CHAPTER 56: COVENANT

When we reached the city walls, the army fell into formation in silence. Spearheads rose between the shields like iron thorns piercing the morning sky, while the breath of our soldiers misted in the chill of dawn.

The gates stood shut. Behind the towering stone ramparts, no movement was visible. No arrow, no taunt, not even the flicker of a torch. It looked abandoned. And yet, smoke still curled from the chimneys.

Mike rode up beside me, his eyes scanning the battlements. "This silence unsettles me. It’s either a trap... or the silence of fear."

I nodded. "It makes no difference. Either one works in our favor."

I ordered my men to wait. There were no need for catapults or siege ladders. I already knew the city had lost its war long before we arrived.

At any other time, I might have heeded Mike’s suspicion and prepared for an ambush. But this city’s ruler, Baron Sulka, was infamous for his crushing taxes. The meaning of this silence was clear enough. All I had to do was wait.

Hours passed. At last, movement stirred behind the gates. The groan of iron bolts scraping open shattered the stillness, and the heavy doors creaked ajar. But no army marched out, no shield-bearing guards stood ready.

Three guards emerged. Their faces were pale, their steps unsteady with fear. Two of them carried a long sack, blood seeping through the seams. The one in front, their captain perhaps, looked as if his knees might give out beneath him.

They stopped before our lines and sank to the ground. The sack was opened, and a severed head tumbled onto the grass. It was the Baron’s. His fat face was frozen in a mask of rage, his half-lidded eyes staring blindly at the sky.

Mike gave a short whistle. "Seems these men hate their baron more than they feared your gallows."

The guard captain spoke in a hushed, shaking voice. "My lord... the Baron was a tyrant who bled us dry with his taxes. He left us starving. When we saw your banners... when we heard the tales of your towers... we chose not to die for him. We punished him ourselves. The city surrenders to you."

He fell silent, head bowed. Then he gestured behind him. Two soldiers shoved forward a small boy. He could not have been older than eight. His silk tunic was torn, his eyes red and swollen from weeping. Barefoot, he trembled as his feet touched the earth.

"This is his son," the guard captain said in a hoarse whisper. "The last of Sulka’s blood. We give him to you, my lord. We do not want another tyrant to rise, nor to see your army level our walls tomorrow. The future of this city lies in your mercy."

A murmur rippled through my ranks. Mike arched a brow, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "So, they slit their master’s throat and throw his heir at your feet. To them, boy, you are no longer just a conqueror; you are their only salvation."

I dismounted and strode toward the child. He lifted his head and met my gaze. Terror was plain in his eyes, but behind it burned the faint spark of defiance. The gaze of noble blood.

I crouched to his level, my voice cold but steady. "What is your name, kid?"

His lips quivered as he answered. "S... Sulka."

"So you bear your father’s name. You wouldn’t want to share his fate, would you?"

His mouth trembled, but he did not look away. Tiny fists clenched, caught between fear and fury. "N-no!" he stammered, his voice thin and broken with sobs.

I studied him for a moment. His small frame shivered, yet stubbornness still lingered in his gaze. Even in a starving land, he had worn silk and grown within palace walls. That such a child clung to scraps of pride was hardly surprising.

A cold smile touched my lips. "I hold two paths before you, Sulka. The first is to send you after your father, erasing your bloodline forever. The second... is to let you live."

I turned to the crowd, raising my voice. "Bear witness! The Sulka has ended at the hands of its own people. From this day forth, this city and this barony belong to Argenholt. The name of Sulka will remain only as a warning: that even the tallest walls crumble before justice, and every tyrant meets the same fate!"

Cheers erupted from my soldiers, swords lifted high. From behind the walls came murmurs, prayers, and the cries of those torn between fear and hope.

I looked back at the boy, still kneeling. "Do you have kin, Sulka?"

Without waiting for his answer, I signaled to Mike. He retrieved a thick, leather-bound tome from his saddlebag: The Imperial Codex of Law.

Eyes widened all around. Every commander knew of it, though few had ever seen it. It was only unsealed to decide the fate of lands, dynasties, and thrones.

I opened it, the golden seal still intact, and read aloud:

"According to the laws of the Empire: When a lord’s house falls, their lands cannot pass to another without a covenant sealed in blood. Without the loser’s blood, conquest is but invasion. Without the victor’s blood, victory is but plunder. But when both bleed together... then the Empire’s will is done. The land changes hand in truth."

The silence deepened. All eyes fixed on me.

I turned back to the boy. "Answer me, Sulka. Do you have kin? Uncles, aunts... anyone?"

The boy wiped his tears with trembling hands and whispered: "M-my aunt. Lady Dimitri of the Northern Counties."

The name hung in the air like thunder. Soldiers glanced at one another. The townsfolk behind the gates held their breath.

I rose to my full height, finger pressed against the Codex. "Then the law is clear! If blood yet survives, both houses must seal the fate of these lands. The line of Sulka will bear witness to the Empire’s will."

I faced the boy again, softening my tone but not my resolve. "It would be easy to kill you here, little Sulka. Easy to erase your father’s line and fold this city into Argenholt. But the Empire binds us not only by blood, but by word. I, Leonardo, Commander of Argenholt, swear upon the Codex: you will live. I will send you safely to your aunt, Lady Dimitri. No wall, no throne, will ever chain you again."

I lifted the Codex high. "Let my soldiers, this city, and the heavens bear witness to this vow!"

A roar thundered from my ranks, steel flashing toward the sky. From the city came prayers, cries, and the first sparks of hope. Mike looked at me then, the smirk gone from his lips, replaced by something close to reverence.

The boy’s eyes filled once more, but this time with wonder more than fear. His fists slowly unclenched, his head bowing in hesitant submission.

Mike stepped forward and handed me a short dagger with silver inlay, a family relic used only in oaths and seals. I unsheathed it, the whisper of steel ringing against the walls. All eyes were on me.

I weighed the blade in my hand. Cold steel, heavy with history. Then I seized the boy’s wrist. His thin veins pulsed faintly beneath pale skin. A shallow cut, a small cry and a drop of blood fell upon the parchment like a crimson jewel.

I opened my own palm, pressing the edge into flesh. My blood mingled with his, two scarlet drops merging on the Codex’s page.

A hush fell over all. Even the sky seemed to wait.

I raised the book. "Let the Codex bear witness! The line of Sulka is sealed. Joined with the blood of Argenholt, this is not conquest but justice. From this day forth, this city is Argenholt’s. Not by tyranny, but by law!"

The air erupted. Swords clashed skyward, voices roared, and from the city rose cries of relief. Windows flung open, people poured into the streets, not to mourn their conqueror, but to celebrate their chains breaking.

A tragic irony. They thought me a cruel lord, yet rejoiced because I might be less cruel than the last. Perhaps they were right to rejoice.

For while my fearsome reputation serves me well in war, it will one day become my burden. I must not be remembered as Leonardo the Merciless Monster. Better to be feared by my enemies, yet just and bountiful to my people.

And this broken city - humiliated, starved, abandoned by its own lord - was the perfect place to begin.