Outer Watchtower,

  Antares Royal Capital,

  Central Province

  -

  Arthur leaned against the stone railing of the outer watchtower. His gloved fingers tightened.

  The Gilded Gate of Antares loomed in the distance. He could only obey the command, guarding the Royal Palace from afar despite his unanswered frustration.

  He pulled his hand in as he felt the ring was loosening. A chuckle left his mouth. That was almost a disaster.

  “You know, I would prefer you share the joke with me than enjoy it by yourself.” A voice broke his thought.

  An arm extended, offering him a cup of hot and dark brown liquid. Arthur grabbed the cup, not realizing how hot that cup was.

  “Thanks.” He stared at the ring. “Just thinking.”

  Arthur sniffed the drink with narrowed eyes. “Is this safe?”

  “This…” Tenha raised his cup “...is coffee. Enjoy it, you don’t get this every day.”

  Arthur took a sip of the coffee.

  Sour,

  Bitter,

  Most importantly, warm.

  “What do you think? Tell me it’s not the best taste you’ve had.” Tenha asked.

  “It’s alright, I guess.” He took another sip, not understanding how this weird-tasting concoction compelled him.

  “It grows on you, trust me.” Tenha shrugged his captain’s indifferent attitude.

  Arthur exhaled, deeply. He looked back to the window again.

  Tenha took the place next to Arthur, “Just, don’t overthink it, captain.” He took another sip “God this is strong.”

  “I wasn't,” Arthur answered briefly and stepped away from the window.

  In the corner, a group of soldiers had set up a makeshift table, tossing dice and exchanging quiet laughter. Arthur frowned. He couldn’t understand them—these men, who could relax so easily in times of uncertainty.

  Tenha sighed, following his captain again. "You know, Arthur. There’s always a silver lining. At least now we can chill for a while."

  Arthur turned. "It’s Captain. We’re on duty."

  Before Ten could reply, a runner arrived, breathless from climbing the tower steps. "Captain Arthur, Commander Reinhardt is here. He wants to see you."

  Arthur exhaled, longer than usual. What does he want at this hour?

  He dismissed the soldiers with a sharp order. "Clear the room and reinforce the watch. Let the Commander through."

  The men exchanged wary glances before obeying. They quickly put away the dice and the makeshift table. Within minutes, all the soldiers had left the room and the heavy wooden door creaked open again.

  -

  Commander Reinhardt entered, eyes surveying the room with the casual confidence of a man who had nothing else to prove.

  "Arthur, my boy," Reinhardt mused, a faint smile playing on his lips.

  Arthur didn’t salute. Just stiffened. "Commander, it’s unusual for you to come here at this hour. What’s the matter?"

  Reinhardt chuckled, shaking his head. "Straight to business, huh? No time to reminisce with your old man?"

  That old warmth again. Smiling like he expected Arthur to come running. But he said nothing. "Stay professional, Commander. We’re on duty," Arthur replied curtly.

  Reinhardt sighed dramatically. "Ha! Scolded by my own kid. You really have changed."

  No. You’re the one who’s changed, Commander.

  "You didn’t come here just to talk," Arthur said. "Why are you here?"

  Reinhardt’s smirk faded. He walked to the weapons rack, running his hand across the hilt of a bastard sword.

  "The Emperor’s decision to banish us from the palace still doesn’t sit right with me," he said, voice lowered.

  Arthur scoffed. "It’s those court mages, isn’t it? I’ve never trusted them."

  "Shh," Reinhardt warned, sharp and immediate. His gaze flicked toward the door as if someone might be listening.

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  “Why? Where’s the Mighty Commander Reinhardt that I know? You’re afraid to discuss this wrongness?” Arthur stood, voice raised against his father figure.

  “Talk about being unprofessional to a superior officer, son.” Reinhardt scolded him, turning on Arthur.

  Arthur’s spine stiffened. Damn it. He’d gone too far. He forced the words out through clenched teeth. “...Apologies, sir.”

  "You’re being reassigned," Reinhardt added, stepping closer. "There’s been an increase in beast activity beyond the city walls. Too many attacks. You're taking two platoons to patrol the three southern villages."

  Arthur stiffened. Are you kidding me? This is why you came here?

  His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms.

  "Sorry, Commander?" His voice was calm. "This is nonsense. The capital could be in danger, the Emperor might need us, and you're sending me away?"

  Reinhardt exhaled heavily, rubbing his temples. "Yes, my son. There are enough soldiers in the capital. But the people beyond our walls aren't so lucky."

  "So what? I am sworn to protect the people in the capital, all the more reasons for me to stay in the city." Arthur raised his voice.

  "Ah yes, you are the sword of the Empire. But remember your vow. Do you need me to remind you what you promised?"

  Arthur’s patience snapped.

  “My vow to the commoners?! You bring this up now? I have my own to protect. In the palace. Not those—”

  He stopped, a little bit too late.

  Reinhardt’s gaze darkened. "Those common folks? Those peasants? They are the backbone of this empire. Without them, there’s nothing left to protect."

  Arthur took a step forward, eyes blazing. "I understand that commander. But in times like this, I’m just thinking—" He stopped again, unsure how to express his thoughts clearly.

