The guards had been standing in perfect formation, their spears glinting faintly beneath the morning sun, ready to march the moment Lucas gave the command. He had even drawn in breath to give the order when something tugged at him. It was not hesitation, nor was it doubt, but a gnawing pull deep in his gut, as though a voice whispered to him that he was forgetting something crucial. His brows furrowed, and his hand lowered slowly.

Nyx noticed at once and tilted her head. "What is it, Xavier?"

Lira looked worried too, stepping closer. "Master? Is something wrong?"

Lucas did not answer immediately. His gaze drifted away from them and back to the palace. Finally, he spoke. "There is someone I have overlooked. Someone who may be of greater use to us than he appears. The crippled grandmaster."

Lira's eyes widened. "You mean the one attacked this capital?"

Lucas gave a slight nod, his eyes thoughtful. "Yes. That man. I cannot shake this feeling that he should be with us. He is experienced. He has seen battles, realms, and matters of cultivation most can only dream of. His strength may have faltered, but his mind and wisdom remain. If I can win his loyalty, he could be invaluable."

Nyx crossed her arms, studying him intently. "It is unlike you to decide so quickly on someone others have discarded. But… you are not one to act on whims either. If your instincts tell you he is worth bringing, then I will not question it."

Selene, who had been lingering a few paces away, finally spoke, her voice tinged with curiosity. "Do you really think he will follow you?… why would he throw his lot with you?"

Lucas turned to her, his expression calm but resolute. "Because I will give him what no one else has given him....."

Lira bit her lip, clearly uneasy. "But Brother, would he not be dangerous too? He could easily turn against us."

Lucas placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eye. "That is why it must be me who reaches him. I will shoulder that risk. If I cannot earn his loyalty, then it is my burden to carry, not yours."

With that said, he exhaled slowly and turned toward the palace once more. "Stay here," he told them, his voice steady. "I will speak with the king. We will not leave just yet."

Lucas moved back to the palace, he made his way to the throne hall. The king was still there, speaking with a few lingering delegates, but he turned his gaze when Lucas approached.

"You have not left yet," The King asked , his voice carrying more curiosity than reproach. "What holds you back, boy? The road to Lechia will not shorten itself."

Lucas bowed slightly. "Your Majesty, I come with a request. There is someone within these walls who must accompany us. The crippled grandmaster."

The king's brows rose faintly, then smoothed again. He leaned back in his throne, studying Lucas with a quiet intensity. "Him? I had nearly forgotten that wretch was still alive. He has been little more than a relic since the day he was captured. What use do you think you will find in him?"

Lucas did not falter. "I believe his mind and his experience can serve us well. Power is not only measured by strength of body. Knowledge and wisdom shape the realm as much as the blade. If I can make him switch allegiances, he can be made useful again."

For a long moment, the king said nothing, tapping one finger against the arm of his throne. Then, with a slight nod, he spoke in that even, detached tone of his. "If it is what you want, then take him. I care little for his fate. Should he prove useful to you, then it is your gain. Should he prove a burden, then it will be your loss. I will not intervene."

Lucas inclined his head. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I will take full responsibility."

"See that you do," the king replied curtly, already turning his attention back to his matters of state.

Lucas left the throne hall without further word, a quiet fire of determination burning behind his eyes. Once outside, he beckoned to two guards and gave them clear instructions. "Bring him from the dungeons and see that he is taken to the carriages at once. Do not mishandle him, no matter his state. He is to be treated with respect. Go."

The guards bowed and departed swiftly as they vanished down the corridor. Lucas exhaled, straightening his robe before turning back toward the courtyard, where Nyx, Lira, Selene, and the convoy awaited.

The crippled grandmaster was hauled forward beneath a curtained archway, he stepped into the sunlight, and the moment his eyes landed on Lucas his face went ashen with a mixture of contempt and the rusty; without hesitation he spat at the foot of Lucas, his voice a gravelly thing that carried across the courtyard as he issued a litany of curses against the king, against Henrietta, and most of all against the young man who stood before him, declaring that they didn't hold up the end of their bargain.

Lucas watched him without flinching, the lines of his jaw firm as stone, and when the old man's words finished there was no shout, no pleading, but a hush that ran over the gathered guards and attendants, a silence heavy enough to be felt; then with an economy of motion that spoke of tempered strength and a will used to being obeyed Lucas stepped forward and struck, his hand connecting with a sound like wood on leather across the grandmaster's cheek, and the old man crumpled to the ground with a brutal, graceless thump that sent a small arc of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as the assembled onlookers drew a breath and hardly dared to release it.

For a long heartbeat Lucas remained over him, cool eyes reading the lines of a face carved by years and bitterness, and when he bent down to meet the man at eye level his voice was soft but edged with iron, carrying not merely threat but the quiet command of someone who had learned the hard calculus between mercy and necessity, and the grandmaster, spitting more blood that stained the stone beneath him, answered with a low, defiant snarl even as his limbs shook from the force of the blow.

"Old man," Lucas said, each syllable measured as though he were carving them into the air, " I do not relish the pain I caused you, but I will not tolerate nonsense from you, you have no say until you're asked to."

The grandmaster's lips curled into a smile that was all teeth as he rasped, "What claim have you to dictate the terms of my life, boy? I owed you nothing and I will answer to no one who takes pity on me now for his own gain."

Lucas's eyes narrowed a fraction and his hand came down again, not to strike but to steady the man by the shoulder, the pressure firm enough to remind the grandmaster of how brittle flesh and bone could be when tempered by age and neglect; there was no cruelty in the touch, only chilling resolve, and when Lucas's voice dropped it carried the quiet of a commander giving a final order to troops facing a storm.

"You will answer to me now," he said, his tone final and unyielding, and the words landed like a verdict in the hush that followed, the grandmaster's defiance faltering, if only by the weight of Lucas's certainty. "Your life belongs to me," Lucas continued, his gaze locking with the old man's until the madness that had filled the other's eyes for decades thinned into a wary, brittle caution, "and you'll do as I say."

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