Falls
"When wolves bare their teeth, the shepherd must become the storm."
Beyond the castle walls, chaos reigned. The clash of steel against steel rang through the air as rebels hurled themselves against Gilliforth's defensive line.
CRASH—!
Gilliforth swung his war hammer in a devastating arc. Three men—perhaps four—were swept aside like chaff before a gale, their bodies spinning through the air with the force of the blow.
"Gilliforth! They called you Valdina's last hope—the one true pillar holding up this rotting kingdom! Yet here you stand, blind to your people's suffering!"
A voice rang out from the rebel ranks, sharp with accusation. The speaker hoped to fracture the old general's resolve, to turn his reputation into a weapon against him.
"My people, you say?"
Gilliforth's voice cut through the din like a blade.
"All I see before me is a rabble of hired swords reeking of foreign coin!"
The warriors nearest to him recoiled, terror bleeding the courage from their faces. Gilliforth moved among them like a tiger descended upon sheep—each swing of his hammer scattering men like leaves in a tempest.
"I—! If I were as ancient as they claim, I'd be moldering in my grave by now!"
From somewhere behind the rebel lines, Horrols' voice rose to a frantic shriek.
"What are you doing standing there?! We outnumber them ten to one! Kill him! Kill that old man!"
At his command, a volley of arrows darkened the sky, converging on Gilliforth's position.
In that instant, a knight materialized at Gilliforth's side, shield raised high. The arrows hammered against the steel, their shafts splintering on impact.
Before the shield had fully risen, a mounted figure swept past—sword flashing in a silver arc that cleaved through the remaining missiles mid-flight.
"D'Angel!"
Gilliforth's eyes widened at the sight of the familiar silhouette astride the warhorse.
"Master! What brings you to this chaos? And who are all these men?"
"D'Angel—why aren't you at His Majesty's side on the northern front?!"
The young general's presence here defied all logic. There was no conceivable way he could have returned to Valdina so swiftly.
"Set your mind at ease, Master. Why else would we appear in such fine condition?"
"You cannot mean—the war is over?"
Astonishment and hope warred in Gilliforth's voice.
"Indeed. Victory is ours. The peoples of the plains have been restored to the Crown."
D'Angel's smile was radiant, though his eyes remained sharp as they swept across the battlefield.
"His Majesty follows close behind. I rode ahead with a scouting party to assess conditions at the castle—though I confess I did not anticipate stumbling into open combat."
His gaze hardened as it fixed upon the rebel banners.
"A rebellion, then?"
Gilliforth dashed away the tears that had begun to stream unbidden down his weathered face at the news of victory.
"Not precisely. Certain traitors have grown drunk on their own ambition."
"Traitors? Who would dare—"
D'Angel's eyes narrowed. A memory surfaced unbidden.
She has never been one for bold gestures. Yet she sent me that letter—the first of its kind. Something must have happened to Dea.
Is this why His Majesty ordered us to withhold the announcement of victory? Is this what transformed Her Highness so completely?
"What transpired in Valdina during our absence?"
Gilliforth's expression darkened.
"A great deal, I'm afraid. Just as enemies awaited you on the plains, so too did demons lurk here—wearing human faces, hiding in plain sight."
D'Angel's jaw tightened. Without a word, he raised his bow and loosed an arrow into the crowd.
PING—!
A distant scream confirmed his aim.
"I thought as much. Those men mingling with the common rabble—their movements betrayed them. Hired blades, every one."
Years of warfare had honed his instincts to a razor's edge. He could identify trained killers amid a sea of faces.
We were gone too long.
A bitter sigh escaped D'Angel's lips. An empty throne. A delayed victory. Time enough for ambition to fester in hungry hearts.
"The Regent. He's behind this, isn't he?"
D'Angel grasped the truth immediately—the instinct of a general who had learned to identify his enemies even when they hid among allies.
When Gilliforth answered with nothing more than a knowing smile, D'Angel's teeth ground together in barely suppressed fury.
You greedy wolf. You bare your fangs the moment opportunity presents itself.
Beneath him, his warhorse snorted and pawed the earth, sensing its rider's killing intent.
"Rest assured—he will never claim what he covets."
