The sun blazed harsher than usual, its heat piercing through the chainmail of Rockunstide's warriors. The air shimmered like molten glass, and dust clung to every step of their weary march. At the head of the column rode Valen, beside Count Vidar, their movements slow but unwavering as they pressed onward toward the city of Xendiveron.
After nearly a month of marching, the Rockunstide host was now a mere ten kilometers from its walls.
"Hold! We make camp here!" Count Vidar's voice rang out as he reined his horse to a halt.
At once, the soldiers moved with practiced precision—tents rising like a sea of canvas, cooks kindling their fires, and knights setting up the outer perimeter. Valen sat atop his horse, watching the camp come alive while sipping from his waterskin. Beyond the haze of the afternoon sun, the faint outline of Xendiveron's walls glimmered on the horizon.
Count Vidar rode up beside him.
"The walls are in sight, aren't they?"
"Oh—ah, yes, Uncle. You're right," Valen answered, caught slightly off guard.
"Well then, someone must inform the Duke of our arrival. Valen, you shall go."
Valen bowed slightly. "As you command, my lord."
He wheeled his horse around and galloped toward the city. The closer he came, the more the looming walls grew before him—sturdy, gray, and unwelcoming. A guard upon the rampart raised his crossbow.
"State your name and purpose!" the guard shouted.
"I am Sergeant Valen of Rockunstide! I seek an audience with Duke Edward von Gooserian!"
The guards exchanged startled glances.
"You're the sergeant who ran away?"
"I did not run," Valen shot back. "I was on a mission. Let me see the Duke, and I'll explain everything."
The nearest guard descended, approaching with his shield raised. Before Valen could dismount properly, the man slammed the shield into his face. Everything went dark.
When Valen awoke, his armor was gone, replaced by a coarse tunic. His sword was missing, and his hands were bound in iron chains.
"What the—hey! You there!" he shouted at a nearby guard.
The guard barely glanced his way. "What?"
"Let me speak with the Duke. I've got words for him."
"The Duke will be here soon," the guard replied flatly. "He ordered you kept under guard."
"Oh, so he does think I'm a traitor," Valen muttered.
"Well," the guard shrugged, "you can tell him your tale when he arrives."
With nothing else to do, Valen sat back and waited. Eventually, exhaustion took him, and he drifted into uneasy sleep. But not for long—clanging armor woke him as the Duke himself entered the dungeon, flanked by soldiers. The guards snapped to attention and bowed deeply.
"Hello, Valen," Duke Edward said, his tone measured but sharp. "Long time no see…"
Valen bowed as best he could. "Greetings, my lord."
Behind the Duke stood Velichia and Harold, silent as shadows.
"I believe you owe me an apology," the Duke said.
"Indeed, my lord. I'm sorry for disobeying your command. But I have something to return to you."
"Oh?" The Duke arched an eyebrow. "And what might that be?"
Valen lifted his chin. "An army of ten thousand Rockunstide warriors—and the presence of Count Vidar von Rockunstide himself."
"Pfft—hahaha!" Harold burst into laughter. "Rockunstide? The one that Betraywd us? You expect us to believe that nonsense?"
Velichia said nothing, her eyes flickering nervously between the Duke and Harold.
"Silence, Harold," the Duke snapped. "I'm speaking with him."
"I–I'm sorry, my lord," Harold stammered.
"So, Valen," the Duke continued. "How do you intend to prove it?"
"The army is encamped ten kilometers from here. If you wish, I can ride back and bring Count Vidar myself."
"And how do I know you won't flee again?"
Valen smirked faintly. "Then ride with me, my lord. Or… send an assassin to follow me—someone who can slit my throat if I lie."
The Duke's expression softened into a wry smile. "Hmm. Very well. My assassin shall accompany you. Bring the Count to me."
"As you command, my lord."
"Guards," said the Duke. "Unchain him and return his gear."
The guards hesitated. "My lord… Sir Harold ordered his gear burned an hour ago."
The Duke's eyes narrowed. "Then release him and give him a horse."
"As you wish, my lord."
Once freed, Valen rubbed his wrists and took a cup of water from a guard. As the Duke departed, he glanced back at Harold. "We'll talk later, Harold. In my tent."
When the Duke was gone, Harold rounded on the guards. "Why did you tell him that, you fool? I told you to say his gear was gone!"
"Forgive me, my lord, but I won't lie to the Duke."
"You insolent dog!" Harold drew his sword—only for Valen to stride forward and drive his fist into Harold's face. The noble crashed to the floor.
"H-hey! Valen, do you know what you've done?!" Velichia gasped. "He'll have you executed!"
"I don't care," Valen growled. "Being born a noble doesn't mean you can murder loyal men at whim."
