The silence inside the royal council chamber was suddenly broken.
The double doors of the chamber opened with a loud creak. A royal guard, wearing the King’s golden lion crest on his chest plate, rushed into the room. He looked incredibly pale and stressed.
The guard walked quickly to the center of the room. He went down on one knee right in front of the King’s round table and bowed his head deeply.
"Your Majesty," the guard spoke. His voice echoed slightly in the large, quiet room. "I bring terrible news from the deep cells."
King Leonel sat up straighter in his chair. He gripped the edges of the wooden table tightly. "Speak," the King ordered firmly.
The guard swallowed hard. "Your Majesty, the prisoner... the stranger who carried the iron weapon... is dead."
A large collection of gasps echoed imdiately around the room. The older lords shifted nervously in their comfortable seats. The military generals frowned deeply, exchanging dark, worried glances.
Damon sat still. His eyes narrowed sharply.
"Dead?" Damon thought to himself, his mind calculating the situation instantly. "A prisoner does not just die randomly while chained in the royal cells. The King said the torturers were working on him. Did he die from his injuries? Or did soone silence him permanently to protect the secret of this terrifying new weapon?"
King Leonel closed his eyes. The dark circles under his eyes looked even heavier now. He looked like a man carrying the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.
The King nodded his head slowly. He gestured with his hand for the guard to leave.
"You may go," the King said quietly.
The guard quickly stood up, bowed again, and hurried out of the council chamber, closing the doors behind him.
The King let out a very long sigh. The sound was full of deep frustration and defeat. He opened his tired eyes and looked down at the strange iron pipe resting on the dirty canvas on the table.
"Our only lead is dead," the King announced bitterly. He rubbed his forehead with his hand. "We have the weapon, but we have absolutely no one to question. We do not know how to make the black dust, and we do not know who is manufacturing these tal pipes and their purpose."
The King slowly raised his head. His eyes swept across the faces of the n seated. His expression turned from tired to incredibly fierce and commanding.
"We must lock the kingdom down," King Leonel stated with absolute authority. He looked directly at the military generals seated around the table.
"I want every single border to be heavily guarded," the King commanded strictly. "Increase the patrols by tenfold. Place extra archers on the watchtowers. I want soldiers checking every wagon, every rchant cart, and every traveler. Everyone requesting entry or exit from this kingdom must require a stamped royal pass."
Damon nodded his head in silent agreent. It was a logical, necessary move. If there were more spies carrying these explosive iron pipes, they needed to be stopped at the borders before they could enter the cities.
King Leonel turned his sharp gaze to a fat, older man sitting near the end of the table. It was Lord Belton, the minister in charge of the people’s affairs and the city taxes.
"Lord Belton," the King ordered firmly.
The fat minister quickly sat up straight. "Yes, Your Majesty?"
"Issue a pass to every single family living within our walls," the King instructed clearly, outlining a massive administrative task. "Every family who has paid their yearly taxes must receive a stamped identification paper. This will allow our city guards to identify our own people instantly from foreign outsiders and hidden spies."
Lord Belton nodded rapidly, pulling a small notebook from his coat to write the order down. "It will be done, Your Majesty. I will set the clerks to work imdiately."
The King paused. He looked around the room, making sure every single lord and general understood his next words perfectly.
"And," the King said, his voice dropping into a deadly, serious warning. "Do not let this information slip out to the public."
He pointed a finger directly at the strange weapon on the table.
"No one outside this room is to know about the existence of this weapon," the King stated firmly. "No one is to know how Captain Darius truly died. Tell the public he was killed by a stray bandit arrow. I don’t want public unrest. If the common people learn that their thickest steel armor is completely useless against a simple tal pipe, there will be absolute panic in the streets. Keep this a strict royal secret."
"Yes, Your Majesty," the council mbers replied in unison, bowing their heads respectfully.
King Leonel slowly stood up from his chair.
Imdiately, everyone else in the room stood up with him. The scraping sound of chairs hitting the stone floor echoed loudly.
"As you wish, your majesty," the lords and generals said together, offering a final, deep bow.
"This eting is over," the King announced.
He turned around and walked out through a private side door, taking the strange weapon and the dirty canvas with him, protected by four heavily armored royal guards.
The main double doors were opened by the guards. The lords and generals began to file out of the chamber, whispering quietly to each other about the new border controls and the mysterious death of the prisoner.
Damon walked out of the chamber with long, steady strides. His mind was fully occupied with the new military tasks ahead of him. He needed to organize his troops and secure the northern paths imdiately.
Kade, holding the leather bag filled with army reports, followed closely behind Damon as they walked down the bright, quiet corridors of the royal palace.
They finally reached the massive front entrance of the palace. They walked down the wide marble stairs, stepping out into the bright, warm afternoon sunlight of the main courtyard.
As Damon walked toward his waiting carriage, he heard a high-pitched, sweet voice call out to him.
"My Lord!"
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