Chapter 55: The Arrival of the Warden General
Seraphina sat at her desk, her gloved fingers lightly tapping the desk. The rhythmic sound echoed faintly in the office. The afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows, casting long shadows that danced across the floor.
She stared out the side window, lost in thought. The world outside blurred as her mind drifted—then, without warning, it snapped back to that morning. That moment.
Kael's voice echoed in her memory, soft and breathless, like a song she couldn't forget.
"Honey... ahh... slower…"
Her expression shifted. Slowly, she lowered her head, a bitter scoff escaping her lips.
"Stupid bastard… get the hell out of my head."
She shook her head, as if trying to shake him loose from her thoughts. Her palm pressed against her forehead, grounding herself.
"Why that moment?" she thought, biting the inside of her cheek. "Of all the things to remember… why now?"
She straightened her posture, exhaling sharply as she shook her head one final time.
"You need to get it together. It's almost time, Seraphina."
Then, the door creaked open slightly.
"Captain, the Warden General will be arriving shortly." Arwyn's voice came from behind the door—soft, yet formal.
Seraphina didn't move at first. Her eyes remained fixed on the map sprawled before her—three towns marked with pins. Her towns. She inhaled, slow and steady.
"So… he's finally here. After all this time," she thought.
She rose from her chair, composed yet tense. "Alright," she said quietly. Then she turned, brushing past the desk. "Let's go."
Arwyn stepped beside her, the soft sunlight streaming through the windows catching the gleam of her armor. Her long, mint-green hair was tied in a loose ponytail, parted bangs framing her face as a few stray strands brushed gently across her forehead.
"Is everything prepared?" Seraphina asked as they walked down the corridor, her voice cool and professional.
"Yes, Captain. The Guildmaster and the Duke arrived not long ago. They're waiting near the gates for the Warden General."
Seraphina nodded slightly. "I see."
She didn't say more. Her steps were precise, her boots clicking softly against the marble. As they descended the staircase, knights lining the corridor stood at attention in two perfect rows, saluting in silence. Everything was immaculate—the marbel floors, the rows of swords at each knight's side, even the complaint counters were cleared and spotless.
Perfect.
Just like it needed to be. But despite the order around her, her mind was anything but calm. She had spent years building her name—not as someone's daughter, not as someone waiting to be noticed. She had carved her identity, stone by stone. She was Captain Seraphina Valthrone, commander of the knight orders of Velhart—known across the realm as the Sword Princess. Respected. Feared. And yet, here she was… feeling like a child again.
As they reached the front entrance, Seraphina paused. A moment of silence hung in the air—then, without warning, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"Breathe," Arwyn whispered gently, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Seraphina glanced at her. Arwyn's expression was soft—not mocking, not pitiful. Just kind.
"I don't know why he hasn't met you all these years," Arwyn said. "But… he's still your father, Captain. Whatever happens, you'll face it. With strength. Like you always do."
Seraphina's blue eyes turned icy, a faint glow of anger flickering within them as she stared her down with a chilling expression. "You're getting punished later—for daring to touch a Captain's shoulder and spouting such sentimental nonsense."
"Not again, Captain," Arwyn groaned, letting out a soft sigh.
Seraphina didn't reply. But her heart steadied—just slightly. Then, slowly she stepped forward, her face now a mask of stoic composure. The shift in her presence was almost visible—gone was the tension, replaced by cool regality.
A crimson carpet stretched before her, leading down the path to the gates. On either side, knights clad in gleaming silver armor stood at attention, their swords raised vertically, both gauntleted hands clasped around the hilts in solemn salute. She walked with deliberate grace, Arwyn matching her stride. Every eye followed their passage, every breath held in reverent silence. Both of them paused.
Then, a figure stepped forward from her left, positioning himself before her. He was an elderly man, dressed in a black coat over a crisp white shirt. His black hair was streaked with silver, and his eyes were a deep, steady black. With measured precision, he bowed.
"Good afternoon, Captain. Lieutenant," Thorne Renshade, the Guildmaster, greeted them with a respectful, measured tone.
Seraphina and Arwyn bowed in return—not out of obligation, but out of respect. The Guildmaster was no ordinary man. Calm, reserved, and always three steps ahead, he had earned their admiration.
"Good afternoon, Guildmaster," Seraphina and Arwyn replied in unison.
"Captain... at first," he straightened up, meeting Seraphina's eyes as he began slowly, his voice calm and composed,
"let me once again offer my sincere gratitude. You took a step many would hesitate to take—even with the weight of your position. You saved my adventurer's life. For that... I am in your debt."
