The Debt Of Fate-Chapter 290: snare

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 merciless, carried by messengers and sharpened by rumor. By the time 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, resentment, 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 something so trivial, was unjust.

Edward values pride more than steel, some 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 some woman. Why stand against the king?

Others simply blamed 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.

Men who had long stood in Ernest’s shadow. Men 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 same measured 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 men 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 men who respected him felt shame twist in their chests. The men who envied him felt their smiles stiffen. And those who blamed Anastasia felt, for a fleeting moment, 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 men among them would do something stupid that might affect their future.

As Ernest turned to leave, a young officer stepped forward impulsively, then froze, catching himself just in time.

"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.

Some 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," someone said.

"Indeed, he grew so fast that he forgot who his master is," another commented.

Many nodded in agreement. "Perhaps with this setback, he will learn."

A few men who had long lived in Ernest’s shadow smiled, believing his fall meant 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. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

"Just a dog I raised, and he dares to act arrogant," Edward commented. 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 came 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 something was wrong.

And as predicted, two weeks later news came from the second region: Lord Aureline had taken over the entire region and managed to break the encirclement 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 time he finished reading, the parchment was crumpled tightly in his fist.

"Useless!" The word echoed as he swept everything off the table. Ink shattered across the floor, documents scattered, and the attendants standing by immediately dropped to their knees, not daring to breathe.

Lord Aureline had broken the encirclement.

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 me."

Silence.

It was supposed to be an easy battle, to lose it means 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 deemed it too cautious and chose to advance instead."

Edward’s eyes narrowed. "Advance?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. The revised plan aimed for a swift decisive strike, believing Lord Aureline to be retreating."

Edward’s fingers tightened.

He remembered Ernest’s maps—layered defenses, staggered advances, controlled pressure meant 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 something cold settle in his chest.

Further investigation followed, swift and merciless. Messengers 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 time, doubt crept into his rage—not toward the generals, but toward his own decision. Suspending Ernest had not merely 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 moment 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 reinforcement, Your Majesty," someone 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. Implement them where possible."

The council exchanged uneasy glances.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

But even as the orders were issued, Edward knew something had already been lost.

Momentum.

And worse—trust.

Lord Aureline’s banner now flew high not merely because of cunning, but because the king himself had removed the one man capable of stopping him in time. But for pride he refused to reinstall Ernest.