There was noise in the corridor outside the council hall.
The servants whispered among themselves and kept glancing at the doors, while the guards paced the space and tried to steady the tremor in their hands.
A young guard was wiping dirty marks off his breastplate, doing his best not to look at his captain, who sat on a bench with a bandaged face and a swollen eye.
The entire Boreas guard kept their weapons at the ready, because the latest order demanded they gather without delay and wait for further instructions.
Some had arrived so quickly that the dust hadn't even fully settled, still clinging as a gray layer to their boots and shoulders.
One of the captains wiped his forehead with a cloth and looked around, then leaned toward his neighbor, trying to hide the tremor in his voice.
"There are more than a hundred of them. From three directions. Eight villages already burned…"
Another captain leaned in closer when an armed squad leader passed by, blocking them from extra ears for a moment.
"One messenger made it through. Said there were heads on spikes. No bodies. Children too."
"Filthy bastards!" He lost his composure and slammed his fist against the wall, startling the nearby guards, who were already on edge.
The grand doors swung open, and nobles entered the corridor with their retinues, holding formation and walking in a way that betrayed none of their tension.
Their banners differed in colors and crests, but their faces were equally grim, for the news from the borders left no reason for any other expression.
The guards escorted their lords in silence and tried not to look around as the warriors along the walls raised their palms to their chests in greeting.
Everyone quickly proceeded to the Boreas office, where the senior officers were already waiting. The captains entered last and nodded to each other, trying to maintain an appearance of calm.
The doors closed, the lock clicked, and those left outside exchanged glances.
The council was beginning.
***
As soon as the doors closed, one of the captains began speaking:
"By order of Count Seld, we present—"
"Not officially!" Sauros shouted.
The captain fell silent at the sharp voice, fully aware of the duke's harsh temper and knowing better than to argue.
The pause stretched for a few seconds, then the nobles gave their names themselves: Seld, Evik, Nem, Gwot, and the rest, since no one saw any point in formalities.
Sauros nodded.
"We begin. Reports!"
The captains laid out the information they had gathered over the past three days, and each new report only weighed the room down further.
They listed the directions from which the raids were coming, spoke of destroyed farms and empty roads, and mentioned the few villages still holding on. Sauros listened silently, understanding that if the enemy broke through any deeper, holding the valley would become far more difficult.
The nobles interrupted each other whenever the discussion turned to the enemy's movements, arguing over how they managed to advance so quickly.
Some insisted the attackers moved in small groups and avoided direct clashes; others said they had seen traces of heavy wagons. But the conclusion was the same: the enemy acted confidently and had prepared in advance, meaning the coming days would be decisive.
Silence hung for a moment, and no one dared to break it first.
"Buena?" one of the nobles asked, looking at the map.
"Buena is holding. No losses."
"Of course it is," Sauros said. "Paul and Laws are there. Those two could hold off an army if needed."
Several men chuckled, and others eased their shoulders, leaning back slightly, for the news about Buena offered at least a small relief.
"Next," Sauros said. "No details. Just where and how many."
An officer began listing information one point after another, and the room once again sank into concentration.
There were contradictions in the reports. In some, even the place names didn't match.
"False reports," one of the captains said. "They're poisoning us with rumors!"
Several officers started speaking at once, arguing and talking over each other, until they were cut off:
_Screech!_
The door opened, and a messenger entered the room, covered in dirt and with a fresh bloodied bandage on his shoulder. He took a step forward, but Philip reached him faster than anyone and snatched the report straight from his hand. The messenger didn't even manage a word.
Philip tore the seal, unfolded the sheet, and his gaze slid silently down the lines.
"Fort Foss has been taken. The garrison destroyed. Serek has left the fortress and is moving south toward the central routes."
His eyes gleamed, and his heart beat faster as the thought formed on its own.
_This is it. My chance!_
He raised his head and looked at the others.
"Fort Foss has fallen… Serek is there. With a unit."
His voice was steady, and no one noticed that he kept silent about the route. That part he left for himself. Philip saw in it an opportunity to earn merit and rise higher—and he wouldn't let it slip.
Shouts filled the room immediately.
"What do you mean Foss has fallen? We got confirmation this morning that everything was calm!"
