Corrupted Throne

Inside the Command Office — Bastionspire Fortress

The low hum of lantern light flickered against the stone walls. Papers rustled faintly on the wooden desk. Cladwill stood by the window, arms crossed, eyes on the map pinned to the wall.

"Are you sure about these squad assignments?" he asked without turning.

Violet sat calmly across the room, her tone cool and certain.

"I'm sure. I've reviewed the lineup three times."

Cladwill finally looked at her, brow furrowed.

"You could've placed the nobles—Kairoz, Vairan—in the main squad. They might be more effective there."

Violet shook her head.

"They're exactly where they need to be. I wanted them in the killer squads."

Cladwill raised an eyebrow.

"You trust them that much?"

"I trust their skill," she said. "Both of them are already stronger than most enlisted soldiers. They'll handle high-pressure situations better than anyone else in Class A."

Cladwill walked back toward the desk, glancing over the mission outline.

"Still… you're expecting them to operate with little support. That area—Hollowveil—it's unstable terrain. Unknown territory."

Violet nodded.

"That's exactly why I chose them. If it's just a bandit group or some local threat, then this should end quickly. If it's something worse… I'd rather have the sharpest blades cutting into the dark first."

Cladwill leaned back slightly, his gaze thoughtful.

"They'll be isolated."

"Good," Violet replied. "Let's see who rises… and who shatters."

A soldier nearby hesitated, then blurted out a question.

"One thing isn't clear, Captain—why choose Regan to lead a squad that has Vairan in it? Shouldn't Vairan be the student captain?"

Another soldier added, "He's way stronger. It doesn't make sense."

Cladwill answered before Violet could.

"Because Vairan isn't known to be... friendly. He's volatile. He wouldn't take orders. And unlike Kairoz, he can't make strategic decisions. He'd just rush in, do his own thing."

The soldiers fell quiet.

"Oh… I see," one of them muttered.

Violet gave a faint smile.

"As for my main squad… they're strong. Two of them have elemental Kendra energy—Samaira and Duke."

"What?!" gasped a soldier named Sam.

Cladwill's expression grew serious.

"Fire and wind? That's rare."

"Fire isn't native to Stromspire," Violet replied. "She's probably from another nation—or one of her parents is."

Cladwill nodded slowly.

"That's huge. If we have a fire-type user in our territory, she should be treasured."

"That's not all," Violet said. "Duke doesn't have ordinary wind. His energy is green—exactly like His Majesty's."

A stunned silence fell over the room.

"What?!"

"Green wind?!"

"Even the King's daughter didn't inherit that!"

Cladwill's eyes widened.

"...That means—?"

Violet took a slow breath, voice low.

"King Keal Spire's elder sister, Amena Spire… was my cousin."

Cladwill blinked.

"The princess? But she vanished twenty years ago. Everyone thought she was dead."

"She left the palace for love. Against the King's wishes. Then disappeared—no body, no message, nothing." Violet's voice softened. "I was six when she left. But I remember her clearly."

Cladwill stepped closer, his voice cautious.

"Are you saying… Duke is her son?"

"The moment I saw his face, I felt something. The way he speaks, the way he moves—it all reminded me of her. I brushed it off. But after seeing that green Kendra…"

She paused.

"...There's no doubt in my mind."

The room went still.

Cladwill's voice was barely a whisper.

"That kind of power… it's royal."

"Exactly," Violet replied.

"You can't fake that. And if it's true—he has a stronger claim to the throne than anyone else alive."

Another soldier backed away, stunned.

"Then why hasn't he been told?"

Violet looked away.

"He doesn't know. And maybe… that's for the best. For now."

Cladwill narrowed his eyes.

"Why hide it?"

"Because once he knows…" she said darkly, "...he won't just be Duke, the recruit. He'll become a symbol. A threat. A weapon… or a target."

Her voice chilled the air.

"And I don't know yet which one the world will make him become."

Next Morning – Bastionspire Courtyard

The courtyard buzzed with movement.

Horse carts were lined up, loaded with food, water, weapons, and gear. Soldiers and recruits checked armor, fastened straps, and prepared for deployment. The air was crisp, alive with tension.

Duke, Samaira, Drex, Jack, Aren, and Yue stood near their assigned cart—part of the main squad. Miss Violet stood before them, arms folded.

"Everything ready?" she asked.

"Yesss, ma'am!" Samaira yelled with full force.

Jack winced.

"Ugh. Did you *have* to shout in my ear?"

Violet smirked.

"Good. The other squads are already assembling. Take five minutes. Then we move."

Duke looked across the courtyard and spotted her.

**Touka.**

Calm, quiet, loading her squad's cart. Regan hovered nearby, clearly trying to help.

"Let me carry that," Regan offered, reaching for a bundle.

"I can do it myself," Touka replied without emotion.

Duke stepped forward.

"Touka."

She turned, surprised to see him.

"I need to talk," he said firmly.

"Now? We're about to leave."

"She's with me," Regan cut in sharply.

Duke ignored him and took the gear from Touka's hands, placing it on the cart.

"Come with me."

Touka blinked.

"…S-sure."

He took her wrist and led her behind a nearby tent.

Regan stood frozen, his mouth hanging open.

"H-Hey! Bastard!"

