Lords of Ekpesu
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Warning
The following novel contains material that may be harmful or traumatic to some readers.It contains graphic descriptions of murder, violence, and other unpleasant text.
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* images in "Characters" section are AI Generated Images and serve as inspiration and may not fully represent the author's vision. *
For a better experience, I recommend opening the Characters section so you can visualize the character as accurately as possible. The descriptions here will not be very detailed.
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Castle of Cedrion, Ekpesu
Celestis Calendar: Day 14, Month of Raphaelis (3/9)
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Next Day, Morning
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Alandr Ulbridge stood motionless at the massive wooden table, its surface covered by a detailed map of Ekpesu.
Candlelight cast flickering shadows across the parchment, reflecting off the tense faces of the men surrounding him. Among them stood Varkas Thorn, arms crossed over his chest, gaze as hard as stone.
"My lord. Since the First Legio Aurum took control of the walls, not a single Ghetto inhabitant has dared to approach them."
The words sliced through the room like a cold gust of wind.
"Additionally, after a thorough search, my soldiers in the Legio Aurum discovered a small hole through which passage into the city—and back into the Ghetto—was possible."
Centurion Zaurus delivered the report like a sharp dagger sliding under the skin.
Alandr immediately turned to Varkas, his stare firm, determined.
"Would it be possible to smuggle contraband through that opening?"
Silence followed.
Varkas weighed the possibilities, his eyes darting across the map. Then, slowly, he shook his head.
"Small items, yes. But smuggling weapons or Powder through such a small gap? Impossible and far too dangerous."
"Devil's Powder is highly flammable and volatile. A single careless touch against the wall, and it would ignite instantly."
"Another thing—there have been no reports or even suspicions regarding unusual individuals lurking around Night's Steps or any other part of the city."
Alandr nodded, but his brow furrowed in thought. He remained silent for a moment before his voice hardened.
"Why did no one know about this hole?"
His gaze locked onto every man in the room.
"We conduct inspections of the walls twice a month, and no one noticed this?"
The room's air grew heavy.
Then he turned back to Varkas.
"How is it possible that your son was so irresponsible?"
The sharp words cut through the air like a blade.
Varkas stared at him for a moment, then lowered his gaze. He remained silent.
Alandr let out a weary sigh, his eyes drifting back to the map.
How the hell did you pull this off… you swine…
His lips barely moved.
(KNOCK KNOCK.)
Alandr exhaled sharply, stretched his tired features, and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.
"Enter!"
The door swung open, and a messenger entered, barely visible behind a towering stack of letters.
Too many letters.
Alandr glared at him.
The sheer amount of correspondence made him sigh in resignation.
"For the love of the gods, can I ever deal with anything other than these damned letters?!"
With zero patience, he snatched the bundle from the courier's hands.
The young man bowed nervously and vanished from the room.
"My lord?"
Alandr glanced up, his eyes cold and unforgiving.
Centurion Zaurus hesitated.
"We also have a problem… with Centurion Rodrakon."
Silence.
Alandr immediately tensed.
His fingers tightened around the letters.
Varkas looked up, his gaze meeting Zaurus's.
Zaurus took a breath. Then, slowly, he exhaled.
"He is displeased with his orders, though he still respects them. According to the reports I've received, Rodrakon is planning to destroy…"
Zaurus hesitated.
"To destroy the entire Ghetto."
The room seemed to shrink.
Varkas and Alandr locked eyes—pure distrust in their gazes.
Alandr's grip on the letters tightened further, his knuckles turning white.
A vein pulsed angrily on his forehead.
"He's… displeased with his… orders?"
His voice dropped to a chilling, deadly tone.
Then, he laughed.
(Laugh.)
"You're joking."
(Laugh.)
"This can't be real."
Varkas frowned and turned to Zaurus.
"How serious is this situation with Centurion Rodrakon?"
Zaurus met his gaze steadily.
No words were needed.
The situation was serious.
Rodrakon's mission in Lonely Grandcastle was nearing its end.
Tracheus Highcastle had already sent a letter confirming that the pirate fleets in the Rightdutan Sea were stabilizing.
That meant only one thing—Rodrakon would soon return to Ekpesu.
"Rodrakon has been away from the city for three months. Either he receives new orders, or he must return. We cannot keep him away indefinitely."
Varkas's voice was firm, unyielding.
Alandr pressed his lips together, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the map.
