"We are here," the lead knight said, his voice carrying through the study and into the halls beyond, "to fulfill the second pledge of House Ktorian."

Baron Hartfield's face went from red to white in an instant. "Second pledge? What second—"

"The pledge to eliminate those who dare harm the bloodline." The knight's helmet tilted slightly. "Baron Hartfield, who alongside his daughter Elena, conspired to poison Count and frame Young Master Viktor Redwood, son of Count Redwood..." He paused, and Baron Hartfield swore he could hear a smile in the next words. "...and husband to Lady Selene of House Ktorian, daughter of Duke Ktorian himself."

The world stopped.

Baron Hartfield's ears rang. His vision swam.

"What?"

The word came out as barely a whisper.

The study door flew open wider. More soldiers poured in, grabbing Baron Hartfield by the arms before he could react.

"No!" He thrashed against their grip. "This is insane! Count Redwood has no connection to—the Ktorian family would never—"

But even as he protested, his mind was racing.

'And Viktor. That fat, useless boy was grsdson of Duke?!—'

"No." Baron Hartfield's struggles intensified. "No, that's impossible! The Ktorian family would never ally with a minor count on the border! Duke Ktorian's daughter would never—"

"Wouldn't she?" The lead knight's tone carried dark amusement. "Tell me, Baron, did you ever wonder why Count Redwood—a minor border lord with limited military strength and an outdated administrative system—has held his territory for thirty years without challenge?"

Baron Hartfield's mouth opened. Closed.

"Did you question why bandits never raid this county? Why neighboring lords never press border disputes? Why merchants pay premium prices for trade routes through Redwood lands?"

The soldiers began dragging Baron Hartfield toward the door. His expensive shoes scraped against the floor, leaving scuff marks.

"It's because," the knight said, following as the procession moved into the hallway, "Count Redwood isn't a minor border lord. He's the Duke of Ktorian's son-in-law. The man who married Duke Ktorian's youngest daughter thirty years ago. The father of Duke Ktorian's only grandson."

Trade Master Gowen, being dragged alongside, suddenly went completely limp. "Oh gods. Oh gods, we're dead."

Perrin was sobbing. "I didn't know! I swear I didn't know! He made me—the Baron made me—"

Steward Orvil's face had gone gray, his lips moving in what might have been prayers.

But Baron Hartfield—Baron Hartfield was burning.

Not with fear. With rage.

"WHY?!" He screamed the word, his voice cracking. "Why would the Ktorian family involve themselves with Count Redwood?! He's nothing! A washed-up noble on the edge of the kingdom! WHY?!"

The question echoed through the halls as they marched.

It was not that he was asking; it was more like he couldn't believe what was happening.

Past servants who pressed themselves against walls, eyes wide with shock.

Past the new guards Baron had hired, now disarmed and on their knees with swords at their throats.

Past rooms Baron had already begun redecorating, already begun claiming as his own.

They reached a doorway. Count Redwood's bedchamber.

Two guards stood outside—men Baron had personally placed there to "protect" the Count. Men who were supposed to ensure no one interfered with his plans.

The lead knight didn't break stride.

"Move."

The guards looked at each other. One reached for his sword—

Two of the Ktorian knights moved.

Shing. Shing.

The guards' heads hit the floor before their bodies knew they were dead.

Blood sprayed across the doorframe. The bodies crumpled.

Baron Hartfield stared, his rage momentarily shocked into silence.

The lead knight pushed the door open with his boot.

The chamber beyond was dimly lit, curtains drawn. A large bed dominated the room, and in it...

Baron Hartfield's world tilted further off its axis.

Count Redwood sat propped up against pillows, very much alive and very much awake.

His face wasn't the pale, sickly color Baron had seen the last time he'd visited. His eyes weren't glazed with fever.

Count Redwood looked... fine.

Tired, perhaps. Thinner than before. But his gaze was sharp, focused, and currently boring into Baron Hartfield with an expression of cold contempt.

"C-Count—" Baron Hartfield's voice broke. "You—how are you—I saw you—you were unconscious—bedridden—"

Count Redwood's hand moved, lifting a piece of parchment from the bedside table, it was as if he was ordering from reading the letter.

"Cut his head off."

The words were calm but not his..

"Wha—"

The lead knight moved.

One motion. Clean. Precise.

Schwing.

The blade sang through air.

Baron Hartfield's world spun—literally. His perspective rotated, tumbling, and for one impossible moment he saw his own body still standing, blood fountaining from the neck.

Then he saw the floor rushing up.

Then nothing.

Thud.

His head rolled across the chamber floor, coming to rest near the door. His eyes—still wide with shock—stared sightlessly at nothing.

His body collapsed a heartbeat later, blood pooling across the expensive carpet.

The lead knight cleaned his blade on a cloth one of his subordinates offered, then sheathed it with a decisive click.

Behind him, one of the other knights reached up and removed their helmet.

Grey hair cascaded down—long, golden waves that caught the dim light. A face emerged—delicate features, milky white skin, rose-pink lips curved in a satisfied smirk.

A middle aged beautyful woman.

She shook her head slightly, letting her hair settle around her shoulders, then fixed her greyish eyes on Count Redwood.

"I had told young Selene," she said, her voice carrying a hint of amusement, "naming that kid as Viktor with a 'k' instead of Victor with a 'c' was a terrible idea if you wanted to show his connection to Ktor... ian."

She emphasized the 'k' sound. "No one would guess the connection and it would not save him until official announcement be made."

Count Redwood's expression didn't change. "It worked for nineteen years, Celeste."

"Until it didn't." Celeste—apparently a high-ranking knight and oldest daughter of Duke of House Ktorian—walked further into the room, her boots clicking against stone. "Your paranoia about keeping Viktor's maternal lineage secret nearly got him killed."

"..." Count Redwood didn't say anything.

"And why did you ask us to refer Elena Hartfield for the Academy? We could have executed her alongside her father?" Celeste found it more surprising that, along with the letter for help, Redwood had asked them to use academy admissions to call Elena there rather than punishing her for the crimes she committed.

She kept looking but didn't receive an answer.

'This guy...' Celeste's eyes drifted to the parchment still clutched in Count Redwood's hand. 'Hm?'

"So," she said, her tone shifting to something more serious, "Is letter that thing which finally convinced you to abandon your pride and call for Ktorian's help?"

Her eyes narrowed. "What changed? You've spent years insisting you could handle county matters alone, protecting Viktor without involving the family. You've rejected every offer of support, every suggestion to bring Viktor to the capital."

She took a step closer. "What was so important that you finally broke your stubborn silence?"

Count Redwood was silent for a long moment.

His eyes remained fixed on the wall across from his bed. Not looking at Celeste. Not looking at the body still bleeding out on his floor.

Just... staring.

Then, slowly, he lifted his head.

His gaze met Celeste's.

And he spoke.

"...Eldoria Kingdom is about to be divided."

The words fell into the room like stones into still water.

Silence.

Complete, absolute silence.

Celeste's expression froze. Her amber eyes went wide.

Behind her, the lead knight—who'd been turning to leave—stopped mid-step.

"...I see.." Celeste's eyes twitced, her hand going on her temole, rubbing it before breathing, sighing and then said,"It appears that Count Redwood have finally lost his sanity."

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