Edward knelt on the ground, his head lowered, awaiting judgment.
In front of him sat a man with fiery red hair. His powerful, muscular frame radiated strength, while a scar across his right eye spoke of a life hardened by countless battles.
The man's head was bent over a piece of paper on his desk, his sharp eyes scanning the lines with unsettling calm. The large wooden table in front of him was cluttered with documents, maps, and sealed letters, evidence of his many responsibilities.
To an unknowing observer, a man like him pouring over paperwork might seem strange, but those who knew him understood: he was a man of many talents, feared both on and off the battlefield.
A gust of wind swept through the room, lifting the man's red bangs and revealing his blood-red eyes—cold, calculating, and utterly unforgiving as they settled on the report in front of him.
"Edward." His voice cut through the silence, sending a chill down Edward's spine.
"Yes, sir," Edward replied, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground.
"Why are the soldiers you brought back fewer than my estimate?" The calm in the man's voice was more menacing than any shout.
Edward knew him well enough to understand: the quieter his tone, the deeper his anger.
Swallowing, Edward decided against making excuses. He took a deep breath and gave a brief account of what had happened. When he finished, he lowered his head again, dreading the response.
The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive. Edward remained kneeling, his anxiety growing with each passing second.
If only he hadn't crossed paths with the Pendragons, he thought bitterly.
At last, the man's voice broke the silence. "Where is the boy now?"
Edward's head snapped up, his neck protesting with a sharp twinge of pain. "I instructed one of my men to keep an eye on him in camp, sir. I can call them at any moment," he said, then hesitated. "Should I summon him now?"
"Yes. Bring the boy here—I have questions for him."
Edward rose to leave but froze when the man's voice cut through the air once more.
"Just so you know," the commander murmured, "if the boy's answers don't satisfy me, you'll be the one dealing with the consequences."
Edward's mouth went dry. With a shaky nod, he stepped out of the tent, his heart pounding.
Gulp.
My life is in your hands now, kid, he thought as he hurried away.
---
Meanwhile, Hayden braced himself as a bald soldier charged at him, blade raised. He could only hope his gamble would pay off because if it didn't… well, there'd be no time to regret it.
The sword arced down, mere inches from his skin—until another blade shot out from behind him, intercepting the strike just in time.
"What!"
The bald soldier's eyes went wide with shock, barely comprehending as the newcomer twisted his sword, disarming him with practiced ease.
A blade now hovered at the bald man's throat, and the shock quickly drained from his face, replaced by terror.
His companions instinctively reached for their weapons, only to freeze when they saw who stood before them.
"Hundred-man Commander Sonner," one of them whispered, his voice trembling.
At the name, the bald man's knees buckled. In the kingdom's military, reaching even the rank of Hundred-man Commander required both significant military achievements and a history of skillful victories.
Though Sonner was relatively new to the role, his reputation as a fierce, battle-hardened warrior was already well established in General Siegfried's ranks.
Sonner's expression was one of cold disappointment as he leveled his gaze at the bald man. "You know who I am?" he asked, pressing the blade just enough to draw a thin line of blood.
The bald soldier stammered, his body visibly shaking. "Y-y-yes, sir."
Sonner's eyes narrowed. "Then why," he said, voice deadly calm, "were you trying to kill the one I'm protecting?"
The bald soldier and his men blanched, clearly horrified at what their attempted theft had escalated into. Some dropped to their knees, their faces pale, visibly shaking as the weight of their mistake sank in.
The bald soldier struggled to stand, though his knees shook so violently he looked like he might collapse at any moment.
"S-s-sir—" His voice broke, and he winced as Sonner's sword dug just a bit deeper.
"I never want to see you or any other soldier pulling a stunt like this again. Is that clear?" Sonner's voice was ice.
"Y-yes, sir! I… I promise."
Sonner gave a curt nod and lowered his sword. "Good. Now, get out of here."
The bald soldier and his group scrambled to their feet and hurried off, heads lowered, dignity abandoned.
Watching the sorry group disappear, Sonner frowned, wondering how men so spineless had ended up in the military.
He turned back to Hayden, questions forming on his lips, but a sudden commotion outside stopped him short. Sonner sighed, recognizing the signal to return to the commander's tent.
"You," he said, pointing at Hayden. "Follow me."
Without waiting for a response, he strode away. Hayden stared after him, a mix of irritation and confusion on his face.
What's with soldiers and ordering people around? he thought, trailing behind with a sigh.