“Stand up!”

  The silence in the room shattered the moment the door burst open with a thunderous crash. Corvus’s deep voice echoed against the walls, and it was as if a freezing wind had swept into the chamber. With eyes burning with fury, Corvus stood at the threshold like a storm poised to break.

  Darkan jumped to his feet before he could even understand what was happening. A man who rarely panicked even in the worst situations now had a face marked with concern. Corvus being this enraged was a threat in itself. Darkan immediately dropped his hands to his sides and stood at attention. Despite his disciplined nature, not knowing the reason behind such a sudden outburst gnawed at him with a deep sense of uncertainty.

  “All personnel, regardless of duty status, are to report to the training grounds within the next thirty minutes. No exceptions.”

  Corvus spoke with such intensity that even the stone floor seemed to tremble under the weight of his command. Then he turned on his heel and strode down the corridor with steel-like steps, slamming the door shut behind him. The loud bang of the door was followed by the sound of Darkan swallowing hard.

  Without a moment of hesitation, Darkan sprang into action. He rushed down the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the corridors, alerting the guards as he went, and sent messengers to inform the warriors. What gnawed at him wasn’t just Corvus’s rage, but the heavy uncertainty it carried with it. Something had happened… and it was serious.

  Before the half-hour mark had even passed, 26 warriors were lined up in the training field. The air was cold, and the metallic echo of steel armor added to the tension of the wait.

  These were the active warriors stationed in Sorbaj. Other intelligence personnel had already been scattered across different regions of Rhazgord and beyond the borders, embedded in Adler Kingdom. The men on this field were about to be the first to witness Corvus’s fury.

  Darkan stepped forward. His eyes scanned the warriors briefly before turning to Corvus.

  “All operatives currently stationed in Sorbaj are standing by, awaiting your orders and instructions, Commander.”

  he declared, his voice firm and clear. Yet a wave of unease still rippled within him.

  Corvus’s eyes swept over the warriors one by one. His arms were clasped behind his back, his head held high. The fury etched into his face gave him not the air of a leader, but of an executioner. For minutes, he paced back and forth, as if teetering on the edge of a decision.

  Then suddenly, he stopped. He reached behind him and drew his sword in one swift motion, lifting it high. The torchlight glinted off the polished steel, briefly blinding the onlookers. He then pointed the weapon directly at one of the warriors.

  “All operatives currently stationed in Sorbaj are standing by, awaiting your orders and instructions, Commander.”

  The warrior flinched in momentary surprise, but his training held firm; he composed himself and stepped forward.

  “Sir, operational intelligence may be disclosed only to the following parties: First, to fellow operatives directly assigned to the same mission. Second, to the designated Operation Chief—currently Darkan. And third, exclusively to the Commander of Intelligence Organisation—that is, yourself, Commander.”

  Corvus nodded slowly. He moved his gaze from the warrior’s eyes and turned his sword to another.

  “Is there any omission or deviation in the statement just given by your colleague?”

  The targeted warrior stepped forward, his chest lifted as he spoke.

  “No, Commander. The statement is complete and accurate.”

  Corvus took a few steps closer. His gaze was harsher this time.

  “What are the consequences of unauthorized disclosure of mission-related information?”

  The warrior hesitated for a brief second. As if under examination, he met Corvus’s eyes without flinching.

  “Any individual found to have leaked operational intelligence to unauthorized parties is to be apprehended—dead or alive—immediately. If captured alive, they are to be subjected to formal interrogation, followed by execution as per standing directives.”

  Corvus’s gaze hung in the air for a moment. Then he slowly lowered his sword—but the fire in him had not yet subsided. The coldness in the air seemed to intensify, or perhaps the tension had simply become so palpable that it felt like a chill in everyone’s lungs.

  Corvus began walking toward Darkan, each step echoing on the ground like a thunderous threat carved into silence. The flickering torchlight cast sharp shadows across Corvus’s face. When his eyes locked onto Darkan’s, the tension became almost tangible.

  “Operation Chief Darkan…” Corvus said, his voice as deep as a war drum, as final as an executioner’s verdict.

