Five days had passed. Although Elias had crossed paths with Hedric a few times, he managed to keep his composure, patiently waiting for the perfect moment.
With only two days left until the Ludus Cruoris, just as the sun began to set, a royal envoy arrived at the bandit camp.
He had short-cropped black hair, matching his pitch-black eyes. Clad in a black uniform, gloves, boots, and a cloak—all bearing the insignia of the kingdom—he made his status unmistakable.
Holding a sealed decree in his gloved hands, he addressed the guards at the gate:
"Is Fredross Hedric here? I have a message to deliver."
"Who the hell are you? What message? From whom?" one of the guards snapped, eyeing him with suspicion, having clearly not paid attention to the envoy's attire.
"That's none of your concern, peasant. Now get out of my way," the envoy replied coldly.
The second guard, now grasping the seriousness of the situation, frowned and immediately grabbed his companion by the head, forcing him down to his knees. He then dropped to one knee himself.
"We humbly greet the envoy and servant of His Majesty. Please forgive my companion's insolence," he said.
The first guard, now trembling, stared at the ground wide-eyed and pressed his forehead into the dirt.
"Please forgive this foolish clown, my lord," he begged.
Ignoring their words, the envoy exhaled slowly. Then, raising his head and placing his hands behind his back, he asked again with a scornful tone:
"I'll repeat myself. Is Hedric Fredross here? I've received word that he is, and I have a letter for him."
"Y-Yes, my lord. Allow me to take you to him," the more composed guard stammered.
As they walked, the envoy ignored the whispers and curious stares following his every step.
Soon, they reached the residence Victor had assigned to Hedric. The guard gave a gentle knock, but no response came. He turned to the envoy.
"Lord Hedric must be asleep," he said hesitantly.
Without a word, the envoy ascended the small steps and casually shoved the guard aside with the back of his hand.
He then knocked sharply—his fingers pressed close together in a distinct, authoritative rhythm.
Footsteps approached from within.
"What the hell is it?! I'm sleeping, can't you tell?!" a gruff voice shouted before the door opened, revealing an irritated Hedric. His brow was furrowed, teeth clenched—until he recognized the visitor.
"Well, I wasn't expecting you, Bernold. What brings His Majesty's hound to the mountains?" he asked, now smirking.
"I bring word from His Majesty and Lord Kaelric," said the envoy, whose name was Bernold.
"Not out here. Come in," Hedric said, gesturing inside. Bernold stepped in, hands once again behind his back. Hedric shot a dismissive nod at the guard, who quickly bowed and fled the scene.
Once inside, Hedric walked to the sitting room. Bernold was already seated on the couch, legs crossed, one arm draped casually over the armrest, two sealed scrolls in his hand.
Hedric sat opposite him, resting his elbows on the armrests and his fingertips on his knees.
Bernold placed the scrolls on the table. As Hedric began reading, Bernold spoke:
"Thanks to His Majesty's brilliant diplomacy, a truce has finally been established between the Kingdoms of Elarion, Duegrun, and Faerwyn. Our lord brokered the talks and achieved peace. However, the negotiations continue, so he will not be attending Ludus Cruoris this year."
"Instead, Queen Estella, Prince Dvain, and Princess Cecilia will be attending. Though they will be well protected, you are ordered to accompany them as an escort," Bernold added.
Hedric raised an eyebrow, glancing up from the gilded letter. "It's all written here. Why waste your breath?"
Bernold's lip twitched slightly. "True. But I don't trust you enough not to spell it out."
His expression then turned serious.
"You will also receive a package at the tournament. No matter what, it must reach the palace within a week. That is your primary task."
He stood up, casting a sharp warning glance.
"The details of the package and your mission are enclosed in Lord Kaelric's message," he said.
He turned and walked to the door but paused just before exiting.
Without even turning around, his voice cold:
"And remember—no one must know about the package. If you fail… neither you nor House Fredross will have a place in the kingdom."
He left without another word.
"Tch... Bastard," Hedric muttered. "A package so important, he'd throw away House Fredross after all these years?"
He opened the letter from his father. As he read, the expression on his face shifted dramatically.
His eyes widened. His mouth hung slightly open in disbelief. His hands trembled.
Leaning back, he rubbed his face.
"Damn it… He wasn't bluffing. Damn it all…"
---
The morning after Bernold's visit, Elias was meditating in the hayloft, practicing his Earth Sangras technique. But when the guards failed to arrive at the usual time, a strange silence crept over him.
'Where the hell are they? Don't tell me they've found mercy and declared a holiday… or...'
'Damn it, I can't meditate with all these thoughts,' he muttered inwardly.
Lying on his back, he reached a hand toward the ceiling—just as he had countless nights over the past three years—imagining for a fleeting second the day he would finally be free. Then he let his hand drop.
Suddenly, an image flashed in his mind: he was riding in a carriage through golden wheat fields, dressed in clothes that felt all too familiar.
Elias blinked. 'What the…? What was that?'
A few hours passed.
The usual guards entered. They hadn't changed much over the years.
"Time to move. Lord Hedric's waiting," said the bulky, braided guard named Luke, pointing his spear.
Rolling his eyes, Elias rose to his feet, silently expressing how tired he was of the same routine.
The guards removed the old chain from his ankle—one end anchored to the wall, the other to the floor—only to bind his wrists and ankles together with a heavy four-lock chain.
'Tired of changing chains like changing clothes…' Elias grumbled inwardly.
Outside the stable, Hedric was waiting with a few men.
He wore an ice-blue uniform with gold and white embroidery, a matching cape, snow-white gloves and boots. For the first time, golden oval earrings adorned his ears.
Elias clenched his fists so tightly the chains bit into his skin. The urge to tear Hedric apart surged—but he took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm.
Then he noticed familiar faces among the group. One of them was Hector—the man who had raided his village and dragged Clara away.
Elias couldn't hide the killing intent burning inside him. The bear-sized Hector noticed and instinctively stepped back, unnerved by the chained boy's glare.
'Of course they wouldn't understand. They never saw the monster behind the mask,' Elias thought bitterly.
Outside, a grand carriage awaited them—ice-blue like Hedric's attire, adorned with golden trim and white wooden detailing. A serpent-like dragon crest decorated the door.
Four horses were harnessed, two in front, two behind.
Standing beside the carriage was an elderly butler with curled mustaches and white hair matching his pristine uniform. He wore navy blue with silver buttons, a pale blue silk cravat, leather gloves, and boots.
Though the Fredross emblem was on his chest, the soft orange glow in his eyes revealed he wasn't an ice mage.
When Hedric approached, the butler placed his hand over his heart and bowed.
After Hedric climbed in, the butler lifted his head and glanced at Elias. So did the guards. Elias raised an eyebrow—why was the carriage door still open?
A slave riding in the same carriage as a lord? Unthinkable.
Then came the cold nudge of a spear at his back—his answer.
Elias was seated between two guards, directly across from Hedric, who watched him silently.
And so, they departed, heading toward the city of Calveryn—and the blood-soaked spectacle of the Ludus Cruoris.