Chapter 301: The Second Lionheart Alliance
Bosk Duchy, Stravburg, Lion’s Hall.
The Northern Nobles had gathered once more—seated along either side of an opulent long table, arranged by noble rank and power. At the head of the table, without question, sat the convenor of this assembly: the honorary monarch of the Northern Union Kingdom, and current ruler of the Bosk Family—Duke Leo Bosk.
Yet the atmosphere in the hall was grave. This was no festive banquet of merriment and song. It was a meeting of dire consequence—deciding the fate of the Northern Regions, and indeed, all of Anzeta. Its importance surpassed even the legendary Lionheart Alliance of forty years prior.
Finally, Duke Leo’s voice rang out like a heavy bell, shattering the silence.
“Gentlemen. Since no one else seems willing to speak, I shall say it plainly.”
“The Northern Regions stand at the precipice of extinction. Our thousand-year legacy, the Scandian heritage, may end here. And the root of this doom—the true villain—is that greedy Red Dragon, and his wicked realm!”
His words struck like an iron hammer, landing with crushing weight upon every heart in the room.
A murmur swept through the hall. The nobles exchanged glances—faces etched with disbelief, suspicion, fear. Some whispered behind hands.
Most had suspected the purpose of this gathering. But none had expected such fury in Duke Leo’s tone—so fierce, so unyielding, as if he were prepared to risk everything: wealth, status, even to ignite a war of unprecedented scale.
“Your Grace,” said one, “you speak too harshly.”
“Yes,” another chimed in. “The Red Dragon has done nothing for five years. We can still pacify him. We should strive for lasting peace.”
“Now is not the right moment.”
“The Kingdom of Ashen is too powerful, too wealthy. We need more time to prepare.”
After a brief pause, voices of caution rose in chorus.
Duke Leo slowly rose to his feet. His gaze, piercing and deliberate, swept across every noble present. His thick, grizzled white beard gave him the air of an ancient, cunning lion—radiating an oppressive weight that pressed down on the entire hall.
When silence returned, he spoke, each word measured and sharp:
“I know some among you have accepted gold from the Kingdom of Ashen—filthy, corrupt coins. You’ve become their puppets, their tools in exploiting Scandia. Worse still, you’ve willingly served as dogs to that Red Dragon.”
He paused. His eyes narrowed, like blades scanning the room.
A few nobles froze. Their breaths caught. Sweat broke out across their foreheads.
Without a word, Duke Leo gave a subtle signal.
Instantly, soldiers—fully armed, perfectly prepared—charged forward. They seized several nobles unawares, dragging them from their seats.
“Wait! Don’t touch me! I’m a Baron!”
“Duke, it wasn’t me!”
“We had no collaboration with the Kingdom of Ashen!”
“This is a naked lie! You’re listening to slander!”
“Not just us! The House Alle did it too! They’re the ones who smeared us!”
Panic erupted. The trapped nobles screamed, pleaded for mercy, even tried to expose others. But in response, soldiers clamped cloth over their mouths, dragging them out into the corridor.
Clang.
The sound of the guillotine’s blade falling echoed through the halls.
These men were not the most deeply entangled with the Kingdom of Ashen. Their noble ranks were modest—only one, a Baron from the Duchy of Phano, held any real stature.
Duke Leo’s strategy was clear. In the tongue of the Kingdom of Ashen, this was “Punishing one to warn the many.” A brutal example, meant to instill fear—so that no other noble would dare collaborate with the enemy.
And across the Northern realms, every duchy had already selected its own scapegoats—shifting blame onto them, allowing those with lesser guilt to save face. Duke Leo had already spoken with the most powerful dukes. They had tacitly approved.
This was no mere personal vendetta. It was the result of a long, simmering struggle among powers.
Silence returned—so thick, so absolute, that one could hear a pin drop.
Duke Leo stood unmoved. The weight of three lives lay behind him, and yet he exuded a commanding presence—calm, resolute, utterly fearless. Even minor nobles trembled in their seats.
They remembered now: the man known as the “Northland Lion” had once subdued the rival dukes single-handedly, resurrecting the dormant Bosk Duchy as the true leader of the North. Though he had long remained hidden in the shadows, his past glory was no myth. He was, without question, a genuine force.
“As monarch of the Northern Union Kingdom,” he said, voice low but firm, “though it pains me deeply, I must eradicate these vermin.”
“Let this serve as a warning.”
He shifted tone, continuing:
“Perhaps others have made the same mistake. But with the enemy at our gates, I am willing to forgive past errors. You may have only sought minor favors—little bribes—forgetting the great peril that lies beneath. But remember: this is not a noble. It is a greedy, brutal Red Dragon.”
“Do any of you still remember the Lakanman Family?”
“Regardless of what they did, they were once vital to our noble order. Their ancestors fought for the Northern Union Kingdom, earning their noble bloodline through blood and valor. That status is undeniable—our shared truth.”
“But where are they now?”
“Extinct. Wiped out. By that Red Dragon.”
“The Kingdom of Ashen? I won’t even call it a nation. It is a cursed ‘Monster’. A creature that pulses with a terrifying, blood-soaked ideology. It will impose a tyranny so merciless, so absolute, it will reshape the world.”
“It does not care for noble blood, for lineage, for heritage. It only desires power—power at any cost. It will massacre nobles without mercy. It will let peasants trample us beneath their feet. It will consume us—our lives, our strength—as nourishment for its own growth. This… is the nightmare of every Northern noble.”
“For years, I have stood alone in opposing the Kingdom of Ashen. Denial? Useless. Ignoring the danger? Useless. Appeasement? Meaningless. Now, action is required. The longer we delay, the harder it becomes. The greater the threat grows.”
“Do not let short-term gains blind your eyes. If you do, the fate of the Lakanman Family will be your own. The thousand-year rule of the Northern Nobles will be completely terminated.”
His speech reached its peak. Duke Leo poured every ounce of his being into it—his beard trembling, every strand of hair shaking with passion.
And in that majestic, grand Lion’s Hall, whether driven by necessity or moved by his words, the nobles erupted into thunderous applause—long, loud, and resounding—echoing the spirit of the great Lionheart Alliance of four decades past.
(End of Chapter)
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