"Are you sure we should go through with this?" Vandal asked, standing hesitantly by the heavy wooden door.
His older brother didn't even glance at him. "Yes. Let's go."
The meeting hall in the Authority's main office in Lesser Questia was packed. The air was thick with tension as officials and officers filled every seat. When KingAlphonse entered, the room fell into a heavy silence. He moved with calculated majesty, yet the seat beside him, the one that once belonged to Vanguard, was now occupied by a plain-looking man with calm, unreadable eyes.
"Dear subjects," the King began, his voice rich and commanding, "I, King Alphonse, bless this gathering."
The plain man stood up. His appearance was utterly ordinary, yet his presence demanded attention.
"Thank you all for coming. As you know, in His Majesty's presence, no one can speak anything but the truth ,thanks to his Grace, 'The True Self'." He paused, then continued. "Today, we are here because of one man: VandalBrunn."
All eyes turned to Vandal. He felt his stomach tighten. He wasn't made for this , standing in fine gray ruffled clothes, hair neatly brushed, while kings and generals judged him.
The man continued reading from his papers. "Your brother served as Head of the Authority. Before that, he held high positions in the army. Your father was a respected blacksmith for the kingdom's forges." He looked up directly at Vandal. "You come from a loyal family that has served Questia for generations. So tell me, Vandal… what is a young man like you doing running with a band of outlaws and traitors?"
Vandal's face flushed. "They're not-"
"Vandal," Vanguard warned sharply under his breath.
The man raised a hand. "I apologize if the word offends you. But that is how most people see them. You're still young, Vandal. Barely in your twenties. You have time to correct your path." His voice softened, almost fatherly. "We saw what you did in the war two months ago. You have talent. We would like to recruit you, train you, and give you the future you deserve. The choice, of course, is yours."
He gestured that the meeting was over.
Just as the brothers reached the door, the man's voice stopped them.
"One last question."
He stared at Vandal with an intensity that pierced straight through him.
"You are not… by any chance… an enemy of the state, are you?"
At that exact moment, Vandal's ears began to ring violently.
A heavy, crawling sensation spread across his skin, the same strange feeling he had experienced before. His heartbeat quickened.
'..It's that sense again… What the hell is it this time?!..'
He instinctively looked around the room. The officials were watching him. The King was staring at him too. Then it hit him.
'..It's the King's Grace… It has to be. TheTrueSelf. I can't lie right now. But… why would I need to lie? I know I'm not an enemy of the state!..'
The pressure grew stronger, almost suffocating. For a split second, Vandal felt as if the truth was being forcibly dragged out of him whether he wanted it or not.
He swallowed hard, his throat dry.
"No," he answered, his voice steadier than he expected. "I am by no means an enemy of the state."
The ringing slowly faded. The heavy feeling lifted. The stares around him softened. He walked out of the room feeling as though he had just survived an invisible battlefield.
Outside , silence hung between the brothers as they walked through the castle halls. Eventually, Vanguard broke it.
"Let's go see Hilda."
Vandal nodded quietly. "Yeah… let's go."
They found Hilda in a separate department When she noticed them, she waved briefly before finishing her lesson.
She was surrounded by a big circle of soldiers and trainees. Some were dueling, others were sitting and watching. She interrupted an ongoing fight with a sharp clap of her hands, making everyone turn their attention to her.
One of the two fighters , a cocky man with a smug, overconfident grin , clearly thought very highly of himself.
Hilda tried explaining a technique using quick, precise hand and arm gestures, but the man frowned, visibly confused.
"Huh? What the hell is any of that supposed to mean?"
Hilda exhaled slowly, clearly tired of explaining. Instead, she dropped into a ready fighting stance. It was the only way he would understand.
The arrogant man raised an eyebrow, smirking. "What? My Grace is seriously dangerous, you know. Are you sure you want to do this?"
The challenging spark in Hilda's eyes was all the answer he needed.
"Fair enough!" he barked.
