Under the Silvaris Dukedom, the Draconum knightage was divided into three distinct Orders, each forged for a specific purpose and bound by absolute loyalty to Silvaris.
The first and most revered was the Vanguard Order as the Duke's Blade.
This order answered directly to Duke Draen Silvaris, existing solely at his beck and call. It was the highest authority within the Draconum, composed only of the elite among elites.
Members of the Vanguard were feared even by their fellow knights, for they did not operate under common laws or mercy.
Where the Vanguard marched, judgment had already been passed.
The second was the Intelligence Order, an organization that thrived in secrecy and silence.
Their primary duty was to gather information and present them to Draen, along with calculated suggestions on how such knowledge could be wielded, whether for blackmail, coercion, or complete eradication of an enemy.
Their work was done entirely in the shadows, unseen and often unacknowledged.
The order was led by Alon, a man whose intellect was keener than any blade, carefully concealed beneath a courteous smile and an unassuming demeanor.
To most, he was nothing more than a mild-mannered butler who's soft-spoken, attentive and easily overlooked yet it was precisely this harmless presence that allowed him to move freely through halls and conversations alike, unnoticed until his plans had already closed in and escape was no longer possible.
The third was the Executioner Order, a force designed not only for battle but for compliance where their task was simple and brutal.
To extract information through force.
Torture, extortion and intimidation were their tools, and once a target was handed to them, escape was no longer an option. Confessions obtained by the Executioners were deemed final, regardless of the method used to obtain them.
Through Alon's meticulous investigations, the Intelligence Order uncovered the truth behind Lewis' uncle, Gilbert.
By tracing his habits, shadowing associates and connecting scattered leads, Alon revealed that Gilbert had been frequenting an underground gambling den, secretly entangling himself with criminals and dubious figures alike.
Once the evidence was complete, the matter was passed to the Executioner Order.
Through them, Gilbert was dragged out of the gambling den by force, stripped of any dignity he still clung to and taken into custody.
What followed was not an interrogation but a reckoning. Under relentless torture, every secret he held was torn from him along with the illusion that he could ever hide from the Draconum.
Now, in Draen's presence, Gilbert was forced to his knees with both wrists bound in heavy chains. His body was bruised and battered, slick with blood and sweat along with shallow breath betraying the pain he tried so desperately to hide.
Yet despite his state, his eyes still carried a glint of calculation, of a man convinced he could still talk his way out.
"Hah," Gilbert scoffed hoarsely, lifting his head with effort. "Your Grace… do you really think that brat, Lewis, will allow you to kill me?"
A crooked smirk tugged at his lips. "Think about it. I'm practically his father. I raised him. If it weren't for me, he would've died on the streets or worse, sold himself just to survive. He's a pretty boy, after all. What do you think will happen once he learns that his own husband killed his only family, hm?"
The mockery in his tone was deliberate, sharp enough to provoke but Draen's expression did not change, only the air around him did.
Veins stood out along his clenched fist as restrained fury coiled beneath his skin.
For a moment, it looked as though the chains would be rendered unnecessary. Still, Draen held himself perfectly still with his silence far more threatening than any outburst.
Nearby, Zel, commander of the Executioner Order, stood with his comrades, watching without expression. They were the ones who had dragged Gilbert from his hiding place and they knew exactly how much pain his body could still endure.
At last, Draen spoke.
"You are… indeed amusing," he said calmly. "What a pitiful excuse from a man who dared to think of his own nephew as a whore." His gaze sharpened. "Let me correct you. You did not raise my bride. You merely exploited his kindness."
Draen took a slow step forward.
"You are pathetic and small. If it were solely my decision, your head would already be rolling at my feet." He paused, then tilted his head slightly. "Or perhaps not. I might sever your limbs first and let you watch as the dogs feast on them. I could have your guts torn out while you're still breathing."
Gilbert's smirk finally wavered.
"But you're lucky," Draen continued coolly. "I want my bride to decide your fate. If he wishes you dead, then I will comply without hesitation. You just have to wait until he awakens."
Gilbert writhed against the restraints, the chains clanking loudly as metal scraped against the stone wall.
"W-what?" He laughed weakly while his breath was hitching. "Hah, come on. You can't do this to me. I raised that brat." He lifted his chin despite the pain. "And because of me, Your Grace even met him. So instead of punishing me, shouldn't I be rewarded? Why are you being so stingy to the person who practically delivered your bride to you?"
Draen looked down at him with a cold glare upon hearing those words.
