Chapter 954

“I don’t know what’s coming yet,” Arslan continued, “and that’s exactly the problem. I need you checking everything around the town. Roads, ridges, open ground, anything moving where it shouldn’t. If there’s something strange approaching, I want to know before it gets close enough to breathe on the walls.”

Maurien gave a short nod. No theatrics. No false reassurance. Just understanding.

“I’ll see it,” he said.

Then he turned and started moving immediately, long strides carrying him through the hall and back out toward the nearest wall. There was no wasted motion in him. He looked like a man stepping into work he had already accepted before being asked.

Arslan watched him go for a moment.

With Maurien on the wall and using his wind, Lionfang would at least have eyes farther out than normal. Not perfect eyes. Not enough to solve everything. But enough to catch movement, pressure changes, unnatural formations, dust patterns, maybe even troop advances depending on the terrain and weather.

It would have to do. As Maurien disappeared out of the guildhall, another thought rose in Arslan’s mind. The northerners. Should he contact them? Should he warn Kharnek and the others now and tell them to prepare as well?

The idea had weight.

If this really was the opening of something larger, then having the northerners ready could mean the difference between holding and breaking. They were close enough, strong enough, and stubborn enough to matter. And after everything that had happened between them and Lionfang, the alliance was no longer some fragile promise written on convenience alone.

Still...

Calling them in as a whole for a situation he didn’t fully understand yet could cause more trouble than help.

If he overreacted and dragged the entire northern side into motion before confirming the shape of the threat, that would create pressure of its own. Panic. Misread intentions. Supply strain. Defensive confusion. Too many armed people moving on partial information rarely improved a bad situation.

Arslan clicked his tongue softly in thought. Not yet. Not all at once. He would need clearer answers first.

Enough to know whether this was a strike on Lionfang alone, a wider frontier move, or something tied directly to the capital and whatever nonsense Ludger had walked into there.

And that thought… that last one… settled heavily in his chest. Because the timing was too ugly to ignore. Arslan was still standing in the middle of the guildhall when he heard the entrance open again.

He turned his head instinctively.

Maurien was back. That alone made Arslan’s expression tighten.

Too fast. Maurien didn’t return that quickly unless something had interrupted him.

Arslan frowned slightly. “What is it?”

Maurien didn’t waste time.

“An imperial messenger just arrived,”

Arslan’s eyes narrowed. A bad feeling settled in his chest immediately. Not vague. Not uncertain. This timing was too odd. Tunnels collapsing. Routes sealed. Then an imperial messenger arriving within minutes?

That wasn’t coincidence. That was coordination.

Ten minutes later, they stood on the wall overlooking Lionfang’s main gate.

Below, the town guards had already formed a loose perimeter, weapons ready but not drawn aggressively. The tension was visible even from above. Word had spread quickly enough that this was not a routine visit.

Outside the gate, a single rider waited.

The man sat atop his horse without dismounting, posture straight, expression distant in the way of someone carrying orders rather than opinions. His clothing bore the markings of the Empire, clean, formal, unmistakable.

He didn’t look like a fighter. But he also didn’t look like someone who would hesitate to deliver whatever message he had been sent to give. Arslan stepped forward slightly, enough for his presence on the wall to be clear.

“Speak.”

The messenger lifted his gaze and met Arslan’s without bowing. Then he spoke. His voice carried cleanly.

“By order of His Imperial Majesty.”

The words immediately drew attention from everyone nearby.

“Ludger Vice guildmanster of the Lionsguard, Viola Torvares, and Lord Torvares have been detained in the capital under charges of treason.”

A murmur ran through the guards below. Arslan didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t react outwardly. The messenger continued.

“They are accused of conspiring against the Empire, engaging in illegal dealings, and smuggling a member of the Imperial family into their guild.”

That line hit harder. Not because of volume. Because of what it implied. The messenger’s tone did not change.

“His Imperial Majesty demands that the individual in question, his half-sister, be handed over to the capital immediately.”

Stolen story; please report.

A brief pause followed. Just long enough for the weight of the demand to settle.

“If this condition is met,” the messenger said, “Ludger, Viola Torvares, and Lord Torvares will be released.”

Silence fell over the wall. Below, some of the guards shifted uneasily. Others looked up at Arslan, waiting. The man on horseback said nothing more. He simply sat there, holding the message like it was already decided. Arslan felt it clearly now. That bad feeling from before? It hadn’t been wrong. Not even close.

Everything that had just happened… the tunnels. The timing. The message. All of it fit together too cleanly. And at the center of it.. was Ludger. For a few seconds, Arslan didn’t answer. He just stood there on the wall, looking down at the messenger while his mind moved faster than his body ever could.

Pieces started connecting. The invitation to the capital. The Emperor’s birthday. The timing, right before Ludger’s own birthday, when refusing would look strange, almost disrespectful, especially with Viola and Lord Torvares involved.

They had expected Ludger to go. No… they had counted on it. Arslan’s eyes narrowed slightly. That was the first layer.

