Chapter 9 The Black Fox

The day after Aurelius left, House Drakhar felt quieter.


Emptier.


As though the warmth he had brought with him had vanished alongside his departing carriage.


Life returned to routine.


Training.


Reports.


Politics.


Waiting.


Always waiting.




"Again."


The wooden sword struck Julius's shoulder.


Hard.


Julius stumbled.


Before he could recover, another strike hit his ribs.


Pain exploded through his side.


"Too slow."


Selene Ashford lowered her practice blade.


The female warrior stood across from him with her usual expression.


Completely unimpressed.


Always unimpressed.


Julius was convinced she would look disappointed even if he defeated a dragon.


The silver-haired woman folded her arms.


"Your opponent isn't going to politely wait for you to recover."


Julius pushed himself upright.


Sweat covered his body.


Training had become more difficult over the past year.


Not physically.


Mentally.


The frustration never left.


Every morning he awakened without Aura.


Every night he went to sleep without Aura.


The invisible wall remained.


Unbroken.


Unmoved.


Unimpressed by his efforts.


"Again."


Julius attacked.


This time faster.


Selene effortlessly redirected the strike.


Wood met wood.


The impact echoed through the training grounds.


Then she swept his legs.


Julius hit the ground.


Again.




Nearby, Garrick Stoneheart observed silently.


The giant warrior leaned against a stone pillar.


His scarred face revealed nothing.


Yet his eyes never stopped moving.


Watching.


Analyzing.


Thinking.


Most people believed Garrick was merely a warrior.


That misconception had helped House Drakhar for years.


The reality was much more dangerous.


Garrick commanded House Drakhar's information network.


Spies.


Scouts.


Messengers.


Informants.


For nearly two decades he had quietly protected the family from threats.


Now he was losing.


And he hated it.




A messenger approached.


Garrick immediately noticed the man's expression.


Bad news.


Again.


The warrior accepted the sealed report.


Read it.


Then read it again.


His jaw tightened.


Very slightly.


For Garrick, that was equivalent to panic.




Far away in the Royal Capital, another man smiled.


Lord Cassian Voss.


The Black Fox of Titania.


Patriarch of House Voss.


Master of the Noble Council.


Architect of House Drakhar's destruction.


The noble sat comfortably within a private chamber.


Wine rested beside him.


Documents covered the desk.


Reports.


Witness statements.


Financial records.


Military evaluations.


Every piece carefully arranged.


Every piece carefully manipulated.


A masterpiece.


His masterpiece.




Cassian had hated Valen Drakhar for nearly thirty years.


Not because Valen wronged him.


Not because Valen betrayed him.


Not because Valen insulted him.


Those things could be forgiven.


Success could not.


Valen was stronger.


Valen was respected.


Valen was trusted.


Valen was loved.


Everywhere Cassian looked, Valen stood above him.


The people admired Valen.


The soldiers followed Valen.


Even King Ragnar trusted Valen more than any other noble.


That final fact had always been unbearable.




A knock interrupted his thoughts.


"Enter."


A servant entered.


"Everything proceeds as planned, my lord."


Cassian smiled.


A slow smile.


Dangerous.


"Excellent."


The servant hesitated.


"The final witness has agreed."


Cassian's smile widened.


Of course he had.


Everyone agreed eventually.


Fear was a wonderful motivator.




Meanwhile, inside House Drakhar, Garrick entered Valen's office.


Without knocking.


The room immediately grew tense.


Valen noticed.


Garrick only ignored protocol when something was wrong.


Very wrong.


"What happened?"


Garrick handed over the report.


Valen read silently.


His expression never changed.


That somehow made the situation worse.




"They found another witness."


Garrick nodded.


"A former quartermaster."


Valen sighed.


"Dead?"


"Three days ago."


Of course.


The witness had conveniently died before questioning.


Leaving only testimony behind.


A testimony accusing House Drakhar.


Another coincidence.


Another perfectly timed disaster.




"They're preparing something," Garrick said.


Valen looked out the window.


"I know."


"Can we stop it?"


Silence.


A long silence.


Finally Valen answered.


"No."


The word felt heavy.


Because it was true.




Days passed.


Then weeks.


The pressure continued building.


House Drakhar lost another trade agreement.


Then another.


Then another.


Several allied nobles publicly withdrew support.


The city economy began slowing.


Merchants became nervous.


Investors disappeared.


The damage spread.


Slowly.


Relentlessly.


Like poison.




Then came the incident.


The one Cassian had spent months preparing.


The one he needed.


The one that would change everything.




A military convoy traveling through Drakhar territory was attacked.


Not by bandits.


Not by monsters.


By soldiers wearing Drakhar colors.