"There is no need for that, Guildmaster," Seraphina replied coolly, her tone devoid of warmth but not of conviction. "They are citizens of Velhart. I simply fulfilled my duty. As Captain of the Knight Orders, their protection falls under my command."
The Guildmaster's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "Perhaps. But not every captain would act so decisively."
Arwyn shifted beside Seraphina, arms loosely crossed but respectful. "She doesn't hesitate when lives are at risk," she said, her voice lighter but steady. "Though she rarely admits it, she cares more than most."
Seraphina gave him a sidelong glance. "That's enough, Arwyn."
Arwyn just smiled at her—small and amused—before falling quiet again.
Seraphina's gaze shifted back to the Guildmaster. Her tone was as composed as ever, but with a trace of curiosity beneath the surface. "Guildmaster, if I may ask—what punishment did you assign to Knight Gareth? I sent him to your custody. I must apologize for his behavior in the Guild Hall."
"No apology necessary, Captain. Discipline within the Knight Order is your domain—and your responsibility. Still, there are always a few who lack it, even within the Guild. As for his punishment…" He folded his hands behind his back. "I've assigned him to work as a waiter at the Guild. A fitting shift in perspective."
Seraphina blinked once, her expression unreadable—but there was the ghost of something at the corner of her lips. "I see. A fitting punishment. Humbling, yet harmless. He deserves it."
"More than he deserves, Captain," Arwyn muttered with a faint grin. "He causes trouble wherever he goes—and he thinks far too highly of himself. I might stop by the Guild later. I'd pay good coin to see him clearing plates and bowing to adventurers."
Thorne allowed himself a low chuckle. "He's not thrilled, to say the least. But he hasn't broken any dishes—yet."
"I'd be disappointed if he hadn't," Arwyn said, her tone light.
Seraphina gave a faint nod. "Let him stew in his humility for a while. Maybe next time he'll remember that Guild members are allies—not servants to bark orders at, or punch on a whim."
"He will," Thorne said evenly. "Or he won't last."
Then, before they could speak further, another figure approached from the right side.
Seraphina's gaze narrowed slightly as he came into view—she wasn't the only one. Arwyn and the Guildmaster were watching him too.
He was young, tall, and carried himself with a quiet refinement that was hard to ignore. His navy-blue hair was styled with care, parted from left to right, with a few strands falling naturally across his forehead. Some curled gently over the right side of his face, tracing a soft arc that drew the eye toward his deep navy gaze, while a few others swept toward the left, framing his features with effortless grace. The left side of his face was clean and smooth, his hair brushing neatly past his temple and toward his eye—elegant, controlled, and undeniably striking.
He wore a crisp, high-collared white coat that draped past his waist, tailored with aristocratic precision. Rich brown panels on his chest were embroidered with subtle gold florals—elegant, not ostentatious. A dark waistcoat hugged his torso beneath it, buttoned over a clean white shirt that added contrast. Gold-trimmed cuffs echoed the embroidery, and sharp ivory trousers completed the refined silhouette. His stride was slow but confident. Graceful, even.
He was Veroy Velhart. The Duke of Velhart. Dukes were typically governors of towns, their authority confined to a region or two. But this one… he was different. His presence carried more than noble rank. It wasn't just authority—it was command, forged in charisma.
Behind him followed an older man in a black coat, accompanied by several guards bearing noble sigils — the personal escort of the duke. He stopped before her and bowed his head, not deeply—but enough.
"Greetings, Captain of the Knight Orders." The Duke said in a rich, smooth voice. "Please forgive my tardiness. You have my gratitude for maintaining peace in Velhart. The town thrives under your watch."
Seraphina returned a slight bow. "The pleasure is mine, Duke Velhart. Your cooperation has made peace possible. You have my gratitude as well—for responding to my letter and making the effort to appear in person."
"No need to be modest, Captain," he said with a small smile. "It is an honor to stand witness to the arrival of the Warden General himself."
Seraphina nodded, saying nothing more. Words were unnecessary now.
Thorne inclined his head politely toward Veroy. "Your Grace," he said, calm as ever. "Always a pleasure to see you involved beyond the mansion walls."
"Guildmaster, Renshade" Veroy replied with a courteous nod. "We all share a stake in Velhart's stability. Naturally, it is my responsibility to attend any audience that concerns the welfare of our town."
"True," Thorne murmured, his tone thoughtful. "Which is why this city still stands—under the watch of many eyes."
Arwyn leaned toward Seraphina slightly, whispering under her breath, "Is it just me, or are they about to start playing verbal chess?"
"They already are," Seraphina replied without looking at her.
