Lanser Castle felt warmer than usual, though the morning air still carried the lingering chill of early summer.
Alena sat by the window of her reading room, needle in hand, but the fabric in her lap remained untouched. She had been sitting here for an hour, gazing at the silent inner courtyard without making a single stitch.
Outside, servants swept dry leaves falling from the old trees in the corner of the yard. Summer had arrived, but the mountain winds still carried a coolness that bit at the skin. A young maid—Lena, the one who always brought her letters—ran from one pile to another, her broom nearly bigger than she was. Alena watched her trip over a stone, nearly fall, then straighten up with a red face full of embarrassment.
Alena almost smiled.
Her hand reached into the pocket of her dress. Not a handkerchief, not a comb—a crude cloth doll with a black-painted wooden sword. Its head was too big, its body too small, the stitching uneven in several places. Alena had tried to fix it three times, but every time she looked, something was out of place.
She didn't know why she had been feeling strange lately.
Not sick. Not angry. Not anxious like when Albert first went to the battlefield. This was something else—vague, drifting, like something was wrong somewhere, but she couldn't pinpoint it.
Alena gripped the doll tighter.
"Good morning, My Lady."
The voice made her start. Greta—her old lady-in-waiting who always watched with sharp eyes—stood at the threshold, a small tray of bread and cheese in hand.
"I didn't hear a knock."
"I didn't knock." Greta entered, setting the tray on the small table beside Alena. Her eyes—grey, aged, but still sharp—swept over Alena's face briefly. "You look pale."
"I'm fine."
"Eat."
Alena took a piece of bread, nibbled. It tasted bland. She set it back down.
Greta said nothing. She simply stood beside her, hands behind her back, waiting. The way she waited was like a patient prison guard.
"Is there any letter today?" Alena asked.
"Unfortunately, none."
"Last week?"
"None either."
Alena nodded. Her hand still held the doll. "Do couriers still come from the front lines?"
"Couriers still pass through, but there's nothing for you..."
Greta answered too quickly. Alena looked at her, but the old woman's expression didn't change.
"Perhaps he's busy," Alena said, more to herself. "They say the war is over, but maybe he still has matters to attend to. Perhaps he had to return to Götthain first."
Greta didn't answer.
Outside, Lena had finished sweeping and now ran toward another direction, her broom nearly dragging behind her. Another servant called to her—probably some other task. Lena laughed, her voice bright, then disappeared through the kitchen door.
Alena stared out the window, toward the main gate.
There, two guards were changing shifts. An old guard yawned widely, another clapped his shoulder with a laugh. Beyond the gate, the road descended toward the village, toward the valley, toward the main road to the capital.
Alena didn't remember the last time she had stood at that gate, waiting.
She used to stand there often. When Albert had first left, when the first letters arrived, when she could still count the days between one piece of news and the next. Then the letters grew less frequent. Then rarer. Then they stopped.
"Perhaps tomorrow," Greta said.
"Perhaps..."
Greta sighed—a long, slow sigh, like someone who had seen the same thing too many times. "My Lady, you need to leave this room. The air here is stifling."
"I'm fine here."
"You've been sitting here since morning. You haven't bathed, haven't changed, haven't eaten breakfast." Greta pointed at the barely touched tray. "This isn't like you."
Alena didn't answer.
Greta walked to the window, pulling the curtain wider. Sunlight streamed in, dazzling. Alena blinked, nearly raising a hand to shield her eyes.
"The village head of Holten is coming today," Greta said. "For the early summer harvest report. Your father—Earl Richard—usually asks you to attend."
"I don't—"
"And your embroidery is a mess." Greta pointed at the fabric in Alena's lap. "The threads are tangled, the needle is broken. You didn't even notice."
Alena looked down. Red and green threads tangled together, the needle was indeed broken—she didn't remember when. She couldn't recall breaking it.
Greta stood before her now, her shadow blocking the light. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing."
"I've known you since you were born, so please be honest."
Alena lifted her head, meeting those eyes.
"I don't know," she said, her voice smaller than she intended. "I just... feel strange."
"Strange how?"
"Like something is wrong. But I don't know what." She gripped the doll tighter. "Perhaps it's just my imagination. Perhaps it'll pass tomorrow."
Greta was silent for a moment. Then she sat in the chair beside Alena—something she rarely did.
"When was the last time you wrote to him?"
Alena blinked. "Two weeks ago."
"Two weeks, and no reply?"
"The courier might be delayed."
