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There's a saying: fall behind by a step, and you'll be behind every step after.
Right now, Yohn Royce was living proof of that miserable truth.
By the time he had pushed himself to the brink of collapse and finally reached the foot of Stone Hedge, all he saw flying above the battlements were two banners; one was the familiar sigil of House Bracken, still fluttering proudly in the wind. The other… the other was a flag that made Yohn Royce grit his teeth in fury: the golden trident-wielding mermaid of House Manderly.
It was clear. Clay Manderly had already entered the castle!
Which could only mean one thing… his own two thousand men, left camped outside the castle walls, had been completely wiped out.
When his forces drew near, the gates of Stone Hedge remained tightly sealed, shut so securely that not the slightest crack of opportunity was left for them.
Now, at long last, the snowfall that had dragged on for more than ten days had finally stopped. The air was crisp and clean, the skies bright and clear, and visibility stretched far across the fields. From a distance, Yohn Royce could see everything on the ramparts with brutal clarity.
There were two reasons he had come to Stone Hedge himself.
The first was to see the situation with his own eyes — to assess how the two camps outside the castle were holding up. If Clay Manderly had truly been bogged down by them, then this could have been a perfect opportunity for Royce to strike from both sides and crush him in between.
The second reason was far more personal.
His eldest son, Andar Royce, the heir to Runestone, was stationed in the northern camp under his own orders.
He had brought the boy along so he could gain some firsthand experience, to meet and get to know the men who led armies, and to understand what war really looked like.
Every great house did the same. It was a duty embedded deep in the lordly nobility's bones — to do everything in their power to prepare their heirs for the mantle they would one day carry.
The eldest son was destined to inherit the title. And if that son turned out to be a useless fool with no grasp of battle or command, then it would drag the entire family down with him.
At the time, Yohn had thought the rear camp would be the safest place to station him. Far better than riding into battle at his father's side, where chaos and slaughter reigned. Who could tell friend from foe in the heat of a rout?
Yet in the end, all his grand efforts amounted to nothing more than a long, fruitless march. While the place he had thought the safest… had turned into a wasteland right before his eyes.
"Lord Royce," one of his men came forward and gave a grim report. "I just sent scouts ahead. The northern camp is covered in blood, looks like something terrible happened there. As for the western camp, it must've caught fire: what's left now are only blackened ruins. I fear…"
He didn't finish. There was no need. Words were meaningless at this point. The army they had left outside the castle walls was gone. Now, everything depended on what Yohn Royce chose to do next.
To tell the truth, Royce wasn't particularly bothered by what might have happened to House Grafton or House Lynderly in the western camp. They'd only ever done the bare minimum anyway, dragging their feet and showing no real loyalty. They hadn't been on the same side from the start… if they were dead now, so be it.
But what truly chilled his blood… was the possibility that his heir had fallen into enemy hands.
Yohn Royce refused to believe that Clay Manderly would be foolish enough to kill his son outright. Such an act would have been the most wasteful and shortsighted decision imaginable.
As he stared at the banners fluttering above the battlements, one billowing with familiar disdain and the other flaunting its golden defiance, an oppressive tightness rose in his chest. It felt as though the sigils themselves were mocking his failure in silence. The proud Lord of Runestone stood motionless, his breath caught in his throat.
His right hand closed around the hilt of his sword, knuckles white with tension. A burning urge surged within him, a desperate impulse to draw his blade at once, storm the walls, and challenge Clay Manderly, who was surely somewhere inside the castle, to a final duel.
But the faint thread of reason that remained tugged him back.
His troops were already at the end of their strength. They'd barely made it this far, fueled only by the lingering rage and humiliation of being toyed with by Clay Manderly.
The army had just enough fight left in them for one last battle. If they lost here, if they were broken again, morale would collapse completely. And the Royce family's core strength, the finest soldiers of Runestone, might be lost for good. There would be no recovering from that.
While Yohn stood there, still torn between fury and reason, the other side finally stirred into action.
The appearance of knights from the Vale outside the castle did not go unnoticed. In moments, the long, desolate blast of a war horn echoed through Stone Hedge, carrying the news across the fortress.
Clay Manderly, in the middle of a pleasant lunch, was forced to put down his utensils and break off his conversation with the food he had been enjoying. Frowning, he made his way to the top of the walls.
