Noah stood near the edge of the courtyard, his coat heavy with frost, his gaze fixed on the banners swaying above.
A group of lieutenants stood gathered in the armory, their voices low but cutting.
"He's turning us into another army," one muttered, slamming his gauntlet against a crate.
"We were supposed to be free—mercenaries with no leash."
"Free?" another spat.
"You call this freedom? We take orders from nobles, follow military protocols, and die in their wars.
We've become dogs, and he's the one holding the chain."
Inside the main hall, Noah could hear every word through the crack in the door. His expression didn't change. He simply adjusted the glove on his right hand—a black gauntlet lined with chrome veins of mana—and turned to the maps spread before him.
