Soulbound: Dual Cultivation-Chapter 396: Persuading the King

By the time Lucas and Patrick forced their horses through the inner ring of royal guards, both mounts were slick with sweat and breathing hard. The king’s banner snapped above them, and the slow, relentless march of the army pressed forward like a tide that did not know it was heading toward jagged rocks.

Lucas dismounted before he had fully steadied himself and demanded, with restrained urgency, a private audience.

The guards hesitated only a moment before sending word. Within minutes, a tent was raised at the king’s command, its canvas thrown up quickly against the wind as soldiers formed a protective circle around it. The army unaware of the storm gathering in that small enclosure.

Inside, the king stood rigid, hands clasped behind his back.

His face betrayed exhaustion more than anger, but the exhaustion had hardened into something sharp and brittle. When his gaze fell upon Patrick, who had removed his borrowed helm, something dangerous flickered in his eyes.

"You bring him into my presence?" the king asked coldly, voice low but cutting.

Lucas stepped forward. "Your Majesty, we do not have time for distrust. The valley ahead is a trap. The enemy has fortified both ridges. They intend to draw us in and crush us from above. If we advance another mile, we are finished."

Patrick added carefully, "Their leaders will feign retreat. Once your forces commit, archers and heavy infantry descend. They have prepared barricades beneath brush to stall cavalry. It is not a guess. I saw it."

The king did not immediately respond.

Instead, he turned slowly toward Patrick, studying him as though searching for cracks in stone. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

"And why," he asked with deadly calm, "should I believe the word of a man who walks freely among my enemies?"

Patrick met his gaze without flinching. "Because if I wished Valerion destroyed, I would remain silent."

The king’s jaw tightened.

"Or," he countered, "because you have been feeding them our movements and now seek to misdirect us further. Perhaps the valley is a lie. Perhaps the real strike lies elsewhere."

Lucas felt the conversation slipping toward disaster.

"Your Majesty," he said firmly, "I have walked the terrain myself. The land narrows. It is ideal for an ambush. Patrick’s information aligns with what I observed. This is not deception. This is calculation."

The king’s expression darkened further.

In one swift motion, he drew his blade and pointed it at Patrick’s throat.

The sound of steel leaving its sheath sliced through the tent.

"You gamble much, Xavier," the king said quietly. "You ask me to halt my army on the word of a spy whose loyalty has never been proven."

Patrick did not move, though Lucas saw the subtle tightening of his shoulders.

"If he lies," the king continued, "I will carve the truth from him now."

Lucas stepped between them without hesitation.

"You will gain nothing by killing him," Lucas said, his voice controlled but intense. "If he is false, the valley will prove it soon enough. But if he is right and we ignore this, there will be no army left to command."

The king’s eyes flashed. "And how do I know you are not deceived? Or worse?"

The accusation hung heavy.

Lucas felt it, but did not step back.

"Because if I were part of this betrayal," he said steadily, "I would not be here begging you to halt."

Silence filled the tent.

The king slowly lowered his blade, though he did not sheath it. His gaze remained fixed on Patrick, suspicion burning openly now.

"I do not trust him," he said. "I do not trust anyone."

Lucas saw it then. This was not merely strategy. This was fear wrapped in pride. The king felt the ground slipping beneath him, and to stop now would feel like surrendering control.

"If we halt," the king continued, "the soldiers will question why. Morale is already fragile. You ask me to show hesitation on the eve of battle."

"I ask you to show wisdom," Lucas replied quietly.

The king turned away, staring at the tent wall as though he could see the valley beyond it.

"No," he said at last. "We advance."

Lucas felt frustration surge, but he mastered it.

"Your Majesty—"

"I said we advance," the king repeated, sharper now. "If this is a trap, we will break it with strength. Valerion does not cower because of whispers."

The words were final.

Lucas knew pushing further would only entrench him more.

He bowed stiffly, then turned and left the tent before his restraint snapped.

Outside, the light felt harsher.

Tom was waiting nearby, having sensed the urgency in Lucas’s arrival.

"Well?" Tom asked.

Lucas exhaled through clenched teeth. "He refuses."

Tom swore under his breath.

Lucas glanced around quickly, then lowered his voice. "Find Nyx."

Tom blinked. "Princess Nyx?"

"Yes. Now."

Tom did not question further. He moved immediately, weaving through the officers and support ranks to locate her.

Lucas stood still for a moment, staring toward the distant narrowing land.

The king would not yield to generals or spies. Pride barred that path.

