Spring, 1468 AD

  Time flowed like water, slipping through their fingers.

  Almost another year had passed in a blur of training, study, and the relentless grind of the Hunter’s life. Summer vacation was fast approaching, marking the conclusion of their Second Year at the Academy.

  In that time, Alaric had not been idle. Through his "Zero" persona, he had amassed a small fortune of nearly 150 Gold Coins. It was enough wealth to buy a small estate, but Alaric had other uses for it. He sent a steady stream of funds to the orphanage, ensuring Lia and the others were well fed and educated, while investing the rest into his own preparations.

  He had seen Lucia only once in the intervening months. She had sneaked out of the Holy District, disguised in commoner’s clothes, and they had spent a fleeting weekend wandering the Commoner District. They ate cheap street food and pretended, just for a few hours, that they were normal teenagers. Alaric hadn't informed Duke Thorne about the excursion, though he suspected the Duke’s spies knew everything.

  But those quiet days were gone.

  The Capital was currently a hive of frantic activity. The streets were clogged with carriages bearing noble crests. King Eryndor Shersia had summoned almost all the high-ranking nobles for an emergency conference. The air was thick with tension; something big was about to happen.

  Unbeknownst to the general public, a familiar face arrived in the city.

  Knight Orban, the stern warrior who had partnered with Alaric during the Nightmaw Hunt, found Alaric at his dorm. He didn't come with a postal courier.He came personally, carrying a letter sealed with the Thorne crest.

  Alaric broke the wax seal. The message was brief, penned in the Duke’s sharp, aggressive handwriting.

  “Return immediately. The situation is about to get messy. The time has finally come.”

  There were no pleasantries.

  "The Duke has recalled you," Orban said, his voice low. "I have also delivered a similar summons to Lady Lucia at the Magic Academy. Lord Thorne wants her back at Ironhold immediately. He doesn't want his daughter anywhere near the Capital right now."

  Alaric looked up from the letter. "And the Academy? If I leave now, before the term ends..."

  "The Duke has already sent a letter to the Principal requesting your absence," Orban interrupted.

  Alaric frowned. "Won't that expose my connection to House Thorne? I rejected the Larethin offer to stay neutral. If Thorne publicly pulls me out..."

  "It doesn't matter anymore," Orban said grimly. "The board is already flipped. Neutrality is over. We leave in a week."

  Alaric nodded slowly. "Understood."

  The next day, the reality of Orban's words hit the Academy.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  The lecture hall was buzzing with rumors when the doors slammed open. A man in gleaming royal armor strode to the podium. It was Sir Alexis, the Wing Captain of the Royal Knights.

  The room went deathly silent.

  "Listen well," Alexis barked. "As of today, the Royal Knight Academy is suspending all classes until further notice."

  Gasps erupted from the students, but Alexis raised a hand, silencing them.

  "The Noble students will return to their estates to be briefed by their family heads. As for the Commoners... listen closely."

  He unrolled a map and pinned it to the chalkboard. He pointed to the southern border.

  "There has been a massive buildup of military forces on the Shersia-Buckland border. The Buckland diplomats claim it is merely a 'training exercise,' but King Eryndor is not a fool, and neither are we. They are preparing to invade."

  The word hung in the air like a guillotine.

  "A General Conscription order will be issued within weeks," Alexis continued, his face stony. "As Academy students, you will not be drafted as foot soldiers. You will be posted as Associate Knights to bolster the ranks."

  He looked out at the sea of young faces….some terrified, some confused.

  "Go home. Visit your families. Send your letters." Alexis’s voice dropped an octave, becoming brutally honest. "And write your wills."

  The terror in the room was palpable. Students turned pale. Some began to shake.

  Alaric sat perfectly still. His expression didn't show fear, it darkened into a cold, hard resolve.

  This is it, he thought. The training wheels are off.

  A week passed in the blink of an eye.

  The dorms were emptying out. Alaric packed his gear.

  Silan and Darsia had already left for their home.

  "You're really not coming?" Alaric asked, looking at the empty bed across the room.

  Jarik shook his head. He was packing a small bag. "No. I need to go back to my village. I need to see the Village Leader and the Priest... one last time. If I'm going to be drafted, I want to say goodbye properly."

  Alaric nodded. He understood. They clasped arms, a warrior’s farewell and parted ways.

  Alaric headed to the city outskirts where the Thorne transport waited. It wasn't a military convoy, but a discreet, reinforced caravan.

  He opened the door and climbed inside.

  There she was.

  Lucia sat by the window, wearing a simple traveling dress rather than her Saintess robes. The sunlight caught her silver hair, framing her face.

  Such a cutie, Alaric thought, his mood instantly brightening despite the looming war.

  "Alaric!" Her eyes lit up as he sat beside her.

  As the carriage lurched forward, beginning the long journey back to Ironhold, the smile faded from her lips. She looked out the window at the receding Capital walls, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap.

  "My father... he sounded terrifying in the letter," Lucia whispered. "Is it really happening? War?"

  Alaric reached out and took her hand. His grip was firm, grounding her.

  "We will prevail," Alaric said softly. "No matter what happens, we will win. This is the chance we have been waiting for."

  Lucia looked at him, finding strength in his confidence. She nodded, leaning her head on his shoulder.

  But inside Alaric’s heart, a different emotion was burning. It wasn't just confidence, it was a roaring fire of hatred.

  He knew who commanded the enemy forces.

  Marius Vallen.

  The Commander of the Buckland Northern Army. The man who had given the order to burn the village of Shuru in Horsin. The man who had killed his parents.

  Alaric stared at the horizon, his eyes cold as ice.

  I’m coming for you, Marius.