A House in Ruin
The estate reeked of blood and desperation. Once a grand home adorned with banners of nobility, it was now nothing more than a graveyard. Bodies lay twisted and lifeless, the scent of burning parchment lingering in the air. The chandeliers flickered, casting long, distorted shadows across the bloodstained floors.
Modred wiped his blade clean, his crimson gaze cold and unreadable. Across the room, Lucan stood before Lord Rhylen Castor, the noble of this estate, who had collapsed to his knees, his breathing ragged.
The once-proud lord was a shaking mess, his expensive robes soaked in sweat and blood, his hands gripping at nothing but air as if searching for an escape that didn't exist.
"You don't understand." Rhylen's voice shook. "You think this is about power? About greed? You have no idea what's happening inside the palace!"
Lucan's golden eyes gleamed. "Then educate us."
Rhylen swallowed, eyes darting around the room, as if hoping someone—anyone—would save him. But his guards were dead. His influence meant nothing here. Only death remained.
He let out a hollow, broken laugh.
"The royal family..." He coughed, blood dribbling from his lips. "They aren't united. They aren't even pretending anymore. It's worse than you think."
Xeraniel crossed his arms. "Worse how?"
Rhylen's gaze flickered toward him, his orange eyes bloodshot.
"The King. The Princes. The entire damn bloodline." He exhaled shakily. "They're not just fighting for the throne. They're fighting for survival."
Silence filled the room.
Lucan tapped his chin, an amused smile creeping onto his lips.
"Now that… sounds interesting."
"You don't understand!" Rhylen's voice cracked. "You think you hold power? The Valkary are strong, but you're just tools in a war you don't even see yet!"
Modred's blade gleamed under the dim candlelight as he raised it without hesitation.
"And you won't live to see it."
A flash of steel. A wet gurgle.
Rhylen's head rolled across the floor, his expression frozen in shock.
Lucan sighed, stepping over the corpse. "You really don't let them finish, huh?"
Modred's gaze burned through the shadows. "He said enough."
---
The Cost of Truth
Fenrick kicked a chair aside, the sound of splintering wood echoing through the ruined hall. "So, what do we do with this mess?"
Lucan adjusted his gloves, flipping through a half-burnt ledger. His golden eyes flicked over the records—payments to unknown figures, missing inventory, and mentions of the royal treasury.
"It's simple. We leave the bodies. Let the nobility see what happens when they step out of line."
Xeraniel scoffed. "You act like they'll learn."
Lucan smirked. "Oh, they won't. That's what makes this fun."
Modred turned toward the door, his expression unreadable.
"We report to the King. Now."
---
Summoned to the Palace
Morning came with a storm of whispers.
The nobles were in uproar. A high-ranking lord executed without trial? Some called it reckless brutality, others saw it as a warning. But none could deny the truth—fear was spreading.
The Valkary were becoming unstoppable.
The royal palace was eerily silent as the squad entered the throne room. Golden chandeliers loomed above, casting a soft, flickering glow over the grand hall. The King sat upon his throne, his sleeveless robe revealing his muscular frame, his orange eyes burning with quiet intensity.
Beside him, the Crown Prince stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
"You are growing reckless." The King's voice was even, but the weight behind it was undeniable.
Lucan stepped forward, his golden gaze sharp, piercing.
"And yet, Your Majesty still summons us. Perhaps you need that recklessness."
The tension in the room thickened.
The King's lips curled into something dangerous.
"Perhaps."
Then, with a slow wave of his hand—
"You will all attend tonight's gathering. It is time you see the game from a higher vantage point."
Lucan smirked, his golden eyes gleaming. "Ah. So the real war is about to begin."
The King's gaze darkened.
"It already has."