I said nothing, merely letting my gaze settle on Reynolds.
He nodded once, almost imperceptibly.
“Move,” I commanded.
In an instant, thirty of my Knights surged forward, their movements fluid, precise, and synchronized like a single living weapon.
The Lancaster family’s elite guards—over a hundred of them, the ones Sebastien had trusted with his life—charged without hesitation, confident in their numbers and training. They collided with my Knights in a violent, grinding wave of steel and force.
The clash lasted barely three minutes.
When it ended, my Knights returned to my side, their expressions calm, controlled, utterly indifferent. There was no sign of fatigue, no trace of uncertainty. The road was silent except for the heavy breathing of a few scattered, broken men.
Sebastien’s