Veroy's gaze shifted, eyes sharp. "And you, Lieutenant Arwyn. I hear you're maintaining the price of the markets. Efficient work."
Arwyn straightened, clearly not expecting the attention. "I only followed the Captain's orders, Your Grace."
Veroy gave a light nod, but didn't let the moment pass. "Nevertheless, it takes more than orders to manage the traders of Velhart. They're not easily tamed."
"I wouldn't say tamed," Arwyn said, then hesitated. "More like... reminded that we're all trying to keep food on the table. I listened to their complaints, gave them room to speak. It helped."
"A rare skill," Thorne remarked, folding his hands behind his back. "Traders speak gold, not reason. If they listened, you earned it."
Arwyn blinked. "I didn't think of it like that. I just… kept things from getting worse."
Veroy gave a faint smile. "That's often the difference between order and chaos."
"Still," Thorne added smoothly, "price control only lasts as long as supply. Adventurers have been hunting less recently. Risk has gone up."
"Yes," Veroy said. "Which is why the market reflects scarcity. But Velhart cannot afford panic."
Arwyn nodded slowly. "We've been rotating patrols near the northern pass. If the roads stay clear, caravans should arrive in two days. That'll help."
"Hmm," Thorne mused. "Perhaps. But if the monsters stay aggressive, the guild may need to raise commissions. Risk must meet reward."
Veroy's eyes narrowed slightly, not in hostility, but calculation. "And then the prices rise again. A cycle we must handle delicately."
"A balance of blades and coin," Thorne said, almost serenely.
Arwyn glanced between them, then leaned toward Seraphina once more. "Okay, now they're playing chess."
Seraphina gave the faintest smirk. "Now?"
Then a distant sound broke the silence—the rhythmic clatter of wheels against stone. A carriage was approaching.
Seraphina turned her gaze toward the path ahead. A few moments later, several knights came into view, their polished silver armor gleaming under the sunlight as they rode in formation atop majestic horses. Behind them followed a grand carriage, regal and imposing, adorned in deep crimson with intricate golden patterns that shimmered with elegance.
Seraphina's eyes locked onto the carriage, unmoving, as it rolled forward and came to a stop in front of the gate. It turned slightly, positioning itself.
And then… silence.
Her gaze lingered—not on the carriage itself, but on the figure within. Or perhaps, on the memory tied to that presence.
Then a knight's voice rang out, clear and firm: "The Warden General is arriving!"
Seraphina straightened her posture at once, her legs coming together as she let both arms fall loosely at her sides. Her jaw tightened, but her expression remained composed. Beside her, Arwyn mirrored her movements with equal grace. Her heartbeat, however, was anything but calm. "So this is it…"
Then two knights stepped down from the carriage first, their armor catching the sunlight like polished mirrors. Yet they weren't standard issue. Silver plates overlapped seamlessly, but what caught the eye were the delicate, almost ethereal lines etched across their breastplates. The star-shaped emblem on their chests shimmered faintly with blue light, perhaps magical or ceremonial. These were no ordinary guards; they were personal honor knights—handpicked by none other than the Warden General himself.
Their boots struck the red carpet in perfect unison. Not a word. Not a motion out of rhythm. They stood straight, shoulders square, arms behind their backs, and eyes forward.
Then came the sound of leather brushing against carpet—the unmistakable sound of command. Seraphina's eyes narrowed as a black, high-leather boot stepped onto the carpet from within the carriage. Then came the other. They gleamed with an obsidian sheen, meticulously laced. The stride was firm, deliberate.
Seraphina's chest tightened. "Focus, Seraphina. Focus. You are the Knight Captain of Velhart—there's no room for weakness. He's the Warden General, not the old man you once knew." Yet, despite the words echoing in her mind, her fingers curled slightly at her side.
Then, he appeared.
A tall old man, his posture regal, walked slowly down the carriage step. He wore a militarized black coat, trimmed with gold, sharp at the shoulders. On his chest were rows of golden badges and colored sigils, representing wars, oaths, and achievements Seraphina could only imagine.
His trousers, equally black, tapered into the leather boots as if tailored to his body by the hands of a royal craftsman. His presence… was silent but absolute.
The silver strands of his short hair shimmered beneath the afternoon sun, neatly combed back without a strand out of place. A well-trimmed beard framed his jawline, running across his upper lip and joining beneath it, catching the light with the same silvery sheen. A few stray locks danced gently in the breeze. His face was aged, yet refined—not worn by time, but etched with wisdom. And his eyes...
Seraphina froze.
