“Thank you, Sir Gilbert. Though I can’t say that I expected to hear that at a time like this,” said Evans, commander of the Imperial Knights, as he gave a faint, bitter smile at the remark.0

Gilbert wore a similar expression. There had never been enmity between the two—only mutual respect. Once, they had been comrades, senior and junior, proud knights of the same banner. Even now, facing each other as enemies, neither found it easy to raise his blade.0

Perhaps that was why Evans’s gaze drifted past Gilbert’s shoulder, to the young man behind him.0

“It’s been a long time, Your Highness,” he said flatly. “I trust you’ve been well?”0

Lyon’s lips curled into a cold smirk as he replied, “Bold of you to speak to me without even raising your visor, Sir Evans.”0

“My apologies, Your Highness. I lack the courage to expose my guard while standing before so many strong foes.”0

“A poor excuse for a knight who once swore fealty to the royal blood.”0

The rebuke, which should have made him bow his head in shame, only drew a dry laugh. Evans’s eyes gleamed with derision, utterly devoid of loyalty or respect.0

“Hah. Royal blood, is it?” he snarked. “Do you truly believe those words, Your Highness? You must have seen the state of the capital on your way here. Clyde is finished. Our loyalty for the emperor, the people we were sworn to protect—they’ve all been swallowed by the abyss.”0

“How insolent, Sir Evans!” Gilbert scolded.0

“You should wake up, Sir Gilbert! It’s far too late! If you...0