Stone Hedge didn't have many winter garments to go around. During the Long Summer that had lasted over a decade, such things had barely been needed. And now, with the sudden cold snap catching everyone off guard, the massive fortress could only manage to scrounge up enough thick clothing for about two hundred men.
Rather than distribute those scarce coats unevenly and risk stirring up envy among the troops, Clay had made a different choice.
It didn't sit right with him to let useful supplies go to waste. So he gave the order: all the heavy coats would be assigned as "work uniforms" for the men on sentry duty. Anyone going up to guard the wall would wear one, but as soon as their shift ended and they came back down, they were to take it off immediately. No exceptions.
It was absurd, really… Clay Manderly, heir of one of the most powerful houses in the North, now found himself worrying about winter coats.
But there was no helping it. The sharp drop in temperature had blindsided them all.
By the time he stepped onto the battlements, the snow covering the stone walls was already starting to melt under the pale, suspended sun hanging in the sky.
Anyone with the slightest grasp of physics knew that melting snow felt even colder than falling snow.
His breath came out in white puffs, curling in the frigid air. Narrowing his eyes, Clay looked out at the endless wave of horsemen gathered beyond the walls, their dark armor forming a dense sea of steel and leather. A faint, mocking smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"So, you're that eager to see me, Yohn Royce?"
"Wouldn't it be rude of me not to grant you that wish? That wouldn't be very gentlemanly, would it?"
"Especially since you've come all this way to deliver yourself to my gates."
Out on the wild, snow-smeared plains of the Riverlands, where white, black, and yellow blended into one harsh, colorless expanse, Yohn Royce's cavalry continued to pace and circle, hooves stamping patterns into the frozen ground.
They had no cover at all. No trees, no tents, no shelter. Only the bitter wind, slicing through their cloaks and armor, steadily sapping the warmth from their bodies.
Just as Yohn Royce was preparing to swallow his anger and send someone to negotiate with Clay — hoping, just maybe, he could buy back his precious son through some other means — a sharp-eyed guard beside him suddenly pointed to the top of the castle wall and cried out in alarm,
"Lord Royce! Look… on the battlements! That's Clay Manderly's great banner!"
This guard had never seen Clay in person, yet he sounded absolutely certain that it was his banner… because the reason was obvious.
It was a massive flag, much larger than the smaller ones flanking it, the kind of grand, ornate standard typically reserved for the commanding center of an army. It was the unmistakable symbol of House Manderly, and every time Clay rode out to war, this banner followed closely behind him.
Yohn Royce saw it too now… that enormous golden merman with a trident billowing in the wind. The rage he had just managed to suppress surged back in full force, burning hot in his chest.
All these days as he marched north, he had dreamed of seeing this very banner appear before him. Yet now that it had, there was no satisfaction — only a deep, gnawing humiliation that cut straight to the bone.
And then, right before his eyes, the tightly sealed gates of Stone Hedge creaked open. From the shadows within, a single rider emerged atop a pitch-black warhorse, wrapped tightly in layers of thick winter gear.
Pinned to his saddle fluttered a small flag bearing the crest of House Manderly. With a slight nudge of his heels, the rider urged his horse forward and charged directly toward Yohn Royce's camp… showing no fear whatsoever.
Yohn Royce exchanged a puzzled glance with the guards beside him. Was this rider… coming to negotiate with them?
Deep down, Yohn Royce desperately wanted to avoid direct confrontation with Clay. This latest stunt of his — taking the castle, wiping out the camps, raising that banner — had been so flawlessly executed, so humiliating in its precision, that Royce no longer even wanted to face him.
If it weren't for the fact that his beloved son was still in Clay's hands, he would've turned south already, riding off to gather the remaining forces stationed at his other two castles. Staying here even a second longer felt like accepting defeat.
"Let him through," Yohn said coldly. "Let's hear what Clay Manderly wants to say."
He reached out to press down the crossbows his guards had instinctively raised. Right now, no one in the entire camp could even bear to hear Clay Manderly's name spoken aloud… yet here he was, forced to talk to someone the man had sent. The bitterness of it all was something only Yohn Royce himself could truly understand.
The rider who had come out of the castle to represent Clay was none other than Garlan Manderly, one of Clay's personal Witcher guards.
He had volunteered for the task himself, jumping at the chance to play the role of messenger.