"How could this happen?! Why were there no ravens? Why weren't we informed?! Where was reconnaissance?!"
"Shut it!" Sauros roared. "I don't need your screaming on top of everything else!"
He turned to the others without consulting anyone.
"Ghislaine. Take a unit. You'll be at Foss by sundown."
Philip stayed silent. Everything inside him tightened—because he understood: if she reached Serek, she would kill him. And if that happened…
_No. She can't get near him. Not a step._
"Father, if you allow it. I'll take a unit and cut off the southern passes. If Serek breaks out of Foss, he'll head toward the center. And after the fall of the fort, no one is holding that route. They'll kill anyone still alive there."
Sauros looked at him for a long, thoughtful moment. He narrowed his eyes slightly, trying to understand what exactly Philip had in mind.
"You want to take a unit and go after Serek?"
"I'm not going after him," Philip said sharply. "I'm closing the way out."
"And how many do you need?"
"Two dozen. Enough if everything goes as planned. If not—I'll hold them off as long as I can until Ghislaine arrives."
Sauros didn't answer. He approached the map and ran his finger from Fort Foss toward the center. The route matched the one Philip had read. Then he jabbed his finger slightly south.
"Here. Take the high ground. There's an old watchpost. If needed—burn it so they can't go around."
He turned.
"But if you go after him, Philip… If you even try—I won't bother looking for your corpse. Understood?"
"Understood…"
Philip was already turning toward the exit. Only one thought filled his mind:
_"Serek's head will be mine."_
***
Philip moved south without slowing.
He rode without stopping, dismounting only occasionally to check the road before climbing back into the saddle. The horse was breathing heavily, but he pushed it onward—there was no time to waste. Serek's trail seemed fresh, and Philip felt the target was close.
The post his father had sent him to was far behind now.
He didn't even look back. That place meant nothing. He had no intention of standing beside old planks forgotten by the Creator long ago. He needed something else—to prove he was worthy of becoming the next Guardian.
Philip kept his pace.
Twenty knights rode behind him, the ones his father had assigned. He sensed their doubts, but none dared utter a word. Each kept a straight posture, eyes fixed on the road.
The smell of burning hit his face.
Thick smoke was rising on the right. When they reached the turn, a village came into view. The traces of the raid were fresh. Fighting still continued in the streets, and Philip understood this wasn't Serek. Which meant it was one of his units.
"He was here," Philip said quietly. "And not alone."
The captain approached.
"You think they split up?"
"I think he's gone further. Left his men to loot and moved ahead himself."
Philip looked at the crucified bodies at the village entrance. Then he glanced at the road.
"Makes no difference. He's still mine. Forward."
"But, Lord Philip…" the captain began, but fell silent.
The words stuck in his throat, yet the meaning was clear. He looked at the same scene Philip did—saw the smoke, heard the screams.
Someone in the village was still holding on, waiting to be saved. The guard had arrived. Their arrival meant something.
Philip saw it too and couldn't look away. Every step past the village wasn't just ignoring someone's death—it went against everything he'd been taught. It pounded inside him harder than the rhythm of hooves.
He didn't think about whether his father Sauros could handle this. There was no point. Even old, Sauros remained a force feared by all.
But Philip himself—he wasn't.
Not yet.
But if he killed Serek, everything would change. He saw the tracks. He saw the direction. He saw the wagons stretched along the road.
If he stopped now, he would lose his chance. His thoughts latched onto that. He began justifying every step to himself: if he turned aside, Serek would move farther and kill more people. He would leave this village behind but save dozens of others.
"Sacrifice… Sacrifice…"
Philip clenched his teeth. He remembered how he had concealed information about Serek's movements. If he had told the truth then… this village might still be alive. These people could have been saved.
"Enough!" he shouted, and at once he felt the knights' eyes pierce his back.
This wasn't why he came here. He hadn't come to repeat his father's steps. He didn't want to be righteous. He had come for Serek—for his head. For his own legend. He had set everything in motion for this.
He couldn't stop. Every step aside was a step back. Every minute wasted was a chance someone else would kill Serek. Every saved village was another mark against his glory.