  “All finalized mission reports are submitted directly to you. Is that correct?”

  Without breaking eye contact for even a second, Darkan replied. His voice was as firm as ever, though slightly hardened—he now understood what he was facing.

  “Yes, Commander!”

  Corvus’s expression shifted. His eyes narrowed, lips tightening into a thin line. The weight behind his stare was like the pressure of an avalanche—one that would either collapse or crush everything beneath it.

  “Once such reports are in your possession, to whom are you permitted to relay their contents?” Corvus asked. This time, his voice was colder. A dark threat loomed behind it.

  Darkan had already realized this wasn’t just a matter of verifying protocol—it was a hunt for betrayal. And he knew exactly who the hunted was. His posture remained straight, but tension tightened every muscle in his body.

  “To no one but yourself, Commander. You are the sole authorized recipient.” he answered with unwavering resolve.

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  Corvus gave a small nod. Then, with sudden intensity, he turned to the warriors and scanned the field once more.

  “Return to your posts!” he roared. His voice crashed over them like a storm.

  His eyes shifted back to Darkan, and his voice became even harsher.

  “Except you… Operation Chief Darkan!”

  There was a brief silence in the field. The warriors were trained to obey without hesitation, but this moment was different. None of them moved. Every one of them now understood this was not a simple test of discipline. The fact that Darkan was being singled out made it clear—he was the prime suspect. That truth rippled through the ranks like an unspoken murmur.

  In Corvus’s eyes, there was an unvoiced but bone-deep fury.

  “I said… everyone to your posts!”

  This time, his voice carried an undeniable authority. Any delay or questioning was a summons to death.

  The warriors responded in unison:

  “Yes, Commander!” they shouted, then silently left the field. Each one of them knew the consequences even a single stray glance from Corvus could bring.

  Corvus didn’t break eye contact with Darkan for even a moment as the others withdrew. The two of them were now alone in the shadow and silence. The tension between them was beyond words.

  Corvus’s voice sliced through the darkness like a dagger:

  “Who will be the next chief of the Iskats, Darkan?”

  The Iskats were a tribe closely monitored by Rhazgord Intelligence for a long time. Though seen as allies, their influence on Rhazgord could never be underestimated.

  Darkan seemed ready for the question—he had already pieced everything together.

  “Khara Iskat.”

  Corvus’s brows furrowed. That simple answer only fueled his fury further. In an instant, he drew his sword and pressed the cold steel to Darkan’s throat. The space between them vanished; their breaths nearly merged. Darkan didn’t flinch. His eyes showed no fear, only acceptance—but it wasn’t surrender, it was a recognition of fate.

  “Then tell me, Darkan…” Corvus growled.

  “If that detail isn’t in the reports I received, how does Sanguinar know about it?!”

  Darkan answered immediately—there was nothing left to hide anymore.

  “It was information obtained as a result of an investigation ordered by Sanguinar. Under his instructions, I was ordered to report all findings only to him.”

  After these words, Corvus took a few steps back. His eyes narrowed. His anger was rising uncontrollably, and the darkness he carried inside now began to seep outward. Suddenly, he turned around. He took a deep breath, but even that wasn’t enough to calm his fury. In an instant, he spun and delivered a powerful kick to Darkan’s abdomen with all the strength in his muscles.

  Darkan was violently hurled into the wall behind him. The stone wall trembled; the sound of the impact echoed through the entire structure. When he fell to the ground, the breath was knocked out of him—but he did not surrender to the pain. With great difficulty, he got back on his feet. He didn’t even wipe the blood dripping from his mouth. Despite all his injuries, he straightened his posture and stood at attention once more. This was not out of respect for Corvus—but out of loyalty to his duty.

  Corvus walked toward him again. His voice trembled with an icy fury.

  “Who is the only person in Rhazgord who can order an investigation or share the results with Sanguinar, Darkan!”

