From Deadbeat noble to Top Rank Swordsman
Chapter 63: Lines of Fire

Chapter 63: Lines of Fire

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 defense 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.

—

By midnight, the fortress corridors were lit with a sallow orange glow. Not from candles, but from the reflected blaze of the siege line. Cadets slept in shifts, armour buckled beside their cots. The kitchen staff handed out water and rationed bread like medics preparing for a storm.

Leon walked the halls in silence. No entourage, no guard. Just the soft tread of his boots and the ever-present sound of wind against stone.

He paused at the sealed vault where the second blade lay.

Kellen stood nearby, arms crossed. "Still untouched."

"It should stay that way," Leon said. "Until we know which moment demands it."

Kellen tilted his head. "And if that moment doesn’t come?"

Leon’s voice was quiet. "It will."

From the eastern wall, a low horn sounded. Not alarm—signal. A single note, long and low. A watcher’s cry.

Leon moved quickly up the stairwell. From the parapet, he spotted motion beyond the fire line. Not soldiers. Messengers.

Four of them, in travelling cloaks of ash-grey. Bannerless. Each carried a sigil-token.

Kellen joined him at the ledge. "Envoys."

"Or spies," Leon replied.

"They carry open hands."

"Even wolves raise paws before they bite."

He descended to meet them at the outer gate.

The gatekeeper looked to Leon for confirmation. He gave a nod. The inner portcullis rose.

The envoys stepped through without hesitation, hoods lowered to reveal three women and one man, each marked by inked runes across their foreheads.

"We speak for the Gathering Flame," said the eldest woman. "We’ve come to witness your claims—and verify your truths."

Leon didn’t flinch. "Then step lightly. Every stone in this fortress remembers."

He led them to the inner chambers. There, in the scribe vault, under the neutral seal, the sword’s memory was shown again.

The envoys stood in silence as the blade lit and replayed its truth.

When it ended, none spoke.

Finally, the man among them bowed. "We will return with word. But what we’ve seen cannot be denied."

Leon’s expression didn’t change. "Then you understand what’s at stake."

The eldest woman gave a single nod. "We do. And more will come."

—

Hours later, as dawn crept over the stone, another hawk arrived.

Its message bore the seal of the Grey Meridian.

Kellen read it twice.

"They’ve voted," he said.

Leon looked up. "And?"

Kellen handed over the scroll. "They recognize us. And they’re sending three squadrons."

Leon exhaled.

The siege line still burned.

But now, so did hope.

—

By sunrise, the fortress yard was a hive of motion. Smiths hammered new fittings onto plate, runners darted between stairwells with messages, and the stables were prepared for sudden departures. Kellen stood with Vastian at the north tower, where a telescope had been mounted to monitor the pass.

"They’ll be here in two days," Kellen said, adjusting the scope.

"Three squadrons," Vastian muttered. "That’s not a relief force—it’s a vanguard."

"They’ll hold the ridge. Buy us time."

Leon arrived at the platform, pulling his cloak tight as the wind climbed. "Have the banners been raised?"

"By dusk," Kellen answered.

Leon nodded. "We need the world to see we’re not hiding."

A horn sounded from the west wall—short, sharp. Then again. One blast. Pause. Two blasts.

A coded signal.

"Incoming party," Vastian said. "Small. No banners."

Leon narrowed his eyes. "Intercept. Not open gate. I want eyes on every rider."

Minutes later, four riders were brought through the north gate under heavy watch. They bore neutral cloth over their armour, but the accents of their attire marked them as emissaries from the Umbral Court.

The leader, a middle-aged man with ash-white hair, dismounted with care. "Leon Thorne."

"I’m listening," Leon said.

"You have one last chance to stand down before this becomes irreversible."

Leon didn’t smile. "This was irreversible the moment they lit the pyre."

The man held out a scroll. "The Council offers final terms. Open your gates. Lay down arms. Return the blade to their custody."

Leon didn’t reach for it. "I’ve seen their terms. I’ve seen their fire. My answer stands."

The emissary looked at him with tired eyes. "Then war it is."

"No," Leon said, stepping back. "War it was. This is judgment."

And the gates closed behind them.

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