Lord: I can see loyalty.

north.

The black banner of the Golden Griffin family fluttered in the cold wind, and the golden griffins on the banners bared their fangs and claws as if they were about to pounce off the cloth.

Only seven days have passed since Cedric Villar proclaimed himself King of the North.

Within seven days, he incorporated half of the army left by his father, integrated the small and medium-sized families loyal to him, and brought three towns on the outskirts of the capital under his control.

Meanwhile, the family's second elder brother, Celine Villar, known to outsiders as the "Griffin King," finally couldn't sit still any longer.

Selin was a man of few words, quite unlike his older brother Cedric, who was flamboyant and domineering.

He never called himself "King," and most of the titles associated with him were given by outsiders. He also never swore allegiance to anyone.

No one knows what his elder brother Cedric did to make this proud griffin lower its head and join his ranks.

Serin had only two hundred men under his command, but these two hundred were the most elite knights in the North.

There were no militia, no temporarily conscripted farmers, and no mercenaries who were just there to fill the ranks.

Two hundred fully armed knights, each a veteran who had survived countless battles. Their armor was emblazoned with the emblem of a golden-maned griffin, and their swords were stained with the blood of more than one person.

Selin rode a black warhorse at the very front of the procession.

He wasn't wearing a helmet, revealing a face that bore some resemblance to Cedric's, but was even more hardened. The wind billowed his greyish-white cloak, embroidered with the silent griffin.

"My lord," the adjutant reined in his horse and approached, "the scouts ahead report that the east gate of the outer city of the capital has been opened, and the king's army is in retreat."

Serin did not answer, but simply raised his hand and waved it forward.

Two hundred warhorses marched at the same time, their hooves thundering.

……

The outer city of the capital.

The battle has been going on for a full day.

The Golden Griffin Clan's first probing attack was merely a matter of using militia to wear down the defenders' strength and arrows.

The militiamen, clad in leather armor and wielding various weapons, surged toward the city walls like a tide, only to be driven back by a hail of arrows and rolling stones, leaving behind a trail of corpses.

But after the initial probing, the real killing move was unleashed.

When the Knights of Serin, the second brother, stormed in through the east gate, the garrison didn't even have time to sound the alarm.

Two hundred knights surged through the city gates like a black torrent, advancing along the main road.

Their warhorses trampled the thin ice that had formed on the stone pavement, and their longswords reflected a dazzling, cold light in the sunlight.

The defending archers were thrown into disarray by the knights before they could even nock their arrows.

The infantrymen, brandishing their spears, attempted to form ranks, but were knocked over by the warhorses. The guards who had been on the city walls all day were exhausted and had almost no chance to fight back against the charge of this fresh force.

"Stay calm! Stay calm!"

A knight officer wearing half-plate armor brandished a longsword, attempting to establish a defensive line.

His soldiers managed to gather together, planting their spears diagonally into the ground to form a makeshift hedgehog formation.

Serin witnessed this scene.

He didn't say anything, but simply turned his horse slightly and charged in that direction.

His warhorse was a pure black Northern steed, over 1.6 meters tall at the shoulder, with bulging muscles that made it look like a siege engine when it charged.

Selin drew his longsword from his waist—a griffin longsword passed down through the Vilar family, with intricate patterns engraved on its blade and a dark red gem inlaid in the hilt.

"Form ranks! Form ranks!"

The knight officer was still shouting.

Serin had already rushed up to him.

The warhorse leaped into the air, soaring over the spears in front and crashing directly into the center of the infantry formation.

Serin's longsword swept across from left to right, the blade slicing through leather armor and cutting through flesh, and the three soldiers fell to the ground almost simultaneously.

The knights followed closely behind, like a sharp dagger piercing the chest of the defenders.

The knight officer was thrown back, crashing heavily onto the stone pavement. His helmet rolled off, revealing a young, terrified face. He struggled to get up, but a longsword was already pressed against his throat.

"Surrender or die." Serin's voice was very soft, devoid of any emotion.

The young knight officer swallowed hard and glanced around—most of his men were dead or wounded, and the rest were either fleeing or abandoning their weapons.

"I...I surrender," he said.

Serin sheathed his sword, turned his horse around, and slowly continued forward.

At this moment, the outer city of the capital officially fell.

……

The inner city of the royal capital, the Emerald Palace.

The atmosphere in the council hall was even more oppressive than on the battlefield outside the city.

A map of the capital's defenses lay spread out on the long table, and candlelight flickered in the breeze, casting the portraits of past kings on the wall in shifting light, as if those kings who had died many years ago were also watching over the impending catastrophe.

King Albert sat on his throne, one hand supporting his forehead, his fingers trembling slightly.

His face was so pale it was almost transparent, his eyes were sunken, and his cheekbones were prominent. In just a few days, the young king had aged considerably.

Steward Harold stood beside him, holding a battle report that had just been delivered, his knuckles white from the force of his grip.

Duke Herbert sat on the left side of the long table, his white hair neatly combed, his back ramrod straight, but his cloudy eyes were full of weariness.

Below, dozens of knights and nobles of all ranks whispered amongst themselves.

