In the serene quiet before dawn, Grandmaster Alaric stood silently in the sparse chamber of the commandeered manse in Bunchester. It was a much better accommodation than he had often experienced, so close to the frontline; however, this wasn't the usual conflict.

It has been brewing for a long time. The Incursion put a temporary stop to it, as people had an enemy that looked the part to focus on, but the ugliness of humanity has now returned to the fore. It was only a matter of time before the abandoned province would rebel.

It was a pity that the best paladin he had ever trained was the one to lead it, but Leonard had always been stubborn in his own way. And maybe, just maybe, it was a good thing.

He hadn't dared allow himself to think of it this way while in Mellassoria. His mind was well shielded, but his actions could be interpreted in a hundred different ways by the scheming carrion feeders of the Court. And I have a responsibility. It is a heavy one these days, but that doesn't mean I will shirk it.

The morning's first light stretched warmly through tall windows, illuminating his quarters: an austere bed, an iron-bound chest, and a heavy wooden table upon which rested his polished plate armor and neatly folded tabard bearing the pure white sigil of the Whiteguard. It was much more than he'd gotten in his early days.

"Perks of being an old monster," He grunted.

Stretching slowly, Alaric felt his bones creaking gently in protest. He was an old man now, well past his prime, but he still possessed the strength of a hundred knights. The One Closest to Heaven, they used to call him. Not so much anymore, now that the Hero had so clearly crossed the boundary to immortality.

His broad shoulders had only slightly diminished, and although his pale skin sagged, marked by age, his stature and strength remained intimidating. A sparse halo of white hair crowned his otherwise bald head, complemented by a full, meticulously kept beard that cascaded down his chest. Even in simple linen robes, his presence was commanding, imbued with a quiet dignity earned through more than a century of warfare and faith.

The door opened softly, revealing a young squire carrying a tray laden with fresh bread, cheese, and a steaming pot of tea. Behind him, two paladins bowed respectfully.

"Good morning, Grandmaster," the squire said softly, reverently placing the tray on the table. "Breakfast is served."

"Thank you, lad," Alaric rumbled gently. Once, he would have ignored the boy, but he'd gotten soft, and coming so close to his favorite apprentice was making him feel emotional. "Tell the brothers I will join them shortly for prayers."

The squire bowed deeply and withdrew silently. Alone again, Alaric closed his eyes, murmuring a brief prayer of thanks. Then, he ate his breakfast, savoring each simple bite. Such small rituals provided him with clarity, a reminder that life was a gift even amidst duty and turmoil.

The Light shines on. Whatever it might show us, we must take it as it is. Stark, painful, and beautiful all at once. That is the life the Heavens gave us.

When the meal concluded, he donned his armor with great care, feeling the comforting weight of enchanted steel upon his shoulders and chest. Each movement was precise, honed through thousands of repetitions.

Most Paladins had their squire dress them, but he had always preferred to do it on his own. It was just another way to forge a closer connection to his own arms, and he would need it today if he didn't want to die in the first exchange of blows.

Fully armored, the Grandmaster knelt in the center of the chamber, his hands resting atop the hilt of his sword, its point pressing firmly against the stone floor. He whispered heartfelt prayers, pleas for strength, wisdom, and courage for the trials ahead.

Upon rising, a paladin knocked softly on his door. "Grandmaster, the First Lance requests an audience."

Alaric nodded slowly. Little Bernard had undoubtedly been waiting impatiently, but such matters held little concern for him. He was beyond the games of the Court now, and his decision to come had given him much leeway. "Let him in."

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Moments later, Bernard De Luminier strode into the room, barely containing his displeasure. Alaric's gaze remained tranquil, silently measuring the younger man as he gestured calmly toward a nearby seat. Bernard reluctantly accepted, his eyes smoldering with irritation.

"Grandmaster," He began stiffly, irritation clear in his clipped tone. "I must question the wisdom of announcing yourself so openly. Leonard undoubtedly knows you're here. We intended surprise and advantage, not to forewarn him."

Always so heated when it comes to Leonard. So impatient to defeat his old friend. To kill him and ravage his dream. What a foolish little boy.

Alaric's eyebrows lifted fractionally, though he didn't let the extent of his contempt show. "I serve the Kingdom and the King, but I will not lower myself to deceit or subterfuge, First Lance. My presence here is not a dagger in the dark but a beacon of righteousness. Leonard deserves no less than to know whom he faces."

Bernard's jaw tightened visibly. "Your honor could cost us victory."

Alaric pinned Bernard with a powerful, unflinching stare, heavy with power far beyond what he could hope to wield. "If victory comes at the price of our honor, then it is no victory at all. I came to fulfill my duty and, if necessary, to die for my King. But never forget—my duty does not entail dishonor."

