Alexander, the heavy signet ring of his house pressing cold against his skin. He was so incredibly tired. Yet, beneath the exhaustion burned a desperate, inherited pride. He never felt the same greed as his father was. The legendary legacy of his father—the man who had forged the very Order through blood and iron.
The bitter irony wasn't lost on him. Alexander had never truly seen his father. Not really. The old man had been a ghost in his own palace, entirely consumed by a bottomless, shameless greed that kept him perpetually on the warpath. He had abandoned his son to chase the next territory, the next line on a map.
He hated his father...
"We cannot simply leave empty-handed," the Magister advised, leaning closer to the Lord. "Our forces have already lost vital resources on this journey. Entire squadrons—even Commander Knights—were slaughtered during this expedition."
Lord Alexander sighed heavily, the weight of the disastrous campaign pressing down on his shoulders. "Do you want me to be killed by that monster next?"
"No, my Lord..." the Magister murmured, stepping back.
Silence fell over the tent. What else could have been done? Alexander thought bitterly.
"Ha! The Knights Templar should have defended us properly," a Royal Archer smirked, deliberately trying to provoke a reaction from the vanguard. "Why did we even bother bringing these useless grunts?"
A nearby knight shot back, his expression darkening with rage. "And who among us was too cowardly to even loose an arrow at the enemy floating in the sky? Tell me, archer—is your status based entirely on your nobility, or do you actually possess a spine?"
"The Lord is still speaking," a senior knight intervened sharply. His commanding tone acted as an extensive, furious demand for the Royal Archer to shut his mouth and calm down.
Alexander tuned out their bickering, his mind shifting to the erratic swordsman who had caused a massive commotion just moments prior—the one Adam seemed so fond of. It would be highly beneficial to have someone gather intelligence while the main army retreated.
The real problem was securing the man's loyalty. Enslavement contract magic would guarantee his return, but Alexander knew Adam would fiercely oppose it.
Before he could weigh his options, a breathless guardsman burst into the tent. "Sir! A dark-armored knight demands to meet with you. He claims he is the catalyst who will direct revolutionary changes to the kingdom."
Too many problems. Far too many.
Alexander looked over at his Royal Swordsman, his voice tired but firm. "Bring this dark knight in. And bring that other swordsman to me as well."