From Deadbeat noble to Top Rank Swordsman
Chapter 59: Confrontation

Chapter 59: Confrontation

The rider with the banner of the First Thorned Blade crossed the last hill as dawn split the horizon. Light touched their armour—old steel, darkened with age, polished at the edges. The horse stopped at the edge of the witness path. Dust swirled around its hooves.

Leon stepped forward slowly.

The rider dismounted without a word. She removed her helm.

She was in her forties. Auburn hair tied back, a narrow scar across her chin. Her eyes were sharp, and she didn’t bow. She looked straight at Leon.

"You have his face," she said.

Leon tensed. "Who are you?"

"Commander Eliane Thorne. Your father’s sister. I led the last of the loyalists when the decree fell. They said you died. They said we all did."

Leon stared. No words came.

Veyne spoke instead. "She was declared dead. They buried her name with the rest of the rebellion."

"You knew?" Leon asked.

"I knew what they did. But she was never part of their list. She disappeared before the Council passed the final order."

Eliane stepped past the grey-cloaked witnesses, stopping beside Veyne.

"I didn’t come for peace," she said to him. "I came because I heard the road opened. And because my brother’s son lit a fire too bright to ignore."

Leon looked between them. "What happens now?"

Veyne’s answer was calm. "Now we decide what truth survives."

From the village tower, the bell rang once. A deeper, slower tone.

The witnesses formed a ring around the three.

Eliane drew her sword.

So did Leon.

But not at each other.

Veyne stepped back. "The blade your father forged wasn’t meant for vengeance. It was meant to stop the chain before it broke again. You came seeking justice. So let justice speak."

Leon nodded. "Then we speak it now."

Eliane raised her sword to her shoulder.

"By the old vows," she said.

"By blood and bond," Leon echoed.

They struck their swords together—not a clash, but a sound that echoed like a bell.

The Hollow Road lit again.

Runes crawled along the dirt beneath them, circling the witnesses.

And in the centre, the truth began to take form—not as words, but memory. A projection. A recording, left in the sword Leon carried. His father’s final council. The moment of betrayal. The forged seal.

The witnesses watched.

The truth, once buried, now stood in the light.

And so did the ones who had hidden it.

Voices would rise after this. The Orders would be forced to respond. Names would fall.

But for now, Leon lowered his blade.

And faced the man who had once smiled in silence.

"You may not have killed him," Leon said, "but you helped bury him."

Veyne didn’t deny it. "Then let me help unbury what matters."

The Hollow Road pulsed again.

And the world shifted toward reckoning.

The runes dimmed, but the silence held.

Eliane sheathed her sword and turned her back to the watchers. "I’m taking the records," she said. "What remains of the old pact. The orders will try to silence this again if we leave it in their hands."

Kellen moved to help her, gathering the scrolls and folded cloth relics from the shelves. Marien stood by Leon, her expression unreadable.

One of the grey-cloaked witnesses stepped forward—a man in his sixties, with a branded mark on the back of his hand. "This place won’t remain untouched after today. They’ll come. From the north, from the High Table. They’ll say it’s lies."

Leon looked at him. "Then we leave nothing behind for them to twist."

"We’ll hold the village until you’re gone," the man said. "But you should move quickly. The road won’t stay open long."

Eliane nodded at him as if she knew him. "You’ll have my thanks when it’s over, Rual."

Leon turned to Veyne. "You’re coming with us."

"I expected as much."

"This isn’t forgiveness," Leon added. "You’re going to testify before the High Council. Before every Order that swore loyalty to the southern accords."

Veyne gave a short nod. "If they’ll listen."

"They will," Leon said. "If not for me, then for the blade."

He touched the hilt at his side. The sword his father left behind.

The same one that had just revealed the truth.

Eliane’s voice cut in, low. "We’ll ride east. There’s an old fortress beyond the Divide. Still neutral. Still unclaimed."

Marien stepped forward. "Too many roads lead to that place. If we go there, we’ll be seen."

"Good," Eliane said. "Let them see. Let them know something’s changed."

Leon looked at the ruined banner of House Thorne, still inverted over the door. He didn’t touch it. But he didn’t look away either.

"Then we ride," he said.

They mounted again before the sun fully cleared the mountains. The villagers didn’t speak, but some bowed as they passed. Others touched their fingers to the grey cloaks over their hearts.

When the last hoof left the Hollow Road, the runes flared once, then vanished.

The path was closed again.

They camped that night in the foothills of the eastern ridge. No fires. No idle talk. Just the quiet rustle of wind through stone.

Leon sat alone near a rocky outcrop. The sword lay across his knees again.

Not in readiness.

In reflection.

Eliane approached after a while, carrying a wrapped bundle. She placed it beside him without a word and sat across.

"You held yourself like your father," she said after a moment.

Leon didn’t answer.

She watched him. "I wasn’t there that day. I should’ve been. I was scouting along the coast, chasing false leads. By the time I returned, they’d already struck. Our house had fallen. The blade hidden. You gone."

Leon’s grip tightened on the scabbard.

"I remember my father’s voice that morning," he murmured. "I was just a boy, but I remember how calm he was. He told me to run. To survive."

"You did."

Leon shook his head. "I disappeared. Survived. That’s not the same."

Eliane looked toward the horizon. "No. It’s not. But you came back. And you didn’t return with an army. You returned with proof. That means something."

"It won’t be enough."

"No," she agreed. "But it’s the start of something that might be."

She stood, dusting her hands off. "The fortress isn’t far. Two days. Maybe less if we press. I’ll ride ahead at first light. The Order of Stone hasn’t picked a side yet. If we reach them first, they might protect the records."