"You arrogant peasant!" Harold roared, charging. Valen sidestepped neatly and kicked him square in the jaw, sending him crashing down again—harder this time.
At that moment, a man in leather armor stepped into the room, daggers sheathed at his side.
"I'm the Duke's assassin and—by the gods, what happened here?"
Valen wiped his sweat with his tunic. "Viscount Harold von Portohen tried to kill a guard. His crime? Telling the truth."
The assassin blinked. "…That's the third time this month. I'll report it. Meet me at the gate, Valen."
"Will do."
Valen left the dungeon, as he was outside. The sky was shined by afternoon sun rays.He then stand silent, observing area and asking a passing soldier, "Excuse me—where's the city gate?"
The man blinked. "Who are you?"
"Sergeant Valen. The Duke sent me with his assassin. I'm to wait at the gate."
"Oh, right—just follow that road," the soldier said, pointing.
As Valen walked through the bustling streets, the city was alive with life—vendors shouting, children running, soldiers laughing around campfires. The scent of roasted meat and dust filled the warm air.
Before long, the assassin appeared, leading Valen's horse. "Here. I'll ride behind you. Try anything foolish, and my dagger finds your neck."
Valen rolled his eyes. "Understood."
They rode west, the open plains stretching beneath the golden sky. Soon, the Rockunstide camp came into view.
"Sarge! It's him!" a soldier shouted.
But as they saw Valen's tunic instead of his armor, unease rippled through the ranks.
"Why isn't he wearing his gear?"
Thinking Valen was being held hostage, they moved cautiously.
"Sergeant, welcome back!" one of them called.
"Thanks. Where's the Count? We must go meet the Duke."
"Uh, before that… who's the guy with the daggers?"
"He's the Duke's assassin. If I lied, he'd kill me."
"What?! That's—"
Valen shrugged. "Well, I disobeyed orders to rescue the Count. To the Duke, that makes me a traitor."
The soldiers stared, stunned. Then, one by one, they dropped to a knee.
"Sergeant Valen, your courage humbles us. From this day, we follow your word as we would our Count's."
Valen blinked. "Uh… thanks, I guess. Now, fetch the Count. We've got a Duke to see."
"As you command!"
When the assassin saw Count Vidar emerge from the camp, he nodded. "Seems you told the truth. I'll report to the Duke. Be swift in following."
"As you wish."
Hours later, twilight painted the horizon when Count Vidar approached Valen.
"Good evening, Valen. Did the Duke harm you?"
"Fortunately, no. Likely thanks to Captain Alphonse's testimony—and, well, maybe my last mission helped."
"Good. Let's not waste time. We ride."
The small convoy set off for Xendiveron. The city was lively with soldiers and merchants when they arrived, and the guards were struck dumb at the sight of Count Vidar himself.
"Greetings, soldier," the Count said politely. "Where might I find the Duke?"
"Follow this road, my lord. His camp lies at the end."
"Much obliged."
They rode on until they reached the Duke's pavilion. Guards readied their spears, but the Count raised his hand.
"Hold. I am Count Vidar von Rockunstide, summoned by Duke Edward von Gooserian."
Moments later, the Duke's permission was granted, and they entered. Inside, Edward stood over a table of maps, Captain Alphonse at his side.
"Ah, Count Vidar—welcome," the Duke said, smiling faintly.
Both men knelt. "My lord," said the Count, "forgive my failure. I was taken captive by Ionburg's filth. But with Valen's aid, I escaped—and together we captured Castle Hormonion."
"Castle Hormonion? That's no small feat."
"Yes, my lord. But Valen deserves the credit. His sword and tactics carried the day—with only twenty men at his command."
The Duke laughed softly. "I've heard enough. Valen."
"Yes, my lord."
"For your courage and defiance, I pardon your insubordination. I hereby promote you and grant you the title of Honored Knight."
Valen bowed deeply. "I am humbled, my lord. I accept with gratitude."
"Good. Now, Count—I have new orders."
"What is your will, my lord?"
"Siege Castle Aurelveil. Keep its eight thousand men occupied. You did not need to conquer it—only ensure they cannot move, for our main host of twenty-five thousand marches to Helvarn."
"As you command, my lord. Though, if I may… a personal request?"
"Depends on what you say I will think about it."
"I wish to bring Valen with me."
Valen blinked. "May I ask… why, my lord?"
The Count smiled. "To see you and my daughter, Evelyn, grow closer. I intend for you to marry her."
"W–WHAT?!" Valen stammered.
The Duke burst into hearty laughter. "Hah! So that's your plan, Count. Very well—you have my blessing."
The Count nodded. "Thank you, my lord. Come, Valen—we ride."
Still dazed, Valen followed the Count out of the pavilion.
The war was far from over—but the tides had begun to shift.
The story of the peasant who rose to knighthood… had only just begun.