THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

Nivan scanned the area, his sharp eyes darting from shadow to shadow before he exchanged a brief, silent nod with his companion, Josh. The coast was clear. They moved swiftly, their leather boots making no sound against the cobblestones as they headed towards the garden, where the plan would unfold. They had traded their usual armoured boots for this stealth, each step calculated, each breath measured.

As they approached the garden's edge, Nivan raised a hand, signalling Josh to halt. His gaze locked onto a lone guard standing by a ledge, a magic torch in hand casting an eerie glow. Nivan squinted, focusing on the guard's features, and a wave of relief washed over him as he recognized Garrick. With a deep, silent sigh, he motioned for Josh to follow.

Garrick, alert and tense, gripped the hilt of his sword as he heard the approaching footsteps. His instincts screamed danger, but Nivan's voice sliced through the tension. "It's us, don't strike, you idiot," Nivan hissed.

"Sorry, I… I'm just a bit nervous," Garrick admitted, his voice trembling slightly.

"We all are," Josh muttered, trying to soothe the unease that hung thick in the air.

"Is everything set?" Nivan asked, his voice low but commanding.

"It's done," Garrick replied, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. "I used Lady Seraphina's potion to put the guards on duty to sleep. They won't be waking up anytime soon."

"Perfect. And our men?" Nivan inquired, his eyes narrowing.

"They're gathering in the garden, waiting for us and Sir Stipe," Garrick confirmed, his voice steady now, the nerves subsiding.

"Good," Nivan said, the weight of the night pressing down on him as he took the lead once more. "Then let's not keep them waiting."

The trio moved as one, shadows among shadows, their hearts pounding in unison. The night was theirs, the darkness their ally, but the true test was yet to come. As they neared the garden, the sense of foreboding grew, wrapping around them like a tightening noose. This was the moment they had prepared for, the point of no return. The castle would soon burn with the fires of deception, and in the chaos, they would strike.

As the trio emerged into the garden, Sean spotted them and began to weave his way through the gathered crowd. His sharp eyes scanned the faces, assessing the tension that hung in the air like a thick fog. Finally, he reached Nivan, his voice low and edged with urgency. "Nivan," Sean called out, his tone betraying his unease.

Nivan turned to face him, a hint of concern flickering in his eyes. "What is it? Is everything alright?" he asked, his voice steady, but his mind racing.

"Everything is fine," Sean replied, though the crease in his brow told a different story. "Too fine, if you ask me. But what exactly are we supposed to do now?" His words were laced with the anxiety of a man who knew that the quiet before the storm was often the most dangerous.

Nivan glanced around, taking in the tense but controlled energy of the gathered men. "It's still early," he began, his voice calm, yet calculated. "We haven't taken out the castle guards at the gate yet, so Sir Stripe will likely be delayed. He'll have to infiltrate the castle and navigate his way to the garden without raising suspicion."

Sean nodded, digesting Nivan's assessment. The logic was sound, and yet the uncertainty gnawed at him. "Alright," he murmured, satisfied for the moment, but far from at ease. He fell silent, his thoughts drifting to the task ahead, the weight of what was to come pressing heavily on his shoulders.

Nivan's unease deepened with each passing second. His instincts screamed that something was wrong. Strip, a master of elusion and infiltration, should have already been there. If they were told he'd meet them in the garden, it meant he was supposed to have already breached the castle's defences an hour ago.

Yet, there was no sign of him. Nivan scanned the faces of his companions, noting the tension etched into their features. They were like sitting ducks, exposed and vulnerable. The castle guards had been incapacitated, but that only reduced their margin for error—unexpected variables could arise at any moment.

Exhaling slowly, Nivan made a decision. Strip's absence might offer an opportunity. If he took command and initiated the plan now, there was a chance he could claim a bigger share of the reward for his foresight. He straightened and addressed the men in a clear, authoritative voice, loud enough for all in the garden to hear.

"Listen up, boys," he commanded, drawing their full attention. "We're starting the plan without Sir Strip."

A murmur of surprise rippled through the group. "What? Why?" Josh voiced the question that was on everyone's mind, the unease in his voice echoing that of the others.

Nivan's gaze hardened. "Time is of the essence," he explained, his tone firm. "If we stay here like sitting ducks, we're asking for trouble. Do you understand?"

The men nodded, their initial doubts giving way to reluctant agreement. But before Nivan could issue further orders, a sharp cry shattered the tense silence .