After the last raid on the western camp, the entire world had changed for him — he had seen what real battle looked like, tasted the thrill of action, and now he craved more.
As he rode out of the gates, Garlan Manderly kept repeating Clay's instructions in his mind, and a faint thrill bubbled up in his chest.
However, when he looked out at the massive host before him — a solid black sea of horsemen whose fury seemed to radiate through the freezing air — he couldn't help but shiver a little. Even the icy wind couldn't drown out the suffocating anger coming off them in waves.
Thinking quickly, Garlan quietly activated a Quen Sign, coating himself in an invisible magical shield.
Yes, that's right. Lord Clay had made it very clear: above all else, survival came first. No matter what situation he found himself in, the top priority was always to protect his own life. Only by keeping a strong and healthy body could he continue to carve out glory on the battlefield later on.
So no… absolutely not… it wasn't cowardice. Definitely not!
Riding fast, Garlan approached the massive orange banner of House Royce, the one that bore the egg-shaped runestone emblem of Runestone's lords. He came to a halt about twenty paces from it.
It was the perfect distance. Close enough for both sides to speak without shouting, but far enough to avoid provoking any suspicion that someone might suddenly draw a sword or make a rash move.
Yohn Royce frowned slightly, his gaze fixed on the stranger before him. He didn't know who this young man was, he had never seen Clay Manderly in person, but based on his instincts and long years of experience, he could tell that while this rider did seem as young as the rumors claimed Clay to be, there was no way this was the man himself.
What kind of commander would show up in person just to act as a messenger?
With a wave of his hand, Yohn signaled to one of his personal guards to step forward and question the knight from House Manderly.
The guard obeyed at once. He gave the warhorse beneath him a sharp nudge with his legs and rode steadily toward the waiting messenger.
A short while later, the guard returned… his expression sour and his face clearly showing his anger.
This Manderly rider had flat-out refused to speak to him.
The arrogant little bastard had even called Yohn Royce by name and said he would only negotiate with him directly, because he had been sent by Lord Clay Manderly himself, and anyone else simply wasn't worthy!
Grinding his molars so hard it made his jaw ache, Yohn Royce kept telling himself not to lose his temper. Not here, not now. The situation was no longer in his favor.
Clay Manderly stood high atop those walls, looking down at him with a calm, mocking smile — and all he could do in return was rage in silence, helpless and humiliated.
He drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. His voice, when he finally spoke, felt drained.
"…Let him through."
Garlan Manderly rode forward, relishing every glare of hatred he received from the surrounding Royce riders, each one of them silently wishing they could rip him apart.
He moved at a steady, unhurried pace, as though he were reviewing troops at a parade, until he came to a stop right before Yohn Royce at the center of the camp.
So now they stood face to face — Garlan Manderly, speaking for White Harbor and the Twins, and Yohn Royce, proud Lord of Runestone — locked in an atmosphere so awkward it was almost painful.
Big eyes stared at smaller ones. Neither said a word. Neither was willing to speak first.
No one knew how long the silence lasted. Yohn Royce's eyes had already started to sting from the cold and the tension.
And then, all of a sudden, it hit him… what in the world was he doing, standing here in silence, staring down some young messenger like it was a battle of wills?
He was the Lord of Runestone. Did his dignity mean nothing now? What kind of ridiculous display was this… having a staring contest with an errand boy?
Yohn Royce, whose nerves had been teetering on the edge of collapse for days now, couldn't take it any longer. He finally broke the silence, his voice sharp and firm:
"State your purpose. What message does Clay Manderly's messenger bring?"
Garlan grinned. There was a strange, almost wicked satisfaction in messing with Yohn Royce that he hadn't expected. But this wasn't the time to play around.
There was business to handle now, and he knew exactly what to do.
He took a breath and steadied himself, running over the instructions Clay had drilled into him before sending him out:
"Garlan, your goal this time is to push Yohn Royce into attacking the castle… do whatever you can to provoke him. And don't worry, they won't dare lay a finger on you. Just tell them that if they try, I'll kill the Lord of Runestone's son without a second thought."
So, with Clay's words fresh in his mind, Garlan Manderly finally answered Yohn Royce's question.
"Lord Royce," he said, his voice cool and courteous, "I've come to discuss the details of your surrender ceremony."
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[Chapter End's]
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