"Perhaps." Greta nodded. "Or perhaps he's busy. Or perhaps the letter went astray. Many possibilities."
"Yes..."
But in Alena's chest, that strange feeling lingered. Not about the letters. Not about replies. But something else, something she couldn't put into words.
Greta looked at her for a long time. Then she said, "I'll go to the kitchen and bring you some tea. Something warm."
"Thank you."
Greta stood, walked to the door. But before leaving, she turned back.
"My Lady."
"Yes?"
"Sometimes a woman's intuition is right, sometimes it's not. But sitting here waiting won't answer anything."
The door closed.
Alena sat in her chair, the tangled fabric in her lap, the doll in her hand. Outside, the courtyard grew lively—sounds of people working, wagons creaking, chickens clucking from the coop behind the kitchen. Life went on as usual.
She held the doll, feeling the stitching she had already fixed three times. Still uneven. Perhaps she would try again later.
But that strange feeling didn't fade.
***
The city of Neuss, capital of the Kingdom of Helvetia.
Albert's horse stopped at the final hilltop.
Below, Eltz Castle stood.
Not as he had imagined. More than that. Far more than that.
The walls were not as tall as he had expected—perhaps deliberately, so as not to appear intimidating—but the scale... Albert had never seen a structure this vast. From east to west, the fortress sprawled like a small city atop the hill. White towers rose at its corners, not for defense—too slender to withstand assault—but for grandeur.
Albert caught his breath.
Beside him, Duke Leopold smiled. "First time in the capital?"
Albert nodded. He couldn't speak.
Behind him, Luise let out a low whistle. "Insane."
They descended the hill, entering the main road toward the city gate. And here, Albert truly realized that Vallenwood—the city contested for months, swallowing thousands of lives—was merely a small border town.
This road was wide enough for three wagons abreast. The stones were cut neatly, nothing like the rough, potholed roads of Götthain. Left and right, white stone houses with red roofs stood in orderly rows, nothing like the near-collapsing wooden houses of Steinbach. In the windows, flowers in pots—colorful, fresh.
The people. Albert had never seen so many in one place.
Merchants shouted from their stalls, offering silk from the south, spices from the east, jewelry from neighboring kingdoms. Mothers with woven baskets haggled over vegetable prices, their voices nearly lost in the din. Children darted between adult legs, laughing, shouting, chasing a rag ball rolling across the stones.
A little girl—perhaps seven, blonde hair in two braids—ran too fast, nearly colliding with Albert's horse. Her mother pulled her back, apologizing with an embarrassed laugh. The girl wasn't frightened. She just stared at Albert with curious eyes, then ran off again.
In Götthain, children would hide behind their mothers' skirts. In Vallenwood, there were no children left.
Luise brought her horse closer. "Are you alright?"
Albert nodded. He didn't want to speak.
They rode deeper into the city. Here, the houses grew larger, taller. Some had two stories, even three. Some were white stone, others dark wood with carvings around the doorways. Before a large house, a man in a silk robe spoke with a woman, laughing, their hands touching. A vegetable cart passed before them—they didn't notice.
Eltz Castle drew closer.
The fortress walls were now clearly visible—not thick defensive walls like those at Vallenwood. These were walls to display wealth. Gleaming white limestone, polished to shine under the sun. At every corner, statues of fully armored knights, swords raised, faces gazing into the distance.
The main gate stood wide open.
Albert looked inside. A vast courtyard. At its center, a massive fountain with a statue of a king—Albert didn't know which one, there had been so many—spouting water three times a man's height. Around it, nobles strolled in silk robes, jewelry at their necks and wrists.
A woman in a pale blue dress stopped before the fountain, looking toward Albert. Her eyes—blue, cold—swept over his face, his dull green cloak, his tired warhorse. Then she turned away, continuing her walk.
Duke Leopold slowed, drawing alongside. "Overwhelming?"
Albert nodded.
"Don't let it affect you." Duke Leopold's voice was low, meant only for the two of them. "Here, appearances are everything. But you don't have to play along."
Albert looked at him. The old man smiled faintly.
"They'll never understand what you went through at Vallenwood. Let them not understand."
They entered the courtyard.
The soldiers at the gate saluted Duke Leopold. A few looked at Albert with curiosity—but not like in Vallenwood. Here, no one knew him. No one knew who the Black Sword Demon was. Not yet.
In the courtyard, a man in black robes approached, bowing. "Duke Leopold. His Majesty awaits in the throne room. The guests have assembled."
