The stone walls of the war room in Ironhold usually trapped the heat, but today, the air felt freezing.
"What do you mean Larethin has issued a five hundred percent tax?"
Duke Thorne’s roar shook the heavy oak table. The scout kneeling before him flinched, pressing his forehead closer to the cold stone floor.
"Yes, my Lord," the scout stammered. "He calls it a 'security tariff.' Viscount Alaric has sent an urgent request for assistance. He is currently building a deep-water port to bypass the land route. He asks for your fleet to ship food until his own trade routes are established."
Thorne didn't sit back down. He paced to the window, staring out at the grey, overcast sky of his domain. His fists were clenched tight.
It’s coordinated, Thorne thought, his eyes narrowing. Larethin waits until my territory is burning to strangle Alaric. Is Larethin responsible for the chaos here too?
He turned to his valet, a grizzled veteran named Kaelen. "Status report on the borders?"
Kaelen sighed, looking at the map covered in red markers. "We are at our limit, my Lord. The Knight Order is stretched thin across every front. We’ve recruited every free Hunter in the territory temporarily, but the monsters... they are agitated. They are attacking settlements. It’s affecting trade. Merchants are afraid to enter our lands."
Thorne gritted his teeth. His territory was vast, an industrial powerhouse with a huge population and massive production capacity. They weren't in danger of starving like Alaric’s infant city. But his military might was paralyzed. He couldn't spare a single ship or a single platoon of knights without leaving a village defenseless against an stampede.
"I cannot help him right now," Thorne muttered, the frustration bitter in his throat. "If I move my ships east, I leave my own people to die. But I cannot let Larethin do whatever he wants."
He walked to his desk and grabbed a piece of rough parchment. He didn't use the official Ducal seal. He dipped his quill and wrote quickly, his strokes sharp.
He folded the letter and melted plain red wax onto it, pressing his thumb into it instead of his seal.
"Take this," Thorne ordered, handing the letter to Alaric’s exhausted messenger. "Go to the capital. Do not go to the Palace. Go to the Undercity of commoners district 5. Find the Silver Serpent. Give this only to him."
The messenger looked confused but nodded.
Thorne then grabbed a thick, black file from his personal safe and wrote a second, more formal letter. He handed these to the messenger as well.
"Give these to Viscount Alaric," Thorne said, a dark smile playing on his lips. "Tell him I am settling the score. And tell him... once his stomach is full, I will expect him to help me investigate my monster problem. I will make him repay this debt."
The month passed in a blur of exhaustion and stone dust.
The port was finished. It wasn't pretty but a jagged scar of concrete and granite jutting out into the grey ocean . The road through the jungle was a twenty-five-kilometer testament to human stubbornness.
But the granaries were empty.
Alaric stood on the end of the pier, the salt spray hitting his face. Beside him, Hans and Lex watched the horizon with anxious eyes.
"The messenger is back," Hans said, pointing to a rider coming down the coastal road.
The messenger looked like he had been dragged through hell. He stumbled off his horse, handing Alaric the letter and the heavy black package.
"From Duke Thorne," the man gasped.
Alaric tore open the letter. He scanned Thorne’s handwriting, his heart sinking with every line.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
...I cannot send my fleet. My borders are under siege. Monsters are everywhere. I cannot spare a single ship.
"He can't come," Alaric whispered.
Lex let out a small, terrified sound. "Then we starve."
Alaric kept reading.
However, I have pulled a string I saved for times like this. I have cashed in an old favor with the Silver Serpent in Shersalon. Expect delivery soon.
Alaric frowned. "Silver Serpent?"
Then, the link clicked in his head.
Vinesso. The Silver Serpent.
Alaric had seen the wanted posters during his time at the Knight Academy. Vinesso was the infamous Don of the capital’s underground. He dealt in everything: smuggling, kidnapping, assassination, forbidden artifacts, slaves. He will do anything as long as he got the right price for it. He was a ghost that the Royal Guard couldn't catch.
