Noble's Disappointment

The grand hall of Baron Elric Vauhan's mansion, adorned with tapestries and glittering chandeliers, had a suffocating atmosphere that even its opulence couldn't dispel. The Alliance of Blood and Coin gathered once again, their clandestine meetings always heavy with conspiracy. Tonight, however, frustration simmered like a cauldron ready to boil over.

Baron Elric, seated at the head of the long table, glared at the reports spread before him. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest of his chair, betraying his irritation. Around him, the other nobles murmured their discontent.

Viscount Reynard Celdain leaned back in his chair, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Adrian Falter survives yet again. I must admit, the boy is persistent. More so than any of us anticipated."

Lord Tiberius Grath, his burly frame looming as he leaned forward, slammed a fist onto the table. "Persistent? The mission was crafted to kill him! It was supposed to be foolproof. Dravokh alone should have ensured his demise."

Countess Marlisse Aylen sipped her wine with a languid grace, her piercing green eyes glinting with disdain. "And yet, here we are. Your so-called foolproof plan has failed, Tiberius. Again."

Elric scowled, his voice cutting through the bickering. "Enough. Dravokh was supposed to eliminate not just Adrian but Mohan's entire team. Tell me, Reynard, how did he survive?"

Reynard shrugged, his composure unshaken. "The reports are clear. Dravokh underestimated the boy. Adrian's team fought harder and smarter than expected. A rare occurrence, but not an impossible one."

"Rare? Impossible?" Tiberius growled. "It's unacceptable! Every time we strike, that whelp defies the odds. He's more than just a soldier—he's a threat to everything we stand for."

Marlisse placed her goblet down with a deliberate clink. "Tiberius is right, though I hate to admit it. Adrian Falter is not just a knight. He's a symbol—a commoner rising to greatness, a slap in the face to our traditions. As long as he lives, the emperor's narrative of merit over birthright will gain traction."

Reynard raised a hand, his expression calm but calculating. "Which is exactly why we need to be patient. This setback isn't the end. It's a minor inconvenience."

Elric arched an eyebrow. "Patience? You ask for patience while the emperor parades that boy around as his shining example?"

"Exactly," Reynard said, leaning forward. "Adrian is no fool. He's bound by duty and loyalty—virtues we can exploit. Send him into increasingly dangerous missions. Let him fight harder, bleed more, and break under the weight of his own ideals. The more he succeeds, the greater the risks he'll take. And when he finally falls, it won't just be his body—it'll be the spirit of everyone who believed in him."

The room fell silent as the nobles considered Reynard's words. Marlisse's lips curved into a sly smile. "I see your point. Chipping away at his resolve is far more effective than another overt assassination attempt."

Tiberius remained unconvinced, crossing his arms. "And what if he doesn't break? What if he thrives under the pressure? Then what?"

Reynard's smirk faded, replaced by a colder expression. "If he survives everything we throw at him, then we'll deal with him directly. By that point, even the emperor won't be able to deny the 'coincidences' surrounding his downfall."

Elric leaned back in his chair, the shadows of the chandelier flickering over his face. "A slow, calculated erosion of his strength and spirit… it's risky, but it may be our best option. Very well, Reynard. You'll take point on this. But make no mistake—if you fail again, the consequences will be yours alone."

Reynard inclined his head, his smile returning. "Of course, Baron. Trust me—Adrian Falter will crumble. It's only a matter of time."

* * *

While the Alliance schemed, Adrian stood under the night sky in Arvendale, the distant hum of crickets filling the air. His sword rested against a training post, the blade dulled from hours of practice. The battle at Eralith Ruins still weighed heavily on his mind.

"Couldn't sleep?" a voice called out behind him.

Adrian turned to see Lucas approaching, his twin blades strapped to his back. The archer's usual smirk was softer tonight, his gaze thoughtful.

"Not really," Adrian admitted, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Every time I close my eyes, I see Dravokh. I think about how close we came to losing."

Lucas leaned against the post, his arms crossed. "Close, sure. But we didn't. We survived. That counts for something."

Adrian sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's not just about survival, Lucas. Dravokh isn't the end. He's just one piece of a much larger threat. If we can barely hold our own against him, how are we supposed to face what's coming next?"

Lucas was quiet for a moment before placing a hand on Adrian's shoulder. "You're carrying too much, you know that? You're not in this alone. You've got me, Mohan, Kiera, Kael, Seraphina—we're a team. And teams fight together. Stop trying to take it all on yourself."

Adrian met his gaze, a flicker of gratitude softening his expression. "Thanks, Lucas. I needed that."

* * *

Far from Arvendale, in the shadowy depths of the Alliance's plans, preparations were already underway. Letters were dispatched to military commanders, missions carefully tailored to push Adrian and his team to their limits. Every decision was calculated, every move designed to bring him closer to breaking.

At the same time, rumors began to spread—whispers of Adrian Falter's victories against impossible odds. Among the common folk, he was hailed as a hero, a beacon of hope in dark times. But in the courts of the nobility, his name became a point of contention, a symbol of the emperor's defiance against tradition.

* * *

Back in Arvendale, Adrian returned to the barracks, the weight on his shoulders lighter thanks to Lucas's words. He found Seraphina and Kiera sitting by the hearth, their quiet conversation pausing as he entered.

"Adrian," Seraphina greeted, her voice gentle. "Are you all right?"

He nodded, pulling up a chair. "I'm getting there. Just… thinking about what's next."

Kiera tilted her head, her soft green eyes studying him. "What's next is we rest. We recover. We prepare. That's all we can do."

Adrian smiled faintly. "You're right. We'll be ready for whatever comes."

As the fire crackled in the hearth, the team sat together, their bond unspoken but undeniable. Though the shadows of resentment and conspiracy loomed over them, they remained steadfast, united by a shared purpose.

For Adrian Falter, the path ahead was uncertain, but his resolve burned brighter than ever. The world might conspire against him, but he would not falter. Not for the empire. Not for his comrades. Not for the hope that drove him forward.