From Deadbeat noble to Top Rank Swordsman
Chapter 62: Rising Banners

Chapter 62: Rising Banners

The Hollow Guard did not linger in ceremony. They dismounted like men who had ridden through storms and memory alike, their movements precise, rehearsed. Ghosts returned not for vengeance, but for purpose.

Leon stood silent as the courtyard adjusted around them. Murmurs spread. Young cadets stared with wide eyes. Eliane gave a nod of respect, Marien none at all.

The older man who had spoken first removed a scroll from a cylindrical case on his back. He handed it to Leon with both hands.

"Your father left it with us. Said it was only to be opened when his house fell, and the Accord was in question."

Leon accepted it, hands steady. The seal was intact. Unbroken wax bearing the sigil of House Thorne—a sword through an open book.

They brought the scroll into the inner hall, laid it open across the old campaign table. Kellen, Eliane, Marien, Vastian, and three other neutral witnesses gathered close.

Leon read aloud.

It was not a letter of grief or plea. It was a directive. Names. Sites. Plans of fallback for every scenario the elder Thorne had imagined, from exile to open war. And a final line, underlined in black:

If this is read, it means the Council has broken its own oath. Then so must we.

A deep quiet followed.

Kellen broke it. "That confirms it. The Hollow Guard was never destroyed. Just hidden. Waiting for proof."

Marien looked between them. "Then the question becomes, do we stay and hold, or move before we’re surrounded?"

Eliane tapped the map. "If Velmaris has fallen and the Ivory Tithe are sniffing the trails, we don’t have long."

Leon studied the scroll once more. There was a secondary route listed—not to the Council, but beyond. Past the barrier ranges, into the freeholds where no Order held sway.

"We split," he said at last. "Half the Hollow Guard ride east. Find the remnants still loyal to the Accord. Raise the banners. The rest stay here with us. If they want this fortress, they’ll have to wade through memory and fire."

The old captain nodded. "We’ll ride before first light."

That night, the fortress didn’t sleep. Messages were penned, riders briefed, provisions quietly packed. The air tasted of a coming break—not of battle, but shift.

In the armory, Leon stood before the twin blades. He took up the first—his father’s. The one that bore truth.

He turned to Kellen. "Seal the chamber after I’m gone. No one touches the second blade until it’s time."

Kellen nodded. "And when will that be?"

Leon’s hand tightened around the hilt. "When the Council steps onto our threshold."

Outside, the stars wheeled over a fortress that no longer waited.

It moved.

The Hollow Guard riders were already preparing by dawn, wordlessly splitting into pairs, checking gear, studying the scroll markings copied from the elder Thorne’s directive. None asked questions. They had waited years for purpose. Now they carried it like steel in their blood.

Leon watched them from the battlements, his cloak drawn close against the rising chill. From this height, he could see the mist thinning across the eastern pass, the first fingers of light clawing through the trees. A path forward, barely lit, but there.

Below, Marien stood in the training yard, overseeing final checks with the fortress cadets. They were younger than the cause deserved, but not too young to carry witness. She drilled them not in bladework, but coordination—signal flares, messenger lines, fallback paths. If the walls were breached, the truth would still run.

Eliane approached Leon quietly. "We’ve had two more messages by hawk. One from the Silent Tower. One from the Flamebound Peaks."

He turned. "And?"

"The Tower won’t commit forces—but they’re sending neutral recorders. The Peaks say they’ll shelter any wounded or exiled we send their way."

Leon gave a single nod. "It’s something."

"Not enough," she replied.

"No," he said. "But enough to start."

In the central vault, Kellen sealed the chamber containing the twin blades, etching a rune barrier across the threshold. It glowed for a moment—white fire over black stone—then dulled, dormant but alive. The blade of truth remained behind, locked beneath vow and law. The blade of choice stayed beside it, waiting for the hour when neutrality failed.

When the last torch was lit for the Hollow Guard’s departure, Leon met them by the gate. The old captain raised a hand in quiet salute.

"We’ll find them," he said.

"Make sure they know," Leon replied. "Not just what happened—what’s coming."

The gates opened.