Duke Thorne knows him? Alaric thought, shocked. And Thorne is owed a favor by a crime lord? Just what kind of past does the 'Iron Wall' have?
Three days later, the mist on the horizon broke.
"Ships!" the watchman in the lighthouse screamed. "Twelve of them! Heavy haulers!"
Twelve massive, black-sailed merchant ships glided into the harbor. They didn't fly the flag of Shersia or Thorne. They moved with a silent, predatory grace.
As the first ship docked, a man walked down the gangplank. He wore a dark robe, and a terrifying scar ran diagonally across his face, cleaving through his lip.
He stopped in front of Alaric and bowed mockingly.
"Viscount Alaric," the man rasped. "I am Jaxin Vorell. I speak for the Serpent in Buckland."
"Buckland?" Alaric blinked, confused. "You came from the other side of the island?"
"Thorne’s ports are locked down," Vorell explained, gesturing to the crates of grain and dried meat being unloaded by his rough-looking crew. "And Larethin has the roads choked. So, the Serpent ordered this shipment from our warehouses in Buckland. It’s a straight shot across the water."
Alaric’s mind raced. Vinesso has a network in Buckland? He can mobilize twelve ships of supplies from a hostile nation in weeks?
"How did he even send the order that fast?" Alaric asked.
Vorell smirked, tapping the side of his nose. "We have our methods, Viscount. Shadows move faster than horses."
Alaric looked at the mountain of supplies, enough to feed Haven for a year. His stomach dropped. Sourcing this from Buckland, smuggling it past naval patrols... the cost would be astronomical.
"How much?" Alaric asked hesitantly, sweating. "I... I don’t have much in treasury right now, but—"
Vorell laughed, a dry, barking sound. "No need to shit your pants, Viscount. This is free."
"Free?"
"Consider the Duke’s debt repaid," Vorell said, turning back to his ship. "The Serpent honors his word."
Alaric breathed a sigh of relief, watching the food fill his starving city. But a cold thought lingered.
Monsters in Thorne’s land. Blockades in mine. A crime lord moving resources across nations.
"Everything is going to shit at the same time," Alaric whispered.
That night, Alaric sat alone in his study. The candles had burned low.
He placed the heavy black file Thorne had sent him on the desk. It was stamped CLASSIFIED. Alaric checked the door to make sure no one was watching, then broke the seal.
As he read, the blood drained from his face.
This was the official intelligence report on the Covenant’s activities during the war in Buckland investigated by the Royal Knight Orders themselves
Subject: The Black Horizon Covenant
- Nature: A radical cult worshipping the Demon God of Fear.
- History: The Demon God was slain by the Hero 1,459 years ago. The Covenant believes that "Fear is Humanity's Salvation."
- Goal: Resurrection. They seek to reawaken the Demon God to "cleanse" the world.
Alaric turned the page. The intel got worse.
- Allies: They appear to be in connection with the 13 Demon Lords who served the Demon God and currently rule the Southern Continent.
- Strategy: The Covenant wanted to use the Sub-Continent (Shersia, Buckland, Horsin) as a frontier base.
They want a beachhead, Alaric realized, his hands trembling. There are only three countries on this island. If they destabilize us, they can use this land as a staging ground to invade the Western and Eastern Continents.
The report detailed how Ashcroft and two Buckland Ducal houses were manipulated. Ashcroft was just a pawn. Giving him the "Reflection Armor" was just a way to prolong the war and weaken both Buckland and Shersia from the inside.
"They didn't want Buckland to win," Alaric whispered, closing the file. "They wanted both sides to bleed. They wanted us weak so they could launch a true invasion."
Alaric looked out the window at his sleeping town. He wasn't just fighting a jealous Prince or a greedy Duke anymore.
He was fighting a war for the survival of humanity while the enemy was already inside the walls.