The heavy oak doors of the Ironhold strategy room clicked shut, sealing out the noise of the bustling castle.

  Alaric stood before the desk, dust still on his cloak from the journey. Duke Thorne sat opposite him, pouring two glasses of amber liquid.

  "Did you ignore the summons from the Capital, your grace?" Alaric said, skipping the pleasantries. "We came straight here. But I saw all the nobles had gathered in the capital."

  "It had the Crown Prince's seal," Thorne corrected, sliding a glass toward Alaric. "Prince Lucian called for the assembly, not the King. We do not jump at the boy's command. When King Eryndor announces it officially, we will go."

  Alaric frowned, taking the glass. "But wouldn't directly disobeying the Crown Prince be problematic later? What if he seeks revenge? Or tries to push treason charges on House Thorne?"

  Thorne paused, the glass halfway to his lips. A dark, predatory grin spread across his face.

  "He should try."

  Alaric felt a chill run down his spine. He understood then. Duke Thorne wasn't just a high noble but a titan. He didn't fear the Prince.

  "Now," Thorne’s expression shifted to business. "It is time to make it official. As of today, you are formally my Ward. You are no longer just a student. You are a representative of House Thorne."

  Thorne placed a heavy badge on the table, a black steel shield with the Thorne crest.

  "I am recruiting you into the Thorne Knight Order. You will serve as Assistant under Grand Captain Bristane."

  Alaric picked up the badge. It was heavy.

  Thorne walked over to a large map of Shersia pinned to the wall.

  "Know our strength, Alaric. The Kingdom’s total Knight force numbers roughly 2,400."

  He pointed to the different regions.

  "The Royal Knight Order has 800 knights. The Templars have 380, though they likely won't participate as they are God’s Hand and claim neutrality. Duke Larethin commands 420 Northern Knights."

  There was also the royal army ,who were 50000 soldiers strong with additional soldiers that would be added after general conscription.

  Thorne tapped Ironhold.

  "And we, the Thorne Knight Order, command 800. We are the iron wall of the South."

  He broke down the structure: The 800 were divided into 8 Battalions of 100 soldiers, each led by a Grand Captain. Each Battalion was split into 4 Wings of 25, led by a Knight Captain. Those wings were further divided into squads of 5, led by a Knight Sergeant.

  "Vice Commander Selzer manages all the Battalions ," Thorne explained. "And I command the whole. You will be learning from Bristane. Don't disappoint me."

  "I won't," Alaric vowed, pinning the badge to his chest.

  As the castle prepared for full-scale war, a new crisis emerged.

  "I can't deal with her," Thorne groaned, rubbing his temples. The invincible Duke looked defeated. "She’s locked herself in her room."

  The problem was Lucia. She had learned of the deployment and was demanding to join the war effort. Thorne, naturally, refused to let his daughter anywhere near a battlefield.

  "Alaric," Thorne pleaded. "Go talk to her. She won't listen to me."

  Alaric found himself standing outside Lucia’s door in the inner keep.

  "Lucia?" he called out. "It's me."

  The lock clicked, and the door opened a crack. Lucia stood there, her eyes red but burning with a fierce, stubborn light.

  "If you're here to tell me to stay behind like a porcelain doll," she said sharply, "you can leave."

  Alaric sighed and leaned against the doorframe. "It's dangerous, Lucia. You’re the Saintess, a priority target. Your father is trying to protect you."

  "I don't care!" Lucia snapped, throwing the door wide open. "I nearly lost you once, Alaric. Against Malakor... you died. You stopped breathing."

  Alaric froze.

  "I felt your heart stop," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I will not sit in a castle, sipping tea, wondering if you and Father are bleeding out in a ditch. I am coming. I will save you myself."

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  Her resolve was steel. Alaric realized there was no talking her out of this.

  He went back to the Duke. For the next hour, Alaric played the role of a diplomat, shuttling messages between the shouting father and the stubborn daughter.

  Finally, a treaty was signed.

  The Compromise, Lucia would not participate in combat. She would stay strictly behind the main camp, working with the Church's relief effort to heal the wounded. Furthermore, she would remain exclusively under the protection of the Thorne Army, not the Royals or Church forces.

  "Fine," Thorne grumbled, looking exhausted. "But if she gets even a papercut, Alaric, I'm blaming you."

  Two days later, the Thorne delegation arrived at the Royal Capital after the king ordered a summon.

  They rode not in travel gear, but in full ceremonial dress. Alaric wore a sleek black uniform with silver aiguillettes, his new Vice Grand Captain badge gleaming. He rode beside the carriage, acting as the personal guard for the Duke and Lucia, Selzer was also there.

  The Royal Castle was suffocating. The great hall was filled with the Kingdom's elite.

  As they entered, heads turned.

  Duke Larethin stood near the front, sipping wine. Beside him was Principal Valerius. Larethin’s eyes slid over Thorne, then landed on Alaric.

  "Thorne," Larethin drawled, stepping forward. "I see you brought the boy. Nowadays, you even like to poach my catch."

  It was a direct jab at Alaric rejecting Larethin’s offer years ago.

