After weeks of tense negotiations, the Velkan Empire’s response arrived.
It was not a treaty.It was a death sentence.
"Surrender the traitor Alexzander De Cerci, and we will spare you."
The words sent a ripple of anger through the camp. The soldiers clenched their fists, their hatred for Velkan burning brighter than ever. They had fought, bled, and lost too much—and now Velkan wanted to decide their fate?
No.
Not today.
Not ever.
Standing before his men, Crown Prince Novel held the letter in his hand, his expression unreadable.
Then—he tore it apart.
"We offered peace," he said, his voice carrying across the camp, steady and strong. "They denied it."
He took a deep breath, turning to the thousands of warriors before him. Their faces were hardened, determined. They were ready.
"This will be the last war," Novel declared. "We will fight—not for greed, not for conquest—but to bring peace to Astria."
His eyes scanned the crowd, pausing—for a brief second—on Lucian.
Lucian’s stomach twisted.
He knows.
"Are you with me?" Novel roared.
The soldiers erupted.
"YES!"
"FOR ASTRIA!"
"LONG LIVE THE KINGDOM!"
The battlefield trembled with their voices, echoing into the distance. Even the villagers, hiding in their homes, heard the battle cry and knew—the war had begun.
The army moved out like an unstoppable storm.
The war council had devised a strategy, splitting the forces into eight divisions.
?? Four attack groups—each advancing from different directions to surround the enemy.?? Two reinforcement units—ready to push in when needed.?? One defensive team—stationed at the camp, in case of an ambush.?? One supply unit—responsible for delivering weapons, food, and medicine.
The Duke commanded the main force, with Novel at his side. Lucian was assigned to the supply unit.
He should have been relieved.
But something gnawed at his gut.
Something felt wrong.
The war erupted like a storm of steel.
For two days, the battlefield was drenched in blood.
Steel clashed. Arrows rained. The air was thick with the scent of iron and death.
The Astria army had pushed forward aggressively—only to realize, too late, they had walked into a trap.
The Velkan forces had lured them in, pretending to retreat, only to slam them from all sides.
Casualties mounted. Wounded soldiers filled the medic tents.
Inside the war camp, the Duke and Crown Prince poured over maps, their brows furrowed.
"We’ve been too reckless," the Duke muttered. "They let us push forward just so they could encircle us."
"We need to break their formation," Novel said, his eyes burning with strategy.
The council debated their next move. But in the distance—something even more dangerous was already unfolding.
Lucian had been with the supply unit, far from the battlefield.
But the war had found him nonetheless.
The supply caravan had been ambushed.
The enemy knew their route.
The soldiers fought fiercely, defending the wagons carrying precious food, medicine, and weapons. The enemy had tried to burn the supplies, but Astria’s men held strong.
Still—the question lingered.
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How did Velkan know?
When Lucian returned to camp, his uniform torn and streaked with dirt, he found the Crown Prince already waiting for him.
"Lucian," Novel said calmly. "What happened?"
Lucian swallowed hard. He recounted everything—the ambush, the fire, the enemy’s strange certainty of their location.
The war council fell silent.
Then, Novel’s expression darkened.
“There’s a traitor.”
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
The Duke’s eyes narrowed. “Someone in our camp is feeding Velkan information.”
Silence.
Tension tightened in the room like a noose.
"How do we find him?" the Duke asked.
Novel turned to the supply officer.
"How much do we have left?"
The soldier saluted. "Enough for ten days, Your Highness."
A cold, calculating look flickered in Novel’s eyes.
"Then we will not request more supplies for seven days."
The room stilled.
The Duke tilted his head. "You’re setting a trap."
"If we have a traitor, he will report that we are running out of supplies," Novel said. "Velkan will expect us to make another supply run. But we won’t."
The council exchanged glances.
It was dangerous.
It was risky.
But it was brilliant.
"Seven days," Novel repeated. "Then we find out who the traitor is."
