Chapter 9: The Purge of Night
Five minutes had passed since Auron and Asher's battle.
The camp had gathered in a silent ring around the ruined clearing, faces pale in the torchlight. The snow reflected the glow like polished bone.
The caravan had lost its commander, its strongest knight and now the man who had saved their young lord stood accused of treachery.
Sir Garrick, a broad-shouldered veteran with a braided beard and the stance of an old warhorse, broke the silence."This is absurd," he growled, voice carrying across the camp. "Does anyone here even understand what just happened?"
He turned, sweeping his gaze across the men. "We took in a boy who claimed he fled from bandits. A half-starved runaway. And now that same boy fights and almost kills a two-star knight? Does that not seem strange to anyone?"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. A few nodded. Fear and reason had begun to merge into something volatile.
Lucian's eyes shifted toward Auron. The thought that he might somehow be part of this tore at him but not now. Not here. He pushed it down. I'll find the truth when we're safe.
He stepped forward. "Sir Garrick, this is not the time for division," he said, voice steadying with effort. "We need unity."
"Unity?" Garrick barked out a humorless laugh. "My lord, that boy just killed two of our knights in front of everyone. Even if Asher was guilty, there were better ways. We are not savages."
Auron said nothing. He stood apart, Vowkeeper still wet with blood, eyes dull but watchful. He understood their suspicion. Nothing about what he had done could be called natural.
Lucian drew a slow breath, pulse pounding in his ears. When he spoke again, his tone had changed, no longer the uncertain tremor of youth, but something sharper, colder."Are you suggesting that a man who pointed a sword at me should be spared?"
The question cut through Garrick's protest like a blade. The older knight faltered, realizing too late that the wrong word could brand him a traitor before the crowd."That is not what I meant, my lord," he said quickly, bowing his head.
Lucian's silence pressed harder than rebuke. Then, in a single decisive motion, he lifted Auron's arm high for all to see.
"This man protected my life," Lucian declared, voice loud enough to reach the farthest edge of the camp. "Any insult to him is an insult to House Arvel."
lucian might have been an unexperienced noble brat, but he had survived palace politics for more than thirteen years.
The words rolled through the night like iron through snow. None dared to challenge them.
Lucian lowered Auron's arm. "All of you form ranks. I will investigate this matter thoroughly."
Training overcame doubt. The guards and knights moved in unison, armor clinking in the cold. Within moments, order replaced chaos.
Auron counted under his breath. "Twenty-three guards. Six knights. Nineteen servants." Fewer than it had seemed. Fewer than enough.
Lucian's voice was ice. "Knights, search every tent, wagon, and crate. Anything suspicious comes directly to me. If anyone resists, execute them on the spot."
"Yes, my lord," came the reply. Even Garrick obeyed, stiff with resentment but bound by command. he still served house arvel.
Lucian turned to Auron. "You'll search Asher's tent. Leave nothing untouched."
Auron nodded once and slipped away into the dark.
********
The tent was a ruin of canvas and broken stakes, half-collapsed from the blast. The smell of burnt mana hung in the air like the aftertaste of lightning.
Auron ducked inside. His boots crunched on glass. The faint hum of residual energy still lingered a ghost of Asher's power.
He searched methodically. Torn clothes. A shattered mirror. A half-written letter burned along the edges. Nothing of value.
Then, beneath a collapsed crate, his hand brushed wood.
A small box, dirt-caked and heavy. Inside lay a leather-bound journal with a dark green cover. The title was faint but legible:
Sword of Judgment.
Auron turned it in his hands. Something about it felt wrong weighty, alive in a way no book should be. He slipped it inside his cloak.
Beneath the same crate, a rolled scroll caught his eye. Wax seal: twin fangs encircling a sun. The parchment smelled faintly of ash and blood.
He unrolled it just enough to see. Jagged script—foreign, angular, impossible to read.
"A cipher," he murmured. "Or something of similar nature"
He pocketed it carefully and stepped back into the night.
********
By the time he returned, the air in the camp had changed. The torches burned lower. In the center clearing, three figures were bound to wooden posts a guard and two servants. The others stood in a wide circle around them.
Lucian stood at the front, pale but composed. Garrick waited beside him, sword drawn.
Auron approached. "What is this?"
Lucian didn't look at him. "They confessed. Asher's accomplices." His tone was steady, but his hands shook at his sides. The cold made it easier to hide.
Auron's gaze swept over the prisoners. The woman in the middle early thirties, soot on her face was sobbing.
"My lord, please," she choked out. "I swear, I knew nothing. Sir Asher told us nothing! We were just following orders. I have children back home—please!"
Lucian's eyes flickered, the pain raw beneath the frost. He turned away. His gut refused to let him look at them again.
"Execute them," he said softly.
Garrick hesitated for a heartbeat. Then he obeyed.
Steel flashed twice. The sound that followed was brief, almost merciful.
Lucian stood unmoving, snow gathering in his hair. He didn't speak. He didn't cry. Only his knuckles, white around his gloves, betrayed the tremor inside him. Auron said nothing. Some lessons had to scar before they taught.
lucian knew if he showed mercy to these traitors, these battle hardened knights will never accept his command and treat him like a noble brat.
When Lucian finally turned, his face was carved from something older than his years.
A knight stepped forward. "My lord… your orders now?"
Lucian's voice was thin but controlled. "Rest for now. At dawn, we plan our next move."
The crowd dispersed in silence. Only the falling snow and the hiss of dying torches remained.
Auron lingered. "I found something in Asher's tent," he said quietly.
Lucian's eyes, hollow with fatigue, still sharpened at the words. "Show me."
Auron handed him the scroll. Lucian unrolled it and froze.
Confusion shifted to disbelief, then to terror. The blood drained from his face.
"This… this cannot be real," he whispered.
Auron's voice was low. "What does it say?"
Lucian looked up, eyes wide and hollow. His voice trembled, barely audible.
"It says he is coming."