No matter how great a man may be,

  without allies beside him,

  he will eventually fall.

  Once, there was a saying:

  “Heroes attract other heroes.”

  But that belonged to another age.

  The Hanarim Kingdom no longer honors heroes.

  It mocks them.

  It ridicules them.

  It stains their names.

  And even when those stories are fabricated—

  when they are nothing more than carefully crafted lies—

  once a reputation is shattered,

  a man’s words rarely carry power again.

  Once, Rowan Hale asked Eldric a question.

  “Did King Alaric fail to see the truth about the people around him?

  Did he truly not realize that Lucien Marrow, his closest confidant,

  might betray him at the most critical moment?”

  Eldric thought for a moment before answering.

  “This age does not want heroes.”

  A brief silence followed.

  Then he continued.

  “No—more precisely, the people may want heroes.

  But those who hold power do not.”

  “They are the ones who protect the board.”

  “And the moment someone appears who intends to change it—

  everything they have built becomes threatened.”

  Rowan spoke quietly.

  “Then what about Lucien Marrow?”

  Eldric’s eyes darkened.

  “Lucien was never truly on the king’s side.

  Not even once.”

  He paused.

  “There are only two reasons a king would keep such a man close.”

  “Either he lacked the judgment to see him clearly—”

  Then he lowered his voice.

  “Or there was simply no one else left to stand beside him.”

  Alaric Veritas, even during his years as High Justiciar,

  was a man who refused to compromise with injustice.

  It was his greatest strength—

  and at the same time his greatest weakness.

  His convictions were too straight.

  His principles too unyielding.

  To some, it was admirable integrity.

  To others, it was stubbornness—even arrogance.

  And so, there were never many people around him.

  Lucien Marrow was one of the few.

  During Alaric’s time as High Justiciar,

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  Lucien had served beside him as a Junior Justiciar.

  He was the one man with whom Alaric spoke freely.

  After lunch, they often walked the same path together.

  Behind the Hall of Judgement stood a small hill,

  a quiet place removed from the noise of the city.

  They walked there often.

  Sometimes they spoke of their work.

  Sometimes of politics within the kingdom.

  Sometimes of the shifting tides of the world.

  And on certain days, they said nothing at all.

  They simply walked.

  And so six years passed.

  One day, Alaric said quietly,

  “I intend to stand for the Crown Ballot.”

  Lucien did not seem surprised.

  He nodded once.

  “My Lord Justiciar.”

  “I hope you will change this kingdom—in your own way.”

  At the time, the words sounded sincere.

  At least until then.

  A single candle burned in the royal study.

  Outside, the winter wind rattled against the windows.

  Alaric sat at the desk, staring at a document.

  The office that oversaw the kingdom’s legal order.

  His decision was already made.

  The door opened softly.

  It was Elara Veritas.

  “You’re still working?”

  Alaric tapped the document lightly.

  “I need to make a decision.”

  Then he said,

  “I’m appointing Lucien Marrow as Lord Chancellor.”

  Elara’s gaze paused for a moment.

  Alaric noticed.

  “You don’t trust Lucien?”

  She thought for a moment.

  “No.”

  “That’s not it.”

  A brief silence followed.

  “He’s capable.”

  “He speaks well.

  He knows how to persuade people.”

  She paused before continuing.

  “That’s exactly why we should be careful.”

  Alaric’s brow moved slightly.

  “What do you mean?”

  Elara looked toward the window.

  “Lucien Marrow may admire you.”

  A pause.

  “But he is not someone who can live the way you do.”

  Alaric laughed softly.

  Elara did not.

  She said quietly,

  “Alaric.”

  “I’m not telling you to distrust people.”

  “But those who choose power and those who choose truth—”

  “they eventually walk different paths.”

  The candle flame trembled.

  “Don’t trust him too much.”

  Alaric thought for a moment before replying.

  “Lucien is different.”

