As they continued down the street, they suddenly saw Roxy's parents, standing outside their quaint house with flower boxes beneath the windows. The scent of blooming roses and fresh herbs drifted through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of baking bread from nearby stalls. Her father, a broad-shouldered man with graying hair and kind eyes, stepped forward, smiling. Her mother, petite and elegant with soft brown hair streaked with silver, gave a gentle nod.
"Roxy!" her father called. "You're back!"
"And… this must be the brave man who looks after you," her mother added, looking at the Captain with respect.
The Captain inclined his head slightly. "It's my duty. Roxy has been of great help as well."
Both parents' faces lit up with warmth and admiration. "You have our deepest thanks," her father said.
Her mother added softly, "You must come to our house. You've earned a place at our table, at least for a short while. We insist."
The Captain nodded, and they walked toward the cozy house. The narrow cobblestone path creaked lightly under their feet, and the soft chatter of neighbors and children playing drifted from the surrounding homes. Inside, the wooden beams and lace-curtained windows gave the room a warm, inviting atmosphere. Sunlight streamed in, reflecting off the polished floors, mingling with the aroma of roasted meat and fresh bread. The soft ticking of a wall clock and the gentle crackle of the hearth added a comforting backdrop to the scene.
They ate together, speaking softly of the recent mission. The room was filled with laughter and warmth, a brief respite from the chaos outside. The soft clinking of cutlery against plates, the occasional murmur of the wind through the open window, and the distant sounds of the bustling city beyond created a serene, almost timeless moment.
Suddenly, the door burst open. Albert, breathless and panicked, appeared, his cloak trailing behind him as if caught in a gust of wind.
"Albert!" the Captain exclaimed, immediately rising. "How did you know we were here? Why are you shouting?"
"I… I asked the people along the road! They told me you went this way!" Albert gasped. "The castle… it's on fire! Terrorists—no, attackers—breached the gates and struck in seconds! They've planned this for a long time!"
The Captain's jaw tightened. In his mind, he noted Roxy's subtle worry for her parents but gave no hint. "Albert, stay here. Take Roxy's parents and get them to safety. Clear civilians from the streets."
Albert hesitated briefly, then nodded and hurried away with the parents, the wooden door slamming softly behind them.
Turning to Roxy, the Captain didn't speak of what he noticed in her posture or concern. They broke into a run, weaving through streets thick with smoke. The acrid smell of burning timber and scorched stone stung their noses, flames licking the edges of buildings, and the sounds of battle—clashing steel, screams, and shouted orders—echoed around them. Sparks from collapsing signs and torches scattered across the cobblestones.
As they neared the castle, the chaos became overwhelming. Royal guards fought valiantly against waves of enemies—at least five hundred attackers moving in coordinated groups. Sparks flew as swords clashed, arrows whistled past, screams rang out, and the ground shook underfoot. The echoing roar of clashing weapons mixed with the hiss of fire and the distant crash of collapsing walls.
Roxy reached for her sword, but the Captain gestured her forward. "We can't stop. The soldiers will hold. Our priority is the King. Move."
Smoke and fire thickened around them, searing their eyes, but they ran relentlessly. Every step was calculated, every movement precise. Ash floated down in the air like snow, coating the streets in gray, and the smell of burning fabric and metal filled their lungs.
They reached the castle gates and searched for Wilson and the King—but neither was found. "We'll split up," he said. "Cover more ground. Keep the King our priority."
Roxy nodded, and they separated briefly. Moving alone through a corridor, the Captain suddenly came face-to-face with twenty enemy soldiers. The torchlight flickered on the walls, casting long shadows of the approaching men. Today was different—he had no one to protect him, and he was twice as strong from past experience.
Without hesitation, he struck. Steel met steel with sharp clangs. Arrows thudded into walls and floors around him, some narrowly missing. Blood sprayed as he pierced through them, every movement precise and lethal. Sparks flew as blades collided, and the metallic tang of blood filled the air. In seven minutes, the corridor was cleared, leaving a path straight to the throne room.
The throne room was scarred by fire, marble blackened, chandeliers shattered, banners torn. Smoke drifted in from broken windows, carrying screams and the clash of battle. The smell of charred wood and burning fabric was thick, and the ground was littered with debris and splintered furniture. The King was nowhere to be seen.
A mysterious figure in white robes darted at the edge of his vision. The Captain pursued, but the figure vanished before he could reach it, leaving only a whisper of fabric and a fleeting shadow.
Frustrated, he found Lieutenant Oxel nearby. "Do you know where the King is?" he asked.
Oxel shook his head, worry etched in his features. "Nothing. Whoever planned this… it wasn't random."
Before the Captain could respond, a loud explosion erupted from the side where Roxy had gone. Debris fell from the ceiling, dust and flame filled the air, and screams echoed. The Captain's jaw tightened.