Some looked fearful, some were indignant, and others had shifty eyes, seemingly plotting something. The news of the outer city's fall was like a bolt from the blue, shattering their last stand.

"Quiet." Harold's voice wasn't loud, but it instantly silenced the hall.

Albert raised his head, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, his voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible.

"The outer city has been lost."

No one answered. Everyone kept their heads down, avoiding his gaze.

"I ask you," Albert's voice suddenly rose a few decibels, "what should we do now?"

After a moment of silence, a knight wearing half-plate armor stood up and knelt on one knee.

He was the captain of the knights in charge of the defense of the inner city of the capital, named Raymond, his face still covered in the dust from the retreat after the outer city fell.

"Your Majesty, the garrison in the outer city has been withdrawn. Together with the original troops in the inner city and the militia we can muster, we now have about seven thousand men."

"Seven thousand? I'm afraid two thousand of them are militia?" an old nobleman sneered. "The rebels number at least fifteen thousand. How can seven thousand possibly fight them?"

"It's not that we can't fight..." Raymond's voice was firm. "The inner city walls are higher and thicker than the outer city walls. As long as we hold the city gates and hold them off—"

"Drag?" another nobleman interrupted him. "With what? How long will the provisions last? How long will the arrows last? How long will the soldiers' morale last?"

Raymond fell silent.

Albert closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them and looked at Harold.

"Where are the reinforcements? What's the situation on the eastern border?"

Harold opened the letter in his hand, his voice calm, yet tinged with an undisguised bitterness. "Your Majesty, the Eastern Frontier... is too preoccupied to care for itself."

"What do you mean?"

"The Earl of the East said that his territory is being harassed by barbarians in the mountains, and all his troops are used to defend the city, leaving him with no spare men." Harold paused. "He also said that if His Majesty could send troops to help him quell the barbarians, he might consider..."

"Consider?" Albert sneered. "Is he trying to negotiate with me?"

Harold did not respond.

"And what about the South?" Albert asked. "Has the Earl of the South replied?"

The atmosphere in the hall grew even more tense. Everyone pricked up their ears, their eyes fixed on Harold.

Harold paused for a moment, then slowly spoke. "The Earl of the Southern Border... has not replied."

"No reply?" a nobleman exclaimed. "What does that mean?"

"That's not all." Harold's voice lowered even further. "According to our intelligence, Earl Vio Ross of the South is no longer in the South."

Where did he go?

"Some say he came to the North, but it's unclear exactly where."

The hall erupted in chaos!

"He's come to the North? What's he doing here?"

"Could it be that they received an offer from the Golden-Maned Griffin family and have joined the rebels...?"

"He controls the southern and western borders. If he sides with Cedric, what's the point of our fight?"

"Damn it... let's surrender!"

"Enough!" Duke Herbert slammed his hand on the table, his voice booming.

The clamor abruptly ceased, and the nobles who had been shouting the loudest shrank back, no longer daring to utter a sound.

Herbert stood up, his gaze sweeping over the crowd like a knife. "The Southern Earl's arrival in the Northern Border doesn't necessarily mean he's joining the rebels; he might also be coming to defend the King."

"Serving the king?" a nobleman scoffed. "What makes him think he can serve the king? How many soldiers can a count possibly command?"

"He controls the Southern and Western Territories," Herbert said, emphasizing each word. "He has four Grand Knights, the Azure Peak Knights, the Whale Knights, and countless militia and warships. His forces probably outnumber any of us here combined."

The hall fell silent once more. The nobles exchanged glances, their eyes filled with complex emotions.

They were all on the verge of collapse due to the immense pressure, and even regretted why they had stayed.

Albert remained silent, leaning back on his throne with his eyes closed, as if deep in thought or perhaps resting.

He knew.

Although these nobles speak harshly, they are actually the most loyal to him in the entire kingdom; otherwise, they wouldn't have stayed until now and not yet escaped the capital.

He knew what they were afraid of. If the Earl of the Southern Border really sided with the rebels, then the capital would be completely finished.

With the army from the south and the army of the Golden-Maned Griffins sandwiched between them, the inner city couldn't even hold out for today.

"No matter what the Earl of the South came to the North for, we cannot place all our hopes on him." He stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the gray sky outside.

"We can only rely on ourselves now."

"Your Majesty is right." Raymond stood up. "The inner city walls are strong; as long as we hold them—"

"Guard?" a nobleman sneered. "Captain Raymond, you must be joking. We may not be knights, but we understand the difference in strength. You, as a knight..."

"So what brilliant idea do you have?" Raymond turned around and stared at him.

The nobleman opened his mouth, but could not utter a word.

Raymond withdrew his gaze and looked at Albert. "Your Majesty, I have a suggestion."

"explain."

"It's time to send the Knights out."

The hall fell silent once more. Everyone knew what Raymond meant by the "Knights"—it was the king's last trump card, a royal guard of three hundred elite knights, the Swordtail Knights.

These people were all elites selected from knightly orders from various regions. Each of them was at least at the advanced level in basic swordsmanship and was equipped with the best armor and weapons in the capital.

This knightly order has never appeared on the battlefield to this day.