"Don't forget, orders regarding Rodrakon must be discussed with the Council of the Supreme Lords of Ekpesu."
His gaze darkened.
"I've already bent the rules enough as it is…"
He muttered, a hint of unease in his voice.
(KNOCK KNOCK.)
Alandr's jaw clenched.
"ENTER!"
His furious voice sent the candle flames flickering.
The door burst open, and another messenger rushed in.
He bowed quickly, but sweat trickled down his temples.
Alandr's cold gaze snapped onto him.
"What the hell do you want?"
He growled, his patience long gone.
The messenger straightened quickly, but he didn't dare meet Alandr's eyes.
"My lord… You are requested in the Throne Hall."
His voice wavered, nearly catching in his throat.
Alandr froze.
He turned to Varkas, his expression confused.
"Did I have any meetings scheduled today?"
Varkas, without hesitation, shook his head.
"No."
Alandr turned back to the messenger, his gaze narrowing.
"Who is requesting me?"
The messenger hesitated, took a nervous breath, and finally dared to look Alandr in the face.
"Lord Percival Bright… Lord Hauser Dorovan… and Lord David Borsa."
The moment those names were spoken, the room turned cold.
Alandr felt nothing.
No exhaustion.
No anger.
Just a cold shadow in his chest.
Without a word, he turned sharply and strode toward the Throne Hall.
Those three?
The lords second only to House Ulbridge in power.
Each one of them had longed to rule Ekpesu.
Each one of them had waited for the perfect opportunity to weaken House Ulbridge.
Since the time of Cedric Ulbridge, since the Ghetto's establishment, a deep rivalry had burned between their houses.
House Ulbridge had held the scepter for generations.
But the other houses?
They had been searching for any crack to wrench it from their grasp.
And today…
Perhaps they had finally found their chance.
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A 5 Minuter Later
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Alandr stormed through the massive throne doors into the Throne Hall.
The heart of his castle.
In his hand, he still clutched a bundle of letters—documents he had planned to read after this meeting.
If he still had the patience for it…
The moment he entered, his eyes landed on three lords, standing at the center of the hall, deeply engrossed in a heated debate.
Their voices echoed against the stone walls, but as soon as they saw him, silence fell.
All eyes locked onto him.
The air in the room grew heavier, the tension almost tangible.
Alandr refused to show weakness.
"Gentlemen!" He spoke, his voice resonating through the hall.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"
His voice was even, but in his eyes—a guarded wariness.
The first to step forward was Lord Percival Bright—a tall, blond man with piercing blue eyes, now ablaze with dissatisfaction.
"What the hell is the meaning of this?" He snapped without hesitation.
Alandr stopped a few steps away, keeping his distance.
"You have completely lost control of the situation, Alandr. The Ghetto revolt, the explosion, and the security threat posed by Gideon Voss?!"
Percival inhaled sharply, his voice tight with frustration.
"The people are afraid, and we can no longer ignore their fears!"
Before Alandr could respond, another lord stepped forward.
Lord Hauser Dorovan—short black hair, glasses, a sharp, calculating gaze.
"Many workers are refusing to show up for work because they are afraid, Alandr!" His voice was cold, laced with accusation.
"The markets and trade have suffered ever since your dispute with Voss!"
Then, he noticed the letters in Alandr's hands.
A smirk flickered across his face.
"And I assume many of those letters you're holding… are notifications from influential families canceling their visits to the city."
Hauser's expression darkened.
"Do you have any idea how much this damages the Council's reputation… and ours as lords?!" His voice cut through the room like steel.
Alandr scanned them. He studied each of them carefully.
Anger simmered beneath his skin.
Every word they spoke was a dagger aimed directly at him.
But he had to control himself.
He couldn't afford to lose his composure.
They were lords, just like him.
Alandr may have ruled the city, but he answered to the Council.
Then, the last lord moved.
David Borsa.
His expression was calm—too calm.
That made him the most dangerous of them all.
And when he spoke, his voice was icy.
"A letter has arrived from the Void Wardens."
The words sank into the space between them.
"They fear the situation is spiraling out of control… and they are offering their forces."
David's eyes bored into Alandr.
"Do you know what this means?"
Alandr did not blink.
"Celeste stated two days ago that she would not intervene in the current situation."
His voice was firm, but in the back of his mind, a small, creeping doubt began to stir.
