chapter 21.3

As soon as Alcard left the Steelhammer stronghold, he drove his horse forward with full speed, letting the cold night wind lash against his face. But no matter how far he distanced himself from the Dwarven lands, his rage burned as fiercely as an untamed fire, refusing to be extinguished. His jaw clenched, his eyes blazed with unfiltered hatred as his mind replayed his encounter with Tharvin.

The green fragment, which he had risked everything to secure, now lay in the hands of a Dwarven ruler who saw it as nothing more than a tool of power. That artifact... it should never have fallen into the grasp of someone so consumed by greed. If it truly is a fragment, it will become a danger to everyone! he muttered under his breath, his voice coming out as more of a growl than words.

As he traveled farther from the Dwarven territories, passing through small villages and guard posts, he made no effort to conceal the storm within him. His sharp gaze swept across every soldier he encountered, causing some to turn away or whisper behind his back. Others, however, emboldened by their numbers and the safety of their outposts, still had the audacity to hurl insults, as was their custom toward an outcast.

"Oi, grûmarz Thrak-Khâzad! Thrak ukh barûn dholrak thrûn nar kar-azgal!"

(Oi, parasite of The Wall! Get lost before your stench clings to this place!)

Under normal circumstances, Alcard would have ignored such petty taunts. But not tonight.

Without hesitation, he yanked the reins of his horse so violently that the beast reared back, neighing in protest. The guards were taken aback as Alcard turned sharply, his piercing gaze locking onto the one who had spoken. The cold, lethal energy radiating from him was palpable. Without another thought, he dismounted and strode toward the wooden outpost with a controlled yet terrifying purpose.

"Shut your mouths, you maggots of the mines!" His voice was low, but the sheer intensity behind it made every Dwarf within earshot freeze in place. "Don't think for a second that I won't gut you all where you stand!"

The guards faltered, clearly not expecting such a direct confrontation. A few exchanged nervous glances, uncertain whether to respond or remain silent. One of them, barely above a whisper, muttered something in Dwarven.

"Zâr thrâkul barz..."

(He's really lost it…)

But Alcard didn't care. Without another word, he mounted his horse and rode away, leaving the guards in uneasy silence. No further insults were thrown his way, no sneering remarks, only the weight of unspoken fear that hung in the air.

By the time night had fully claimed the sky, Alcard had settled beneath a large tree off the side of the road, attempting to rest. Yet his mind refused to quiet. One hand gripped the hilt of his sword tightly as he stared into the darkness ahead, but his thoughts had drifted far beyond the present.

He remembered the betrayal.

The moment he was framed for the murder of the Jovalian crown prince, mere days after the sudden death of the king he had loyally served. He had given his life to the kingdom, only to be cast aside like nothing.

His lips curled into a bitter sneer as a far worse memory surfaced—one that clawed at his very soul.

The execution of his wife and daughter.

He had watched, powerless, as the kingdom he once protected decreed their deaths simply because they bore his name. No trial. No mercy. Just cold steel and cruel indifference.

"I can endure the insults, even the curses," he whispered, his voice trembling with barely suppressed fury. "But to be made a pawn in their games… to watch my family be slaughtered for the sake of their lies… that is something I will never forgive."

A face surfaced in his mind—the face of Cevral Hamilton, the Prime Minister. The man he was certain orchestrated his downfall. The mastermind who had turned him from a loyal knight into a branded traitor.

Alcard's body tensed, his rage reaching its peak. With a sudden motion, his fist struck the tree behind him with raw force, the bark splintering under the impact. Small shards of wood scattered into the night air, but the pain in his knuckles was nothing compared to the fire that raged inside him.

By the time dawn broke, Alcard had already resumed his journey, heading for the last border checkpoint separating the Dwarven territories from Middle Earth. As he approached, a group of Dwarven guards stood waiting, clearly eager for one last opportunity to mock him.

"Kazâk thrân thrâl! Grûmarz Thrak-Khâzad!"

(Look who's crawling back! The parasite from The Wall!)

This time, however, Alcard was in no mood to let them have their fun.

He jerked the reins of his horse to a sudden halt, dismounting with practiced ease. The sound of his boots hitting the ground was accompanied by a heavy silence, as the guards—who had been laughing moments ago—suddenly found themselves uncertain.

Without a single word, Alcard walked toward them, his every step measured, exuding a presence so suffocating that even the most arrogant among them felt a shiver run down their spine. He stopped just a few feet away from the loudest of them, his crimson eyes locking onto the Dwarf's.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, but razor-sharp.

"I've heard enough of your filth."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

"If you can't control your mouths, I swear this gate will be the last place you ever stand."

A cold, merciless promise.

The guards stood frozen. None dared respond. The ones who had laughed earlier now looked away, avoiding his gaze entirely. Though they did not drop their weapons, neither did they try to stop him. They knew—deep down—that provoking him further was a mistake they couldn't afford to make.

Without needing further confrontation, they stepped aside, allowing him to pass unchallenged.

And just like that, Alcard crossed the final border, leaving the Dwarven lands behind him.

Yet he did not feel relief.

Instead, he stopped for a brief moment and looked toward the horizon, where, far in the distance, the mighty walls of The Wall stood tall against the morning sky—the last sanctuary for those forsaken by the world.

A vow solidified in his heart.

"I may not have been able to defeat Tharvin's games today." His hands tightened around the reins. "But one day, I will ensure that his greed leads to his own ruin."

With a renewed sense of purpose, he spurred his horse forward, galloping away from the lands of the Dwarves.

But beneath his simmering fury, he knew one undeniable truth.

This was far from over.

The real threat still lay ahead.

And he would be ready.