The courtyard of Eldoria's Grand Pavilion was draped in banners and lined with rows of armored soldiers, all polished steel and ceremonial splendor. Trumpets blared, drums thundered, and incense wafted thick through the morning air. It was a pageant of loyalty, discipline, and might.
Alaric Veyron hated every moment of it.
His royal garments were an abomination of outdated opulence—crimson velvet layered with stiff embroidery, a wide golden sash, and a plumed mantle so heavy it felt like a burden of chains. The circlet on his head itched like an insult.
"Whose idea of fashion is this? A court jester would feel overdressed," he muttered under his breath.
But the commoners loved it.
They gathered in droves behind the decorative barriers, craning their necks for a glimpse of their young king. Children waved cloth flags. Merchants jostled for better views. Eldoria's nobility watched from shaded balconies above, sipping wine and murmuring among themselves.
Alaric stood at the ceremonial dais as Captain Renholm marched forward with deliberate precision, halting at the base of the steps.
The captain knelt and presented his blade, which was then exchanged for the Royal Ceremonial Sword—a symbolic weapon more suited to display than war. Alaric placed the ornate sword in Renholm's hands.
Renholm rose, voice loud and clear. "By the will of the crown and for the honor of Eldoria, I vow to fulfill this duty without falter. We will cleanse the roads of bandits and restore safety to the realm."
That last part stirred the crowd.
A ripple of chatter passed through the spectators. Someone shouted, "Which roads, Captain? Are they near the northern pass?"
Another voice called out, "Will the route be safe to travel again? Should we follow behind the soldiers?"
The murmurs grew. Merchants began discussing among themselves the prospect of trailing behind the army for free protection, forming a spontaneous convoy in their minds.
Alaric kept his expression neutral.
He couldn't blame them. The bandit threat was barely real, and yet here it was—feeding rumors and opening trade routes all because of pomp and posturing.
When the final speeches were done and blessings offered, the royal army mounted their horses and set off to blaring horns and the cheers of the crowd. Dust rose behind their retreating banners.
Alaric raised his hand and addressed the soldiers who remained.
"You are dismissed to your barracks. Rest well."
They saluted and marched away in unison, their armor catching the morning light like rippling fire.
The king turned, sighing under his breath as he made his way back into the palace. He ignored the nobles' half-hearted bows and approving nods. The real business of the day awaited.
Criminals, caught bandits, and civilian justice.
And not the ceremonial kind.
The throne room was quieter than the assembly hall, but no less heavy with tension. As Alaric entered, the herald bowed low and handed him a scroll.
"Your Majesty," the man said, "today's hearing include three commoners charged with thievery, a domestic dispute... and a captured bandit claiming to have vital information."
Alaric raised an eyebrow. "Vital, is it? Let's begin with the thieves."
The guards brought in a trio of ragged individuals—two young men and a girl barely older than fifteen. They had stolen bread and dried meats from a merchant's stall.
Alaric listened to their pleas. Hunger. No work. Sick mother. It was always the same. He gave them a warning, assigned them to a week of labor at the granaries, and waived any further punishment. The merchant would be compensated from the treasury. Small mercy.
Next came the domestic dispute.
A woman in her thirties stormed into the hall, dragging her stunned husband by the collar. "He was with another woman! And this dog of a man's father, your Majesty, this relic raised him to be just like himself!"
The elderly father-in-law limped in behind them, sporting a swollen cheek. "She struck me! In my own home!"
The husband and wife were now shouting over each other, both demanding justice.
Alaric sighed. "Silence. You, the husband—infidelity is not a crime under the law, but a failure of character. As for you—" he looked at the wife, "violence against the elderly, even in anger, is still punishable."
He looked at the three of them, his expression cold. "Since neither of you respects civility, you will each spend a week in separate temple service. Perhaps a few days of prayer and isolation will teach you better conduct."
Murmurs ran through the court. The solution was unorthodox, but fair.
The elderly father-in-law mumbled something about injustice but wisely held his tongue when Alaric cast a sharp glance in his direction.
As the guards escorted the three out, Alaric leaned back slightly in his throne, fingers tapping on the armrest.
Finally, the guards dragged in the bandit.
The bandit was dirty and bruised, but his eyes were sharp and alert. the man looked up. "Majesty. I've got something you'll want to hear. I wasn't caught for banditry, I was framed."
Alaric narrowed his eyes. "Then speak. But know this: if this is a ploy for mercy, you'll leave this room without a tongue."
The throne room fell silent.
And the bandit began to talk.
"I turned myself in because I wanted to exchange a pardon for my thievery in return for information, but they framed me for banditry."
A few of the guards exchanged uneasy glances.
The bandit continued. "They said I was Red Varn—a killer with a bounty. That's not me. I'm a petty thief, nothing more. But I've seen things. There's a group out there, they are not disorganized rabble but they are a trained group. They act like bandits but i know one when i see one and they are not bandits but more like solders."
The court tensed.
"I saw them in the eastern ruins near the forest. They're hiding there, calling each other 'ranks.' It's not normal."
Alaric's gaze sharpened. "And you expect us to believe this story?"
"Why would I make it up?" the man cried. "All I asked for was a pardon. Instead, I got whipped and thrown in a cell. The royal army captain didn't want to deal with my words. Too lazy and Too proud to invastigate. They beat me, then pinned a bounty on me to silence me. But now that they're gone, I finally got the chance to tell the truth."
One of the guards growled, stepping forward, but Alaric held up a hand.
The bandit's injuries and the unease on some of the soldiers' faces told him enough.
He studied the man in silence.
Then said, "Take him back to the dungeons. Get a full confession, no unnecessary harm."
The court stood in stunned quiet as the guards led the man away.
Alaric stood. "Court is dismissed."
After the crowd filtered out, Alaric remained seated.
A knight among bandits. Noble sons in royal army avoiding duty. A pawn claiming he saw the hand that moved the pieces.
Could he use him?