CHAPTER 421: THE WAR OF THE SILVERSTONES

The corridor ahead was not empty.

A lone figure stood in the half-light of a wall sconce — tall, armored, and utterly still. The torchlight caught on the curve of his helm, glinting off the narrow slit where his eyes watched them.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Asael’s hand slid silently to the hilt of his sword. Galahad’s eyes flicked to the man’s shoulders — relaxed, but not unready.

Then the figure spoke, his voice low and gruff. "You’re not supposed to be here."

Steel hissed softly as Asael drew his sword. "Neither are you."

The man tilted his head, as if amused. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he stepped forward into the torchlight.

The man was not a knight.

He was a Zuran Captain — and from the crimson feather in his helm, not just any captain, but the Warden of the Keep. The man who held the keys to every gate, every cell, every armory in Silverstone Castle.

Behind him, the faint glint of more metal moved in the shadows.

"How many?" Galahad murmured without looking away.

"At least a dozen," Gideon replied, his voice tight. "Maybe more."

The captain smiled faintly — a predator’s smile. "Drop your weapons, and I’ll let you live long enough to explain yourselves."

Asael’s answer came in the form of a blade flashing toward the man’s throat. The torchlight exploded in a storm of movement — steel clashing, boots pounding, shadows breaking apart into men rushing forward with swords raised.

The narrow corridor erupted into chaos.

Steel rang against steel, each clash sharp as lightning in the close air. The first Zuran soldier went down with a cry, his armor clattering against the flagstones, but another surged forward instantly, boots pounding, sword arcing in a deadly gleam. Sparks sprayed against the stone walls as blades met in furious rhythm.

In the narrow corridor, the Eagle Team fought by pair, shoulder-to-shoulder, a tight duo of lethal precision. Every swing, every block, every pivot was to keep the enemy from spilling in around them. They have practiced their moves countless times and have perfected them. Sweat and torch-smoke mingled in the air, the heat of bodies pressing against the cold, damp walls of the corridors.

Somewhere beyond the press of men, in the shifting gap between shadows, Asael saw it — a glint of dull iron swinging at a man’s hip. The captain. The keys to every cell in the dungeon and the keep.

The keys to the hostages.

Then the captain slipped away, retreating deeper into the darkness.

"Asael!" Galahad’s voice cut through the din as he locked blades with an attacker. "He’s getting away!"

Asael’s pulse thundered in his ears. Those keys were more than iron — they were the path to freedom for every prisoner locked in the keep of Silverstone, and it depended on catching that man.

He didn’t hesitate.

Breaking from the group, he lunged into the shadows, the sound of his boots hitting the stone floor echoing on the walls. The corridor was narrowing around him like a closing throat. The flicker of torchlight from behind faded quickly, swallowed by the blackness but he did not mind.

The captain’s footfalls echoed ahead — quick, uneven, but steady. Asael’s breath came hard and fast. He was closing the distance.

And then... the sound of footsteps stopped.

Arrrgh!

The captain crumpled mid-stride, a choked gasp escaping him as he staggered and fell face-first onto the stones. A knife pierced through his chest and jutted from his back, evidence of the force of the throw.

Asael’s grip tightened on his sword, instincts flaring. Whoever could throw with that speed and precision was close — and unseen.

A shape moved from the shadow of an archway, stepping into the faint spill of torchlight from a sconce on the far wall.

"It’s me, Asael," came the voice —deep, steady, achingly familiar. "You came, thank goodness!"

The face emerged — haggard, and weary than when Asael had last seen it, but unmistakable. It was Sigfred, his best friend and the heir to Silverstone.

Relief hit like a punch to the chest. They clasped forearms briefly, the iron bite of the keys cold between them as Sigfred pressed them into Asael’s hand.

"There’s no time," Sigfred said, eyes flashing toward the corridor where Asael had come from. "You know where the Hall Keep is. The hostages are there. We need to head there right away. But the guards won’t give them up without a fight."

"How many guards are there?" Asael asked.

"There are fifty inside. And a hundred surrounding the keep."

"We plan to attack tomorrow, so the rest are coming tomorrow," Asael said while looking back to check on his brothers and his Eagle Team.

"We can’t wait for tomorrow." Sigfred’s voice sounded strained. "The people inside are monsters. They had molested the women they brought last night, women from the Donalton Estate."

Sigfred’s knees seemed to buckle. If not for Asael’s support, he should have slumped to the floor.

"I am scared, Asael. My wife is there. My sisters...and my little girls. Those bastards did not even spare the children of the Donalton." Sigred covered his face with his palms. He was crying.

After knowing where the guards were stationed, the Eagle Team moved.

The keep’s underpassages twisted and dipped, damp stone underfoot, the air thick with the tang of rust and stale water. They emerged behind a rockery near the gate of the keep.

Twice, they ducked into alcoves to avoid patrols. Once, two Zuran guards rounded the corner too quickly — Asael and Galahad’s daggers silenced them, and before their bodies could hit the floor, they were dragged and hidden under a shrubbery.

At last, they reached the iron-banded doors — the entrance to the keep. Ten guards stood watch. Asael didn’t slow — his blade flashed in the torchlight, cutting one down while the rest of the Eagle’s Team knives found someone’s throat.

Five of the Eagle Team changed into the guard’s uniform. They needed to exercise caution so as not to deliberately announce their presence.

The keys rattled as Asael found the right one. The lock groaned, then gave with a heavy click.

There was quite a distance from the gate to the Hall Keep, and soldiers were patrolling near the main entrance.

But Asael and the Eagle Team were experts in reconnaissance. Soon, they reached the keep without any problem.

They froze when they heard screams of women and children begging for mercy. Sigred lost control and was about to storm in when Asael held him.

"Don’t be reckless. You will do more harm if you don’t keep your cool." Asael spoke calmly as he restrained Sigfred.

"They are doing it again. Molesting the women."

"Let’s go through the secret passage and take those bastards at the same time."

Sigfred stilled. ’Yes, the secret passage. Why did he not think about that?’