  Darkan struggled to speak. One of his ribs seemed to be broken, but he gathered his voice and replied through blood-soaked teeth:

  “Only you, Commander”

  Corvus closed his eyes and paused for a moment. Then he asked again, this time his voice as sharp as a verdict:

  “What is the punishment for what you’ve done, Darkan?”

  Darkan’s gaze wavered for a moment—not from pain, but from shame. His answer was as quiet as a whisper, but as clear as death itself:

  “Execution…”

  Corvus raised his sword again. The tip pointed directly at Darkan’s heart. His face was now frozen with grim resolve. Everything could end in a single moment. But then something unexpected happened.

  “You have two choices before you, Darkan!” Corvus said, his voice now heavy and definitive, like a judge pronouncing a sentence.

  “By tomorrow, you will come to me and swear an oath of loyalty on your honor… or you and all the warriors assigned to observe the Iskats will be executed.”

  Corvus took a step back and lowered his sword until it was parallel with the ground, completing his statement:

  “And I will step down from my leadership.”

  That last sentence was so dark and earth-shattering that even the stone walls seemed hesitant to echo it. Darkan’s eyes widened for a moment, as if struck by the words. His shock was written plainly on his face. Deep down, he had already accepted death—he had even sensed that this moment would come on the very day he received his orders from Sanguinar. Even if he hadn’t betrayed his duty, someone like Corvus would eventually figure out what had happened. And when that time came, the punishment would be clear. He was ready to sacrifice himself. Even if he wasn’t, he had no other choice.

  But Corvus’s final words pierced him like a sharper blow than any executioner’s blade. Death… was expected. Even comforting. But Corvus stepping down from his duty…

  That thought sent a chill of terror through his veins. The guilt that had been gnawing at him now turned into a shame laced with panic. Raised in the shadows of the Tiamats, trained under oaths of loyalty, Darkan had learned to see himself as a servant. He had dedicated his life to this system. But now, if Corvus were to withdraw because of a single mistake he had made…

  Corvus’s contributions to the organization were far beyond mere leadership. He had breathed life into a structure buried in the soil of death. The fragmented intelligence network had taken shape in his hands like a spider’s web—no longer just gathering information but directing it, transforming it into a force capable of shaping battlefields.

  And now, all of that could collapse because of Darkan’s loyalty to Sanguinar.

  Darkan felt his knees begin to tremble. He clenched his teeth to suppress the pain in his chest. His broken bones ached; the taste of blood rising in his throat made his head spin. But all that physical pain paled next to the fear rising in his soul. Corvus walking away would mean the fall of the organization, the blinding of the Tiamats, and the enemy infiltrating every corner. This wasn’t a threat. It was a fact. And Darkan had triggered this collapse with his own hands.

  His shoulders trembled involuntarily. He did not take his eyes off Corvus. In those eyes, there was rage—but a rage mixed with a leader’s deep disappointment. This was not the fury of a mere punishment. It was the fury of trust cracking, of faith and structure fracturing in that one single moment.

  And it was in that moment that Darkan felt true fear for the first time. Not of his own death. But of Corvus walking away.

  Corvus turned his back without another word. With silent steps, he walked away from the training grounds. The only thing echoing behind him was the muffled sound of his boots on the stone—he left behind no threats, no words of comfort. He had made his decision. His steps were aimed toward the center of the Tiamat Guardians. His posture was upright; his stride echoed the bearing of an executioner on his way to carry out the final sentence. He did not look back. He did not hesitate. For what was left behind was, to him, already a condemned ruin.

  And the name of that ruin was Darkan.

  Unable to resist the pain any longer, Darkan fell to his knees. His breathing was uneven, and the shame and fear rising to his throat engulfed his mind like a fog. His eyes, fixed on the stone floor, were lifeless. In them was only the silence of a man crushed under the weight of his own mistakes.

  As the echo of Corvus’s footsteps faded from his mind, time stopped for Darkan. In that moment, he had to decide. Would he remain loyal to Corvus? Or to Sanguinar?

  But something inside him had begun to crack.

  And that fracture would determine not just the fate of Darkan—but of an organization and perhaps even an entire continent.