"Garren, Viscount Aldric is your cousin, isn't he? Why don't you pay him a visit?"
Garren looked at Jack, catching on."You want Viscount Aldric's forces?"
Jack replied with a calm smile, "The more, the better."
Jonathan, who had been listening closely, couldn't help but interject.
"Your Grace, we cannot attack Baron Elric just because we suspect something. That would sow internal discord within the Duchy — and we can't afford that right now."
Jack didn't seem fazed by Jonathan's opposition.
"Of course, Sir Jonathan. We're not going to attack without reason. We'll find a reason — and then we'll act."
Jonathan scratched his beard, deep in thought.
"But why go through all that trouble?" he asked. "Even if Baron Elric is plotting something, it doesn't mean he'll actually attack or threaten us. We might still be able to pass through his land peacefully. If Viscount Aldric's forces make their presence known near the border, it will serve as a deterrent. The Baron may not dare to take any reckless action."
It was a sound and cautious strategy — one that might have worked. But Jack shook his head.
"We're in a very delicate situation," he said. "If we let Baron Elric get away with his actions, even passively, it may shake the loyalty of our other vassals."
Jack's gaze was sharp now, fixed on Jonathan."Sir Jonathan, don't lose sight of the bigger picture. Let's say we go with your plan and leave Baron Elric alone. The suspicion that he could stab us in the back will remain. That kind of uncertainty will hinder our future decisions. And we won't get a better opportunity than this to legitimately intrude on his territory."
He continued, his tone firm yet calm,"We're not attacking him. We're going to probe. And if we find anything against him — anything that proves he's conspiring — we'll have our reason. And, most importantly, we'll have our justification."
The room fell silent for a few seconds after Jack's words. The officers exchanged glances, some visibly uneasy, others deep in thought. The flickering torchlight played shadows across the war map, mirroring the uncertainty in the air.
Finally, Captain Bren, a seasoned Red Blade with scars to prove his years of service, leaned forward.
"You're Grace, if you're saying we go through his lands and bait him into action—if he remains silent, we pass... and if he acts," Captain Bren paused, "we'll have full justification to strike?"
This time, it was Garren who interjected before Jack could respond.
"There's a problem with your plan." Garren's eyes shifted toward Seraphine and Tracy. After a brief moment of hesitation, he leaned closer to Jack and whispered in his ear,"We can't risk taking the royal guards with us. It's unclear who among them we can trust."
Jack shook his head at Garren's caution, then spoke aloud, his gaze fixed steadily on Seraphine."There's no need for discretion. Her Highness distrusts the royal guards more than we do."
Seraphine gave a faint smile and a small nod of approval. Her voice was calm and composed."It's not that I distrust all of them. But I'm certain there are a few who might take advantage of any chaos... and kill me."
Her nonchalant mention of her possible death unsettled several officers. It wasn't the subject of death itself every soldier lived with that shadow daily but the fact that a girl barely twenty, the same age as many of their daughters, could speak of her own assassination with such chilling calm.
Garren spoke up, "We can't take them with us."
Jack interrupted, "Your Highness, traveling with us as bait will also be dangerous. Let's do this—"
Everyone leaned in to hear Jack's plan. Now and then, officers chimed in with their own opinions. Even Tracy had her moments, voicing sharp, concise suggestions. As the morning sun began to climb the sky, the plan was finalized and set into motion.
The caravan moved ahead without altering its route. A few meters in front, Garren and nearly thirty Red Blades broke off on their warhorses, galloping toward the horizon and quickly vanishing from view.
The caravan itself marched forward at an almost agonizingly slow pace , so slow that even a walking person could overtake it with a bit of effort.
Royal guards, Red Blades, and servants who hadn't been part of the planning seemed confused. Some even complained to their superiors about the sluggish pace , only to be firmly silenced without explanation.
By evening, the caravan had finally reached the border town of Baron Elric's territory.
The same scene repeated: people gathered to witness the banner of Ignis fluttering high in the sky, and camp was set with practiced precision. Servants hurried into the town to restock supplies.
The only difference this time was Seraphine's behavior. She insisted on sleeping in the carriage instead of the camp. Tracy stood guard outside, unmoving and watchful. The princess also requested her meals be brought to her inside. Many found it strange, but no one dared to question it—and even if they did, there was little they could do.
The next morning, the caravan left the town behind and marched deeper into the Baron's territory. Its pace had increased from before, now moving forward at a reasonable speed. Just as the morning sun climbed higher and burned brighter, the caravan entered a forest road—the only available path, winding through a dense woodland. Tall trees blocked the harsh sunlight, yet the soldiers still cooked under their heavy metal armor.
Suddenly, the carriage up ahead came to a screeching halt. With a loud crack, a massive tree collapsed onto the road just ahead. Horses neighed wildly in panic as their hooves stamped the earth. Above, the treetops rustled, and dark silhouettes revealed themselves, perched among the branches like vultures preparing to strike.
The figures in the treetops didn't waste a second.
Dressed like ragged bandits, their movements were anything but clumsy. In a single, fluid motion, they leapt down from the branches like shadows descending upon prey, blades gleaming as they charged toward the caravan.
Their target was clear—the carriage in the center, marked by the unmistakable golden insignia of the Royal House.
The Royal Guards and Red Blades reacted instantly.
"Protect the carriage!" a voice roared, and with a deafening ring of steel, swords were drawn in unison.
A wave of auras erupted—crimson and white lights exploded around the guards, surging like a tide of righteous fury. The ground itself seemed to tremble under the collective force of nearly a hundred warriors releasing their mana at once.
But then—a surprise that shattered the rhythm of battle for a breath.
The bandits... released auras of their own.
Dark blues, burning reds, and ominous violets flickered into existence. A crushing pressure filled the air. These weren't ordinary cutthroats. Every one of them moved with trained grace, their steps swift and controlled. Their weapons didn't shake—they flowed. Aura-enhanced steel met elite steel.
A realization struck several guards at once—these men were swordsmen with adept-tier mana cores.
That level of mastery wasn't something street scum could fake. These were warriors who, under normal circumstances, would be serving under powerful nobles or even vying for a position in prestigious knightly orders. Not inferior in the slightest to Royal Guards themselves.
For a split second, hesitation rippled through the caravan forces.
But only for a second.
They were Red Blades and Royal Guards—battle-hardened and elite. Adept-tier was their baseline. They had faced worse and bled harder.
A rallying cry tore through the air as the clash began in full force.
The skirmish exploded all across the caravan, but the fiercest battle was near the royal carriage.
Multiple attackers converged on it, clearly focused on the symbol it bore. Like moths to flame, they charged with reckless precision, trying to break through the elite formation guarding it.
Tracy stood at the forefront, sword drawn, her aura flaring a bright green as she met the first of them with a clash that sent sparks flying. Steel screamed against steel as Red Blades fell in beside her, forming an unbreakable wall.
he battle raged on, steel clashing against steel, but the situation was growing more dire with every passing second.
More figures emerged from the tree line—dozens, then scores—encircling the caravan from all sides.
They lacked the sharp discipline or powerful auras of the elite attackers that had come first, but they didn't need finesse. These were fodder, thrown into the meat grinder with one purpose to overwhelm by sheer numbers.
They hurled themselves at the Red Blades and Royal Guards like wild beasts, reckless and suicidal. For every one that fell, two more took his place. Blood sprayed across the muddy forest path, screams filled the air, but the wall protecting the carriage held firm.
Barely.
Tracy cut down another attacker with a flash of green, only to have her shoulder grazed by a wild blade from behind. A Red Blade intercepted the next strike aimed at her, but he fell with a dagger in his neck.
It was chaos.