Ernest arrived at the military camp at dawn the next day. He had used half a day the previous day to organize the handover.
The iron gates stood open, yet the air within felt heavier than stone. Word had already spread—swift and rciless, carried by ssengers and sharpened by rumor. By the ti he dismounted, the camp no longer greeted him as a general in command, but as a man being stripped of it.
Rows of soldiers straightened instinctively at his presence. Discipline remained, but lingering beneath it were unease, resentnt, and confusion.
The commanders were waiting.
Those who had marched beside Ernest through blood and fire lowered their heads in silent respect. In their hearts, curses were already being whispered against the king who so easily discarded loyalty earned on the battlefield. Ernest had won victories others only boasted of. To suspend him now, over sothing so trivial, was unjust.
Edward values pride more than steel, so thought bitterly. Those who had been privileged enough to understand the entire situation felt it was not worth it for Ernest to risk his career over so woman. Why stand against the king?
Others simply blad Anastasia for bringing bad luck upon the general.
To them, the timing was too cruel to be coincidence. Ever since she entered his life, misfortune had followed him like a shadow.
And then there were those who watched with poorly hidden satisfaction.
n who had long stood in Ernest’s shadow. n who smiled too quickly, whose bows bent just a fraction too shallow. To them, this was not a loss—it was an opening.
"The great General Ernest," one murmured under his breath, just loud enough to be heard. "Even iron breaks eventually."
A few around him chuckled quietly.
Ernest ignored them all.
He walked forward with the sa asured stride he had used when accepting his first command, his cloak still bearing the marks of campaigns past. He halted before the command table, where maps were laid out—routes he had planned, strategies he had refined.
"This camp has received His Majesty’s decree," he said evenly. "Until the investigation concludes, I relinquish all military authority."
A murmur rippled through the hall.
One of the senior commanders clenched his fists. Another looked as though he might speak—then stopped himself. No one dared voice what burned in their chests. A king who did not value loyalty was not easy to serve.
Ernest removed the seal of command from his belt and placed it upon the table.
The sound it made was quiet.
Final.
"To those who remain," he continued, "you will obey your new chain of command as you have obeyed mine. The enemy does not pause for court disputes. If you falter now, it will not be the king who bleeds—it will be the n under you."
His gaze swept the room, sharp and unwavering.
"Do not let personal feelings cloud duty."
The words struck harder than any rebuke.
The n who respected him felt sha twist in their chests. The n who envied him felt their smiles stiffen. And those who blad Anastasia felt, for a fleeting mont, uncertainty—because this was not the bearing of a man ruined by scandal.
It was the bearing of a general forced aside.
Ernest had said those words fearing the good n among them would do sothing stupid that might affect their future.
As Ernest turned to leave, a young officer stepped forward impulsively, then froze, catching himself just in ti.
"General—" he began, before correcting himself. "Sir."
Ernest paused but did not turn back.
"Hold the line," he said quietly. "That is all." He understood that, given the king’s petty nature, he might act against anyone who stood on his side.
When he left the hall, the camp remained silent long after his footsteps faded.
Only then did the whispers begin.
So cursed the king under their breath.
Those who cursed Anastasia were bolder, having nothing to fear, so their voices were loud.
"To go against His Majesty for a woman’s sake—he was too proud," soone said.
"Indeed, he grew so fast that he forgot who his master is," another comnted.
Many nodded in agreent. "Perhaps with this setback, he will learn."
A few n who had long lived in Ernest’s shadow smiled, believing his fall ant their own rise.
King Edward in the palace also received the news as soon as Ernest left the camp. He was not clueless about his actions, so he had sent people over the previous day. He was ready to use strict military rules should anyone dare to act out of line, but to his surprise, everything had gone smoothly.
Ernest did not even dare cause trouble; instead, he reminded the soldiers to remain loyal.
"Just a dog I raised, and he dares to act arrogant," Edward comnted. Ever since Ernest dared to marry Anastasia, a woman he wanted to destroy, he had always planned to deal with him. He had finally found the best outlet.
