chapter 22.1

Several days had passed since Alcard returned to The Wall, yet his mind had never truly found rest. His daily routine as an outcast remained unchanged—training new recruits, leading patrols along the border, and ensuring that their weapons and supplies were maintained in top condition. But beneath the surface of this routine, his thoughts remained haunted by the events that transpired at the Steelhammer stronghold and the green fragment that was now in the hands of the Dwarves.

Every time he swung his sword during training or marched along the towering fortifications of The Wall, he felt an unsettling presence lurking at the edges of his awareness. The ambush in the forest was still fresh in his memory, a stark warning that someone was watching, waiting. Whoever wanted him dead was not a mere gang of bandits or hired mercenaries; they were a force with purpose, with precision, and with knowledge far too accurate to be a coincidence.

One morning, just as the sun was rising over the vast plains, a messenger arrived, summoning him to Oldman's office. Without hesitation, Alcard made his way through the aged, creaking wooden corridors of the central headquarter.

When he stepped inside, he found Oldman hunched over his desk, the weight of responsibility pressing heavily upon his broad shoulders. Stacks of letters, reports, and maps lay scattered across the desk, evidence of the turmoil brewing beyond The Wall. But it was the expression on Oldman's face—one of deep concern and brooding calculation—that told Alcard this meeting would be different.

"You came at the right time," Oldman said finally, his voice carrying a somber weight. He placed the letter he had been reading atop the pile before locking eyes with Alcard. "The situation in Jovalian is getting worse."

Alcard's expression hardened at the mention of that name, a name he had long wished to forget. His voice remained steady, but a hidden tension laced his words. "What's happening now?" he asked, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly.

Oldman took a deep breath before delivering the news. "The civil war between the two princes fighting for the throne has escalated. But that's not all. A new faction has emerged—a group calling themselves 'The Revolutionaries.'"

Alcard listened carefully, his face unreadable. "The Revolutionaries?" he echoed, his tone cautious. "What do they want?"

"They're not just another band of rebels," Oldman continued. "They're composed of commoners who have grown tired of war, disillusioned nobles who feel betrayed by the system, and former soldiers who believe the monarchy has failed them. They don't support either of the warring princes. They want to tear down the monarchy itself."

A flicker of something passed through Alcard's expression, but he remained silent, absorbing the implications. A revolution against Jovalian's centuries-old royal structure? That was a surprising development. Jovalian had stood as one of the most dominant human kingdoms for generations, its monarchy deeply entrenched in history. The thought of an uprising powerful enough to challenge that institution was almost unthinkable.

But before he could voice his thoughts, Oldman's expression darkened further. His next words sent a chill through the room.

"What concerns me the most," he said, his voice dropping into a grave whisper, "is that our informants have reason to believe The Veil is involved."

At the mere mention of that name, Alcard's jaw tightened. His fists curled into slow, deliberate tension. "The Veil?" he repeated, his voice a low, controlled growl. His mind instantly recalled the conversation he overheard in Tanivar's castle, the whispers of how that elusive shadow organization was searching for the fragment.

"If The Veil has their hands in this," he continued, his voice quieter now but brimming with a lethal edge, "then this is no longer just a civil war. They have a much bigger goal than simply overthrowing a kingdom."

Oldman nodded gravely, his expression showing the depth of his concern. "That's exactly my fear. The Veil never acts without purpose. They orchestrate events from the shadows, manipulating kings and lords like pieces on a chessboard. If they are indeed fueling this rebellion, it means they see an opportunity to gain something more dangerous than just political control."

Alcard said nothing for a long moment. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he finally spoke.

"That kingdom deserves to fall."

Oldman's sharp gaze met his, and silence stretched between them. He studied the icy detachment in Alcard's eyes—the hatred that simmered beneath the surface, restrained yet undeniable. He understood. Alcard's hatred for Jovalian wasn't just a soldier's resentment for his former kingdom—it was a wound that had never healed. It was the memory of a family slaughtered, a name erased, a life stolen by the lies of corrupt men.

But Oldman knew that dwelling on the past wouldn't change what was coming. His voice was steady as he said, "I understand how you feel, Alcard. But this war is bigger than personal vengeance. If Jovalian collapses into complete chaos, the consequences will ripple far beyond its borders. The balance of power among humans will be shattered, and that instability will reach us here, at The Wall."

Alcard remained silent, his gaze fixed on the small window in the office, where the sky outside had begun to darken, as if mirroring the storm brewing inside him.

Eventually, he gave a slow nod. A silent acknowledgment that he understood the reality of the situation. But deep down, he knew—this wasn't just about war, The Veil, or Jovalian's throne. This was about his past catching up to him, about unfinished business that would not be ignored, and about whether he could truly stay out of this conflict without being pulled back in.

Without another word, Alcard turned and left the office. The cold wind of the evening greeted him outside, whispering like an omen of the greater dangers yet to come.