The Grandian Saga

"Albani? Who are you?" the guard asked, his brows furrowing in confusion as he stared at the prince.

Prince Andrea's eyes flared with indignation. "You dare not know the name Albani? My family once ruled the Forzzine Kingdom! Peasant, show some respect!"

Another guard, clearly the superior, approached with a steady stride. He scrutinized Andrea's group before stating bluntly, "It doesn't matter who you are. Nobles or commoners, you have no business here. Leave."

Roy stepped forward, placing himself between Andrea and the guards. "Let me handle this, my prince," he said softly, then turned to the superior guard. "Listen, we're here to ensure the safety of our cargo. I'm not surprised you don't recognize Prince Andrea Albani, but as a sovereign of the Federation, he deserves your respect."

The guard smirked, his grip tightening on his weapon. "Respect? Don't make me laugh. Posers like you don't scare me. My orders are clear: protect the cargo. Unless you want me to open fire, I suggest you turn around."

Andrea's fists clenched. "You insolent wretch—" he growled, stepping forward as if to strike the guard. Roy intercepted him, gripping his arm firmly.

"My prince, this isn't worth it," Roy whispered urgently. "Let's avoid unnecessary trouble and leave."

Andrea's face reddened with rage, his jaw tightening as he fought against Roy's grip. "I cannot let this ruffian insult me and walk away unscathed. Release me, Roy!"

Roy leaned closer, his voice low but firm. "If you start a fight here, you'll endanger yourself and the future of our cause. Please, think of the kingdom."

The prince froze, his breathing heavy as the words sank in. After a long pause, he relaxed, pulling his arm free. "Fine," he spat, straightening his clothes with deliberate movements. "Roy, tell the others we're leaving."

Roy nodded. "Yes, my prince." He gestured for the group to retreat.

As they moved away from the guards, Andrea's expression darkened. "You're not seriously suggesting we let this go, are you? That cargo might contain contraband. If it's tied to Grandia's resources, it belongs to our people."

Roy's lips curved into a slight smile. "Of course not, my prince. A direct confrontation won't work, but I have another plan."

Andrea's gaze narrowed. "Make sure it does. I'm counting on you, Roy."

----

Milena strode briskly through the corridors, her prisoner, Manuel Dumont, shackled and flanked by armed patrolmen. Despite Felicia's escape, she had decided against pursuit. Her priority was securing the captured dissenter.

Her wireless transmitter crackled to life, and Michel's steady voice came through. "Milena, report your status."

"We have the dissenter in custody, sir," Milena replied. "Heading to the deck to secure him."

"Good. However, I have new orders for you," Michel said. "We've detected activity in the cargo hold. There's a shipment that appears heavily guarded and shrouded in secrecy. Investigate it immediately."

Milena frowned. "Can you provide details about the situation, sir?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. The cargo's nature is unknown, but it's drawing attention. Handle it with caution."

"Understood," Milena said. She turned to her team. "Change of plans. Secure the prisoner on the deck and prepare for a sweep of the cargo hold."

"Yes, Lieutenant!" her subordinates responded in unison, quickening their pace.

Milena's mind raced as she considered the implications of Michel's orders. A shipment shrouded in secrecy, under heavy guard? If it posed a threat to Federation security, she intended to uncover the truth—no matter the cost.

-----

In the control room, Michel kept a close watch on Captain Joe. The man's behavior was troubling—his hands trembled as he worked the controls, and he avoided making eye contact. Michel's instincts told him something wasn't right.

The patrolmen stationed nearby exchanged uneasy glances, their attention shifting between Joe and the crew. The tension was broken by the shrill, piercing alarm of the sensors. Michel shot to his feet. "What's happening?" he demanded.

Joe froze, his face draining of color. He stumbled toward the sensor panel, frantically checking the readouts. Michel's sharp commands went unanswered as Joe panicked, his movements clumsy and erratic.

A crew member finally spoke, his voice strained. "It's confirmed, sir! Multiple ships inbound!"

Joe staggered backward, his knees buckling. "This is… bad," he muttered, collapsing into a chair.

Michel closed the distance in two strides, grabbing Joe by the collar and hauling him upright. "What's going on, Captain? Speak!"

Joe stammered, his voice barely audible. "T-the client… He said he'd collect the cargo personally… in neutral territory. But now…" His words trailed off into incoherent murmurs, fear overtaking him.

Michel released Joe with a frustrated sigh. "What kind of deal did you make, Captain?"

Before Joe could answer, the second mate stepped forward, his expression grim. "There's no time for that, sir. If the client's sending ships, they're here to take the cargo by force. We need to act now."

Michel turned to the second mate, his gaze sharp. "Who is the client?"

The second mate hesitated, then said gravely, "It's the Dumayar."

Michel's eyes widened. "The Dumayar?" His mind raced. If the cargo was meant for the Dumayar—the sworn enemies of the Grandian Federation—it meant they were dealing with something far more dangerous than anticipated.

"Are you certain they're not pirates?" Michel pressed.

"I'm sure," the second mate replied firmly. "No pirate fleet moves like that. It's them."

Michel squared his shoulders, his expression hardening. He turned back to Joe, who remained frozen in fear. "What are you waiting for, Captain? If they're planning to take the cargo by force, they'll attack this land wagon. Defend it—for the sake of your passengers!"

Joe shook his head, his voice trembling. "But… it's hopeless. No one survives a Dumayar raid."

Michel's patience snapped. He struck Joe with a sharp punch, forcing him to focus. "Snap out of it! If you won't command your land wagon, I will."

Michel turned to the rest of the control room crew, his voice firm and commanding. "If you want to live, follow my orders. I'll coordinate the defense myself. Prepare for battle—we're not going down without a fight."