Bernard swallowed his frustration, clearly wrestling with his urge to argue. Finally, he stood abruptly, chair scraping loudly on the stone floor. "Very well, Grandmaster. Remember that you fight for your King. Leonard must fall."

"I am fully aware," Alaric replied softly, his tone final.

Bernard bowed sharply, turned, and stalked from the room. Alone again, Alaric sighed deeply. Right or wrong were almost never so clear, and yet his oaths bound him.

If anything, I should still be able to show the boy a thing or two. He will need them if his ambition is as great as I believe.

The sun rose higher, bathing the abandoned farmland in golden light as two forces converged at its center. Knights clad in royal armor lined one side, while Leonard's revolutionary knights formed ranks opposite them. Roughly a hundred mounted warriors on each side created a disciplined perimeter, solemnly watching the unfolding moment.

Today would be a momentous occasion, regardless of the outcome. Either the Revolution would crumble, as the greatest of their leaders fell in battle and proved to be a false prophet, or the Kingdom would retreat.

Alaric didn't doubt that Bernard had a fallback plan in case he lost. In fact, he was sure the boy was ready to implement it the moment things started going sideways. But no matter how he scrabbled and plotted, a loss here would be a heavy blow indeed.

At the heart of the Kingdom's lines, Alaric's horse was led forward by a squire. He dismounted slowly, carefully adjusting the weight of his armor. It had been a year since he had last worn his full regalia, but he wouldn't dream of not coming in his best.

A younger paladin—one who Alaric was quite sure had once been a training companion of Leonard's, before the boy surpassed him— approached cautiously, eyes filled with concern.

"Are you certain, Grandmaster? We could still—"

Alaric silenced him with a stern glare, voice firm and resonant. "Doubt has no place here. Not now, not ever."

His fate had been sealed the moment he'd allowed the blasted Prime Minister to sink his fangs into the King. Vasily hadn't been this way for half a century, despite the bloodshed that had seen him rise to the throne.

It's too late for regrets now. He scolded himself, as if he hadn't been doing it ever since the news of Belinda's death reached his ears.

He accepted his sword from the squire, gripping its familiar hilt firmly. Across the field, Leonard had dismounted from his own steed, his stance relaxed yet confident. Their eyes met, and Alaric felt transported decades into the past for a brief moment.

He saw himself training Leonard, then a young, lost boy, showing him how to hold a sword, correcting his stance, guiding his first uncertain strikes. Memories surged back vividly, igniting a painful ache within his chest. Leonard had always had potential, raw and immense. Alaric had once dreamed that potential would serve to bring peace to the Kingdom.

This dream had proved itself prophetic, though Leonard had chosen a different path, one Alaric understood but could not embrace.

The Revolution represented change, something necessary and inevitable, perhaps. But Alaric's duty remained unwavering: he was bound by oath and honor to defend the realm until death relieved him.

Taking a steadying breath, he firmed his resolve. For the new to rise, the old must fall. He had always known this day would come—when pupil faced master, ideals clashing in steel and blood.

New trees cannot grow if old roots choke them out. Yet, they must be tested by the storm; only those that have the potential to reach the sky will remain standing.

Alaric strode forward, his presence towering and intimidating despite his years. He could sense Bernard's knights pulling back as his power unfurled, pressing down upon them.

Little boys playing at being knights. If this were the Serpent Wars, they would choke on their own breath. Ah, back then, life was simpler. My enemies were enemies, and my allies…Well, no, they were fools at best and evil at worst back then as well.

His voice, deep and commanding, echoed clearly across the silent field. "I am Alaric, Grandmaster of the Whiteguard and Champion of the Kingdom of Haylich," he proclaimed solemnly. "I call forth my opponent to stand and face judgment. Come forth, Leonard Weiss, Hero of the Revolution, and meet the wrath of my blade!"

The knights on both sides watched breathlessly. Leonard advanced, calm and steady, his eyes resolute yet tinged with the same sorrow Alaric felt within himself. Each step brought them closer, the air thickening with tension and unspoken emotion.

Alaric lifted his sword slightly, its polished steel gleaming brilliantly under the sun. Today, he knew, honor would be upheld, no matter the cost.

Their gazes locked, unyielding, as master faced pupil across the dusty, broken earth. For a brief moment, respect and regret filled the space between them—a silent understanding passed between old teacher and cherished student.

Then, steel flashed in the sunlight as both warriors took their stances. Around them, the world held its breath, awaiting the outcome that would shape the future of Haylich itself.

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