Lord of Caldera

Bjorn, watching Ragnar's expression, placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let's rebuild. We'll honor those we lost today. That's what they would have wanted."

Ragnar nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on the path where Sylas had disappeared. "Yes. For the North."

Back at the fortress, word of the victory spread, but so did news of Karl's death and the letter he had left behind. The whispers reached every corner, from the nobles to the commoners, each carrying their own version of the tale of betrayal, regret, and vengeance that would haunt the House of Leininggen for years to come.

In the end, the North had been saved, but at the cost of a legacy that was forever tainted, and under the shadow of a hero who wanted nothing to do with its throne.

The story of this battle, and the legends of those who had fought, would be told for generations, each retelling leaving an indelible mark on the history of the North. And, for those who remained, the memory of the dragons' flames—and the man who had quelled them—would linger, a reminder of both the strength they aspired to and the shadows they could never escape.

The battle, later known as the "Battle of the Six Dragons," had ended, and remarkably few lives had been lost. The citizens had suffered almost no casualties, and even the loss of soldiers was minimal, akin to that of a skirmish between lords. For a fight involving six dragons—creatures that usually spelled the end of entire cities—this outcome was nothing short of miraculous.

"We were truly fortunate," one noble remarked with a sigh of relief.

"Fortunate? It was the goddess who protected us," another added reverently.

Toby scoffed nearby, unable to contain his amusement. "It was our lord who protected you. Let's speak plainly."

The nobles fell silent, for they knew he wasn't wrong. Many had contributed, but Sylas's efforts had been unparalleled. The feats of Toby and Rey, being Sylas's vassals, were viewed as extensions of his own.

This complicates things, thought one noble. Sylas's reputation is too immense. It's as if his kingship is already decided.

What point is there in the upcoming vote? others wondered, glancing around. Nearly everyone in the North had witnessed Sylas's prowess, and it was clear that he had the unwavering support of the people. The vote was almost a formality now.

"Ahem! Let's save that discussion for later," one noble interjected hastily. "Now is not the time to discuss rewards and honors."

"Yes," another agreed. "The priority is to rebuild and assess the damage."

The loyalists of some noble factions were eager to change the subject. Even if they couldn't prevent Sylas's selection, they saw no reason to rush the conclusion. In the meantime, something could still happen to shift the current momentum.

"Yes! The most important thing now is to determine who is responsible for this attack!" came a voice, sharp and commanding.

The nobles turned in surprise to see Viscount Thorbern standing, his fist clenched and his gaze stern.

"Six dragons attacked the land! This clearly means someone drew the dragons here!" he shouted.

"He's right! There's no way such a thing could happen by mere chance!" another noble joined in, supporting Thorbern. "We need to uncover who brought the dragons here and hold them accountable!"

Thorbern's declaration stirred the crowd, with several nobles who had prearranged their statements rising to add their voices.

"What do you mean, not a coincidence? Are you saying someone intentionally attracted dragons?"

"Who would be mad enough to do such a thing?"

The rest of the nobles exchanged uneasy glances. The idea sounded preposterous. Thorbern's gaze swept over them before resting on Marquis Serje.

"Do you have nothing to say, Marquis?" Thorbern asked, eyes narrowing.

Serje, his head bowed, looked more haggard than ever, as though the recent events had aged him by a decade.

"I'm sorry. This is all due to my foolish son."

"W-What do you mean?" a noble stammered.

"Karl… he brought the dragons here. Knowing he could never be king, he decided to destroy everything," Serje confessed, his voice thick with resignation.

The nobles gasped, horrified. Karl Leininggen, the instigator of this disaster? It was almost beyond belief.

The marquis turned to Thorbern, who looked equally surprised by the straightforward confession. Clearly, he hadn't expected Serje to be so forthcoming.

"Explain to them, Viscount," Serje said. "Karl provided all the evidence himself, didn't he?"

Thorbern's brow furrowed.

This old fox is confessing before I can expose him? he thought, frustrated. Usually, when someone else reveals your secrets, additional accusations are added to the charges. By confessing early, Serje was clearly hoping to mitigate his punishment.

"Gladly! Look here, everyone!" Thorbern announced, passing Karl's letter around. As it circulated among the nobles, gasps and murmurs of shock echoed throughout the room.

"This is madness!"

"Unbelievable!"

"Was he out of his mind?"

With every exclamation, Serje's expression grew more hollow. Even his own supporters expressed outrage, eager to distance themselves from the scandal.

It's all over, he thought, numb. Unlike Thorbern's assumptions, Serje hadn't expected mercy. This incident could have killed every noble present at the council. Revealing the truth himself changed nothing; he merely wished to face the inevitable collapse on his own terms. Oblivious to this, Thorbern continued his triumphant accusations.

"Even if it was Karl's personal scheme, he was still of House Leininggen! Marquis, you cannot escape responsibility!"
Discover hidden stories at My Virtual Library Empire

"He's right!"

"This is an atrocity we cannot ignore!"

Voices rose in agreement, coming from nobles who had held grudges against Serje, as well as those who had once supported him and were now eager to withdraw.

But then, a cautious voice interrupted, coming from an elderly noble.

"However, how should we judge this matter? We have no authority to impose punishment beyond demanding compensation. Punishment falls under the crown's jurisdiction, unless we're dealing with treason."

The other nobles fell silent. The elderly noble was correct—punishment was traditionally handed down by a superior, and no one present outranked the marquis. In the North, there was no noble higher than Serje.