"Right now, she is preoccupied with her spies scattered everywhere… and dealing with the arrival of new recruits. This must be misinformation."
Silence.
David hesitated.
For the first time, a hint of unease flickered across his face.
Like the very words he was about to speak… filled him with dread.
The atmosphere thickened to the point where it was suffocating.
Percival and Hauser lowered their gazes.
Then, David spoke the name.
A name none of them wanted to hear.
"I'm not talking about Magister Umbrae, Alandr."
Alandr froze.
David clenched his fists.
It was clear that he hated saying this aloud.
Then, at last, he uttered the words.
"I am talking about Arkanis Morthelm himself…"
"The Supreme of Void Wardens."
"Lucian Valerian."
The words fell like iron anvils onto the room.
Alandr's eyes widened.
Because at that very moment, he realized that this entire situation…
Had spiraled out of control far more than any of them could have imagined.
WHAT THE FUCK?!
The words exploded in his head like a cannon blast.
Alandr stood frozen, completely shocked by what he had just heard.
This news was catastrophic. Not just because he would lose face—because the lords had proven themselves incapable of handling the revolution—but more importantly…
Because…
Lucian Valerian had far greater matters to attend to.
That name carried the weight of legend.
Lucian... Valerian.
The Supreme Warden of the Void.
The most feared man in the Kingdom.
One of the greatest Ethyrionists on the continent.
And worse?
One of the few consuls who had the honor of speaking personally with the Patron of the Empire.
With Archangel Jeremiah.
Alandr wasn't just shocked.
He was terrified.
This wasn't just about him anymore.
This could destroy his entire house.
But one thing didn't make sense.
"Why would Lucian Valerian suddenly take an interest in this revolution now… when he ignored the previous ones?"**
Alandr's voice came out quieter than he intended.
It felt like a curse.
If Arkanis Morthelm of Void Wardens himself was getting involved, that meant only one thing—
This was the gravest crisis Ekpesu had ever faced.
And it was all because of Gideon Voss…
And his mysterious connection to Devil's Powder.
David looked at him with a cold smirk.
"What did you think would happen?"
Alandr remained silent.
"The previous revolutions were chaotic, yes… But they had no leader."
David paused, then slowly added:
"Now?"
"Now they have a leader. And that leader holds a very dangerous weapon in his hands."
"And that's not even considering what else Gideon Voss might have."
Percival spoke next.
"Don't forget that Lucian Valerian is already occupied with threats from the Kingdom of Daria and the Kingdom of Dwallish."
Alandr listened in silence.
"Ever since the Heavens' influence significantly weakened across the Seven Worlds, the situation has escalated… The Kingdoms' Patrons can no longer keep their kings in check."
"And the kings of this continent? They are watching closely. Learning."
Percival sighed, but his voice remained sharp.
"Both the Kingdom of Dwallish and the Kingdom of Daria are hungry... for our mines."
"They are starving for Dutanium."
Alandr swallowed, but he didn't let his expression change.
"I am well aware of the situation."
His voice was calm, even as a heavy weight settled in his chest.
"But Dutanium is protected by a strong army. And it sits in a strategically advantageous position between allied cities that would support it. Not to mention Magnus Murus itself."
Percival rolled his eyes, his face darkening.
"And do you think 90,000 soldiers would stop 250,000 troops from both kingdoms combined?!"
Then he leaned in, his voice no longer just frustrated—
It was furious.
"For fuck's sake, Alandr, what the hell are you thinking?!"
Silence.
David stepped forward, replacing Percival, his voice eerily calm.
"Lucian Valerian is the only reason the Kingdom of Dwallish and the Kingdom of Daria haven't attacked yet."
Then, he stared directly into Alandr's face.
"What do you think would happen if Lucian turned his attention away from his duties… and had to deal with our problems?"
The answer was obvious.
"They would seize the opportunity and launch an invasion immediately…"
David fell silent, before adding his final words.
"The only person keeping us from war with the other Kingdoms… is Lucian Valerian."
Alandr closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
He began to think.
It was terrifying how a single man's presence alone could hold back two of the continent's greatest Kingdoms.
What everyone thought was just a meaningless revolt…
Had suddenly turned into something far greater.
This wasn't just about Ekpesu anymore.
This threatened the entire Kingdom of Taro.
Alandr clenched his fists.
Gideon had endangered him.
Endangered his house.
Alandr had no choice.
Gideon had to die—at any cost.