  A dangerous silence stretched between them.

  Then—Reinhardt laughed. A low, bitter laugh.

  "Listen to yourself. I could've sworn you used to hate the thought of working for the nobles. Debbie sure did change you." He muttered. "I pulled you up. I trained you, taught you discipline, gave you a name, a purpose, a place to stand in this empire. And now you look down on the very people you came from?"

  Arthur swallowed the rage rising in his throat. So, after everything I’ve done for you, I’m still just some peasant you graciously lifted from the mud.

  "I worked for my place," he hissed. "I earned it. Unlike them."

  Reinhardt’s eyes narrowed. "Then prove it."

  Arthur frowned. "What?"

  Reinhardt stepped forward, his voice low, tired of Arthur’s antics.

  "Prove to me that you can be more than a bitter fool with a sword. Go to the villages. Protect them. Lead like the soldier I trained you to be."

  Arthur hated how Reinhardt always framed it as a challenge—always manipulating him into obedience.

  "Or," Reinhardt continued, crossing his arms, "you can keep sulking like a child, refusing orders because you didn’t get what you wanted."

  Arthur’s hands trembled. He wanted to argue, to throw Reinhardt’s words back in his face.

  But he couldn’t, because defying a direct order meant insubordination. And Arthur wasn’t weak. He wouldn’t be seen as weak.

  His jaw locked as he saluted stiffly. "…Understood, sir."

  Reinhardt held his gaze for a moment longer. Then, with a weary sigh, he turned away. "Get some rest, Arthur. You leave at dawn."

  Arthur didn’t move as the commander walked away, the door creaking shut behind him. Only when he was alone did he exhale, his grip on his sword tightening until his knuckles turned white. This isn’t over.

  -

  Outer City Gate,

  At Dawn.

  The sky was still smeared with the last traces of night. Two platoons stood ready near the gate, armor quiet, horses restless.

  Arthur still felt the fatigue from not sleeping well. He walked toward Tenha, who was cinching the last strap on his saddle.

  “Nuts?” Tenha asked without looking up—he always knew when Arthur was near.

  Arthur took one. “Thanks. I appreciate that you have no problem coming with me. I'm very sorry you’re getting dragged into this mess.”

  Tenha turned, brushing his fringe back with a flick before resting both hands on his sword hilt. He let out a long breath. “What’s with this sentimental crap?”

  A beat. Then a grin. “Just bark the order, captain. Like you always do.”

  Arthur shook his head, smiling.

  “Also where’s your damn cloak, don’t sully the name of—” Tenha looked behind Arthur, “Anyway, you got company.” He pointed with his mouth.

  Arthur looked back, A small figure in a flowing nightgown rushed toward him, brown curls spilling over her shoulders. "Arthur, honey, where are you going?"

  Before Arthur could answer, the girl threw herself into his arms, clutching him tightly. He embraced her back, feeling the warmth of her body, "How did you know about this operation?"

  "Your father told me," she sniffled. "He said I might want to say goodbye… he was laughing when he said that."

  Arthur scowled. Of course, he would tell her and laugh.

  She buried her face against his chest deeper. " I want things to go back to normal… I want us to go back."

  “Don’t worry, love. Everything’s under control. You’re betrothed to the best captain, remember? Safest girl in all of Allegria.”

  He showed her his ring. “Where’s yours?”

  Debbie sniffled and held up her hand, revealing the simple silver ring with a rough carving of their initials.

  Arthur smiled faintly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Debbie.”

  Her lips trembled. “You too, Arthur. You too.”

  Their kiss lingered—slow, reluctant. The kind that doesn’t want to end.

  Tenha cleared his throat. “We need to go, Captain.”

  The soldiers were already mounted. Silent. Ready.

  A black-furred Lupin approached, holding out Arthur’s cloak—deep black, embroidered with a silver drake’s head. He helped Arthur into it. Arthur reached for it. The fabric was heavier than it looked. Cold, too. He slid his arms in without a word.

  Debbie stepped back.

  Arthur whistled. A spectral drake, much smaller than the actual mystical beast, shimmered into view—white, lean, saddled, and armed. His greatsword rested at its flank.

  He mounted the drake and raised a hand. No words. Just a signal to his platoons.

  Behind him, armor shifted. Hooves tapped stone. The two platoons moved, slow and steady.

  “Get home soon, my love!” Debbie’s voice chased him, thin and fraying in the wind.

  Arthur’s hands tightened on the reins. Just a twitch. Barely visible.

  Next to him, Tenha let out a sharp breath through his nose. “A noble lady falling for your peasant’s ass that hard?” he said, riding up with a half-glance.

  He nudged his mount closer and adjusted the strap on his pauldron. “Arthur Regus, you’re the luckiest son of a bitch alive.”

  Arthur didn’t answer right away.

  He blinked slowly. A breath fogged out. His glove flexed once around the hilt at his side—then relaxed.

  A smile crept in, thin and crooked.

  Not for Tenha.

  Not for her.

  Just for him.

  “You’re right,” he murmured. “Maybe things aren’t that bad after all.”

  —