Ten riders thundered out into the morning. And with them, the last pieces of the Accord rode into exile, or into reckoning.

Inside, silence returned.

But not stillness.

Leon stepped into the war room again. The map had changed—routes redrawn, alliances speculated, possible betrayals marked with black pins.

Marien moved a silver piece over the southern trails. "We have three days before the main pass is sealed. After that, it’s either open confrontation or siege."

Leon touched the hollow tree symbol etched beside the Flame routes. "If they force a siege, we show them what survives."

Eliane crossed her arms. "You can’t win that kind of fight."

"No," he said. "But I can make sure they regret starting it."

From the vault ceiling above, a stone bell rang once.

Another arrival.

But this time, no one came through the gate.

Instead, a voice echoed from the lower cliffs.

It carried without force—but with certainty.

"Leon Thorne."

He turned, every eye in the hall shifting to him.

"Come see what your father refused."

Leon stepped out into the courtyard.

Below the ridge stood a lone figure.

Armoured not in silver or grey, but in the blood-gilt pattern of the High Council’s personal enforcers.

And beside him—

—a pyre.

Freshly built.

Waiting.

The wind stirred it slightly, revealing sigils carved into the wood—old ones, forgotten ones. Not just House Thorne’s, but half a dozen crests from the early Accord founders. All burned through with a single slash.

Kellen stepped beside Leon, sword sheathed but body tense. "That’s a message."

Leon’s voice was cold. "No. That’s bait."

The enforcer didn’t move. "You can deny your heritage. You can even deny your name. But the Council has declared judgment. One way or another, the old blood ends here."

Eliane joined them, whispering, "He’s alone."

"No," Leon said. "He’s recorded. They want to see how I answer."

The enforcer extended a flame-wand.

Leon stepped forward, hand on his hilt. "This fortress holds truth. If the Council fears that, let them come and burn it with their own hands."

The enforcer didn’t respond. He dropped the wand.

The pyre lit instantly.

And across the ridge, other fires began to rise.

A ring.

A warning.

Or a siege.

Leon watched the flames without blinking.

Then turned back to the hall. "Ready the cadets. Lock the gates. And send word to the east."

Kellen asked, "What should I tell them?"

Leon looked once more to the rising smoke.

"Tell them the banners are lit."

The fires burned long into the night.

From the highest tower, Leon could see them forming a perimeter—one torch every ten paces, encircling the lower ridge like a noose drawn slow. There was no mistaking it now. The siege hadn’t just begun; it had been declared with ceremony and smoke.

In the war room, the council reconvened. Maps shifted. Cadet assignments were rotated. The fortress, built for defence but rarely tested, began to feel its weight stir beneath stone and steel.

"Two hawks returned," Kellen reported, voice clipped. "The Eastern ridge is clear. The north path remains unblocked—for now."

Marien raised an eyebrow. "And the west?"

"Compromised. No exit, not unless we cut through their flank."

Leon leaned over the table, eyes on the cluster of red pins. "Then we don’t exit. Not yet."

Eliane exhaled slowly. "They’re forcing your hand."

"Let them." Leon’s voice was steady. "They think they’ve drawn the line. But they haven’t seen what lies behind ours."

A knock echoed against the stone. One of the young scribes entered, cheeks flushed. "Commander. A response just arrived from the Bastion of Glass."

Vastian took the scroll, eyes scanning quickly. "They won’t send arms. But they’ve voted in your favour—recognising the fortress as sovereign under the First Accord."

Leon nodded. "That’s three."

"Still not enough to form majority recognition," Marien muttered.

"No," Leon agreed. "But enough to call the others to speak."

He looked to Eliane. "I need you to ride south. Tonight."

Eliane blinked. "Alone?"

"No. With two of the Hollow Guard who stayed behind. Head for the Azure Commons. Tell them what’s happening. Show them the decree."

"They haven’t chosen a side in decades."

"Then remind them who built the stones they still stand on."

She stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "I’ll leave by nightfall."

Leon stepped away from the table, his gaze drawn once more to the tower window. The flames had spread now, forming a perfect ring.

They were drawing a line in history.

And Leon had chosen his side of it.

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