Lucian didn’t speak.
But something in his chest twisted.
Seven days.
Seven days until the noose tightened.
Seven days until someone was exposed.
And yet—a sick feeling in his gut whispered…
What if he didn’t want to know the answer?
The camp was restless. Tension hung in the air like a blade waiting to drop.
Lucian sat in his tent, his back against the cold wall, staring at his trembling hands.
The voice slithered into his thoughts.
"You know who the traitor is."
Lucian clenched his fists.
No. It couldn''t be.
The voice laughed.
"You’ve always known."
Lucian shook his head violently. No. No. That’s not true.
Then—a scream.
A soldier came stumbling into the camp, blood dripping from his shoulder.
“They… they knew everything!” he gasped, falling to his knees.
The commander rushed forward. “What do you mean?”
“They were waiting for us. The enemy… they knew our movements. It was an ambush.”
Silence crushed the camp.
Lucian''s chest tightened. It’s happening.
“The others…” the soldier continued, his voice cracking, “they… they’re surrounded.”
The commander’s face darkened. Someone had betrayed them.
And Lucian knew exactly who it was.
Later that night, Lucian watched as soldiers dragged a man toward the commander’s tent.
“We found the traitor,” one soldier announced.
Lucian followed them, his stomach twisting.
The accused soldier struggled, his wrists bound. “No! I don’t know where that letter came from! I swear it’s not mine!”
The commander took the letter and handed it to the Crown Prince.
Novel’s gaze scanned the paper, his expression unreadable.
Then, he looked up.
“No,” he said calmly. “He’s not the traitor.”
Silence.
Lucian exhaled sharply. He knew it.
But then—movement.
Just beyond the firelight, standing in the shadows, watching the scene with cold amusement—was James.
Lucian’s breath caught.
James smirked.
A sickening realization slithered through Lucian’s spine.
It was James.
His heartbeat pounded in his ears. No. No. Not him.
James met his gaze—and held it. There was no hesitation. No remorse. Only quiet, simmering hatred.
Then—he turned and walked away.
Lucian felt the ground beneath him vanish.
Lucian followed James, his mind racing. He needed proof. He needed to be wrong.
James disappeared into the woods, and Lucian kept his distance.
Then—he stopped.
A second figure emerged from the darkness.
Lucian’s stomach twisted into knots.
A Velkan soldier.
He watched as James handed over a letter.
And in return—the soldier handed him a pouch of gold.
Lucian’s hands clenched into fists. His worst fear had come true.
He took a step forward—but the second his foot hit the ground—
SNAP!
The world spun.
A wire coiled around his ankle—yanked him into the air.
Lucian barely had time to process his mistake before—
Torches flared to life.
A dozen Velkan soldiers stepped out from the trees, surrounding him.
A deep chuckle.
“Well, well. Look at what we caught,” one soldier sneered. “A little rat.”
Lucian twisted, trying to break free.
Then—James stepped forward.
Lucian’s breath hitched. “James…”
James looked down at him.
Expressionless.
Empty.
Lucian’s throat tightened. “Why…?”
James tilted his head slightly.
Then, in the coldest voice Lucian had ever heard—
“Did you really think we were friends?”
Lucian’s body froze.
Something inside him cracked.
The soldiers laughed. “Damn, even I felt that one.”
Lucian barely registered it. His mind was spiraling.
Everything—the memories, the trust, the laughter—it was all a lie.
James turned his back to him—and walked away.
Lucian didn’t have time to process the pain before a boot slammed into his ribs.
Pain exploded through his body.
“Get him up,” the Velkan soldier ordered.
Lucian was dragged through the dirt, his mind still stuck on James'' words.
Did you really think we were friends?
The words echoed—over and over—
Until his mind finally shattered.
Lucian was tossed onto the frozen ground.
Boots stomped toward him. Slow. Heavy. Purposeful.
He lifted his head just in time to see him.