"Aaargh!"

Every head snapped toward the sound, eyes wide with shock and alarm. Garrick, who had been standing guard, dropped his magical torch, his tunic quickly staining with blood.

From the shadows behind him, a figure emerged with deadly grace. The shadowy assailant delivered a powerful kick to Garrick's back, sending him crashing into a nearby stone archway. The attacker then withdrew a bloodied dagger from Garrick's back, his movements fluid and practised.

Nivan's mind struggled to process what was happening as the shadowy figure stepped into the dim light of the torch. The intruder, dressed in tight black pants and a white tunic, began to clap slowly, mockingly, while still holding the dripping dagger. His white hair cascaded over his shoulders, framing a pair of icy blue eyes that glinted with predatory intent.

Recognition dawned on Nivan and the others, their blood running cold. "Young Master David," Sean whispered, his voice barely more than a shaky breath.

David stopped before the group, his eyes sweeping over the gathered spies like a hunter sizing up his prey. They had walked right into his trap, and now they were at his mercy, like pigs led to the slaughter.

"Good job making it this far," David mocked, his voice dripping with cold amusement as he tightened his grip on the dagger. In his other hand, motes of light began to gather, coalescing into a second dagger that shimmered with a deadly glow. The hunt was on, and his prey was cornered right before him.

Nivan's thoughts raced, panic clawing at his mind. "What the hell is going on?" he wondered, his gaze darting from the predatory figure of David to his own men, who were visibly shaken by David's chilling presence.

This was supposed to be a stealthy operation—why was their target here, and how had he appeared out of nowhere? Desperation gnawed at him, but Nivan knew that they had to act. If Sir Strip arrived, they might still stand a chance.

Clearing his throat and steeling his nerves, Nivan bellowed, "Don't cower! He is all alone!

ATTACK!

" His voice cut through the fear, snapping his men out of their terror-induced stupor. This was their moment—now or never.

The men surged forward, weapons raised high, intent on striking down the lone figure before them. But David remained unfazed, his movements calm and deliberate.

He sidestepped their attacks with minimal effort, his twin daggers slicing through the air with lethal precision. Each strike was devastatingly efficient, leaving crimson trails in its wake as bodies fell around him.

The moonlight filtered through drifting clouds, illuminating the grim scene. David's every movement was a masterclass in controlled violence, a dance of death that left the ground soaked in blood. As he carved his way through the hapless attackers, his eyes never left Nivan.

Nivan's heart pounded in his chest as he realized the truth: David was beyond them, a beast playing with its prey.

Every move was a taunt, a reminder of their impending doom. Desperation clawed at Nivan, and with a sudden burst of clarity, he made a decision. Survival was the only priority now—forget the mission, forget the money. He had to escape.

His hand fumbled for the spatial relic hidden in his tunic. As he activated it, the orb began to glow, summoning the portal that would whisk him away to safety. But before the portal could fully materialize, a dome of blue mana erupted around the garden, its power surging to the sky.

The relic malfunctioned, emitting a painful electric current that seared Nivan's hand. He cried out, dropping the orb as it rolled away, coming to a stop at David's foot.

"There's nowhere to go, pig,"

David's voice was icy, devoid of any mercy.

Nivan felt a cold shiver run down his spine as he looked around frantically. His eyes widened in horror as he took in the scene—armoured men who were supposedly put to sleep had surrounded them, their weapons gleaming in the moonlight.

"How…?"

Nivan's voice trembled as he fell to his knees, the reality of their situation sinking in. They were utterly trapped, outmanoeuvred at every turn. One of the armoured soldiers approached David and handed him a banner. Nivan recognized it instantly—the banner bore the symbol of the De Gors:

two winged knights holding a sword together, with a sun blazing in the background.

With a forceful thrust, David planted the banner into the ground, his aura flaring with raw power. "By the laws of the land and the house of De Gor, all traitors are to be apprehended and tried before the patriarch!" David's voice rang out, cutting through the night like a blade.

The men who had followed Nivan, seeing no escape, began to drop their weapons. One by one, they fell to their knees, raising their hands in surrender. The battle was over before it had even begun.

The Lord's guards shouted in unison, their voices echoing through the garden,

"DAVID, THE SHADOW OF LIGHT! DAVID, THE SHADOW OF LIGHT! DAVID, THE SHADOW OF LIGHT!"

Victory was his, and Nivan could only watch in despair as his dreams of glory crumbled into dust.