The grand gates of Lithian Hold creaked shut behind the Vangoria convoy, Lord Gareth's booming laughter and Lady Narine's polite farewells still echoing faintly in the courtyard. Four days had passed in a flurry of feasts, diplomatic discussions, and thinly veiled observations. The agreement was struck: Liam and Narine would wed when she turned seventeen, the traditional coming-of-age for nobility, a full two years hence. The Black Knight Squadron, a grim and silent escort, would see them safely to the Lithian borders. A collective sigh of relief, though unspoken, passed through the Lithian household.
Two days later, the atmosphere shifted again, a subtle tension coiling in the air like a serpent. Vorian Lithian arrived, his carriage far less ostentatious than the Vangorias' but carrying an undeniable air of self-importance. Turan, his ever-present shadow, trailed behind him, his face an impassive mask.
Vorian swept into Lord Baren's private study, offering a cursory nod to Sir Lucas and Liam, who were ostensibly reviewing patrol rosters. "Brother," Vorian began, his voice smooth as oiled silk, " my sincerest apologies for my absence during the Vangoria's visit, particularly for missing the betrothal ball. Regrettably, Urgent matters with certain factions at court required my… delicate intervention. The King's health, you know. One must ensure the Lithia name is well-positioned." He gave a subtle, almost dismissive glance at Baren, a flicker of ambition in his eyes.
Baren's expression remained stony. Sir Lucas merely grunted, while Liam offered a polite, if cool, inclination of his head, playing the part of the dutiful son.
"Indeed," Baren said, his voice devoid of warmth. "Speaking of urgent matters, we had a rather… eventful welcome for the Vangorias."
Vorian feigned surprise, his brow furrowing. "Eventful? I trust everything was to their satisfaction?"
"Not entirely," Baren replied, his gaze hardening. "They were ambushed. Assassins. On the Old King's Road, practically on our doorstep."
Vorian's reaction was a masterclass in theatrical outrage. He slammed a fist onto Baren's sturdy oak desk. "Assassins! In our territory? That's an affront! An absurdity! Brother, tell me you've uncovered who dared commit such an act!" His eyes blazed with what looked like righteous fury.
Liam watched, his own anger a cold, controlled ember. He could almost admire the performance, were the stakes not so deadly.
Baren leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled. "Indeed, Vorian. We have found… certain things. And what I've found, I suspect you will not like." He paused, letting the silence stretch, the tension becoming almost palpable. "The leader of those assassins, before he took his own life, uttered a name."
Vorian leaned forward, his expression one of rapt attention. "A name? Whose name, brother? Tell me, and I shall see them flayed!"
"Your attendant's," Baren said, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm. "Turan."
The air in the room crackled. Vorian froze, his mask of outrage momentarily slipping to reveal a flicker of something akin to surprise, quickly replaced by a chilling coldness. Mana, sharp and suffocating, began to leak from him, pressing down on the room. Dust motes danced erratically. Liam felt the pressure, a tangible weight, and saw Sir Lucas instinctively shift his hand closer to his sword hilt. Vorian, a 5-Star Elite Knight, was not to be trifled with.
"Are you accusing me, brother?" Vorian's voice was a low hiss, the earlier silkiness replaced by venom. "Do you dare suggest I had a hand in this?"
Baren met his brother's furious outburst with an even more potent wave of his own mana. The pressure Vorian exerted was instantly dwarfed, crushed by a force that felt like a mountain descending. The very timbers of the room seemed to groan. Vorian visibly recoiled, his mana flickering and receding like a doused flame. The difference between a 5-Star Elite Knight and a 6-Star Grandmaster was not merely a single rank; it was a chasm, a qualitative leap in power and control that Vorian, for all his ambition, could not bridge. He knew it.
"Know your place, Vorian," Baren's voice was like the grinding of tectonic plates. "I told you what I found. And now, I demand explanations."
Liam and Lucas exchanged a swift, almost imperceptible glance. Their attention was fixed on Turan. The attendant's face had gone deathly pale, sweat beading on his brow. His eyes darted nervously between Baren and Vorian, his composure utterly shattered. He looked as if he might collapse from sheer terror.
Lord Baren shifted his monumental gaze to the trembling attendant. "Turan. Perhaps you would care to explain why a dying assassin would speak your name?"
Turan swallowed hard, his voice a reedy whisper. "I… I don't know what you are saying, my lord. I am just a humble servant to Lord Vorian. I… I wouldn't know any assassins."
"A humble servant," Baren mused, his voice dangerously soft. "The Black Knight squadron who conducted the interrogation are meticulous, Turan. They also informed me of something else, something my dear brother Vorian conveniently failed to mention when he brought you into his service." Baren's eyes flicked to Vorian, who remained silent, his expression unreadable but his earlier arrogance gone. "They told me you have a brother. A man who is a known lieutenant within the Serpent's Teeth, the very bandit group from which the Shadow Vipers splintered. Tell me, Turan, even knowing this connection, my brother Vorian still hired you, gave you a position of trust. Would you still deny any relationship with these Vipers?"
Turan's eyes widened in panic. "No… I mean, yes, my lord, I have a brother… but I swear, I haven't seen him, spoken to him, in more than four years! I cut all ties! Lord Vorian knows this! He gave me a chance to escape that life!" He looked beseechingly at Vorian, who offered no support.
"Four years is a long time for family ties to remain severed, especially when opportunities arise," Baren said, his voice like ice. "Enough of your lies, Turan." He turned to his knight commander. "Sir Lucas. Bring in the witness."
Sir Lucas nodded curtly and strode to the door, opening it. Two household guards entered, flanking a figure cloaked and hooded, their face obscured by shadow. The figure moved with a slight limp.
Liam's breath caught. He recognized the build, the subtle way the figure carried themselves, even beneath the disguise. It was one of the Shadow Vipers from the ambush, the one whose leg he had slashed. The Black Knights hadn't just found the leader; they had captured one of his men.
Vorian's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint appearing within them. Turan stared at the newcomer, his face a mask of dawning horror and utter despair. The coil was tightening, and it seemed Turan was caught squarely within it.