Behind the Supply Tent

Duke finally stopped, releasing her hand.

"Why did you choose the killer squad?" he asked, his eyes hard. "It's not safe."

Touka looked away.

"I already told you…"

"No. You said you had no one. But that's not true."

She met his gaze.

"I don't have anyone either," Duke said. "Except my grandfather… but it's not the same."

He stepped closer, voice softer now.

"You don't have to talk like that. You have us. You're not alone, Touka."

Touka said nothing.

"Samaira hasn't smiled the same way since yesterday," he continued. "She's worried about you. She cares."

Her expression shifted—just for a second.

"You're concerned about me," she said, her voice low, "but you were the one who accused me of being a murderer."

Duke flinched.

"I wasn't in my right mind… I—"

"Don't argue with me," she cut him off sharply.

A pause.

Then she sighed and looked down.

"…Don't worry. Nothing's going to happen to me. I promise."

She turned to walk away—then stopped.

"Say that to her."

And she walked off, leaving Duke in the quiet wind.

Duke's Thoughts

Duke stared after her for a moment, then sighed.

"…Man. She hates me now."

He rubbed the back of his neck, walking slowly.

"Maybe it's because she's not the masked girl…" he muttered. "If she's not… then I accused someone innocent."

He paused.

"…But if she is…"

His eyes darkened.

"Then she'll hate me even more."

He shook his head.

"Either way… she'll hate me."

He dragged a hand down his face.

"What kind of piece of trash have I become, Grandpa…"

He looked up at the sky and yelled:

"GRANDPAAA!!"

He looked up toward the sky, as if expecting a scolding or a warm hug to drop out of the clouds.

"I wonder what he's doing now…

Meanwhile — Somewhere Near a Lake

A peaceful lake glistened under the sun.

Grandpa sat on a log, shirtless, with a fishing rod in one hand and a beer in the other. His belly glistened like a badge of pride.

"I wonder what that brat's up to…" he mumbled between sips.

Two girls passed by.

"Heyyyy, ladies!" Grandpa called out.

"Heyyy, Fisherman\~"

"Hehehe, look at that belly!"

Grandpa laughed.

"Heheheh…"

He leaned back, the sunlight warming his skin.

"I need to stay alive," he murmured. "He must be missing me…"

A breeze rolled across the lake.

"…Ahhh, it's so peaceful without that brat."

Duke stood behind the supply tent a moment longer, lost in his thoughts.

A sharp whistle broke his spiral.

"DUKE!"

Jack was waving from the cart, standing awkwardly atop a barrel like an overeager bird.

Duke blinked, then smiled faintly.

"Right… time to move."

He jogged over, boots crunching against the gravel. As he reached the cart, Samaira gave him a quick glance—no words, just a soft nod. She hadn't smiled since the squad assignments were announced.

Violet's voice rang out across the courtyard.

"Form up! Final checks!"

The courtyard buzzed with motion. Squads climbed onto carts, shoulders brushing, hearts racing. Metal clinked. Rope creaked. Tension hung in the air like a held breath.

A soldier ahead raised a gloved hand. His voice echoed against the stone:

"OPEN THE GATES!"

There was a deep groan—ancient gears grinding—as the towering iron gates of Bastionspire Fortress slowly swung open, revealing the snowy path beyond.

Cold wind rushed in. And with it, silence.

Then came movement.

One by one, the carts began rolling forward.

Each cart was led by a single experienced soldier—older, battle-worn, but alert. They held the reins, guiding the horses forward. Another horse, dark-coated and restless, followed behind each cart. Mounted by the Student Captain.

For Squad One, that was Samaira.

She adjusted her gloves and mounted the horse, determination on her face despite the nerves in her eyes. Violet gave her one last nod.

"Lead well. I'll catch up after handling last details."

"Yes, Captain!" Samaira shouted, voice strong.

Jack sat beside Duke in the cart's back, legs dangling off the edge. "This is it, huh? No turning back."

Drex sat cross-legged in the corner, arms folded. "About time."

Aren checked his blade again, quiet and focused. Yue kept glancing up at the sky, murmuring prayers under her breath.

Their first real mission had begun.

The carts rumbled down the stone-paved road, leaving the fortress behind. Now they passed through the city proper—Bastionspire's inner ward, where civilians walked the narrow streets and merchants peeked from shop windows.

Duke sat upright as they crossed the old bridge arching over the river. Below, children pointed at the carts, wide-eyed. Adults stood still, their expressions mixed—pride, fear, reverence.

Some clapped softly. Others just watched.

Duke felt it. All of it.

The eyes. The silence. The weight.

Jack leaned over, waving like a goof. "Heh. They think we're heroes already."

Samaira, riding ahead on her horse, sat tall. For a moment, her face lit up—not with arrogance, but with something else. Purpose.

Duke's gaze wandered.

Posters lined the walls, fluttering in the wind.

One caught his eye—a wanted notice.

"MASKED TRIO — WANTED FOR THE TIMBERLINE MASSACRE. EXTREMELY DANGEROUS."

Duke stared for a second.

Then turned away.

"No time for ghosts," he told himself.

"Focus on the mission."

He didn't notice Touka—three carts behind—her eyes locked onto the poster for a heartbeat too long.

Then she looked away.