Belisarius looked at Corvus carefully. The serious expression on his face reflected the weight of his words.

  “Did you handle it?” he asked, his voice echoing through the marble walls.

  Corvus nodded with a short but firm gesture.

  “Varos is dead, and the Golden Fang is no more.”

  Belisarius seemed pleased that their plans had succeeded. But there was still an important matter weighing on their minds.

  “Were you able to find anything we can use against Senators?”

  Corvus’ lips curled into a faint smile as he let out a brief, deep chuckle. Pointing at the bag on his back, he spoke with confidence:

  “I didn’t find it. Varos handed it over himself.”

  Belisarius’ eyebrows drew together slightly, his eyes widening with curiosity. Corvus returned his look with a mischievous grin.

  “I was surprised he swallowed the bait so easily.”

  Belisarius shook his head and sighed.

  “What matters is that you got the documents. But our job isn’t over yet. The senators heard what happened and are gathering around my father.”

  Corvus didn’t reply. He simply began walking alongside Belisarius in silence. The sound of their footsteps echoing in the palace’s wide, high-ceilinged corridors created an atmosphere thick with tension. Behind them, three trembling Rhazgord fugitives walked in silence, fully aware they were playing the most dangerous game of their lives.

  As they approached the throne room, Corvus stopped. He slowly turned and cast a sharp glance at the fugitives.

  “You haven’t forgotten what you’re supposed to say, have you?” he asked, his voice falling over them like a dark threat.

  The fugitives nodded fearfully, sweat dripping from their brows. Corvus nodded in satisfaction and turned back to Belisarius. When their eyes met, no words were needed—they understood each other perfectly. The final act had begun.

  Corvus’ hands moved slowly toward his swords. As he drew the twin blades from their scabbards, the cold glint of steel reflected off the palace’s gilded walls. His face took on a mask of rage. It might have been fake, but no one could tell.

  Belisarius suddenly began shouting:

  “Corvus, stop! There’s another way to handle this!”

  At the same time, Corvus began striding quickly toward the large doors leading to the throne room. Belisarius shouted after him as if trying to hold him back:

  “Don’t act without thinking! You’re making a mistake!”

  The guards, seeing Corvus’ furious face and gleaming swords, immediately reached for their weapons.

  “Stop!” one commanded, but Corvus didn’t obey. He lunged forward. The guards, seeing no other choice, raised their swords to attack. But Corvus was fast. He dodged their strikes with precision, turning the fight into something less than deadly. With the hilt of his sword, he struck the first guard’s head. The man collapsed to his knees, eyes rolling back before falling to the ground. He then delivered a powerful kick to the second guard’s chest, sending him flying back unconscious.

  There was now nothing standing between him and the door.

  Corvus flung open the throne room’s great doors with a single push. They slammed against the walls with a loud crash. The heavy, incense-filled air inside was instantly replaced by a wave of fear. King Justinianus, seated on his gilded throne, sprang to his feet. The elderly senators around him recoiled one by one. Some gasped in panic, while a few turned pale as if on the verge of a heart attack.

  Corvus slowed his steps as he approached the throne. The storm of fury on his face stabbed into the king’s eyes like a dagger.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Corvus?!” Justinianus roared, his voice full of authority but tinged with concern.

  The guards instantly reached for their weapons. But Corvus moved first—he reached into the bag on his back, pulled out a bundle of scrolls, and threw them at the king’s feet.

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  The scrolls floated through the air before landing on the stone floor, unrolling as they scattered. Each bore the official seal of Frankus.

  Everyone in the room froze. One senator bent down with trembling hands to pick up a scroll. His eyes scanned the lines rapidly, and he gasped for breath. Justinianus’ gaze moved from the fallen documents to Corvus’ bloodthirsty eyes.

  “What do you think you’re doing!” Corvus bellowed. His voice echoed through the stone walls, slicing the air in the chamber like a sharp blade. He gestured at the three Rhazgord fugitives kneeling and trembling behind him. His eyes burned like fire.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t find the Rhazgordins who were kidnapped and forced to work in criminal gangs, King Justinianus? This is grounds for war!”

  Justinianus scowled in sudden anger, but the harshness on his face quickly faded, replaced by deep curiosity. He picked up one of the scrolls and carefully examined the lines. The moment he recognized the seal at the bottom, his expression grew even more grave. He lifted his head and looked to the old senator Frankus beside him. Frankus blinked in confusion, as if he couldn’t make sense of what was happening. Justinianus then turned to the three Rhazgord standing silently behind Corvus.

