Lionel froze.
The weight of his superior's words sent a chill down Lionel's spine. He wasn't afraid of killing—he had seen plenty of bloodshed—but this was different. This wasn't an enemy knight or a bandit. Ian was barely more than a boy—desperate, furious, and not yet hardened by war.
But before Lionel could decide, a thunderous voice echoed.
"GET AWAY FROM MY SON!"
Adrian charged in atop his wolf, his sword flashing as he swung it in a furious diagonal arc.
Lionel barely had time to react. He leaped back as Adrian's blade carved through the air where he had just stood, a gust of wind created by the force of his swing slamming into the frozen earth with bone-shaking force.
A shower of ice and dirt erupted from the impact, and Ian seized the opportunity. The younger noble scrambled to his feet, his hands grasping at the nearest fallen weapon—a spear torn from a slain knight's grasp.