But perhaps he would yield to his daughter.

Minutes later, Tom returned with Nyx at his side. She looked anxious, eyes already searching Lucas’s face for answers.

"What happened?" she asked.

Lucas stepped closer to her, his tone gentler than it had been inside the tent.

"There is a trap ahead," he said. "A valley prepared to swallow us. We have proof, but your father refuses to halt. He believes he cannot show doubt."

Nyx’s expression shifted from confusion to alarm.

"He thinks we are being deceived," Lucas continued. "He almost executed Patrick for bringing the warning."

Nyx inhaled sharply.

"He will not listen to me as a commander," Lucas said quietly. "But he may listen to you as his daughter."

She did not hesitate.

"Take me to him," she said at once.

Lucas searched her face. There was fear there, but also resolve.

"You must speak not as a soldier," he advised softly. "Speak as the child who has stood beside him through everything. Remind him what he stands to lose."

Nyx nodded.

"I will," she said.

Without another word, she turned and strode toward the tent.

Lucas watched her go, hoping that blood and love might succeed where logic and loyalty had failed.

Because if she could not move him, then the army behind them would continue its slow march toward a valley that had already decided their fate.

Inside the tent, what began as raised voices slowly softened into something far more fragile.

Nyx did not argue strategy. She did not repeat Lucas’s warnings or Patrick’s observations. Instead, she stepped toward her father and removed the crown from his head with trembling hands, something no one else in the kingdom would ever dare attempt.

"You taught me," she said quietly, her voice breaking not from weakness but from restraint, "that a ruler’s strength is not in refusing to bend, but in knowing when the wind is stronger than the tree."

The king’s expression faltered.

"I am not asking you to retreat," Nyx continued, her eyes searching his. "I am asking you to live. I am asking you to let your people live. If this warning is false, we lose a few hours. If it is true, we lose everything."

He looked at her then not as a sovereign measuring risk, but as a father seeing the child he had once carried on his shoulders through the palace gardens.

"You think I am afraid," he said quietly.

"I think you are tired," Nyx replied. "And tired men mistake stubbornness for courage."

The words struck deeper than accusation ever could.

Finally, the king exhaled slowly, releasing something that had been tightening around his chest.

"Signal the halt," he said, barely above a whisper.

Moments later, horns sounded across the field. The marching slowed, then ceased altogether. Officers shouted commands to hold formation. Confusion rippled through the ranks, but relief followed close behind it, subtle and unspoken.

Nyx closed her eyes briefly before stepping out of the tent.

When she emerged, Lucas was already waiting. He read the answer in her face before she spoke.

"He agreed," she said.

For the first time that day, Lucas allowed himself to breathe fully.

"You have saved more lives than you know," he told her quietly.

But there was no time for gratitude to linger.

He turned to Tom immediately. "The box."

Tom nodded and hurried away toward their supply wagon.

Patrick stood nearby, watchful and silent, aware that whatever came next would involve him.

Within minutes, Tom returned carrying a worn wooden case reinforced with brass corners. Its surface bore faint burn marks and stains that told of experiments conducted in haste and necessity. Lucas took it carefully and set it upon a flat crate.

He opened it, revealing a collection of glass vials filled with liquids of varying hues, powders sealed in waxed packets, small metal spheres, coils of treated wire, and folded parchment covered in precise diagrams.

Patrick stepped closer, curiosity flickering across his face.

"You brought this to a battlefield?" he asked quietly.

"I brought options," Lucas replied.

He began sorting through the contents with deliberate speed. "If we cannot outnumber them and we cannot outmaneuver them in open combat, then we must force them to abandon their advantage."

Patrick’s eyes narrowed slightly. "How?"

Lucas lifted a small vial containing a pale, almost translucent liquid.

"This," he said, "when combined with this powder and ignited, produces a dense smoke that clings low to the ground. It irritates the eyes and lungs but does not kill. In open plains it disperses too quickly. In a confined valley, however, it will linger."

Tom’s eyebrows rose. "You want to blind them."

"I want to remove their sight advantage," Lucas corrected. "Archers perched on ridges depend on clarity. If they cannot see their targets, their formation collapses into confusion."

Patrick studied the materials thoughtfully. "You would need to deploy it from within their perimeter. If we release it before they commit to the ambush, they will simply adjust."

Lucas nodded. "Exactly."

Tom glanced between them. "And you believe

he can do that."

Patrick gave a faint, humorless smile. "I am expected among them. I can approach their forward encampment without raising alarm."