At least that was the official report.


The convoy carried royal supplies.


Several guards died.


Important documents vanished.


And surviving witnesses claimed the attackers shouted loyalty to House Drakhar.




The kingdom exploded.


The news spread across Titania within days.


People were horrified.


Nobles demanded answers.


The Noble Council demanded action.


The investigation immediately expanded.




House Drakhar denied involvement.


Of course they did.


The problem was evidence.


Witnesses existed.


Uniforms existed.


Weapons existed.


Everything pointed toward them.


Everything.


Exactly as Cassian intended.




King Ragnar personally reviewed the reports.


Once.


Twice.


Three times.


His expression darkened with every page.


Deep inside, part of him still wanted to believe Valen.


Still wanted to trust him.


But trust had limits.


And those limits were finally breaking.




The emergency council meeting lasted six hours.


When it ended, a decision had been reached.




The announcement arrived at House Drakhar three days later.


A royal messenger.


Royal seal.


Official decree.


The entire estate gathered.


Knights.


Servants.


Officials.


Family members.


Everyone.


The messenger opened the scroll.


Then read.




"By order of His Majesty King Ragnar Titanus…"


The courtyard became silent.


"Pending completion of the royal investigation…"


"House Drakhar is hereby stripped of Great Family status."


No one moved.


No one breathed.


No one spoke.


The words echoed across the courtyard.




Julius felt as though someone had struck him.


Lyra looked confused.


She didn't understand.


Elysia quietly lowered her head.


Several servants began crying.


Some knights clenched their fists.


Others simply stared.


Unable to process what they had heard.




House Drakhar.


One of the Six Great Families.


A title carried for generations.


Gone.


Just like that.




Julius looked toward his father.


Waiting.


Hoping.


Praying.


Valen would say something.


Do something.


Anything.


Instead, the giant Titan stood perfectly still.


His face unreadable.


His shoulders heavy.


Older somehow.


For the first time in Julius's life…


His father looked tired.


Truly tired.


The messenger stepped forward once more.


"There is another letter. Directly from His Majesty."


The courtyard grew even quieter.


Valen accepted the letter.


Slowly.


Calmly.


His eyes moved across the contents.


His expression never changed.


Not even slightly.


To everyone watching, he appeared as steady as a mountain.


But inside, rage burned like an inferno.


He could expect betrayal from enemies.


He could expect schemes from rival nobles.


He could even expect false accusations.


But the King?


Ragnar himself?


The man he had served faithfully for decades?


The man whose life he had saved countless times on the battlefield?


Even the King no longer trusted him.


That realization cut deeper than any blade.


For a brief moment, Valen felt something crack inside him.


Not his loyalty.


Not yet.


But the certainty he had carried for years.


The certainty that his King would always stand beside him.


He folded the letter without a word.


Silence followed.


Heavy.


Painful.


Unbearable.




Julius watched everything.


He saw the letter.


He saw his father's eyes.


And for the first time, he understood.


This was not merely politics.


This was betrayal.


A burning anger rose inside him.


Stronger than anything he had ever felt before.


He wanted answers.


He wanted to march to the Royal Capital.


He wanted to stand before King Ragnar and demand an explanation face to face.


Why?


Why would the King do this?


Why would he doubt the man who had protected Titania for so many years?


But Julius was only a child.


Too small.


Too powerless.


Too insignificant.


The realization made his fists tremble.




Then suddenly


"Lady Elysia!"


A servant cried out.


Julius turned.


His mother swayed where she stood.


Her face had gone pale.


The shock had been too much.


Before anyone could react, Elysia collapsed.


"Mother!"


Julius rushed forward immediately.


Fear replaced his anger.


For a moment.


Only a moment.


Servants gathered around her.


Knights moved to help.


Valen stepped forward at once.


Yet Julius could barely hear them.


Because something else was happening.




Crack.


A strange sound echoed inside him.


Not outside.


Inside.


Another crack followed.


Then another.


The burning sensation returned.


Far stronger than before.


Heat spread through his chest.


Through his veins.


Through his entire body.


Pain exploded from deep within.


Julius gasped.


His vision blurred.


The world spun around him.


The anger.


The helplessness.


The grief.


Everything mixed together.


And the cracks inside him grew larger.




"Julius?"


Someone called his name.


Distantly.


As though from far away.


The burning became unbearable.


His knees gave out.


Darkness swallowed his vision.


And before anyone could catch him


Julius fainted too.




Far away in the capital, Cassian Voss raised a glass.


The first victory belonged to him.


Not the last.


Merely the first.


And as the Black Fox stared toward the distant horizon, he smiled.


Because after decades of waiting…


Valen Drakhar was finally falling.