Journey to Become the Zenith

The Man Behind the Silence

”Damn this idiot! Always causing trouble!” Shawn’s voice was low, but the anger in it was anything but quiet. His jaw was tight, the muscle along it visibly flexing as he rode forward, his grip on the reins just a little too firm. The wind brushed past his face as his men followed closely behind, the rhythmic pounding of hooves echoing against the road that led toward the southern exit.

Behind him, tied securely across the saddle, Albion’s unconscious body swayed slightly with the movement of the horse. Even now, even after everything, Shawn’s eyes flickered back once—just once—before returning forward.

There was frustration there.

And something heavier beneath it.

You never know when to stop...

He exhaled slowly, forcing his thoughts into order. This wasn’t the time to dwell on his brother’s recklessness. There were still responsibilities—things that needed his attention.

The southern exit came into view.

And the moment he saw it—

Shawn’s expression changed.

His horse slowed instinctively as his sharp gaze took in the scene before him.

Bodies.

Everywhere.

His men.

—

They were sprawled across the ground, unmoving.

Not just a few.

All of them.

The twenty men he had stationed here—

Down.

And not just them.

His eyes narrowed further as he scanned the area.

His second-in-command.

The squad assigned to the northern exit.

Even the men he had dispatched to gather intelligence on Victor—

All of them—

Were here.

All of them—

On the ground.

Still.

—

For a brief moment, even the wind seemed to die.

”What... happened here...?” one of the knights whispered under his breath, unable to hide the disbelief creeping into his voice.

Shawn didn’t answer.

He was already moving.

He dismounted in one clean motion, boots hitting the ground with a muted thud. The rest of his men followed immediately, tension snapping through their movements as they rushed forward.

”Check them,” Shawn ordered, his voice calm—but sharp.

No panic.

No hesitation.

Just command.

They moved quickly, kneeling beside the fallen knights, turning them over, checking their breathing, their pulse.

Seconds passed.

Then—

”Commander... they’re alive.”

Another voice followed.

”Unconscious only... no fatal wounds.”

Shawn crouched beside one of them himself, placing two fingers lightly against the man’s neck.

A steady pulse.

Breathing stable.

He shifted his gaze slightly, studying the position of the body, the way the armor sat, the faint marks—

Then another.

And another.

His eyes sharpened.

Clean.

Too clean.

There were no signs of struggle. No scattered weapons. No chaotic disruption.

Each man had gone down—

Almost exactly where they stood.

”One strike...” someone muttered, barely believing it.

Shawn didn’t respond.

But he had already reached the same conclusion.

One strike each.

Whoever did this—

Didn’t just defeat them.

They controlled the fight.

Completely.

—

A quiet unease settled over the group.

Even the more experienced knights felt it.

This wasn’t normal.

This wasn’t something you brushed off.

—

As they continued checking for any irregularities, one of the knights paused.

”Commander... there’s something here.”

Shawn looked up.

The man held out a folded piece of paper, carefully pulled from between the plates of a fallen knight’s armor.

”A letter.”

Shawn took it without a word.

The paper felt ordinary.

But the intent behind it—

Wasn’t.

He unfolded it.

His eyes moved across the contents.

—

For a brief moment—

Nothing.

—

Then—

A flicker.

Surprise.

Genuine.

It passed through his eyes before fading into something else.

Something sharper.

Something more knowing.

—

A slow, wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Not amusement.

Recognition.

—

Then—

His gaze shifted.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Toward Albion’s unconscious form behind his horse.

And just like that—

The smile disappeared.

Replaced by a cold, steady glare.

—

The contents of the letter were.

”Hey, Knight commander Shawn here are your men, be grateful I didn’t kill them. If you were like your brother these men of yours would be dead, but since it seems like you have a brain of sorts I left them alive. They fail to be good sparring partners to test out my new skills, except for that lieutenant of yours he was pretty good.

Victor

[If you want to know more about me, no need to be indirect just head to the bar of the adventurers guild. I’ll be staying there for the next two days.”]

-

Silence.

The wind returned, brushing against the paper in Shawn’s hand, but he didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Victor...

He folded the letter slowly.

Carefully.

Not out of caution.

But thought.

He looked back at the fallen men again.

Then at the positioning.

Then at the road.

His mind worked through it all.

No panic. No resistance. No deaths.

A message.

Clear.

Intentional.

Not a slaughter.

A warning.

”Commander...?” one of the knights asked quietly.

Shawn exhaled.

A long, controlled breath.

Then—

He sighed.

Once.

Then again.

The frustration returned—but this time, it wasn’t sharp.

It was tired.

He rubbed the back of his neck briefly before lowering his hand.

”This... is troublesome,” he said quietly.

Not fear.

Not anger.

Just truth.

He wasn’t sure how strong Victor truly was.

But this—

This wasn’t something ordinary.

To take down trained knights—his knights—this cleanly...

To even drop his lieutenant in one or two exchanges...

That wasn’t coincidence.

That was skill.

Refined.

Measured.

Dangerous.

At least my level...

Then a second thought followed.

Or higher.

That realization didn’t sit lightly.

Especially now.

Especially when everything in the kingdom was already unstable.

The conflict between factions...

The growing tension...

The shifting power.

He didn’t need another variable.

Not one like this.

Shawn glanced once more at Albion.

Still unconscious.

Still breathing.

Still alive—

Because someone else had chosen not to kill.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

If it had been anyone else...

He didn’t finish that thought.

He didn’t need to.

Another quiet sigh escaped him.

This time heavier.

More resigned.

”This isn’t someone I want to deal with right now...” he murmured, almost to himself.

One of the men nearby hesitated before asking, ”What do we do, Commander?”

Shawn folded the letter fully and tucked it away.

His gaze steadied.

The hesitation was gone.

Replaced with decision.

”We don’t provoke him,” he said calmly.

A beat.

Then—

”I’ll meet him.”

The men exchanged brief looks but didn’t question it.

They trusted him.

Shawn turned slightly, his cloak shifting with the motion as the wind caught it.

”The adventurers guild,” he continued. ”He made it clear.”

A faint pause.

His tone dropped just a little.

Thoughtful.

”If he wanted us dead... we would be.”

That truth settled heavily among them.

No one argued.

No one denied it.

Shawn stepped back toward his horse, his expression returning to its usual composed state.

But his mind—

Was anything but still.

Victor...

A man who could defeat his forces effortlessly.

A man who chose restraint.

A man who left a message instead of bodies.

And a man—

Now connected to Videl.

”...Let’s see what kind of person you really are,” Shawn muttered under his breath as he mounted his horse once more.

Because one thing was certain.

This meeting—

Would matter.

A lot.

Sepchel then decided to try and talk to Ren, and see if there family’s relationship with him could soften.