The alarm bell continued to ring across House Sternroar.
Its heavy toll echoed through every corridor, dragging servants from their beds and sending armored knights rushing toward the estate walls. Lamps flared to life throughout the manor as commands were shouted from every direction.
Ragnar had never seen the manor so alive.
Or so afraid.
Edwin calmly closed the ancient journal before placing it back onto the shelf.
"We're leaving."
He didn't wait for an answer.
The old butler moved through the halls with surprising speed, Ragnar struggling to keep pace behind him. Servants hurried past carrying buckets of water, while others escorted children and elderly workers toward the underground shelters.
Every face wore the same expression.
Fear.
As they reached the front courtyard, the source of the panic became clear.
The eastern watchtower was burning.
Black smoke billowed into the night sky, illuminated by bright orange flames that consumed its wooden upper floors. Knights shouted orders as archers climbed the walls, loosing arrows into the darkness beyond the estate.
Yet...
Nothing answered.
The enemy remained unseen.
Lord Alaric stood at the center of the courtyard already dressed in black battle armor trimmed with silver. A crimson cape rested upon his shoulders, and unlike the gentle noble Ragnar had come to know, his expression was cold.
Calculating.
This was the man who had defended the western frontier for decades.
"What happened?" Ragnar asked.
"A patrol is dead."
Alaric didn't look away from the burning tower.
"No survivors."
Another knight hurried toward him before dropping to one knee.
"My lord."
"Report."
"We found no bodies beyond the wall."
Alaric frowned.
"No attackers?"
"None."
Only silence followed.
The lord's eyes slowly narrowed.
"They're already inside."
The words had barely left his mouth when a scream echoed from the western gardens.
Steel clashed against steel.
Then another scream.
This one ended abruptly.
"Guards!"
A knight pointed toward the darkness between the trees.
"They're here!"
Figures clothed in black erupted from the shadows like ghosts.
Each wore a long cloak embroidered with the image of a raven. Silver masks concealed their faces, reflecting the firelight as they moved with terrifying precision.
There were only eight of them.
Eight...
Against nearly a hundred Sternroar knights.
Yet none of the attackers hesitated.
The first Raven slipped beneath a soldier's sword before driving twin daggers into the man's armor. Another vaulted over a fountain, landing behind two guards before striking them both unconscious with the hilt of his blade.
No wasted movement.
No shouting.
Only perfect coordination.
"They're not trying to kill everyone," Edwin observed.
"They're looking for someone."
Ragnar felt a chill run through him.
"Me."
Cedric arrived moments later wearing light armor over a dark tunic. His sword was already stained with blood.
"They broke through the eastern wall."
"How many?" Alaric asked.
"I counted eight."
Alaric nodded slowly.
"Just as I thought."
Cedric looked confused.
"You know them?"
"The Ravens."
The lord's voice remained calm.
"Grayvale's personal assassins."
Even Edwin's expression hardened.
"I haven't seen them in twenty years."
Cedric tightened his grip on his sword.
"Why send only eight?"
"Because..."
Alaric drew his blade.
"...eight is all they need."
Without warning...
A crossbow bolt shot from the darkness.
It flew directly toward Ragnar.
Time seemed to slow.
Ragnar never even saw the shooter.
A flash of silver.
Cedric stepped between them.
The bolt buried itself deep into his shoulder.
Cedric staggered but remained standing.
"Move!"
He shoved Ragnar aside just as three masked figures burst through the smoke.
Their swords gleamed beneath the moonlight.
The battle exploded.
Steel rang through the courtyard.
Knights surrounded the assassins, yet every Raven fought as though they had memorized the movements of every opponent.
Ragnar watched in disbelief.
These weren't ordinary killers.
They were professionals.
One Raven suddenly turned toward him.
The assassin lowered his sword.
Instead...
He raised an empty hand.
A strange black mist began flowing from beneath his cloak.
Blood.
Dark blood.
It twisted through the air before hardening into dozens of razor-sharp needles.
Ragnar's eyes widened.
"Blood Arts..."
The needles shot toward him.
Instinct took over.
Pain surged through Ragnar's hand.
Crimson blood burst from his fingertips, swirling together into a broad shield just as the attack struck.
The impact sent him sliding backward across the stone.
The shield shattered.
But it had held.
The assassin tilted his head.
Interested.
Not impressed.
"You've improved."
The quiet voice came from behind the Raven.
Elara.
She stood upon the manor steps, a slender silver rapier in her hand.
The assassin turned.
Too late.
Her blade flashed.
The Raven barely managed to block the strike, but the force pushed him several steps backward.
Ragnar stared.
"You can fight?"
Without taking her eyes off the assassin, Elara answered.
"I'm a Sternroar."
The duel that followed was unlike anything Ragnar had ever witnessed.
Elara wasn't stronger.
She was faster.
Every movement flowed into the next with graceful precision. Her sword never clashed directly with the Raven's weapon. Instead, she redirected every attack, forcing her opponent farther away from Ragnar.
Cedric laughed despite the pain in his shoulder.
"Told you."
"Never underestimate my sister."
Across the battlefield, Lord Alaric had already defeated two Ravens.
Neither moved again.
He stood silently in the center of the courtyard, his blade dripping onto the stone.
The remaining assassins slowly withdrew.
One by one.
Without panic.
Without fear.
Their leader stepped forward.
Unlike the others, his silver mask was marked by a crimson line running across one eye.
He looked directly at Ragnar.
Then at Alaric.
Finally, he spoke.
"The Blood has awakened."
His voice was calm.
"Our master sends his regards."
Alaric raised his sword.
"Tell Thorne that if he wants the boy..."
His eyes grew cold.
"...he can come himself."
The Raven chuckled.
"He will."
The assassins threw small black spheres onto the ground.
Smoke erupted across the courtyard.
By the time it cleared...
They were gone.
Every one of them.
Only silence remained.
The fires were extinguished before dawn.
Eight Sternroar knights had fallen.
Fifteen more were wounded.
Cedric's injury was treated, though the physician warned he would not train for several weeks.
As the first rays of sunlight broke across the estate, Ragnar stood alone near the ruined eastern wall.
He stared into the forest where the Ravens had disappeared.
"They'll come again."
Lord Alaric joined him.
"Yes."
"They almost took me."
"They weren't trying to."
Ragnar looked at him.
"What?"
Alaric folded his hands behind his back.
"If Lord Thorne wanted you dead..."
"...you would've died tonight."
Ragnar's heart sank.
"Then why attack?"
Alaric's expression grew grim.
"To measure you."
The realization struck Ragnar like a blade.
Everything...
The attack.
The fight.
Even Cedric's wound.
It had all been a test.
Far beyond the borders of House Sternroar, Lord Thorne Grayvale stood atop the highest balcony of Grayvale Castle, watching the sunrise paint the distant mountains in shades of crimson.
The leader of the Ravens knelt behind him.
"My lord."
"Your report."
"The boy survived."
"I expected as much."
"He manifested his Blood Art under pressure."
Thorne smiled faintly.
"And?"
The Raven hesitated.
"He protected others before himself."
For the first time, Lord Thorne's smile disappeared.
He closed his eyes.
"So..."
"He truly is different."
The Raven looked up.
"Shall we proceed with the second phase?"
Thorne remained silent for a long moment.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried neither hatred nor satisfaction.
Only certainty.
"Invite him."
The Raven frowned.
"Invite... him?"
"Yes."
"To the Royal Academy."
He turned toward the rising sun.
"The game cannot begin..."
"...until every piece is on the board."