They were glacial blue—piercing, cold, unreadable. The kind of eyes that looked through a thousand men and saw their truths.
Seraphina immediately stepped forward and raised her hand in the Knight's Salute: arm straight, fingers aligned against her heart. Arwyn mirrored her. Both stood motionless.
Behind them, Thorne and Veroy lowered their heads in a formal bow. They were not expected to salute as knights did—but even their bow held weight.
"He hasn't changed at all…" Seraphina thought, eyes softening for a split second. "His presence alone makes the air heavier…"
The Warden General stopped in front of her. Two knights followed closely behind—one older, the other younger. The older one was Sebastian. The rest of the knights stood silently in a line behind them.
Lyra stepped forward, presenting a ceremonial bouquet—white lilies and night roses wrapped in navy blue silk, the flower of Velhart's honor. Seraphina accepted it, and walked toward him, holding the bouquet with both hands.
She lowered her head slightly, her voice steady and cold as she stepped forward and offered the bouquet. "Welcome to Velhart, Warden General. I am Seraphina Valthrone, Knight Captain of this region. On behalf of our sector, I extend our deepest gratitude for your arrival."
A long pause.
Then, the Warden General gave her the faintest of nods — a gesture subtle, yet carrying the full weight of his station. He accepted the bouquet with gloved hands, movements precise and measured. When he spoke, his voice was calm and low, yet it resonated with layered authority, like a quiet current beneath still waters. "The honor is mine, Captain Seraphina."
He paused, his gaze settling on her — not cold, but unreadable, contemplative. A silence lingered between them, respectful rather than strained.
"You've done well to maintain stability here," he said at last.
She inclined her head slightly. "Merely my duty, Sir."
A trace of a smile touched his lips — courteous, fleeting. "You have my utmost respect for arranging this audience on such short notice. My apologies for the sudden visit, with barely a day's warning."
"I am honored, Sir," she replied evenly, her voice cool but composed.
With that, she stepped back, hands returning behind her in formal posture. The Warden General, without breaking his composure, passed the bouquet to the knight at his side.
Then, Veroy stepped forward. Placing a hand over his heart, he lowered his head—his posture both noble and humble. "Lord Eldarion, it is an honor to finally meet you in person. I am Veroy Velhart, the newly appointed Duke of this town. I have assumed the title as heir to Altares Velhart—my father. I have long admired your campaigns from afar… but standing before you now, I find myself truly humbled."
Eldarion's gaze flickered toward him. "Duke Velhart," he said with a composed nod. "Your governance has not gone unnoticed. The town is orderly, and your people appear loyal—just as they were under your father's rule. I also find it commendable that you've maintained strong relations with the Knight Orders. In this age, that is no small feat. You have truly impressed me."
Veroy smiled faintly. "Thank you. I will continue to honor the trust you've placed in this position."
Then the Guildmaster stepped forward. His eyes—amber, calm and intelligent—gave him the air of a man who thought before he breathed.
He bowed slightly too. "Guildmaster Thorne Renshade. To be called here today… is an honor I don't believe I'm worthy of. But I accept it, humbly."
Eldarion's gaze lingered on Thorne, sharp but not unkind. His tone, though still edged with formality, softened—slightly. "Your modesty doesn't suit your accomplishments, Renshade," he said. "Without the Guild's presence, our roads would be crawling with raiders and beasts, and our borders little more than lines in the dirt. It's because of the Guild—because of you—that merchants sleep easier and farmers can walk to market without watching the shadows. Your contribution… is irreplaceable."
Thorne gave a slight smile, his eyes narrowing in quiet appreciation. "You honor us more than we deserve, my lord."
Then Seraphina stepped forward again, one hand lifted in slight gesture. "The audience chamber has been prepared, Sir. Please, allow us to escort you."
Eldarion gave a faint nod.
Without another word, Seraphina walked beside him. Every step she took now was measured, dignified. While Arwyn and the others followed closely behind.
Around them, the knights lining the courtyard remained saluting until the group fully passed. Then, in unison, they lowered their arms and turned in disciplined rows—a perfect display of the order Seraphina had worked years to uphold.
And yet, her heartbeat continued to race.
"Huh?... What did I expect? Meeting hisdaughter after all these years, and that's all he has to say? Nothing I do is ever good enough for him, or ever will be." She kept her eyes forward, stride steady, not allowing even a flicker of hesitation.
Beside her, Eldarion walked with the calm of a man who carried the weight of a hundred towns… and showed it in not a single movement.
And so, under the warm afternoon sun, they advanced toward the grand doors of the Knight Orders Office.
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(Chapter Ended)