  Duke Thorne didn't break stride. "I am proud to have him. Perhaps," Thorne smiled sharply, "you should have made a better offer. Or perhaps... you just lack the charm."

  Larethin’s face went stiff. The air between the two Dukes crackled with lethal pressure. Alaric stood stoically, though he felt like he was breathing underwater.

  Suddenly, the trumpets sounded.

  "His Majesty, King Eryndor Shersia!"

  The King entered. He looked like a ghost of his former self. His skin was grey, and he walked with a heavy cane.As he sat on the throne, he broke into a fit of wet, hacking coughs that echoed in the silent hall.

  Standing beside the throne was Crown Prince Lucian. He looked healthy, arrogant, and bored until his eyes found Lucia.

  The King began to speak, his voice raspy, announcing the official mobilization against Buckland. But Alaric was watching the Prince.

  Lucian descended the steps. He ignored the other nobles and walked straight to Lucia.

  "Lady Lucia," Lucian said smoothly.

  Before she could greet, he grabbed her hand. He didn't just hold it, he pulled it to his lips bowing down, lingering uncomfortably long.

  "It is good to see you. Perhaps after this dull briefing, we could—"

  Inside, Alaric felt a volcano erupt. His mana flared. I’ll burn this castle down. I’ll kill him right now.

  Lucia felt it through their bracelet. She looked at Alaric, her eyes wide, silently pleading: Calm down. Not here.

  Alaric took a breath. Fine.

  He moved his fingers slightly behind his back.

  "Creo Aqua: Zero Friction."

  He cast a localized patch of invisible ice directly under the Prince’s boots.

  As Lucian tried to stand up from his bow, turning to smirk at the crowd, his heel hit the frictionless surface.

  SWOOP.

  "Whoa….!"

  The Prince’s legs flew out from under him. He flailed wildly, instinctively grabbing Lucia’s arm to steady himself, dragging her down with him.

  Alaric moved faster than thought. He stepped in, his hand catching Lucia firmly by the waist, suspending her inches from the floor.

  THUD.

  Prince Lucian hit the marble floor hard, landing flat on his back with his legs in the air.

  The hall went dead silent.

  Alaric stood there, holding the Saintess in a perfect, heroic dip, looking down at the sprawled-out Crown Prince.

  "Careful, Your Highness," Alaric said, his voice devoid of emotion. "The floors are slippery."

  Lucian scrambled up, his face beet red in humiliation and rage. Around them, the high nobles turned away, covering their mouths with fans and handkerchiefs, their shoulders shaking with silent, mocking laughter.

  After the commotion in the Great Hall subsided and Prince Lucian stormed off to change his clothes, the atmosphere shifted from social posturing to serious matters of state.

  King Eryndor summoned Duke Thorne to the private War Council chamber. Thorne gestured for Alaric to follow.

  The chamber was smaller, dimly lit. The King sat heavily in a cushioned chair, his breathing hard. The grandeur of the throne room was gone, replaced by the reality of a dying monarch trying to hold his kingdom together.

  "Thorne," King Eryndor wheezed, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. "You seem in high spirits despite the grim news. And you brought….a student?"

  The King’s tired eyes drifted to Alaric, who stood respectfully a few paces behind the Duke.

  "Not just a student, Your Majesty," Thorne said, stepping forward with a confidence that filled the room. He placed a hand on Alaric’s shoulder. "I present Alaric. He is my Ward, the Vice Grand Captain of my 4th Battalion, and... the key to winning this war."

  The King blinked, surprised by the sheer weight of the statement. " The key? A boy of fourteen?"

  "He possesses a mind for warfare and magic that rivals the Archmages of old," Thorne stated without a hint of hesitation. "I am staking my reputation on him."

  The Duke paused, then played his hand.

  "In fact, Your Majesty, I am so confident in his ability to turn the tide against Buckland that I have a request. If Alaric proves his worth, if he delivers a victory that saves Shersia blood, I ask that he be granted a Title."

  The King raised an eyebrow. "A Knighthood is standard for war heroes, Thorne."

  "Not a Knighthood," Thorne corrected calmly. "A Title of Nobility. Specifically at least the rank of Viscount."

  The room went silent. To elevate a commoner directly to a Viscount bypassing Baronet was unheard of. It would grant him territory and genuine political power.

  King Eryndor looked at Alaric, studying the young man’s calm, unyielding expression. He saw the black steel badge of the Thorne Order on his chest and the dangerous intelligence in his eyes.

  "You ask for much, Thorne," the King murmured, coughing slightly. "But... we are in desperate times. If he is truly the 'Key' you claim him to be..."

  The King straightened up, showing a glimpse of the ruler he used to be.

  "Very well. I will not promise it blindly. I must see the results for myself. Bring me the head of the Buckland General, bring me a decisive victory, and I will make him a Noble."

  Thorne bowed low. "That is acceptable, Your Majesty."

  Alaric bowed as well, his face impassive, though his heart hammered against his ribs. The path was set. He wasn't just fighting for survival or revenge anymore. He was fighting for his future.

  "We will not fail you," Alaric said.

  The King waved a hand, dismissing them. "Go then. Save my Kingdom."