He lunged toward her at maximum speed, his movements wild and aggressive. Hilda moved lightly, dodging and creating distance as he chased her across the open floor. Suddenly, she stopped and swept low with a lightning-fast kick, dropping him hard onto the ground.
The man bounced back to his feet almost instantly, his face now burning red with anger.
"Alright… now you've actually pissed me off." His skin flushed deeper as his Grace activated. "Time to stop playing nice."
His next charge was much faster and more violent. He swung recklessly, but Hilda extended her arm as if preparing a heavy swing. The man froze for a split second, bracing himself , but the moment he hesitated, she disappeared from his sight.
She was terrifyingly fast and fluid.
Before he could react, she swept his knee with a sharp kick, forcing him down. In one smooth motion, she snatched his unsheathed sword as it fell with him. The entire combo was so quick and professional that the man found himself flat on his back, staring up at Hilda who now stood over him, pressing the tip of his own sword against his throat.
He blinked in surprise, then let out a short, breathless laugh.
"I get it… I was way too forward with my attacks."
Hilda nodded once, then lowered the sword and offered him her hand, helping him back to his feet before returning his weapon.
After dismissing the trainees, she joined them in a quiet corner, wiping sweat from her brow.
"So… how's everything, Miss Chief of Grace Forces?" Vanguard asked with a slight smile.
Hilda shrugged, she tilted her hesd as a way of asking the same thing.
Vanguard andwered her looks:
"They offered me retirement at this age, but I don't think I'll take it. There's still so much to do… especially if my little brother decides to join the military."
She grabbed Vandal's hand, her gaze bright and hopeful..
"Congratulations for what?" Vandal translated her looks of excitement correctly. "They only made an offer. I haven't decided anything yet."
Hilda's smile faded. She huffed and crossed her arms, turning her face away. Vanguard chuckled. "You got her mad already, Vandal."
They spent a short while together before the brothers left Hilda to her duties and continued walking through the city until they reached a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts.
Vanguard pulled out a key and opened the door to an old, modest house. The smell of stew filled the air. An elderly man with horseshoe balding hair sat at the table. He was short, quiet, and carried the sharp, unyielding expression that age often brings.
"Hey, Dad," Vanguard said, attempting a salute.
The old man didn't reply. He simply pointed at the two empty chairs with a stiff finger.
They sat down. The stew was already served. For a long moment, only the sound of spoons scraping against bowls broke the silence.
Then the old man spoke, his voice rough and heavy, like gravel under boots.
"So… how did the meeting with the Authority go?"
Vanguard hesitated for half a second before answering. "It went… as expected. They made Vandal an offer. A good one."
The father didn't look up from his bowl. His spoon moved slowly, deliberately.
"And?" he pressed, his tone sharp. "Did the boy accept it?"
Vandal stiffened. He kept his eyes on his food.
Vanguard glanced at his brother, then back at their father. "He hasn't decided yet."
The old man let out a low, bitter laugh that carried no humor. He finally raised his head, his eyes , still sharp despite his age , were fixed on Vandal.
"Hasn't decided yet?" His voice grew harsher. "After everything that happened… after you dragged your brother into that mess with those outlaws… after the kingdom nearly fell… you still haven't decided?"
He slammed his spoon down on the table. The sound echoed in the small room.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you, boy."
Vandal slowly lifted his gaze. The old man's face was tight with decades of disappointment and hard labor.
"You think the world is going to wait for your decision? You think those fancy clothes and that fancy title they're offering will erase the fact that you turned your back on your family and your kingdom?"
His voice dropped, low and cutting. "I raised two sons. One became a leader. The other… became a fool who runs with traitors. So tell me, Vandal , how long are you going to keep playing this childish game before you finally grow up and take responsibility?"
The silence that followed was heavier than any words.
Vandal's grip tightened around his spoon. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
The old man stared at him for a long moment, then went back to his stew as if nothing had happened, though the air in the room had grown thick and suffocating.
For the first time, Vandal truly understood how crushing the weight of responsibility could be… and how little choice he actually had.