Priscilla has been in this place for five days.
Though not a prison cell, the renovated residence was nearly identical to one—its original wooden doors had been replaced with wooden railings, all furniture removed, leaving only a few blankets. The only redeeming feature was the room's cleanliness, which was both airtight and waterproof.
The prison held four others besides him. Three were from the Laine family, one from the Wolf Pack, and he himself was a knight appointed by the Earl of Deer.
"Damn it, how long do they plan to keep us locked up!" bellowed the eldest Knight of the Lain family. "The wheat fields in the realm haven't even been sown yet! My wife doesn't know a thing about these matters." "Your realm?" the young Knight of the Wolf family sneered. "Do you really think Your Royal Highness will keep the Knight's domain, forcing you to gather horses, weapons, and armor before seeking revenge? Honestly, he's already showing mercy by sparing you all from the gallows." "What do you mean!" the old Knight glared at him.
"Just plain truth," the young Knight said nonchalantly. "The Duke is the mastermind behind the treason. If we don't wipe out his elite Knight regiment, what's left for his son? As for us? We're just forced into battle by the Duke's threats." "You're courting disaster!" He stepped forward, grabbed the youth, clenched his fist, and was about to strike when a hand reached from behind and seized him firmly.
"Stop it, Harlon. Are you trying to provoke the guards?" A handsome Knight pressed his fist down. "He's right. We're the Knights under the Duke's command. When we're convicted, we'll face harsher sentences. Since we've come this far, just wait and see. Look at the Elven family's people, then at your current state. Where's the Noble demeanor you promised?" Pres recognized him—Filling Silt, the star Knight of Long Song Fortress nicknamed Dawn's Glow, who had once charmed countless noble maidens. Ironically, he'd married a commoner woman, a scandal that caused quite a stir at the time. When the other party mentioned him, Pres couldn't remain silent. He addressed the three disputing parties: "I don't know if the territory will stay, but Your Royal Highness won't take your lives." "Oh? Why?" "Killing at the fortress might at least serve as a deterrent. Why go through the trouble of bringing you here? For whom? His subjects?" Pres shook his head. "The Knights haven't even set foot in Border Town yet." Without storming in to burn, kill, or plunder, the townspeople naturally wouldn't harbor extreme hatred. For Prince, killing for the fortress nobles was better than killing for the townspeople. If they didn't kill at the fortress, their lives would be spared.
After a moment's thought, Philin nodded. "That makes sense. May I ask your name?" "Pryce Dissa." "Thank you for the comfort, Sir Dissa," Philin said with a grateful look, then pulled Harlon back into the corner.
The young man also sat down and leaned against the wall, humming a tune.
He was truly unafraid, Pres thought, and his supposed 'calm' was nothing but a forced facade.
Purui knew full well he wasn't cut out to be a Knight. He hadn't inherited his father's bravery or his mother's wisdom. Rather than wielding swords, he preferred tending to his small plot of land—raising chickens and ducks, fishing by the pond. Wearing armor and sword to fight for the Earl of Milu was a last resort; he disliked even hunting, let alone killing. So during charges, Purui always stayed at the back, only to unexpectedly save his own life.
Wait... At this point, he suddenly felt puzzled. As the star Knight under the Duke, why had Filling Silte survived? Shouldn't he have been the first to charge?
"Your Royal Highness wishes to see you," the guard suddenly called from the doorway. "Senidali, step forward first." The young Knight leaped to his feet, waved to the crowd, and stepped out of the cell.
"Hey, what about us!" Halon rushed to the doorway, only to be driven back by the guard's short stick. After locking the door, the guard said coldly, "Don't worry, it'll be your turn." The impending trial made Pres even more nervous. Damn it, he'd always looked forward to this day when there was no outcome, but now that the result was coming, he felt fear. He thought irritably. Yet his body still trembled involuntarily, and every few breaths, he wanted to look up at the doorway, just like the first time he faced a child about to be born, when hope and panic coexisted.
Fortunately, the wait was brief. After just over twenty minutes, the escort guard returned, "Pryce Dessa, it's your turn." He stood up in a panic, but his foot was accidentally tripped by a rolled-up blanket on the ground. Fortunately, Philin reacted swiftly, stepping forward to support him.
"Thank you." He felt his throat dry.
"It's a simple task." The other party's calm and firm voice significantly alleviated Prisc's nervousness.
He nodded to Philin and followed the guard out of the cell.
The guide was a young man, about seventeen years old, wearing dark brown leather armor and boots, with a bayonet and a short stick in each hand.
"Don't you want to tie my hands?"
"You searched me before locking me up. No weapons—what could you possibly do?" "Where are you taking me?" "Your Highness's castle." "What about the previous man? The knight named Seni. How's he doing?" The other man shrugged and said nothing.
Well, maybe he didn't know, or perhaps he didn't want to tell himself. Pres shut her mouth.
The escort felt strangely peculiar—dressed and looking like an ordinary civilian, yet he spoke to the Knights without the slightest fear, not even using basic formalities. It was as if he didn't realize that under normal circumstances, these men could easily decide his fate.
The other's divine gaze—Pryce had seen countless commoners struggling for survival, dull and indifferent like soulless zombies. Yet in this diminutive figure, he glimpsed pride and honor. Though merely a civilian, he possessed a godlike presence akin to a Knight's. This stark contrast left Pryce utterly perplexed.
What kind of environment can produce such a person?
He surveyed the surroundings. Though he had never visited Border Town before, he had heard of this barren and remote land. Yet the town's vibrant energy now before him was worlds apart from the frontier outpost he'd imagined. The streets bustled with hurried footsteps, each person seemingly preoccupied with endless tasks. From time to time, someone would greet his small escort. Their faces were rosy and radiant, brimming with vitality, a stark contrast to the trials they'd endured during the Demon's Month.
As he approached the Castle district, he spotted an open space where over a hundred people had gathered—clearly constructing homes, and more than one at that. The materials, baked bricks, were piled nearby. While Noble would typically opt for such expensive materials, the houses here were too small to be theirs. The structures already erected in front of the open space were barely larger than a family's living room. What's more, they were so identical, almost like they'd been cut from the same mold—how could any Noble possibly like such houses?
With many questions in mind, Priscus stepped into Lordcastle.