"Your Majesty, do you not feel everything happened too smoothly?" Walter voiced his concern. After all, given Ernest’s years of service, it was strange not to hear voices of dissatisfaction. The soldiers were usually a bit rebellious when it ca to such matters.
Edward paused, then shook his head. "Ernest is a loyal man. He has only focused on training and does not keep very close relationships with anyone." Having fought side by side with Ernest, he felt he understood him.
"Your Majesty is wise," Walter bowed. Although he said this, he still felt that sothing was wrong.
And as predicted, two weeks later news ca from the second region: Lord Aureline had taken over the entire region and managed to break the encirclent of the royal army.
News of the defeat reached the palace at dawn.
King Edward was still in his study when the report was delivered. By the ti he finished reading, the parchnt was crumpled tightly in his fist.
"Useless!" The word echoed as he swept everything off the table. Ink shattered across the floor, docunts scattered, and the attendants standing by imdiately dropped to their knees, not daring to breathe.
Lord Aureline had broken the encirclent.
Not only that—the entire second region had fallen.
Edward’s chest heaved as anger burned through him. This was not supposed to happen. The royal army had been positioned perfectly, their numbers superior, their supply lines intact. Victory should have been inevitable.
"Summon the war council," he ordered coldly.
Within the hour, the ministers and generals were assembled. The atmosphere was tense, every man aware that the king’s fury had reached its peak.
Edward threw the report onto the council table. "Explain this to ."
Silence.
It was supposed to be an easy battle, to lose it ans that the moral of the soilders would fall and the rebels will be more determined.
Finally, one of the commanders spoke carefully. "Your Majesty, after General Ernest was suspended, his original strategy was set aside. The acting commander deed it too cautious and chose to advance instead."
Edward’s eyes narrowed. "Advance?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. The revised plan aid for a swift decisive strike, believing Lord Aureline to be retreating."
Edward’s fingers tightened.
He rembered Ernest’s maps—layered defenses, staggered advances, controlled pressure ant to bleed the enemy slowly while cutting off escape routes. A net, not a blade.
"Continue," Edward ordered. He did not think that by simply advancing they should lose so badly.
"The enemy anticipated the advance," another official added reluctantly. "The route chosen... it aligned perfectly with Lord Aureline’s prepared positions."
In other words, the new plan had walked straight into a trap.
Edward felt sothing cold settle in his chest.
Further investigation followed, swift and rciless. ssengers were questioned. Orders were reviewed. Maps were unrolled again and again across the table.
The conclusion was undeniable.
Ernest’s plan had been ignored.
Not revised.
Because its architect had been suspended. The acting command saw an opportunity to trivia but failed. It was not that the new plan was leaked it was that the commander had underestimated the enemy.
The realization struck Edward harder than the news of defeat.
For the first ti, doubt crept into his rage—not toward the generals, but toward his own decision. Suspending Ernest had not rely been a political move. It had severed the backbone of the campaign.
And Lord Aureline had known.
The timing was too precise. The enemy had advanced the mont Ernest’s influence was removed, as though they had been waiting for it.
No matter how much the king wanted to deny it, he understood that Ernest reputation was won by his hard work.
"Lord Aureline walked us into his snare," Edward said slowly. "And we stepped in willingly."
No one dared respond.
Edward rose, his expression dark. "Where is the acting commander?"
"He has already requested reinforcent, Your Majesty," soone answered. "But the terrain now favors the enemy. Casualties are mounting."
Edward turned toward the window, staring out at the palace grounds.
He knew of Ernest abilities but he had dismissed all of it, blinded by pride and the need to assert authority. He regretted his actions but he refused to bend.
His jaw clenched.
"Send a new decree," he said at last. "Stabilize the remaining forces. No more reckless advances."
He paused, then added, almost unwillingly, "Retrieve General Ernest’s original battle plans. Implent them where possible."
The council exchanged uneasy glances.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
But even as the orders were issued, Edward knew sothing had already been lost.
Montum.
And worse—trust.
Lord Aureline’s banner now flew high not rely because of cunning, but because the king himself had removed the one man capable of stopping him in ti. But for pride he refused to reinstall Ernest.
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