed the diaphragm. If they reach the heart valves... I fear..."
"I don't need your fears, Valerius! I need my daughter's recovery!" The King slammed his fist against the bedpost. "You said the sunflower brew from the northern peaks would work! You said the thermal cleansing ritual would help her!"
"The Princess's condition is unique, Your Majesty," Valerius defended himself, breaking into a cold sweat. "This isn't merely a disease; it's like... a curse that devours her body heat. The more warm elixirs we provide, the faster those veins crawl."
Elara groaned softly in her sleep. Her body shivered violently, despite the room being filled with a dozen hearths. The black lines on her neck seemed to throb faintly, as if something were alive beneath her skin.
King Theodoric turned toward the large window overlooking the city. He took a long breath. "Proclaim it to the entire country. No, to the entire continent!"
"Your Majesty?"
"Anyone—be they a physician, a mage, an alchemist, or even a commoner from the deepest trenches—who can cure Princess Elara, I shall grant a high noble title, gold enough for seven generations, and any single wish the throne of Aethelgard can fulfill!"
The King's voice boomed. "But warn them... if they try and fail, they will rot in Ironspire forever. I have no use for charlatans at a time like this!"
Back at Ironspire, the royal envoy led by Sir Kaelen, a young knight in a white cloak, stood in the main hall. Baron Cedric stood beside him with a face of feigned concern.
"So, His Majesty seeks a healer?" Cedric asked in a saccharine, manufactured tone. "Truly tragic, the Princess's fate. I shall order every physician in the Halloway domain to depart immediately."
"The King requires someone extraordinary, Baron," Sir Kaelen replied sternly. "Not just a medicine man. We have visited three cities, and every physician is terrified by the risk of life imprisonment."
Silas, standing in the line of guards behind them, listened intently. He glanced toward the corridor leading to the guardroom where Alistair was held. He remembered how Julian's hands—or that man's—moved with impossible speed while dissecting his neck. He remembered how Alistair diagnosed the Baron's illness with just a glance.
He isn't the old Julian, Silas thought. He is something else. Something terrifying... but miraculous.
Silas knew the risk. If he spoke and the man failed, Silas would be dragged down too. But if he remained silent, he would let his lifesaver rot under Cedric's orders.
"Wait, Sir Kaelen!" Silas's voice broke military protocol.
Baron Cedric turned with bulging eyes. "Silence, Jailer! How dare you interrupt the King's envoy!"
Sir Kaelen raised his hand, signaling Cedric to be quiet. He looked at Silas. "You have something to say, Jailer?"
Silas stepped forward, removing his iron helm. "Down there... in the deepest cell... there is a prisoner. Julian Vance is his name."
Cedric laughed mockingly. "He's a murderer and a fraud, Sir Kaelen. He's recently lost his mind from torture."
"He isn't just a prisoner," Silas continued, his voice growing steadier. "Last night, he stitched his own wounds without flinching. And this morning... he operated on my neck, removing a lethal infection I can't even describe. His hands... his hands move like lightning, Sir. I've never seen a human have such control over a blade."
Sir Kaelen frowned. "A convict?"
"The men in the prison have been calling him the 'Devil Doctor' since this morning," Silas added, providing a title he had just invented. "He sees sickness as if human skin were transparent."
Cedric felt his heart stop. If Alistair were taken to the palace, the secret of his 'scales' would be out of his control. "This is ridiculous! Do not listen to him!"
"Take me to him," Sir Kaelen ordered, ignoring Cedric's protests. "The King commanded us not to overlook a single possibility. If he is a fraud, Ironspire is already his home. But if what you say is true, Jailer... then the fate of the kingdom may be in his hands."
Silas led the royal envoys toward the underground cells, leaving Baron Cedric standing frozen, his fists trembling with rage. Inside the darkness of his cell, Alistair sat calmly, as if he already knew those armored footsteps were coming to fetch him.
"Julian Vance?" Sir Kaelen asked upon reaching the cell bars.
Alistair looked up, his sharp eyes piercing the knight. "Julian is dead. But if you are looking for someone who can save that petrifying Princess... you've come to the right place."