Vol.4 Ch.232 The Fiafyrian Standoff.

Vol.4 Ch.232 The Fiafyrian Standoff.

Sir Darius stood firmly, his sharp gaze sweeping across the ranks of the Royal Guards assembled before him. Their polished armor gleamed under the sunlight, reflecting hints of gold and silver. He noted the disciplined stance, the stern expressions, and the unwavering resolve etched on their faces. Each guard stood like a sentinel, exuding an air of authority and readiness that made the tension in the air palpable. The sounds of leather and metal shifted slightly as they aimed their weapons at the imposing paladin in front.

With a voice as thunderous as a storm, Darius exclaimed, "I command you to open the gates and grant us passage!" His piercing gaze locked onto the Guards, who remained unyielding, their resolve as immovable as the walls before them. They stood firm, steadfast in their duty, denying him entry into the palace beyond.

"This blade was forged for one purpose: to purge the world of sinners... So tell me, are you among the wicked?" The Paladin's voice was a low growl as he tightened his grip on the gleaming sword, its edge glinting ominously in the sunlight.

Johan felt a chill run down his spine. He had heard the tales of the Paladins’ otherworldly strength and feared what would happen if he were to step in and challenge that power. The air around him seemed to thicken with tension as he weighed his options, knowing that a wrong move could lead to dire consequences.

Prince Terenthiel gazed past the imposing guards, his eyes settling on General Douglas and his entourage of regal knights, their armor gleaming ominously in the sunlight.

"General Douglas," he began, his tone laced with sarcasm, "I must say, this wasn’t the welcome I anticipated. Surely, you know better than to draw your blades in the presence of guests."

The general’s lips curled into a wry smile as he met Terenthiel's glare. "And why should I disarm myself when your hound is so keen to show its teeth?" he retorted, his eyes narrowing.

"Watch your tongue, General," Sir Darius interjected, stepping forward, fury simmering just beneath the surface. "Or I’ll be the one to take it out."

"Oh really? And how would a boy like you manage that?" General Douglas retorted with a sneer. "I've taken down countless zealots just like you."

"Now, now... Let's not jump to conclusions, General," Terenthiel said, a sly smile curling at the corners of his lips. "It appears there's been a miscommunication. We come as emissaries for the peace treaty between our nations. Yet, it seems that in this palace, no one is eager to uphold their end of the bargain."

The General's brow furrowed, his demeanor unyielding. "I'm no diplomat, Prince Terenthiel. I'm a soldier, and I value clarity over ambiguity. I won't tolerate threats against my men. If this is genuinely a misunderstanding, then all you need is an official seal from the Fiafyrian Parliament or the Royal Family to let you through. Without that, I must insist—you aren’t going anywhere."

Johan couldn’t help but admire General Douglas; few could withstand his steely gaze or unyielding resolve. The man had a way of standing his ground that demanded respect, regardless of the situation at hand.

"General," Terenthiel began, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "My people and I have been ignored for nearly a week, left in the dark about the Royal Family's intentions. It’s beginning to feel deliberate."

The General’s expression remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. "I haven't received any notification regarding your arrival in our city. It appears a Major Noble has promised more than he could deliver," he replied, casting a glance towards Lord Johan and Duke Alaric, who stood observing from the other side of the gate as witnesses of the unfolding situation.

"Indeed... I may have placed my trust in the wrong hands," Terenthiel replied, his voice hardening. "But we're finished with pleasantries. They've led us nowhere... Brother," he added, glancing at Sir Darius.

Suddenly, a figure burst out into the courtyard, breathless and frantic. "STOP!" Duval shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls as he dashed out from the west wing of the palace.

Gone was his usual composed demeanor; he appeared disheveled, sweat gleaming on his forehead and panic etched in his features. "Your Highness!? I thought I instructed you to wait!" Duval gasped, desperately trying to regain his composure.

"We're done waiting, Duval... If the Royal Family wants war, then we'll bring it to their doorstep," Terenthiel declared, his voice low and lethal.

"N-No! They only desire peace!" Duval stammered, his eyes darting anxiously. "But they are not in the capital, and I'm doing everything I can to bring them back here—immediately!"

