chapter 23.2

The rhythmic clatter of Alcard's horse echoed against the barren ground, reverberating through the ruins of what had once been thriving villages of Jovalian. The wind carried the scent of dust and ash, mixing with the ghosts of the past that he could never outrun. Memories came unbidden, dragging him back to the fateful days when he still stood as the Supreme Commander of Jovalian—back to a diplomatic mission he now recognized as the beginning of his downfall.

His mind transported him to his meeting with Cevral Hamilton, the Prime Minister of Edenvila, a man more feared than the king he served. Cevral had the aura of a ruler despite never wearing a crown. His presence alone was enough to command a room, and his words—honeyed yet laced with venom—were the tools with which he built his empire. Every syllable he spoke was a calculated move, a thread in the vast web of intrigue he had spun across kingdoms.

"That man…" Alcard muttered under his breath, his grip tightening around the reins. "He was the mastermind behind all of this."

He could still recall every detail of their conversation, how Cevral had presented himself as a friend, a mediator between two powerful nations. Yet behind his cordial words was the cold calculation of a man who had already foreseen every possible outcome. And throughout that meeting, one name had surfaced time and time again—Drennal Faerwyn, a young politician who had just been appointed as Jovalian's new Prime Minister. Not because of his skill, not because of his wisdom, but because he was the perfect puppet for Edenvila.

Drennal, with his perpetual smile and falsely humble demeanor, had been nothing more than a mouthpiece for Cevral. And the final piece of his grand strategy had been the appointment of the Third Prince—a mere child—as the new ruler of Jovalian. A move that effectively placed the kingdom under Edenvila's control, for a boy king could not rule alone. His court, filled with advisors handpicked by Drennal, ensured that every decision served the interests of Edenvila rather than the people of Jovalian.

"If only I had stayed by the king's side," Alcard thought bitterly, his heart growing heavier with each passing second.

He recalled the last conversation he had with the Crown Prince, a young man brimming with vision and determination. The prince had seen through the deception, had known that Drennal was merely a tool. He had planned to remove him, to sever Edenvila's hold on their nation, to secure Jovalian's independence once and for all.

But that future had never come to pass.

The king had died under suspicious circumstances. The prince had been murdered not long after. And everything Alcard had fought for collapsed in a single night.

While he had been away, tangled in the webs of Edenvila's politics, his kingdom had fallen. He had returned to nothing but ashes, betrayal, and the shattered remnants of a life he could never reclaim.

His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms until pain jolted him back to the present. His greatest mistake had been believing in the system. Believing that justice would prevail. That those who fought to protect would, in turn, be protected.

But the world did not operate on justice.

The world only bowed to power.

To manipulation.

To those who held the strings behind the curtain.

Spurred by renewed anger, Alcard urged his horse into a gallop, charging past another ruined village—another graveyard of innocence lost. The destruction around him only reinforced what he had already come to accept—Jovalian was no longer a kingdom. It was a corpse, a land left to rot under the weight of greed and ambition.

"I can't change the past," he murmured, his voice low, yet filled with an unwavering determination. "But I can make sure they pay for it."

His gaze sharpened, his eyes no longer those of a man seeking redemption. They were the eyes of a man who had forsaken notions of justice, of right and wrong. Those ideals had crumbled alongside the walls of his homeland. Now, there was only one purpose that remained—unravel the truth, expose those who had orchestrated the downfall of everything he once held dear, and ensure that they would never again wield such power.

Cevral.

Drennal.

And whoever else lurked in the shadows, pulling the strings.

They would all answer for what they had done.

He rode on, leaving behind the ruins of the past, heading toward a future that would be carved by the edge of his blade.