Leon nodded. "I’ll lead the rest behind."

Eliane gave him a look—half approval, half weight. Then she left him alone with the sword.

By the second dawn, the hills turned sharper, the ground harder. Kellen rode ahead, scouting cliffs and clearings. Marien rode beside Leon, silent as always, until they passed a ridge and saw smoke rising far to the north.

A black column, steady. Controlled.

"Signal fire," she muttered. "The kind they light when an investigation force is on the move."

Leon didn’t look away. "They’re coming."

"Not riders," she said. "An envoy. A legal one. They’ll ask questions. Delay us. Maybe even seize us."

"We won’t let them."

"But we have to be smart."

Leon nodded once. "We will be."

Behind them, the cadets rode quietly, burdened with more than their packs. They had seen too much. Learned too much. And Leon knew—when the truth reached the capital, none of their lives would be untouched again.

He tapped his heels, pushing his horse faster.

The Hollow Road had opened a door.

Now, the world had to face what stepped through it.

By midday, clouds began gathering above the ridge line. Not storm clouds—worse. Observation clouds. Grey veils drawn across the sky by weathercallers, meant to obscure the movements of parties the Council deemed dangerous or ’in review.’ Leon saw the first flicker of sigil-light shimmer behind the drifting mist and knew without doubt:

They were being watched.

"They’re testing the perimeter," Marien said. "Not attacking. Not yet."

"They won’t," Leon replied. "Not while they think the envoy can handle us with paper and law."

Eliane had already pulled ahead hours ago. She carried more than scrolls—she carried time. And they were running out of it.

Kellen returned by dusk with a single nod. "Two trails behind us. One close, one distant. The close one’s not hiding anymore."

"A rider?"

"Two. Wearing the silver-sashed robes. Southern arbiters."

Leon’s jaw tightened. "Then they’ll make their move at the crossing."

"The Stone Bridge," Marien confirmed. "It’s narrow. A perfect place to block us ’formally’ without drawing a blade."

Leon’s fingers brushed the hilt of the sword at his side. "Then we go through formally."

The Stone Bridge was an old crossing—weathered and narrow, built by the original Roadhands during the early unity years. It arched over a deep gorge where wind howled like buried voices. By the time they reached it, two robed figures stood waiting at its centre, flanked by four silent watchers in matte armour.

One of the robed men raised a scroll.

"Leon Thorne," he called, voice clear despite the wind. "You are summoned to stand before the South Table for questioning under the Restoration Mandate."

Leon rode forward.

"I will stand," he said, "but not here."

The man unrolled the scroll. "You are in violation of four mandates. Unauthorized excavation of sealed records. Dissemination of restricted pact history. Reinstating a defunct house banner. Incitement of unrest."

"I haven’t incited anything," Leon said. "The truth did."

The arbiter’s eyes narrowed. "Then you’ll submit to questioning. Now."

Leon stepped down from his horse, slowly.

And unsheathed his sword—not in threat, but in declaration.

"This sword carries sealed record. You want testimony? You’ll get it. At the fortress."

"That site is not under your jurisdiction," the arbiter warned.

"It’s under no one’s. And that’s where I’m going."

The watchers stepped forward.

But before they could reach him, Marien rode between them, her badge displayed openly. "You touch him here, you break neutral law."

The arbiter hesitated.

Kellen moved next, his cloak falling to reveal the insignia of the Citadel instructors. "And if you force this now," he added, "we’ll carry the report ourselves. Every Council will hear about it."

The arbiter’s mouth tightened.

He stepped back.

"This isn’t the end," he said.

Leon turned away. "No. It’s clearly not."

He mounted again.

And rode on, leaving the bridge and the law behind.

That night, they saw the fortress lights flickering on the horizon—distant, but unmistakable. The black-stone watchtower. The crescent courtyard. It had once been a stronghold for neutral scribes, those who chronicled history but never took part in it.

Now, it would hold what truth remained.

And Leon was ready to bring it there.

By the time they reached the final ridge before the fortress, the horizon had darkened to bruised indigo. No stars. No moon. Only the firelit silhouette of high battlements and the shimmer of old warding sigils buried in the stone. Leon reined in his horse and raised a hand.

"We make straight for the inner yard," he said. "No split groups. No delays."

Kellen pulled up beside him. "You think they’ll let us in?"

"They’ll have to. We’re not asking."

Below, the fortress gates stood shut—but not bolted. That, in itself, was a message. An invitation or a trap.

Leon pushed forward.

As they rode into the shadow of the fortress wall, a voice called out above them, amplified by spellwork.

"State your name and claim."

Leon raised his head. "Leon Thorne, son of Cedric Thorne. We bring sealed record of treason buried by the High Council. We seek protection under the Clause of Open Judgment."

A pause.

Then: "Who speaks for the records?"

Eliane emerged from the open gates, her voice firm and carrying. "I do. Commander Eliane Thorne. Last of the First Thorned Blade."

The gate creaked fully open.

They entered.

The courtyard was quieter than expected. A dozen scribes in grey robes stood near the inner gallery, scrolls at their sides, quills tucked behind their ears. No soldiers. No crossbows. Only observers.

Marien dismounted first and gave a sharp nod to the closest scribe. "The truth’s been seen by the Hollow Road. Witnessed under oath. That’s enough for entry."

The head scribe, an older woman with no hair and no expression, stepped forward. "Then let the fortress hold what the kingdoms will not."

Leon handed her the sword.

She held it gently, reverently, and turned toward the archive vaults.

Kellen released a breath beside him. "It’s begun."

"No," Leon said quietly. "It’s only now that it truly starts."

Behind them, the gate creaked shut—and the storm chasing them faded into silence. For now.