His voice trembled slightly as he spoke:
"Give me time until the end of the month."
He paused.
"I… have a plan."
His voice sounded more uncertain than he had ever wanted.
The lords exchanged glances.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
Alandr felt his pulse quicken.
And then…
A long silence followed.
Hauser pinched the bridge of his nose before finally breaking the tension.
"If you have any plan at all… remember, the Ghetto must not be destroyed."
His voice was cold, unwavering.
"If we anger the Patron of the Empire… I can't even begin to imagine the consequences."
As he spoke, he turned to David and Percival, his gaze heavy and cautioning.
Then, with a short clearing of his throat, he straightened the collar of his cloak.
"Decide without me… I have more pressing duties to attend to."
With those words, he turned on his heel and left the hall.
The doors closed behind him.
David, who had maintained his calm demeanor throughout, turned back to Alandr.
"Can we trust your plan?"
His voice was neutral, almost analyzing.
Before Alandr could answer, Percival sharply interrupted the silence.
"You're not seriously thinking of giving him another chance, are you?!"
He snapped, his eyes burning with barely controlled rage.
David looked at him calmly, but firmly.
"Do we have a choice?"
"Don't forget, Percival, the Ulbridge house still holds the title of Steward… and his word still carries weight."
"And if we were to take over the situation ourselves, the chaos would be even greater. For now, we must trust Alandr."
With that, he stepped closer to Alandr, his expression calm—too calm.
"But if…"
David paused, letting his gaze sweep over Alandr once more.
"If anything happens to you… if your plan fails… you will immediately relinquish your title as Steward and hand it over to us."
He smiled.
The kind of smile that carried a hidden threat.
"In the meantime, we will respond to Lord Valerian and ask him to hold off his presence."
His smile widened.
"But you only have until the end of the month. That means… you have just four days."
It was clear.
He already knew that Alandr was trapped.
That this situation played perfectly into their hands.
Alandr glared at him, his eyes murderous.
He weighed his options.
He searched for a weakness.
But he knew…
He had no choice.
After a long, heavy moment of silence, he finally nodded.
David gave him one last look.
Still wearing that smile.
Then, he turned and strode out of the hall.
Percival lingered a little longer.
He studied Alandr.
Long. Unwavering. Full of raw hatred.
Alandr felt it.
That heavy, piercing gaze.
Pure malice.
When Percival finally left, Alandr remained standing in motionless silence.
His jaw tightened, the muscles in his face twitching.
His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.
He felt the urge to kill someone.
The only hope he had left…
Was the mysterious Ereboreth.
He had promised to reach out… but since then, nothing.
Alandr knew that if he did nothing… he would lose.
But if he wanted to march an army into the Ghetto again, this time he would need the approval of the other lords.
And that wouldn't be so easy.
He had already crossed too many lines.
Fortunately… no one had made a fuss about it.
Yet.
And worse?
Who knew if they would even find Gideon?
Alandr could feel the questions swarming in his head—
Mad. Agonizing questions.
Where is Gideon hiding?Where is he smuggling his goods from?Where did he get those weapons?
He had no answers.
He let out a deep sigh.
He could feel his body slowly relaxing, even as his thoughts raged like a storm.
Slowly, he made his way toward his throne.
He sat down.
His eyes fell on the stack of letters he was supposed to read.
Then—
"DAD!!!"
A child's voice echoed through the grand hall.
Alandr's head snapped up.
And he saw his child…
Alex Ulbridge.
His six-year-old son.
The sole heir to House Ulbridge's throne.
The moment Alandr laid eyes on him, a wave of joy washed over him.
A smile—genuine and unguarded—spread across his face.
The letters were forgotten.
He rose from his throne and strode toward his son.
Behind Alex, two maids struggled to keep up with him.
Alandr knelt and embraced his son.
One of the maids rushed over, panting.
"Lor—Lord… Lord Ulbridge… I-I am very sorry." The maid, Urshula, managed between breaths.
Alandr glanced at her.
"It's fine, Urshula."
Then, he looked at Alex.
"There's no stopping this little runner."
His smile remained, his tone light.
For once… he could think of something other than duty.
Alex resembled his father greatly—except for one thing.
He had both eyes.
At least… his son had brought him a brief moment of peace.
For now, at least, he could think of something else.
Something other than the crushing weight of responsibility pressing down on him from all sides.
To be Continued...
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