  “He is the man I have trusted the longest.”

  Elara said nothing more.

  As she turned to leave, she spoke one last time.

  “Just remember.”

  “People only love the truth as much as they can bear it.”

  The door closed.

  Alaric hesitated for a moment—then signed the appointment.

  When Alaric rose to the throne in what many called a miracle,

  there was almost no one beside him.

  In the Hanarim Kingdom, there was usually only one path to the crown.

  The Assembly of Delegates.

  Traditionally, the leader of the Assembly became king.

  But Alaric Veritas did not come from that world.

  And so,

  the Assembly rejected him.

  They opposed his policies.

  They rejected every appointment he made.

  And they passed bill after bill designed to corner him.

  Meanwhile, The Daily Ledger flooded the kingdom with articles.

  Most of them targeted Elara Veritas.

  There was never a single piece of clear evidence.

  But the headlines were loud enough.

  The king is controlled by his queen.

  The king is a puppet.

  The king is incompetent.

  Alaric had expected attacks.

  Even so,

  it was a burden too heavy for one man to bear alone.

  So Alaric appointed Lucien Marrowas Lord Chancellor of the Crown,

  the highest authority over the kingdom’s laws.

  Surprisingly,

  The Assembly of Delegates did not strongly resist.

  Not long afterward, Lucien chose a different path.

  He entered the Assembly—as a member of the Opportunist Caucus.

  Alaric supported him.

  He believed Lucien would become his strongest ally within the Assembly.

  But Lucien was not like Alaric.

  He was flexible.

  He spoke well.

  He could persuade people.

  He knew how to move a crowd.

  And because of those abilities,

  he rose quickly—becoming the leader of the Opportunist Caucus.

  From that moment on,

  Lucien began to distance himself from the king.

  He openly criticized Alaric’s policies.

  And when Cassian Thorne, leader of the Mandate Bloc,

  called for an investigation into Elara,

  Lucien agreed.

  Alaric said little.

  He could not bring himself to admit

  that the man he trusted most was walking away.

  But during the public trial held after the Veritas Decree,

  everything became clear.

  In the square,

  Lucien Marrow slowly rose from his seat.

  For a moment, his eyes met the king’s.

  His expression was calm—almost unsettlingly calm.

  As if the decision had been made long ago.

  Then he spoke.

  “The king’s actions have threatened the order of the kingdom.”

  A brief silence followed.

  Finally, he spoke the word.

  “Treason.”

  At that moment,

  Alaric Veritas understood.

  Lucien had not betrayed him.

  He had simply never been on his side.

  Perhaps,

  long before he ever took the throne,

  he had already been fighting a lonely and exhausting battle.

  He had never sought to protect power.

  He only wished to reveal the truth to the people who had raised him to the throne.

  One by one, those around him disappeared.

  They did not simply leave.

  As if it were the only way to protect themselves,

  they denounced the king,

  mocked him,

  and abandoned him.

  But the people still remained.

  Veritas Decree.

  Alaric never abandoned the belief

  that his final move would shake the very foundations of the kingdom.

  Meanwhile,

  in Eaglia, Magnus Crowne was receiving countless reports.

  Documents from across the world lay stacked upon his massive desk.

  Reports from generals.

  Reports from the Crown’s intelligence.

  Reports from trade envoys.

  And now,

  it was the turn of the High Envoy of the Crown.

  The diplomat quietly opened a document.

  “The following report concerns the Hanarim Kingdom—an ally of Eaglia.”

  Magnus said nothing.

  He simply nodded.

  The envoy continued.

  “King Alaric Veritas has proclaimed the Veritas Decree.”

  A brief silence.

  “The Assembly has declared it an act of treason.”

  “The king has been sentenced to death and is currently imprisoned.”

  For a moment,

  the room fell completely silent.

  Then—

  for the first time—

  the perfectly composed face of Magnus Crowne shifted—

  almost imperceptibly.