From Deadbeat noble to Top Rank Swordsman
Chapter 58: Departure

Chapter 58: Departure

Chapter 58 – The Hollow Road Opens

They rode before dawn.

No banners. No horns. Just hooves pressing into frostbitten dirt and breath steaming in the dark. The Southern Gate of the Citadel opened without fanfare. Those stationed along the walls watched silently, weapons sheathed but eyes sharp.

Leon rode at the front.

Behind him, Marien, Kellen, two instructors, and five cadets. All chosen. All volunteers. Not a single one wore insignia.

They weren’t a warband.

They were heading into the unknown.

The Breach Hills loomed ahead, jagged against the skyline. Fog crept between the rocks, cold and still. As they crossed the first ridge, Leon looked back. The Citadel shrank into the grey behind them.

No one spoke.

Midday brought bitter wind. The cliffs narrowed. Kellen dismounted and scouted ahead. Leon crouched at a fork in the path, fingers brushing fresh hoofmarks.

"Riders passed through here," he said.

Marien leaned in. "Same ones?"

Leon nodded. "The black riders. Headed for the Hollow Road."

They kept moving. By dusk, the trees thinned. The bark was pale, lifeless. The silence felt unnatural, like the place had forgotten how to make sound.

That night’s fire was small, hidden by stone. The flames twisted oddly, casting uneven shadows.

Leon didn’t sleep.

He sat apart from the others, sword across his knees, eyes west. One name stayed with him:

Lord Halbrecht Veyne.

The man who signed the decree that doomed his family.

He remembered how his father stood in the Council hall that day—firm, not pleading. The others looked away. But Veyne didn’t. He watched.

And he smiled.

Now, that same seal had appeared again.

Leon’s grip tightened.

He couldn’t ignore it.

He wouldn’t.

Ahead, the Hollow Road shimmered under starlight. Not a normal road—an ancient path of runes carved before modern maps. It glowed faintly, like veins beneath the earth.

When Leon reached the edge, he felt the vibrations through his boots.

"This is it," Kellen whispered.

"No," Leon said. "It starts here."

The Hollow Road didn’t welcome them.

It challenged them.

Sound shifted as soon as they stepped onto it. The wind didn’t whistle—it whispered, layered voices murmuring around them. The horses grew uneasy. One nearly reared before a cadet calmed it.

The path shimmered faintly. If you stared long enough, the runes pulsed—almost like breathing.

Marien rode beside Leon. She didn’t ask where it led.

He didn’t know.

Only that someone dangerous had gone before them.

By late morning, they reached a crumbling ruin overrun by frostroot. Stone pillars tilted, their ancient runes scratched away.

Lysa, one of the cadets, slowed. "This was a shrine," she said. "Older than the Orders."

Kellen nodded. "This path came first."

Leon dismounted. The ground felt oddly familiar beneath his boots.

He stepped into the shade of the ruin and touched a cracked stone. A rune beneath his palm lit up—dim red, like a dying ember.

A whisper passed through the stone:

Walk forward.

Leon said nothing. He turned, mounted again, and led them on.

By dusk, they reached a glade divided by a stream. The Hollow Road curved through like a scar. Their camp was silent. In the morning, everyone looked more tired than rested.

The second day brought riders.

Kellen heard them first. Hooves—steady, too smooth for the rough ground.

Then bells. Not loud, not clashing—measured.

Leon raised his blade.

From the fog, four riders appeared.

Black coats. Helmets with mirrored visors. No crests. No flags. They moved in perfect formation. One dismounted and removed her helmet.

She was young, with pale eyes and a scar on her cheek. She held up the seal of House Veyne.

Leon’s grip tightened.

She didn’t speak at first. She simply held the seal out—clear, direct.

"This road doesn’t forgive," she said.

Leon dismounted. "Then it’s where I belong."

She studied him. "Your name?"

"You already know it."

The other riders didn’t move.

