Gazef's question caused the air in the reception hall to freeze.
Within the Re-Estize Kingdom, nobles were permitted to maintain private forces—but only within rigid limits. These restrictions were not merely financial. They were deliberate safeguards, designed to prevent lesser nobles from amassing enough strength to threaten the throne or provoke civil war.
A baron's legal limit was five hundred soldiers.
There were, of course, unspoken allowances. A few extra men were tolerated. A thousand might be overlooked if discretion were maintained.
But what Gazef had seen went far beyond indulgence.
Three thousand.
And not common levies.
In the training grounds, warriors cleaved tree stumps with single strikes. Martial Arts were layered during sparring—two, three at a time—executed as if the burden did not exist. Even Gazef himself, the Kingdom's strongest warrior, could not replicate such feats across an entire force.
If those men marched, the capital would bleed.
Add Catherine Cort Albert to that number, and the threat became undeniable.
As Warrior Captain and shield of the Kingdom, Gazef could not ignore this. Even knowing the danger of voicing such suspicion within a noble's domain, he pressed forward.
Yet Lock showed no reaction.
No anger. No tension.
He accepted a cup of black tea from Vier, took a measured sip, and spoke calmly.
"You misunderstand, Warrior Captain."
Gazef watched closely.
"The soldiers you observed do not all belong to me," Lock continued. "Three neighboring nobles share use of my training grounds. What you saw was a mixed force."
Gazef narrowed his eyes—then inclined his head.
"I see. Then I was mistaken."
A lie, and both men knew it.
Gazef was certain of it. Any investigation would be useless. The nobles involved would repeat the same explanation without deviation. The truth would never surface—not while the Albert family possessed both influence and fear.
He let the matter rest.
But his wariness deepened.
"Very well," Gazef said. "Then let us return to the matter you summoned me for—the intelligence regarding the border."
"Indeed." Lock set the teacup down. "What I discovered is… distasteful."
He spoke without urgency, as though reciting a minor inconvenience.
"The so-called Imperial forces harassing the border are not Imperial at all. They are soldiers of the Slane Theocracy, disguised and deployed to provoke escalation."
Gazef's hand tightened slightly.
"Their true objective," Lock continued, "was not territory—but you. They intend to draw you into battle at the border and remove the Kingdom's strongest warrior."
A pause.
"Regrettably," Lock added, "certain individuals within the Kingdom assisted them."
Silence stretched.
"I see," Gazef said at last, releasing a slow breath.
"You do not seem surprised," Lock observed.
"I am," Gazef replied. "But not enough to doubt it."
He lifted his gaze. "Allow me to ask something in return. Why tell me this? If I were to fall, it would weaken the royal faction. That would benefit many noble houses—including yours."
Lock regarded him steadily.
"Because I find you… necessary," he said. "Men like you are rare. With you alive, the Kingdom endures longer."
It was not praise. It was an assessment.
Gazef inclined his head. "I accept that."
"Then tell me," Lock said, eyes narrowing slightly, "what will you do?"
Gazef answered without hesitation.
"I will proceed."
"As expected."
Lock closed his eyes briefly and took another sip of tea.
Gazef continued, "I cannot abandon the border populace. That is my duty. And if the enemy is the Slane Theocracy, retreating to gather ordinary troops would only increase casualties. Their elite magic casters would slaughter them."
"Then how do you intend to compensate for the difference in power?" Lock asked.
"I will hire high-ranking adventurers in E-Rantel."
Lock's gaze sharpened.
"That is insufficient," he said flatly. "They lack the means to face the Theocracy's deployed forces. And once they learn the nature of the enemy, many will refuse outright. The Adventurers' Guild does not involve itself in political warfare."
Gazef said nothing.
"If you permit it," Lock continued calmly, "I will dispatch my Knight Order to support you."
The words settled heavily between them.
Gazef lifted his head slowly, staring at Lock.
So this was it.
Nobles did nothing without calculation. This offer was no exception. Yet Gazef could see no immediate benefit for Lock—only risk.
Opposition from the noble faction. Scrutiny from the Slane Theocracy. Suspicion from the crown.
There was no profit here.
And that unsettled him more than open hostility ever could.
"Why?" Gazef asked quietly.
Lock met his gaze.
That answer had not yet been spoken.
---
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