Make the invitation look natural. Make refusal suspicious. Make acceptance inevitable.

Then… The speed of the message.

There was no way a simple imperial messenger could have crossed half the Empire this quickly unless they were around for a while… This was planned.

From the beginning. Everything aligned too neatly. Ludger goes to the capital.

Something happens. They accuse him. They lock down the routes. And at the same time… they send this message here.

Arslan exhaled slowly.

Still… There was a flaw. A big one. They assumed Ludger would be contained.

That he would be captured, pressured, cornered into negotiation. But they didn’t understand him well enough. Ludger wouldn’t sit quietly in a cell. He wouldn’t accept being used like that. He would tear the capital apart before letting that happen. That thought didn’t bring comfort. If anything, it made things worse. Because if Ludger had already started fighting back… then the situation in the capital was likely far beyond what this messenger was pretending it to be. Arslan finally shifted his gaze away from the rider and looked at Maurien.

“What do you think?”

Maurien didn’t answer immediately. He was looking outward. Not at the messenger. Not at the town. At the horizon. His eyes were slightly narrowed, not in thought, but in focus.

Wind moved around him subtly, invisible to most, but clear enough to someone like Arslan who had fought alongside him before. Maurien was already searching. Already listening. Already mapping. Then he spoke.

“There are armies out there.”

Arslan’s expression hardened. Maurien’s gaze didn’t move.

“Several,” he added. “Spread out. Trying to stay outside direct lines of sight… and outside the wider edge of my range.”

That alone said enough. They were hiding. Positioning. Maurien continued, tone calm but carrying weight.

“They didn’t come here expecting a successful negotiation.”

A pause.

Then the final piece.

“They came for a battle.”

The wind shifted again, as if confirming his words.

“And considering their numbers…”

Maurien’s eyes sharpened slightly.

“They didn’t come to fight Lionfang.”

Another pause.

“They cam to destroy it.”

Silence followed. Below, the messenger still waited. Above, the sky darkened slowly as the distant clouds rolled closer. And on the wall of Lionfang, Arslan finally understood the full shape of the trap.

Not just Ludger. Not just the capital. This was bigger. Much bigger. And it had already begun. Arslan kept his eyes on the messenger while he weighed the paths in front of him. There weren’t many.

Handing someone over was impossible. Bowing was impossible. Trusting the word of people who had moved armies into place before even sending their message was laughable. The “offer” below them wasn’t a real negotiation. It was a line spoken after the knife had already been drawn.

Something big was about to happen.

No… something enormous.

Something larger than any border clash, noble feud, or labyrinth incident the current Empire had dealt with in living memory. And somehow, right in the center of it, stood the Lionsguard. Their guild. Their town. Their family.

Arslan turned his head slightly and looked at Maurien.

The old mage met his gaze and gave a small nod. That was enough.

Arslan took a slow breath, let it out, and then looked back down at the messenger waiting outside the gate with all the calm arrogance of a man delivering terms backed by armies. His voice, when it came, carried across the wall and the road beyond it without strain.

“I hope the Regent’s plan is worth all this.”

The messenger’s expression barely changed, but the men nearest the gate shifted slightly at the words.

Arslan’s gaze remained hard.

“Lionsguard will not hand anyone over.”

That one landed cleanly. Final. No room for later reinterpretation. No softening. No false politeness.

“If the Empire wants to fight those who refuse to bend the knee,” Arslan said, “then you will have one hell of a fight.”

Wind moved across the wall. The guards behind him stood a little straighter. Maurien said nothing, but the air around him felt sharper somehow. Arslan went on, his tone still level, which only made the threat underneath it heavier.

“We might go down.”

A brief pause.

“But you bastards will lose far more than we do.”

That stirred something below. The messenger didn’t speak, but a few of the soldiers near him exchanged glances, and even from up on the wall Arslan could see the first signs of discomfort taking root beneath their discipline.

Then Arslan’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“And while we’re at it…”

His voice hardened.

“I hope you left enough warriors in the capital.”

That made the messenger’s posture change, if only by a fraction. Because now they were speaking about the other half of the trap. About the part the Empire thought it had under control. Arslan’s mouth pulled into the faintest, grimmest smile.

“Because I’m pretty sure not even half the Empire can stop my son.”

For a heartbeat, the only sound was the wind. Then the silence deepened in the worst possible way. Because everyone who heard those words understood the same thing… This was no longer a matter of arrest, negotiation, or political pressure.

This was war. The messenger looked up at Arslan for a long moment after that. Not with outrage. Not with fear.

With the flat, measuring stare of someone deciding whether the man on the wall had simply lost his reason or had accepted death so completely that threats no longer mattered. His face gave away very little, but there was something in the stillness of it that made the intent clear enough.

He was studying Arslan like a man watching another sign his own execution order.

Then, apparently deciding there was nothing more worth saying, he pulled lightly on the reins and turned his horse around.