"Hm. Honestly," Draen said at last with voice calm and devoid of warmth, "I would have rewarded you."
Gilbert's lips curved into a smug smirk.
"But," Draen continued, his eyes darkening, "I was informed that you summoned my bride back to your house without my knowledge. You kept him and almost force yourself upon him."
Gilbert's eyes widened. "H-how did you…"
Draen then took a measured step closer.
"Not wanting to give himself to a disgusting person like you, you decided to injure my bride badly enough for him to collapse."
Draen's gaze sharpened while pinning Gilbert in place.
"So no," he said quietly. "You don't deserve a reward but a beating, don't you think?"
"Ah… hahahahaha…" Gilbert seemed to lose all words while breaking instead into hollow laughter.
The sound grated on Draen's nerves and whatever faint curiosity he had left, vanished. His gaze then shifted to Zel, who immediately stepped forward.
"Hm, Your Grace," Zel said brightly, tilting his head. "May I just kill him? He keeps disrespecting my master's bride."
He even pouted, eyes rounding in an almost childish plea.
Despite being the commander of the Executioner Order, Zel was surprisingly outgoing. He's fond of acting cute, quick to pout and always wearing an easy smile. It was a facade that hid a far more brutal nature, one his subordinates knew all too well.
"Hm." Draen reached out and patted Zel's head as his gaze drifting back to Gilbert, whose smirk finally collapsed into naked fear.
"No," Draen said calmly. "I will let my bride decide his fate."
"Aww," Zel whined softly. "How stingy." He leaned closer to Gilbert, peering at him. "Then can I at least pull his tongue out?"
"No," Draen answered flatly.
Gilbert nearly lost control of his bladder with his face draining of all color as he trembled in place. Behind them, Zel's subordinates let out synchronized sighs with each pressing a palm to their forehead.
"There he goes again…" they murmured in unison.
Meanwhile, back in Lewis' chamber, Alon was in a rare state of panic, though he tried his best to keep his composure as he stayed by Lewis' side.
"Ugh, ah! Ow, it hurts!"
Lewis was drenched in sweat with his body curling in as he clutched his abdomen and twisted sideways on the bed. Each time the dragon mark flared, a sharp, searing pain tore through him followed by waves of dizziness and nausea that left his vision swimming.
His breaths came uneven and shallow with fingers trembling as they dug into the sheets.
Alon moved swiftly, supporting him and keeping him from falling off the bed with his usually gentle voice edged with urgency.
"Quick," Alon ordered, turning sharply toward the servants outside the room. "Summon His Grace at once!"
Just a few minutes later, Draen arrived while still panting from the rush but he paused briefly at the doorway, taking in the sight of Lewis writhing on the bed. Then, without hesitation, he closed the distance.
Gently, Draen took Lewis by the shoulders, helping him sit upright on the bed. Then his hands moved to cup Lewis' face, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead.
"Ugh… it hurts…" Lewis whispered with barely audible voice.
Draen's gaze shifted to Alon, sharp and commanding. "Alon, give me a knife. Hurry."
Alon moved without question.
After handing him the knife, Draen carefully cut his palm, then pressed it to Lewis' lips. At first, Lewis instinctively recoiled, avoiding the blood.
"You have to drink it," Draen murmured with voice soft but insistent. "It will ease your pain." He pressed his hand to Lewis' mouth again.
Tears welled in Lewis' eyes but his instinct took over.
Without thinking, he leaned forward and licked Draen's bloodied palm and the soft warmth of Lewis' tongue sent a shock through Draen, making it nearly impossible to hold back his own desire.
While having his palm licked, Draen's grip on Lewis' shoulders tightened slightly, not out of force but from the intensity of the sensation, his mind teetering on the edge as the pain began to dull under the strange, intimate connection between them.
After the pain finally subsided, Lewis blinked against the dim light, only to realize he was cradled in the arms of someone unfamiliar. His mind still staggered between confusion and his own disorientation.
Without thinking, he raised a hand and slapped the man's face, making a sharp sound echoing in the room.
Alon just froze with his mouth wide open while the three maids by the door all gasped at the same time. Even the two knights standing nearby looked completely shocked.
The man who had been slapped only twitched his face but didn't move otherwise, like the hit barely even mattered.
"W-where am I?" Lewis or rather, Siyoon asked while looking around the room.
He didn't even seem to notice that he had just slapped the most powerful man in the Draconia Empire, the same man who had just healed him.
For a moment, the room was completely silent. Everyone there just stared while trying to process how bold or crazy he had just been.