Some say it was something the king kept for cover during his escape, while others say it was the king's last resort, something he wouldn't use unless absolutely necessary.

And now, Raymond's meaning is clear—it has come to a point where there is no other choice.

"Your Majesty," Raymond's voice was firm, "if we do not send out the Knights now, it will be too late once the rebels breach the inner city."

"Captain Raymond is right," a nobleman chimed in. "Your Majesty, now is not the time to hide anything."

"Yes, Your Majesty, what is there for you to hesitate about?"

"Send out the Knights; we still have the strength to fight."

The nobles echoed their sentiments, their voices growing louder and louder. But Albert could hear clearly that while these people were talking about "the strength of a war," their eyes were elsewhere—they were looking at the doorway, at the carriages outside the window.

They didn't want to fight; they wanted to run away.

They wanted the knights to stand in front of them so they could escape the capital in the chaos.

"Insolence!" Harold roared. "No disrespect is permitted before His Majesty!"

The nobles were silent for a moment, but soon someone spoke up again.

"Lord Harold, we are also thinking of the safety of the capital. The Royal Guard has been nurtured for so long, isn't it all for this day?"

"Exactly, we can't just feed them and let them do nothing, can we?"

"Your Majesty, you are..."

Albert turned around and glanced at the faces of the nobles, whose faces were sincere but whose eyes were full of selfishness.

"You're right," he said calmly. "The Knights should indeed be mobilized."

The nobles were taken aback at first, then their faces lit up with joy.

"I am already making preparations," Albert continued. "Three hundred Swordtail Flower Knights and three Grand Knights have already assembled in the inner city and are ready to go to the battlefield at any time."

The nobles' faces lit up with even greater joy.

Some people have already started planning which city gate they should escape through when the Knights and the rebels start fighting.

"However," Albert changed the subject, "when the Knights are deployed, they need other knights to cover them, otherwise they will just be throwing their lives away."

The atmosphere in the hall froze once again.

"Captain Raymond," Albert said, looking at him.

"exist."

"I hereby appoint you as the deputy commander of the city's garrison and the Knights, to assist Duke Herbert in commanding the battle."

Raymond was taken aback. "Your Majesty, Duke Herbert, he..."

"Although Duke Herbert is advanced in years, he is the most experienced general in the capital." Albert's voice left no room for doubt. "With him here, I am at ease."

Duke Herbert rose to his feet and knelt on one knee. "Your Majesty, I will do my utmost."

Albert helped him up, patted him on the shoulder, and then turned to look at the nobles.

"Gentlemen, do you have any further objections?"

The nobles looked at each other, and no one dared to speak again. They had originally wanted the king to send out his most elite knights so that they could take the opportunity to escape.

But now the king has entrusted the Knights to Herbert—a man they cannot bribe or coerce.

Their wishful thinking has backfired.

"Since there are no objections, then it's settled." Albert waved his hand. "Meeting adjourned."

The nobles stood up and left the hall in twos and threes.

Their faces were grim; some cursed inwardly, some sighed, and others had shifty eyes, seemingly plotting something.

Soon, only the King, Harold, and Herbert remained in the hall.

"Your Majesty," Herbert said in a low voice, "are you really going to hand the Knights over to me?"

Albert looked at him. "What's wrong? You don't want to?"

"It's not that I'm unwilling," Herbert shook his head. "I just feel that Your Majesty should leave yourself a way out."

Albert fell silent.

"The Knights of the Swordtail Flower are His Majesty's last trump card, established by the first king to preserve the royal bloodline." Herbert's voice was soft. "If even the Knights are wiped out, His Majesty will truly..."

"Then there really is nothing left," Albert continued, "I know."

He walked to the window and looked out at the gray sky.

"But I have no way out." His voice was calm. "If the outer city falls, the rebels will soon reach the inner city. If the inner city falls as well, the capital will be completely finished."

"By then, even if I have a knightly order, how will I escape an encirclement of ten thousand men?"

Herbert fell silent.

"So, why not take a gamble?" Albert turned to look at Herbert. "I entrust the Knights to you; you will guard the inner city for me."

Herbert knelt on one knee. "Your Majesty, I will certainly not fail in your trust."

Albert helped him up and patted him on the shoulder. "Go on."

Herbert stood up and strode out of the hall. His footsteps faded into the distance, and the corridor returned to silence.

Harold stepped forward and whispered, "Your Majesty, what about the Earl of the Southern Border..."

"Ignore him," Albert interrupted him. "If he hasn't betrayed us, he'll come naturally. If he doesn't come, I can't force him to."

He paused, a hint of weariness in his voice.

"I'm tired, you may leave now."

Harold bowed and left the hall.

Albert was the only one left in the hall.

He stood by the window, gazing at the gray sky outside. In the distance, he could vaguely see flames—that was the direction of the outer city, where the rebels were burning the grain and supplies that they hadn't had time to move.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Then he turned around and walked toward the inner hall. His back looked particularly thin in the candlelight, as if a gust of wind could blow him over.

But his steps remained steady, one step at a time, firm yet extremely slow.

On both sides of the corridor, portraits of former kings are neatly arranged, and all eyes seem to be fixed on him.