Chapter 247: Enemy force beyond the ridge
"No. Quite the opposite. He refuses power. He refuses politics. He speaks only of fighting for the kingdom, for protecting the weak. Reckless perhaps, but not deceitful. His sincerity is real."
The words lingered in the air. The king leaned back slightly, fingers tapping once against the carved armrest of his throne. He was accustomed to ambition, to men and women dressing their hunger in noble language. Selvia’s report was different, stripped bare, plain and without embellishment.
"That sincerity..." His voice was calm, though a shadow of doubt lingered in the phrasing. "It could either make him a hero or a fool. And fools rarely survive long in court."
Selvia inclined her head again, her reply even and sure. "Then perhaps it is wise to protect him, at least for now. If he is genuine, he will serve the realm well. If he proves false, you will know soon enough."
The king studied her a moment longer, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Then, with a faint nod, he dismissed her.
xxx
The next day, the border camp woke to an uneasy quiet. Dawn came gray and thin, spilling light over the jagged ridge and the sprawl of tents clustered in uneven rows. Normally mornings were alive with noise—the clang of practice steel ringing like a chorus across the field, the clipped bark of instructors drilling cadets until their throats went raw, the steady hum of voices rising as soldiers fell into their routines. Today there was none of that. No laughter, no blunted swords clashing, no instructors scolding cadets for sluggish arms or sloppy footwork. Instead, only the wind moved, sighing through the camp and tugging at the banners that hung limp and damp from last night’s dew. Even the horses shifted uneasily, stamping at the ground as if they too sensed the weight pressing in.
The silence was strange, almost heavy, and Jae felt it as soon as he stirred. He sat cross-legged outside his tent, stretching the stiffness from his arms and rolling his shoulders until the faint ache of sleep bled away. His body still carried the fire of yesterday’s training. The core inside him hummed with restless energy, always alive, always burning at the edges of his skin, and it refused to quiet even in the gray calm of morning. He let the hum settle in his chest like an ember, smirking faintly to himself as he dragged a hand through his hair. It stood up in messy tufts, sticking stubbornly no matter how many times he pushed it down.
Behind him, canvas rustled, and Byun stumbled out into the pale light. His steps were uneven, his eyes still half-lidded with sleep. His hair, pale as straw, caught the sun that struggled to break through the clouds, though the shadow trailing at his feet writhed and twitched as if impatient to be freed. He yawned, scratching at the back of his neck, and squinted at Jae.
"You’re always awake before the rest of us," Byun muttered, voice still rough. "Do you even know how to sleep, farmboy?"
Jae threw him a sideways glance over his shoulder. "What’s the point of sleeping when the food here tastes worse than horse leather? My stomach does the waking for me."
Byun huffed a laugh, low and tired, but it broke off almost at once. The sudden sound of boots hammering against the hard-packed earth cut through the morning lull. Both boys turned sharply.
Scouts burst into the camp’s center, their armor scraped raw, cloaks shredded from branches, mud spattered to their knees. Their faces were pale with more than exhaustion. They moved like men being chased by something they could not outrun, panic pressing at their heels. One of them fell to his knees, words ripping from his throat as though they burned to be spoken.
"Enemy force beyond the ridge!" His voice cracked with urgency, carrying through the tents. "Not raiders—an army! Siege wagons, banners we don’t recognize, marching this way!"
The camp erupted in an instant.
Cadets tumbled from their tents half-dressed, clutching at belts and straps, fumbling with buckles that refused to hold steady under shaking hands. Voices rose—shouts of disbelief, frantic questions, curses spat into the morning air. Some froze where they stood, too stunned to move, eyes wide as the words sank in. Others scrambled wildly, darting for weapons, for packs, for anything that might keep them alive.
Instructors appeared like shadows at once, their voices striking like whips across the chaos. They seized stumbling cadets by the shoulders, dragging them into lines, barking orders that cut clean through the noise. Shields were pulled from wagons. Barricades were already being called for. The air filled with the scrape of steel against scabbards, the thud of crates dropped onto the dirt, the frantic rhythm of a camp trying to shift from training ground to battlefield in the span of moments.
Byun’s jaw tightened as he watched, the lazy humor gone from his face. His shadow stilled behind him, stretching long across the ground like a dark blade. "This isn’t practice anymore," he said quietly, almost to himself.
Jae’s smirk lingered faintly but thinned, his eyes narrowing as he watched the instructors move. There was no hesitation in their commands—already they were calling for barricades to be raised, riders to be dispatched to the next watchpost, supplies to be brought into the inner circle. They moved with the precision of men who had seen this before, who knew what it meant when scouts spoke of siege wagons and unknown banners.
The word war was not spoken aloud, but Jae felt it coil around the camp nonetheless. It was heavy, inevitable, and it settled over the cadets like a net tightening around their throats.
From across the camp, a figure emerged with deliberate steps. Sun. His armor gleamed even in the muted morning light, dark plates buckled into place as though he had been waiting for this moment all along. His swords hung ready at his side, hilts catching the sun in sharp glints.