Marien stood ready behind him.

The emissary nodded. "He expected you."

"Is he here?" Leon asked.

"Not yet," she said. "But he will be."

She tossed the seal into the dirt.

Leon didn’t touch it.

She mounted again and rode off without another word.

Her riders followed.

The Hollow Road seemed to shift.

Marien exhaled. "That was a message."

"No," Leon replied. "That was a warning."

They didn’t camp.

They kept riding.

Past the broken stones. Past ancient markers. The road twisted and narrowed. The sky above looked further away.

Just before dawn, firelight appeared.

A village stood at the edge of the hills. Small. Quiet. Smoke curled from the chimneys, but no windows glowed.

Leon slowed.

The tower bore no banner.

But the doorway had a symbol.

The Thorne crest—reversed.

Leon stared for a long time.

Then said, "We stop here."

Marien asked, "Is this where he waits?"

Leon shook his head. "This is where we wait."

"For what?"

He looked again at the symbol.

"For the truth to show itself."

The village was empty, but not abandoned. Nothing was broken. No blood. No signs of a struggle. Cooking pots rested by windows. Pairs of shoes waited neatly by doorsteps. It wasn’t a place left in panic—it felt like people had stepped away quietly and on purpose.

The cadets dismounted, shifting uneasily.

Leon gestured for Marien and Kellen to follow as he approached the tower.

Inside, the air was warm. A hearth still glowed low, like it had been tended not long ago. Shelves lined the walls, filled with rolled maps, papers, and cloth-covered relics.

Then he saw the painting.

His father—much younger, but unmistakable—stood beside another man.

Lord Halbrecht Veyne.

Beneath the painting hung two crossed swords. One bore the Thorne crest. The other was plain.

Marien stepped forward. "What is this place?"

Leon’s voice was steady.

"A witness hall. From before modern trials. Before oaths were taken in public."

Kellen exhaled. "Then the seal, the prophecy, even the symbol in the Southern Yard... it’s all real."

Leon nodded. "This isn’t just an invitation. It’s proof."

Bells rang again.

This time, not from the hills.

From the village itself.

Figures stepped out from the alleys and homes. Not soldiers. Not enemies.

Witnesses.

Each wore a grey cloak. No crests. No family colours. Just the colour of remembrance.

They parted, forming a path.

At the end of that path stood a man.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Grey in his hair, but firm in posture.

Lord Halbrecht Veyne.

He didn’t draw a weapon.

He bowed his head.

"Leon of House Thorne," he said. "I knew your father. But I did not kill him."

Leon stepped forward, hand near his sword but not drawing it.

"Then speak quickly, Lord Veyne. Because I’ve carried this pain for too long."

Veyne met his gaze. "And I’ve lived with the weight of what I couldn’t stop."

Wind stirred their cloaks.

"Your father stood against the Conclave," Veyne said. "He wasn’t trying to rebel. He was trying to stop a war. He warned us what would happen if the southern banners rose again."

Leon’s voice sharpened. "And yet you let them silence him."

"I tried to stop the vote. Delay the order. But in the end, they used my seal to carry it out."

Marien said nothing. Kellen’s hand clenched tighter over a scroll at his side.

"Why now?" Leon asked. "Why bring me here?"

"Because the Hollow Road only opens once per turning," Veyne said. "And it demands truth. Not politics. Not courtrooms." He stepped forward. "I need yours."

Leon said nothing.

So Veyne continued, "The fire you lit at the Citadel changed things. The Orders are watching. But so is something older. It’s tied to your name."

Leon looked toward the ridge.

A horn call rose in the distance.

Not from Veyne. Not from the village.

Another rider approached.

Their banner bore a symbol Leon hadn’t seen since boyhood:

The sigil of the First Thorned Blade.

Veyne turned, slowly.

"It’s begun."

Leon’s jaw tightened.

"No," he said. "It’s about to end."