"I am not the Guardian. I am the one who will become him. The one who will claim the right, not inherit it. I will surpass my brother; I am better, stronger, and only I deserve the title. If I don't stop now, I'll save more. Sacrifice ten to save a thousand. The choice is obvious."
He raised his hand to give the order, but someone interrupted him.
"Lord Philip! Look!"
Philip turned in the direction the knight pointed—and his heart tightened instantly.
"Damn… why now…"
A boy of about thirteen was running toward them from down the road. His clothes were covered in blood, a cut on his forehead still bleeding. When he saw the riders, he waved his arms, shouting something drowned out by the noise.
Philip felt something inside him drop. What could he say now? That they couldn't help? That the Boreas family, whom people expected to save them, would turn away? That the future Guardian would begin his path with betrayal?
While Philip tried to gather his thoughts, the boy had almost reached them. His face was streaked with tears, his breathing ragged.
"…ple… please!" the cries finally broke through the noise. "Please, help!"
He slipped on a stone and began to fall, but the captain jumped from his horse and caught him.
"It's all right," the captain said, gently touching the wound. "We're here. We'll help. What's your name?"
The boy tried to steady his breath. His eyes shone with pain and desperation.
"Lambert… My name is Lambert… Please… my friend is holding them off… Rina… she… kh!"
He coughed and spat blood. His body trembled as his strength faded.
Philip stared at him blankly. The knights exchanged glances, and their eyes already held fury and resolve. He felt it without even looking.
"You're Boreas!" Lambert grabbed the captain's sleeve after noticing the crest. "You came to help!"
"Yes… that's right," the captain said, then lifted his gaze to Philip. "Before you stands the personal unit of Lord Philip Boreas, youngest son of Duke Sauros Boreas."
Hearing this, hope flared in Lambert's eyes. He clung to it desperately.
The captain opened his mouth to speak further, but Philip cut him off.
"Captain. Get back on your horse. We pursue Serek," he said calmly, not looking at the boy. His gaze stayed fixed on the road.
"But…"
"My lord!"
"Lord Philip! How can we—?!"
The unit murmured in protest. The captain clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white.
"I understand why… but Lord Philip, let me go! Me and one more, it would be eno—"
"ENOUGH!" Philip's voice lashed out, strengthened by battle aura. "I need all of you. Serek is not someone you approach with half a force. All of you are coming with me!"
In that moment, he resembled Sauros more than he ever wanted. The pressure in his voice was something the knights recognized and respected in the duke. Only now it sounded different. And not in the way Philip intended.
The boy couldn't endure it any longer and intervened. He collapsed to his knees, nearly pressing his forehead into the dirt, begging. His words stumbled, breath rasped, tears mixed with dust.
"Please… please… please… help… there are still people alive… my friend… Rina… please…"
He reached toward Philip, but Philip didn't move.
Philip opened his mouth, and the words that came out weren't ones he had expected from himself.
"If you were so weak you couldn't protect your own," he said without hesitation, "then that isn't my fault."
"…"
He felt it the moment he spoke—these words weren't his. But he couldn't stop.
"You're a weakling," he said, looking down at the boy. "You should have been stronger. Should have held your ground instead of crawling across the road looking for someone to blame."
Lambert lifted his head, but his eyes were empty. He didn't understand how a plea for help had turned into this.
"It's your fault," Philip added. "Not mine. Not my unit's. You failed to protect them."
He turned to the captain. His voice was dry and left no room for doubt.
"We continue."
Silence fell over the unit. No one moved.
Philip scanned their faces.
"If anyone thinks otherwise…" he tilted his head slightly, and the threat in his voice was unmistakable. "…step forward. Just remember—there will be no going back."
The knights exchanged glances. Some gripped their sword hilts, two looked away, the captain shook his head ever so slightly. But no one stepped forward. Philip's words left no room for argument.
"Mount up."
The unit obeyed. The horses turned almost at once, their hooves thundering against the road.
Philip pulled the reins and rode ahead. The rest followed. No one looked back.
The boy remained alone in the road. Dust rose in a thick cloud, hiding their silhouettes as they disappeared from view. He stared at the departing unit with empty eyes, unblinking.