CHAPTER 269: CHAPTER 269: RETURN TO THE CASTLE

- Balthor POV -

The road to Tharvaldur Castle was quiet. The citizens had no clue about what had just happened in the arena. The only unease came from the line of armored guards marching alongside them, spears glinting in the light filtering from the cavern ceiling.

The great gates loomed ahead, solid stone reinforced with thick bands of blackened steel. Balthor’s gaze lingered on them for a long moment before he let out a slow breath. ’More than five decades since I last walked through here,’ he thought, the memory carrying a strange weight in his chest.

At his side, Noriel walked with the quiet composure of a man who understood exactly what his presence meant. Redna, alert but silent, kept pace a step behind them.

Balthor’s mind wandered as they approached the gate. He and Torwan—brothers, both born with a claim to the throne. Yet the previous king, their father, had kept them hidden from the court and the public eye. A decision meant to protect them, or so he was told. Very few had known the truth. In fact, outside of his father and Torwan, there had been only one man who carried that secret without ever betraying it—Noriel.

The memory of that time was distant, almost like a story told to him in youth, but stepping closer to these walls made it real again.

The gatekeepers shouted an order, and the massive stone doors began to shift open with a deep, grinding echo. Two lines of guards formed at the entrance, creating a corridor of steel and stone for them to pass through.

Balthor’s eyes moved briefly over their faces—some were curious, others indifferent. None of them recognized him. That suited him just fine. Noriel, however... he knew the older dwarf’s appearance would not pass unnoticed once they stepped inside.

The heavy doors fully opened, revealing the grand inner courtyard of Tharvaldur Castle. Balthor walked forward, boots striking the stone with a steady rhythm, his gaze fixed ahead.

He glanced at Noriel, whose calm expression betrayed no nerves. The older dwarf had been here countless times before, always as the right hand of the old king. Now, after more than a decade away, he was returning to the heart of the kingdom—not as a servant, but as the catalyst for whatever storm was about to break.

The grand entry hall was as vast as Balthor remembered—vaulted ceilings carved from the mountain itself, polished stone floors reflecting the soft glow of mana-lamps. The air was cooler here, carrying the faint scent of old parchment and iron.

Redna kept pace between the two dwarves, scanning the crowd. After a few steps, she leaned down toward Noriel and spoke under her breath. "Why are they staring at us?"

Noriel’s eyes flicked briefly toward a cluster of well-dressed nobles whose whispers stopped the moment he met their gaze. "They’re not staring at us," he said calmly. "They’re staring at me."

Balthor raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

"I was the right hand of the previous king for over a century," Noriel continued, his voice steady, as if reciting a fact rather than boasting. "When the throne changed hands a decade ago, and Balthor’s father passed... I chose to disappear. I refused to serve a king who wasn’t a direct descendant. Torwan had vanished, Balthor didn’t want the crown, so..." He allowed himself the faintest smirk. "...I opened a suit shop inste

Redna blinked at him. "That’s... unexpectedly mundane."

"It kept me alive," Noriel replied simply.

The murmurs around them grew louder. Names were whispered, questions exchanged in hushed tones. More than one noble leaned forward to get a better look.

A heavy set of footsteps approached from the far side of the hall. A broad-shouldered dwarf in ornate armor stopped in front of them, helm tucked under one arm. His expression was stern, but his tone was respectful.

"Noriel. I never thought I’d see you within these walls again."

Noriel inclined his head. "General. You’re still breathing. Good."

The general’s mouth tugged into the barest hint of a smile before he straightened again. "The council will want words with you. Follow me—there’s much to discuss, and it’s not a conversation for the open hall."

Without waiting for agreement, he turned on his heel and started toward the inner corridors.

Noriel glanced briefly at Balthor and Redna. "We’d best hear what they have to say. And I imagine they’ll want to hear more from us."

Balthor gave a single nod, his boots echoing against the polished floor as they followed the general deeper into the castle.

As they moved down the corridor, an elderly councilor appeared from the opposite end. He froze the moment his eyes landed on Noriel.

"By the forge... Noriel?" he said, his voice tinged with surprise.

A wave of murmurs spread through those nearby. All attention fixed on the veteran tailor.

Noriel gave a slight nod. "It’s been a while, Councilor."

"’A while’... You vanished a decade ago, when the throne changed hands. Many believed you dead—or in exile."

"I was neither," Noriel replied evenly. "I simply refused to serve a king who was not a direct descendant of the one I swore loyalty to."

The councilor’s gaze flicked briefly to Balthor before returning to Noriel. "And now you return, escorted? For what purpose?"

"That," Noriel said, "is something we should discuss in private."

The general stepped in. "The council is ready to receive you. Follow me."

The councilor hesitated for a moment, still studying Noriel, then slowly nodded and motioned for them to continue toward the private chamber.

The door to the private chamber closed with a heavy thud, sealing them inside. Only the councilor, the general, Balthor, Redna, and Noriel remained.

Noriel stepped forward without hesitation. "I’ll be direct. Balthor is the rightful heir to the throne of Tharvaldur."

The councilor’s eyes slowly shifted to Balthor. He scanned him from head to toe, lingering on the slightly disheveled hair, the faint smell of ale still clinging to his clothes, and the unimpressed expression on his face.

"...He looks like a drunk dwarf you pulled out of a tavern."

Noriel nodded without hesitation. "Yes. But he’s still the rightful heir."

Balthor squinted at him. "You could have left out the ’drunk’ part."

"It wouldn’t have been accurate," Noriel replied flatly.

The councilor rubbed his temples. "God help us..."

Noriel carried on as if nothing had happened. "The current king is a puppet. He uses illusory magic to hide his true nature and his actions. He is being controlled by the Director Torwan of the Tharvaldur Arcane Might Institute, and I can prove it."

He gestured toward Redna. "This is Redna, Headmistress of Luceria Grand Academy. Her position and testimony will support my claim. With her word and mine, we can strip away the king’s illusion and arrest him."

The councilor’s gaze went from Redna back to Balthor, then to Noriel. "If you’re lying, you won’t just be exiled—you’ll lose your heads. All of you."

Noriel didn’t flinch. "Understood. But I served the old king for over a century. I won’t stand by while an imposter warms his throne."

There was a long pause before the councilor sighed heavily. "Very well... I trust you, Noriel. But if this fails, you’ll wish you’d stayed in your suit shop."

Noriel’s reply was flat. "Sure."

Balthor muttered under his breath, "Still could’ve left out the ’drunk’ part."