The courtyard was nearly empty. Inside the stables, Lord Kent ran a hand over his warhorse's neck, checking the saddle straps one last time. He left for the Tower of Books at dawn.
Lieutenant Graves stepped into the quiet barn. "You carry a heavy burden tonight, My Lord."
Kent paused. "Is it that obvious?"
"It is to me, sir." Graves took a seat on an overturned wooden barrel.
Kent let out a slow breath. "Nothing escapes you, Graves. Sending Kelvin and Elara north was the right tactical move, but leaving Ulric alone at the Iron Horn sits poorly with me. With greenskin scouts in the north, he might face a war on two fronts. He'll hold the line, I know that. But the traitor in the Capital might have laid a secondary trap we can't see yet."
"Once the Dwarven threat is neutralized, we can turn all our attention to rooting out the traitor," Graves offered.
"Perhaps." Kent frowned. "But right now, I'm drawing a blank. My only real lead is finding this Purple Wizard."
Graves leaned forward, lowering his voice. "My Lord... the scouting patrols have brought back rumors."
"What kind?"
"You know of the Demi-humans living within our borders?"
Kent nodded. "Of course. One of our own Phoenix Knights is one. Though I suppose you could just call her a very deadly cat."
Graves offered a tight smile, but it faded quickly. "We've had reports of a massive ring of slavers operating in the outer provinces. Heavily armed. They're capturing Demi-humans and smuggling them out of the kingdom."
The humor vanished from Kent's eyes. "Where?"
"Heading west. Taking the route toward the Tower of Books. With a cargo that heavy, they'll hit the western crossroads by midday tomorrow."
"If I leave at first light with a small cavalry detachment," Kent said, his voice dropping to a low rumble, "I can intercept them before they cross the border."
"Indeed, My Lord."
The two veterans spent the rest of the evening in the quiet stable, going over the castle's defense grids until the candles burned low.
Miles away, on a dark dirt road, a distinctly undignified whine shattered the night.
"Kars! I'm dying. These bags weigh a ton. Help me."
"No," Kars said, not breaking his stride. "We missed the teleporter array because you insisted on walking to 'build character.' Build it."
William Wins dropped the heavy leather bags into the dirt. With a theatrical groan, the legendary Paladin threw himself onto the ground, rolling back and forth in his spotless golden armor. "Help meeeee!"
Kars pinched the bridge of his nose. He had already scaled a seventy-foot cliff today to retrieve a spear; he didn't have the patience for a tantrum.
Without looking back, Kars raised a hand and curled his fingers. He caught the invisible gravitational threads tethering William and the luggage to the earth. Dampening their mass with The Feather and shifting their gravity with The Tether, Kars effortlessly hoisted the bags—and the whining Phoenix Knight—into the air.
He bundled them into a floating cluster of zero-gravity, dragging them down the road by an invisible string like an oversized balloon.
"Kars! What are you doing? Put me down!" William laughed, thrashing playfully in mid-air.
Kars ignored him. Every inn in the nearby village was booked solid. Out of options, Kars dragged his floating commander into an empty horse stable and dropped him onto a pile of fresh hay. William was snoring before the dust settled.
"Unbelievable," Kars muttered. He kicked William lightly in the shin, but the spearman didn't even flinch.
Sighing, Kars walked the perimeter. He wove a microscopic web of gravitational threads across the doors and windows. A single footstep inside would shift the room's mass, plucking the threads and waking him instantly.
The kingdom was in motion.
In the freezing northern foothills, General Ulric Stone pulled his heavy coat tight against the wind. Further north, Elara and High Mage Kelvin huddled over a map by lamplight, calculating angles for the Dwarven ambush. And in the south, Lady Maltida marched her army under the moonlight, refusing to waste a single second of the night.
Dawn broke.
Lord Kent sat atop his warhorse at the heavy iron gates, the morning sun catching the edge of his broadsword. Ten elite Paladin cavalrymen waited in formation behind him.
Lieutenant Graves saluted as Kent's red cape snapped in the wind. "Safe travels, My Lord."
Kent spurred his horse forward, thundering west.
By mid-morning, he found them. From the crest of a wooded ridge, Kent looked down at the slaver camp. Wagons were being hitched. Mercenaries were strapping on armor. He counted quickly—at least fifty archers and eighty heavy infantrymen.
A suicidal charge for ten men.
"Draw steel!" Kent roared.
The ridge erupted with the thunder of hooves. The slavers scrambled, half-awake and panicking.
"Archers! Fire!" the slaver captain screamed.
Fifty arrows blotted out the sun. Kent spurred his horse to the absolute tip of the vanguard and let his mana loose. Dense, golden light exploded from his armor, forming a physical wall against the sky. The arrows shattered against it like brittle glass.
Kent hit the frontline of shields like a siege engine. He carved a bloody, brutal path straight through the mercenaries, his broadsword rising and falling in heavy, unstoppable arcs. His ten cavalrymen poured into the breach behind him, their weapons coated in brilliant white mana, cutting down the slavers before they could form up.
Minutes later, the valley was dead silent.
Kent flicked the blood from his blade and sheathed it. He rode his horse toward the heavy iron wagons. With a single, mana-coated punch, he shattered the heavy iron lock holding the doors shut.
Inside the cage, nearly two hundred terrified Demi-humans stared out. Above them sat the towering, Commander who had just bought their freedom with steel.