Gilliforth's gaze swept across the rebel forces. Their advance had faltered; men were beginning to slip away from the front lines, their courage bleeding out with each passing moment.
Her Highness commanded us to allow them to advance as far as the walls—but no further. If we frighten them too badly, they may scatter beyond our reach.
His eyes flickered toward the distant white ramparts before he raised his voice in command.
"Enough! We withdraw!"
"Yes, Master!"
With practiced precision, Gilliforth's elite knights disengaged and fell back in perfect formation—a testament to their discipline and training.
"Master, I don't understand. This rabble of conscripts and mercenaries poses no real threat. Why not crush them here and now before entering the palace?"
D'Angel made no effort to conceal his bewilderment at the strange order—the same confusion Gilliforth himself had felt not long ago.
But instead of answering directly, the old general posed an unexpected question.
"Tell me—how many Agemas accompany your scouting party?"
"Agemas? Perhaps twenty. I left the bulk of our forces to guard His Majesty."
Satisfaction curved Gilliforth's lips.
"That should suffice. Come—there's somewhere we must go."
He gestured toward a small village nestled beyond the castle's outer perimeter.
"The Grand Duke of Castullo's forces are concealed there. They seek to plant their roots in our soil."
"What? Master, I don't understand—"
Seeing D'Angel's confusion, Gilliforth allowed himself to recall the Princess's letter.
"The remnants of Grand Duke Castullo's forces—those recently expelled from the castle—will linger within Valdina's borders.
They will seek to exploit the chaos of rebellion, inserting themselves at the opportune moment to extend their influence.
I trust you will neutralize them and bring evidence of their presence before the court—that all may witness Katzen's true intentions."
Upon receiving those words, Gilliforth had immediately set about tracking the Grand Duke's movements.
Just as Her Highness predicted, Castullo had not departed Valdina. Instead, he had paid a clandestine visit to Duke Claudio's household. Shortly thereafter, a contingent of disguised operatives had infiltrated the kingdom—warriors whose skill far exceeded that of the rebel rabble.
Gilliforth recognized them for what they were: the Grand Duke's shadow agents.
They supported the rebels' assault on the palace from the shadows. But when I appeared, they melted back into hiding.
Had Her Highness not warned me in advance, I would have watched our kingdom fall—never knowing that Katzen's poison had already seeped into our veins.
The implications were staggering. If the rebellion succeeded with imperial assistance, Valdina would be little more than a puppet state—its strings pulled from Katzen.
Claudio, you fool. You would sell your own nation for a throne. What becomes of our people's future matters nothing to you, so long as you wear the crown.
Gilliforth trembled—partly from rage at the Regent's treachery, partly from anticipation of shattering those ambitions utterly.
"When the signal comes, we move on that village and eliminate the Grand Duke's forces. Naturally, we had no notion they were Katzen operatives—we simply mistook them for rebel allies. After all, they've been skulking about like rats. An honest mistake, wouldn't you say?"
D'Angel stared at his master, thoroughly bewildered by the strange mixture of past and future tenses.
"Master, I confess I don't follow—"
"Fool. Simply remember to destroy them. Those are Her Highness's orders."
"Her Highness the Princess?"
D'Angel's eyes lit with sudden understanding.
Her Highness, who somehow perceives even distant battlefields with perfect clarity—does she have yet another design in motion?
His expression of discontent vanished, replaced by resolute determination.
"Then let us proceed at once."
"Did you take a blow to the head on the battlefield?"
Gilliforth regarded his former student with frank astonishment. Since when had this stubborn young man learned to accept orders so meekly?
"Master, surely you must know by now? Were it not for Her Highness the Princess, none of us would have survived the campaign."
"What?"
"When this is finished, I shall explain everything. Step by step. Though I warn you—you won't believe a word of it."
Gilliforth snorted, a wry smile tugging at his weathered features.
"Ha! You think you're the only one who's witnessed the impossible? I have tales of my own to tell, boy. More than you can imagine."
Master and student exchanged a look—two veterans who had seen too much, understood too little, and yet trusted implicitly in the hand that guided them.
Somewhere beyond the castle walls, hidden forces waited in the shadows.
They did not know the hammer was about to fall.
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