"Guests?" Duke Leopold frowned. "I thought this was a small meeting."
The man smiled—a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "His Majesty decided to host a small reception. The nobles wish to see the hero of Vallenwood."
Duke Leopold turned to Albert. His expression—something between anger and wariness.
"You don't have to attend," he said. "I can say you're exhausted from the journey."
Albert looked toward the great doors at the courtyard's end. Beyond them, the throne room. The nobles. The King.
"I'll go," he said.
Duke Leopold studied him for a moment. "You're certain?"
"I've come this far."
The man nodded. "Follow me."
They walked through the great doors. Behind, Luise moved to follow, but a guard stopped her.
"Invitation only."
Luise looked at Albert. Albert shook his head slightly. "Wait here."
She wasn't pleased, but she nodded.
Albert entered.
The room made him pause.
Not because it was large—though it was, very large. But because of... everything. White stone walls soaring to the ceiling, adorned with life-sized paintings. Marble pillars with gold carvings at their peaks. Floors of gleaming black stone reflecting candlelight from massive chandeliers overhead.
And at the room's end, atop a throne raised seven steps, a middle-aged man sat.
King Wilhelm.
Albert couldn't see his face from this distance—too far, too much light behind the throne. But he could see thin white hair, a red robe with fur at the shoulders, hands resting on a golden scepter.
Left and right of the throne, nobles stood in rows. Silk robes, furs, jewelry. Faces he didn't recognize, eyes watching him with curiosity.
Whispers began.
"That's him?"
"Black Sword Demon?"
"So young..."
"He doesn't look impressive..."
Duke Leopold walked ahead, bowing. "Your Majesty, I present Albert vin Götterbaum, commander of the Götthain-Lancaster Special Regiment."
Albert stepped forward. Each step echoed on the black stone floor.
He stopped at the first step, kneeling. Not because he knew the protocol—but because his knees were tired.
"Your Majesty."
Silence. Then King Wilhelm's voice—hoarse, aged, but still clear.
"Raise your head."
Albert lifted his head. And for the first time, he saw the face of Helvetia's King.
Wrinkled skin hanging on prominent cheekbones, pale blue eyes sunken beneath thick white brows. But his eyes... his eyes were still sharp.
King Wilhelm looked at him for a long moment. Then he said, "You're younger than I imagined."
Whispers behind him. Albert didn't move.
"Stand," the King said.
Albert stood. His legs wavered for a moment, but he forced them straight.
King Wilhelm looked down from his throne. "I've read your reports. Vallenwood. The operations behind enemy lines. The battle at the eastern wall." He paused. "My generals tell me you're mad."
Albert didn't answer.
"But they also say you succeeded." King Wilhelm smiled faintly. "So, a madman who succeeds."
A few nobles laughed. Albert remained silent.
King Wilhelm leaned forward slightly. "Is there something you wish to say?"
Albert thought. In his head, the voices were stirring again. But he didn't care.
"I'm not mad, Your Majesty."
The whispers stopped.
"I simply did what had to be done. So my men could come home."
Silence. The nobles exchanged glances.
King Wilhelm looked at him for a long time. Then he laughed—a short, rasping laugh, like a man who hadn't truly laughed in a long while.
"Good." He nodded.
He raised his hand. A servant stepped forward with a red velvet cushion. Upon it lay a golden medallion shaped like a lion—the royal emblem.
"Albert vin Götterbaum," the King said, "for your service in defending Vallenwood, for your courage on the battlefield, for your... unconventional methods against the enemy." He smiled again. "I raise you to the rank of Baron, with lands in the eastern border, directly under the crown."
Whispers. Albert heard the words "Baron," "directly under the crown." He didn't catch everything.
He knelt again. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
The King nodded. "Now, rise. There's someone who wishes to meet you."
He gestured to the side. Among the nobles, a young woman stepped forward.
Her hair was red. Her eyes were warm brown. A light brown silk dress, her hair neatly arranged, her face fresh—fresh like someone who had never seen a battlefield.
Albert froze.
Alena.
He didn't know how she had come to be here. He didn't know how long it had been since he last wrote. He didn't know what to say.
Alena stood before him now. Her eyes looked at him. And in those eyes, something tightened in his chest.
Not anger. Not sadness. But relief.
A deep, wet relief that words could not express.
"Albert," she whispered.
Her voice was nearly inaudible.
His throat felt dry. The words that usually came without hesitation on the battlefield... vanished. Albert, for the first time in a long while, didn't know how to answer.