  “Corvus, there must be some misunderstanding. This seal—”

  Corvus had lost his patience. He didn’t let the king finish. He stepped closer to the throne.

  “There is no misunderstanding!” he shouted.

  “I found those documents in the house of the leader of the gang enslaving Rhazgord people! And judging by the seals, the leash on those Golden Fang dogs is in your hand, Justinianus!”

  Justinianus frowned. He took a deep breath and examined the seal again. Then he raised his head and locked eyes with his son, Belisarius. Belisarius’ face was tense, but there was a calm steadiness in his gaze, as if whispering that everything was under control. Justinianus took that look as a silent signal. He stepped forward, facing Corvus and holding up the scroll.

  “Corvus, I had no knowledge of Rhazgord citizens being kidnapped. And believe me, this is not my seal.” he said, his voice now firmer.

  Then he raised his hand to show the large golden ring on his thumb. On it was an eagle with its wings spread, clutching a sword in its talons.

  “This is the seal of our dynasty. The double-headed eagle. But the symbol on these documents is different—it is three columns.”

  Corvus frowned, his eyes shifting between the seal and the ring. For a moment, he paused—but his fury returned just as quickly.

  “Then bring me the head of the one behind that seal, or face war!” he roared. His words echoed off the stone walls, sharpening the tension in the room like a blade.

  Justinianus turned his head with iron determination and gave his guards a stern look. The soldiers, still standing in silence, awaited his command.

  “Arrest Frankus!” he ordered.

  The old senator staggered in place. He looked around in panic, unsure of what to do. But strong arms suddenly gripped him tightly. The young guards forced him to the ground despite his resistance.

  Corvus fixed his gaze on Frankus, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. He was ready to strike. But Justinianus raised his hand to stop him.

  “Corvus, I understand your anger, but leave this to me. I assure you, if Frankus is guilty, he’ll be punished to the fullest extent.”

  Hearing those words, Frankus burst out in protest. He struggled, not wanting to be humiliated. The guards were startled by the strength of the old man, but they held him down.

  “My king! Your majesty! You can’t act on the word of a barbarian!” he cried out.

  Justinianus’ eyes narrowed with deep fury.

  “The Senate will convene, and the evidence will be examined, Frankus! If you’re connected to criminal gangs or the kidnapping of Rhazgord citizens, you will be punished!”

  Frankus’ face turned ghostly pale. There was no escape. Justinianus took a deep breath and turned to Corvus, gesturing to the three Rhazgord warriors behind him.

  “We’ll need their testimonies, Corvus.”

  Corvus looked back at his men. The warning in his eyes was burned into their minds—they could not afford a single mistake in their statements. He gave Justinianus a heavy nod of approval, then sheathed his swords and spoke one final sentence before heading for the door.

  “When the sun rises tomorrow, the head of the guilty will be at my doorstep. Otherwise… we will come for vengeance.”

  Belisarius followed Corvus out of the room. The two walked briskly and silently. The corridors were dimly lit by torches hanging from high ceilings.

  Once they reached a secluded corner of the palace, it was Belisarius who broke the silence with a chuckle. That chuckle quickly turned into laughter. Corvus’ stern expression also faded, and he began to laugh. Their laughter echoed among the shadows.

  “For a second, I thought you weren’t acting!” Belisarius said, trying to stifle his laughter. His voice echoed against the palace’s stone walls. Corvus tried to hold back too, but made no effort to hide the amusement on his face.

  “That performance cleared all the fatigue from the meeting! We should do this again sometime!” he added, with a spark of joy still in his eyes.

  After a while, their laughter died down. The fun gave way to a sobering awareness—Belisarius had to go, and the upcoming meeting was approaching fast. Corvus also needed to prepare.

  “I need to tell my father about what happened—and about the plan.” said Belisarius, the faint smile on his face giving way to resolute determination. He stepped forward and extended his hand to Corvus.

  “I can’t express how much you’ve helped me—and Adler. Thank you, my friend.”

  Corvus grasped the outstretched hand firmly. The strong handshake was more than a gesture; it was a silent pledge, symbolizing the trust and strength of the alliance forming between them.

  “Whenever you need us.” Corvus replied, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

  “The Rhazgord mercenaries are at your service, prince Belisarius.”

  As Corvus turned and walked slowly toward his quarters to prepare for the upcoming meeting, Belisarius wasted no time. He set off for the royal palace, determined to speak with his father, King Justinianus, before the Senate’s inquiry could begin.

  The echo of their footsteps in the stone corridors reminded them both of the burdens they carried—weighty, inescapable, and growing heavier with every passing hour.