"You think us fools? You treat us like some misguided zealots who are a danger to your plans!" roared Sir Darius, his indignation cutting through the tension like a blade.

"NO!... We have procedures that I assumed would have been processed sooner. But due to some unforeseen events, we have been unable to do so," Duval exclaimed, desperation tinging his voice as he faced the Paladin.

"Unforeseen events, you say?..." Terenthiel's brow furrowed, skepticism coloring his tone.

"Y-Yes! We... we have a situation brewing in the north," Duval stammered, a nervous edge creeping into his voice. He was doing his best to mask the truth, but the tension hung heavy in the air. “But I assure you, we’re doing everything we can to address it.”

Terenthiel arched an eyebrow, studying Duval closely, while Alaric struggled to suppress a laugh. The urge to mock was there, but the presence of the Divine Three kept him in check.

"Is that so?" Terenthiel asked, his tone laced with skepticism.

"Indeed," Duval replied, forcing a veneer of confidence. "I sincerely apologize for the delay in our response. The Fiafyr Kingdom values its alliance and would never act in a way that could threaten it."

Terenthiel’s piercing gaze bore into him, suspicion written all over his face. Deep down, he knew Duval was hiding something, but for now, he had no other choice but to accept the words that hung in the air like a fragile truce.

"Fine... But we refuse to leave here until we get an audience with someone in the Royal Family... If that poses a problem for you, well then, I suppose the Divine Three will demonstrate precisely why we earned our titles," Terenthiel declared, a smug grin lighting up his face.

General Douglas had a scowl on his face and wanted nothing more than to wipe that arrogant smile off his face.

Duval’s mind raced as he searched for a way to diffuse the standoff unfolding before him, but his thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the smooth voice of Duke Alaric. “Well, if it’s an audience you desire, look no further. I happen to be part of the Royal Family.” The Duke’s grin stretched wide across his face, a shark’s smile that sent a shiver down Duval’s spine, knotting his stomach with unease at the implications of his words.

As the tension thickened in the air, Duval couldn't shake the feeling that Alaric was on the verge of derailing his carefully crafted plans. His eyes flicked toward Terenthiel, who glowered at the Duke and his elegant wife, his expression a mixture of disdain and boiling anger. Ever since their first encounter, Alaric had taken every opportunity to mock Terenthiel’s deeply held beliefs, attacking the very core of his faith with calculated precision. Unlike others who might have faltered under the pressure of Terenthiel's intimidating presence, Alaric appeared completely unfazed, relishing the challenge.

The Duke was a serpent in a finely tailored suit, clever and charismatic but undeniably venomous. Duval felt a sense of foreboding; in the tangled web of their interactions, Alaric's cleverness often spelled disaster for the Prime Minister, making the situation all the more precarious.

"Duke Alaric Revelia," Duval managed to utter, his smile strained as if it were a fragile mask threatening to crack.

"Prime Minister. How delightful to find you in such high spirits this fine morning," Alaric replied, a mocking tone lacing his every word.

Duval silently pleaded to the Goddess, wishing for the Duke to simply tire of the conversation and let the weight of the matter drift away into nothingness. The General, on the other hand, had had enough of this farce.

"What is your answer, Terenthiel?" General Douglas interjected, his voice steady but laced with tension. "We stand at a crossroads: we can either settle this with reason, or we can turn to force."

"We'll be on our way then. Have a splendid day, Young Lord Dule," the Duke said with a courteous nod, and Leandra followed suit, her thoughts already elsewhere.

As the Duke and Duchess strolled past the guards, their footsteps echoed softly in the stillness of the courtyard, an oasis of tranquility amid the bustling palace. It was halfway across the courtyard when Leandra broke the silence.

"That Young Lord... he seems... different," she remarked, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

The Duke raised an intrigued eyebrow. "Different? How so?"

Leandra paused, searching for the right words. "He just exudes more confidence now, and honestly, he's more handsome than I remember. It's strange... it's like there's a newfound light about him."

The Duke chuckled softly, a sly smile creeping across his face. "Ah, my dear, my spies have been busy. Word is that the young Lord's marriage to that damaged woman has brought out a side of him we’ve never seen. It appears that he’s stepping into manhood at last, and perhaps that comes with its own charm."