Once he heard a discussion of the suitability of donkey manure compared to cow manure, he completely zoned out. He would better spend his time thinking about his plans that listen to this drivel. Primarily training. He dreaded meeting any of the war masters or blade masters. His instructors were not kind. They couldn’t afford to be delicate when their enemies’ sole purpose was to destroy them.

His [Shadow] mark pulsed. There were still many experiments and tests he needed to accomplish before leaving for the next mission, the Baron’s assassination. He wasn’t sure he’d have enough time with all the recruiting needing to be done, meeting with Galant, dealing with Alaric, and a multitude of other things.

What about his assassin maids? His discussion with Beatrix was another note in the growing list of things he needed to do. Should he just armor them and figure out weapons that could bypass Knight armor? Or try to figure out Mark abilities? Did magical armor exist? Magical swords and spears?

Guns? Could he figure out to make heavy guns and large caliber assault guns? He could create his own special forces to take out his enemies one by one. Or set them up as a spy network with limited offensive skills? There was just too much—

Beatrix elbowed his ribs. Hard.

Adrian struggled not to crumple or make any sound. But it had done its purpose, he was focused now.

Galant had, at some point, returned to the larger meeting as was speaking. Everyone listened attentively. Every except him had.

“…a third town fort fell today. Reports indicate three thousand regular soldiers bolstered by a force of three hundred knights currently occupying land on our territory. All along the border between us and House Red Iron. The Knight Order of the Hawks have more information on the matter. It is dire. No longer a skirmish, Lord Sterkhander. We cannot ignore them again this year.”

“What did the hawks find, Galant?”

Galant crumpled the piece of paper in front of him. He was shaking. “Four thousand knights. Twenty-seven thousand soldiers. Four waves of those numbers. They plan to conquer and hold the land against the hordes.”

“Sixteen thousand knights?” Diossius leaned back with eyebrows raised. “Where would he get so many from?”

A knight near the end of the long table stood up. Everyone recognized the Knight Commander of the Hawks. Mostly because he was the only active participant in the meeting that wore his helm. Magnus afforded him the right to keep it on so he would not distract the rest of the court.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

That was how disfigured he had become.

Even his voice indicated it. “We’ve come to recognize a few banners. Of them, the Pilgrims of Chalice and the Emeralds of the Sweete.”

“Mercenaries,” Magnus rumbled. His jaw tight and nose scrunched in repressed wrath.

Adrian began to suffocate. Everyone in the room except the very elite among the knight commanders grabbed at their chest and throats. The normal men and women of the Scepter toppled unconscious, others from different divisions of the government followed. Even the knights attendants and their maids and servants struggled to keep standing.

This was Magnus angry.

Everyone knew the unadulterated hate their father had for knight-on-knight violence. Mercenaries were the pinnacle of just that, selling their blades for money even if it meant killing their brothers in cold blood. They were the largest perpetrators.

“Joeve,” was the only word Magnus said.

The general stood. Unblinking. Unaffected. His wrinkled face did not twitch. Not even slightly. Joeve smiled.

Adrian didn’t trust his own legs to stand and yet this normal man had done so. With his father’s direct attention as well.

“The Scepter’s report indicates there are less than a hundred knights within the Red Iron Fortress.”

“Another surgical, tactical operation, I presume?”

Joeve’s smile widened. Eyes disappearing behind the wrinkles.

Adrian couldn’t help but think the expression fit the man well. A kindly old neighbor who only does his best.

“Yes,” Joeve said. “Unless you have some ten thousand knight hiding under the table?”

Magnus laughed. “I do not.”

The pressure disappeared. Adrian gasped in fresh air. Most of the room reacted the same way. The Scepters and other affected normal people were quickly attended to by maids and servants of the knights. Knights began asking for cups of water. Knight Commanders pulled out handkerchiefs to dab at sweat on their faces.

“I’ve been patient long enough,” Magnus stood. The knights followed. “Let the House Red Iron learn what it means to face a Sterkhander!”

“Oorah!” Every single knight in the room, Adrian and siblings included, raised their right fist.

Magnus sat back down. Pleased. Everyone followed suit. “Adrian.”

Not again!

Adrian grumbled internally. He wasn’t about to voice any of that here. Instead, reluctantly standing up. All eyes locked on him again.

“Knight Halvard is in your Order, correct?”

That got a lot of tilted heads and whispers of confusion. Very few knew of Halvard’s existence. Galant shook his head.

Adrian frowned deeply. He guessed this was the topic of discussion between the knight commanders and his father near the beginning. Especially considering Galant’s reaction. The argument had something to do with Halvard? What had he done? Did he have some type of hidden history?

He looked at the knight commanders one by one. Was he going to be forced to take a hit for Halvard? Or even a fall? That brought up a very important question: would he allow a knight from the Hrafnung to be harmed by the political machine.

The answer was a definite no. Bile rose to his throat at the thought. An instant reaction much like what he felt when he even considered the thought of not fighting the first orc in the village. Much could be said about the previous Adrian, but unloyal and coward were not part of that long list.

His face hardened. Prepared for a storm if necessary. “Yes,” he said, making sure his voice was heard by every person here. “Halvard is a member of the Hrafnung.”

Silence descended. Adrian locked eyes with his father.