Chapter 88: Myrain’s Council of Knights

"You haven’t?" Ser Damian asked, a look of genuine confusion and surprise clouding his battle-hardened face.

Craig nodded, a soft, dry chuckle escaping his lips as he rested his back comfortably against the carved wooden headboard.

He raised his right hand, spreading his fingers to count off the unspoken hierarchy of the grand house they served.

"There are seven successors to the Darkstar Ducal Family," Craig explained, his voice calm yet carrying an underlying weight of cold reality.

"And as you well know, I am the seventh—the youngest, the last in line, and until recently, the weakest."

Craig’s golden-crimson eyes narrowed slightly as he broke down the sheer disparity in power among his brethren.

"The First and Second Successors are already genuine Sword Grand Masters. They have both been granted prestigious Count titles by the Duke and wield enormous, unshakeable influence across the entire Duchy.

The Third, Fourth, and Fifth Successors have all reached the level of Sword Master, commanding vast military forces and ruling over prosperous Viscounties. The Sixth Successor is a Sword Sage." Craig paused, pointing a thumb at his own chest with a faint, self-deprecating smirk.

"And then there’s me. The Seventh Successor—a newly ascended Sword Runner."

He lowered his hand, his expression turning sharp and analytical. "Tell me, Damian... how could I possibly attempt a direct, aggressive investigation into my siblings when I don’t yet possess a grand faction backing me, nor the raw personal strength to withstand the retaliation of a Count or a Sword Grand Master?

If I move carelessly, I give them the exact excuse they need to crush me openly."

Craig leaned forward, his gaze locking firmly onto the First Dragonknight.

"That is precisely why I keep Arya close. In a corrupt, blood-thirsty world like ours, you keep your friends close, but you keep your enemies even closer. By keeping her within my line of sight where her every move is predictable, I control the flow of information.

She becomes my shield against unseen moves, and through her subtle actions, she will eventually lead me straight to the master pulling her strings."

Ser Damian stood in silence for a moment, processing the profound tactical foresight behind his Lord’s decisions.

A look of deep respect replaced his initial confusion, and he bowed his head with unyielding resolve.

"I understand now, My Lord," Damian spoke solemnly, placing a gauntleted fist over his chest.

"I will personally guarantee that every piece of intelligence regarding the Crimson Dragon Order, our true numbers, and our tactical deployments is kept completely dark. Not a single shadow of our plans will reach the ears or eyes of Head Maid Arya."

Damian paused, a sudden realization dawning on his face as he recalled an earlier conversation with his younger sister.

"It seems Annie’s instincts were sharp after all... She was right to harbor deep suspicions toward Arya from the very beginning."

"Annie has good eyes," Craig agreed with a firm nod.

He let out a long, heavy exhale, clearing his mind of the domestic threat before shifting his focus back to the immediate state of the territory.

"Now then... you didn’t come to my private quarters just to discuss my head maid. Why have you come, Damian?"

"Ah," Damian straightened his posture, his expression returning to that of a sharp military commander. "I came first to verify your health following your ascension, My Lord. But secondly, I am here to report that the Council of Knights has officially gathered in the Grand Audience Chamber."

Damian took a step toward the door as he continued. "The Jeju Forest hunting expedition has officially concluded, and the evening’s victory festival is fast approaching its grand climax.

Furthermore, Ser Hughway has just arrived safely from the depths of the forest. He has brought crucial, highly sensitive trophies and requires Your Lordship’s immediate presence, as he has something of extreme importance to report."

"Is that so?" Craig’s golden-crimson eyes flickered with a sudden, intense interest.

A cold, dangerous glint flashed in his gaze as he remembered the ghost-masked assassins.

"Then let us not keep the Council waiting."

Without wasting another moment or bothering to adjust his simple tunic, Craig swung his legs off the bed and stood up.

He didn’t care for grand robes or formal armor at this moment; his sovereign presence alone was more than enough to command the room.

He strode purposefully out of his private bedchamber, his heavy boots clicking rhythmically against the cold marble floor of the grand corridor.

Ser Damian fell into step directly behind him, acting as an imposing, immovable shadow.

Together, the master and knight navigated the high, stone-arched hallways of Heaven’s Net Castle, passing rows of fully armored guards who snapped into rigid, breathless salutes the instant the young Viscount passed them by.

It was not long before Craig reached the massive, ornate double doors leading into the Grand Audience Chamber.

Two elite guards standing at attention immediately grasped the heavy iron handles and pulled outward with all their strength.

CREAKKK—BANG!

The massive doors sprang wide open, echoing loudly throughout the high-ceilinged hall.

With his hands held casually behind his back, his head held high, and a calm, unbothered expression on his face, Craig von Darkstar crossed the threshold and stepped into the Grand Audience Chamber.

Directly behind him, Ser Damian walked in with his hand resting silently on the hilt of his broadsword, his sharp eyes scanning the assembled ranks of knights, and commanders who instantly turned to bow before their sovereign lord.

The heavy stone doors clicked shut behind Ser Damian, sealing the grand hall in a expectant silence.

All Sword Apprentices, Sword Runners and Swoed Sage elite knights from the Council stood lined in rigid formation along the polished marble aisle.

Every eye in the room tracked the young sovereign as Craig von Darkstar walked forward with steady, effortless grace, his hands remaining loosely clasped behind his back.

He moved past the tall stone pillars and banners bearing the crest of the Darkstar bloodline, utterly unbothered by the intense gazes weighing upon him.

Ascending the carpeted altar stairs, Craig reached the elevated dais where the grand ironwood throne rested overlooking the hall.

He turned smoothly, his golden-crimson eyes sweeping across the gathered assembly before he took his seat, leaning his back against the high leather cushions.

Ser Damian immediately took his place at the right side of the altar base, standing like an immovable wall of steel.

The moment Craig was seated, the entire assembly folded at the waist in perfect, practiced unison, the clatter of heavy steel armor echoing off the high stone ceiling.

"We greet the Lord Viscount!" the Council uttered together, their voices echoing through the hall with deep, unyielding reverence.