Chronicles of The God Slayer of Shadows-Chapter 51 - Fifty One

The sun hung lazily over Dawnfire as Adrien and Damien leaned against the railing of the Ironbrand Guild's upper walkway, overlooking the inner courtyard. Adrien tossed a small stone in the air, catching it absently as Damien talked.

"You're telling me that guy actually believed he could beat you after choking down a devil pill?" Damien chuckled. "That man's brain was probably leaking out his ears halfway through."

Adrien gave a dry smirk. "He definitely wasn't thinking clearly. Could've just walked off and saved some pride. Guess Kael doesn't breed much sense into his people."

Below, footsteps echoed in the stone courtyard. A group of liveried attendants in Evermoon blue strode through the archway, led by a tall man in dark finery. The man's eyes scanned the courtyard like a hawk hunting prey.

"Visitors?" Damien asked, narrowing his eyes.

Adrien's gaze sharpened. "Too polished for traders. Looks like the Duke's lapdogs."

They descended as the lead envoy stopped before the guild's reception hall. Fenrik emerged from the interior, already eyeing the newcomers with caution. The envoy bowed with the precision of a man used to courtrooms, not battlefields.

"By order of His Grace, Lord Evermoon, Duke of Dawnfire," the envoy announced with formal gravity, "I bring invitation to three individuals of interest: Adrien, Damien of Eboncross, and His Highness, Prince Kaelen of Velhar."

Adrien and Damien exchanged a glance.

Fenrik folded his arms beside them, speaking in a low tone. "Careful. That man doesn't send invitations. He casts nets."

The envoy handed out three scrolls, bound in wax with the Evermoon crest. "You are requested to attend a private gathering at the Duke's estate tomorrow evening. A celebration of prowess, as His Grace puts it — and an opportunity to speak of futures."

Adrien raised a brow. "Does the Duke always offer dinners to strangers?"

The envoy offered a practiced smile. "His Grace recognizes potential when he sees it. You've all made an impression."

Damien took his scroll and tucked it into his belt. "Well, I've never turned down free food."

Adrien was more measured. "Tell the Duke we appreciate his invitation. We'll consider it."

"His Grace hopes you will," the envoy said with another bow. "Carriages will arrive before dusk tomorrow. Formal attire expected. Good day."

The group left as quickly as they came.

Once the courtyard was quiet again, Fenrik muttered, "You're being watched now. The moment you step through that estate gate, you step into a game."

Adrien sighed, twirling the scroll between his fingers. "And here I was hoping this tournament would be simple."

Damien shrugged. "When was the last time your life was simple?"

"Touché," Adrien said with a dry chuckle. "Well... suppose we'll see what this Duke really wants."

The Duke's estate sat on a hill overlooking Dawnfire, its towering walls and silver banners gleaming under the moonlight. Carriages rolled to a stop before its gates, their passengers stepping into a world far removed from the dust and clangor of the tournament grounds.

Adrien adjusted his dark, fitted cloak as he stepped out beside Damien. Fenrik followed behind, his expression unreadable.

"I feel like a lamb walking into a feast where we're the roast," Damien muttered, eyeing the polished guards lining the courtyard.

"Relax," Adrien replied dryly. "They'd at least marinate us first."

Inside, soft music played over murmurs and clinking goblets. Nobles, military officers, and a few robed figures of status mingled in the grand hall of marble and golden light. At the far end, seated beneath a great banner bearing a crescent over a rising sun, sat Duke Verrian Evermoon.

The man rose as they approached. He was tall and lean, dressed in fine layers of navy and gold, his hair streaked with silver. His smile was warm — too warm.

"Adrien, Damien, and the esteemed Prince Kaelen," the Duke said, his voice smooth like oiled silk. "Welcome to my home. You've stirred quite the storm in Dawnfire. I thought it only polite to offer shelter before the wind truly howls."

Kaelen, already present, nodded curtly. "Your Grace."

Damien bowed awkwardly. Adrien simply inclined his head, measured and cool.

The Duke gestured toward the banquet table. "Please. Eat. Drink. Tonight is for peace. Tomorrow, we sharpen swords again."

They seated themselves. Fenrik stood at the back, arms crossed, silent but alert.

As the feast unfolded, the Duke leaned in subtly toward each of them in turn, testing the waters.

To the Prince, he spoke of responsibility and alliances. "Your Highness, it would be a shame for the capital to overlook talent such as yours. Perhaps it is time someone in power noticed."

To Damien, he offered opportunity. "The Eboncross has been too quiet lately. A man like you could light fires in the right halls. Ever considered command?"

And to Adrien...

"You intrigue me," the Duke said softly, eyes narrowing. "You fight like someone used to war. Not tournaments. There's a purpose in the way you move — something older."

Adrien looked up from his untouched wine. "Most people see a fight. You see something else. That's rare."

The Duke smiled, sipping slowly. "And useful."

Adrien offered no more than a tight-lipped smirk in response.

Later in the evening, the Duke's daughter, Lady Elira, appeared — graceful and curious, her attention quickly drawn to the three. But her gaze lingered most on Adrien, intrigued by his quiet strength.

The night wore on under the warm glow of chandelier light. Beneath it all, the Duke watched his guests, already spinning threads in the dark — connections, promises, pressure points.

And Adrien? He watched right back, already sensing the game.