“Your Majesty, the envoy Kailon pays his respects.” He bent in a noble’s bow, a reed touched by wind. “Rise, envoy.” The Queen lifted him with a gesture light as moonlight on water. His weary face flared like a lantern in dusk. “Your Majesty is truly as beautiful as the tales say.”
“Thank you for the praise,” the Queen replied, voice soft as a brushstroke on silk. “Let’s bring our honored guests to my manor. It’s modest, like a courtyard by a quiet stream, so please don’t mind.” She glanced back at Medith and the others, a willow-frond look.
“Oh? Then you must be the one from the stories?” Haidra approached Medith with a smile like sunlight on steel. “Hello, I’m Haidra, a member of the Royal Guard of Eunomia.”
Medith noted the pride and slight disdain at Haidra’s lip, then offered a warm spring smile. “Hello, I’m Medith Waheit—just call me Medith. As you see, I’m only a small Sprite, moonlighting as a minor Commander. I’m not very capable; the soldiers I train are nothing like the legions under your banner. Look at the faces around us—sometimes I feel ashamed for them, like dust on a robe.”
Haidra heard the gunpowder under those gentle words. She turned to the Dusk Legion nearby. When she saw the Crimson Sun’s black-sun sigil and the quiet pressure rolling off the Sprites, she fell silent—like snow settling on pine.
After a long breath, she bowed her head. “My apologies. I was out of line. May I ask your legion’s name?” Haidra was straightforward by nature. Since childhood, she’d heard the king praise the Sprites—this and that, strong in every way. Mountain bandits were just mountain bandits. Why make such a fuss?
Seeing Medith in the flesh, she knew the king’s eyes reached farther than her own horizon.
“Our banner is the Crimson Sun,” Medith said, face calm as a still lake. “As you see—merely a setting sun that can’t even break the dark.” Her voice rose and fell like tide without a ripple. You couldn’t read a thought behind it.
Haidra was about to speak when Kailon stepped in. “I’ve long admired your name, Commander. Your deeds have already traveled the Eastern Nation. The mountain bandits across the East were cowed by your courage and wit; for over a month, not a single raid was heard.”
“You led barely a few hundred against more than ten thousand bandits. You struck down the stubborn chieftains Mad Lion Nessos and Wolf Star Soledo. Such feats deserve respect. What startled me even more was learning you’re such a beautiful, captivating little Sprite. Please forgive my earlier discourtesy.”
Medith watched his kindly smile and felt a quiet respect. He looked decadent, but his words flowed like tea warming the bones.
“Everyone, come with me,” the Queen said, and guided the group toward her residence, steps like cranes over a pond.
Soon they reached the Queen’s palace, a manor grand as a mountainside temple. Only Haidra and Kailon had followed, while several Sprites carried in a chest, heavy as a sealed well.
They shut the door and sat inside the Queen’s chamber, a hush settling like canvas over a war council.
“What’s this?” Curiosity flickered across Medith’s face like firelight. The chest seemed weighty; whatever lay within felt deep as a buried spring.
“A small token from the King to Her Majesty,” Haidra said, her gaze turning deep, as if lost in old snowfields of memory. “Inside are the compiled records of recent years. The continent’s shifted a lot. It’s hard to set it all out in a moment.”
“Thank you—truly.” The Queen’s voice carried remorse like rain in autumn. “At the root, this disaster is my fault. I thought with barriers and magic we could sleep easy. I didn’t expect the bandits could break the barrier and wield an anti-magic force beyond our imagining, called Regido. Do you have any intel on it?”
“That’s why we came.” Haidra’s tone steadied like a drawn bow. “Regido appeared forty years ago. It burst from the Divine Stone’s core as a column of milky-white light. We don’t know its specific function. We only know that after that day, a special kind of people arose—we call them Magic Breakers.”
“The greatest difference from ordinary anti-magic materials is this: they themselves are the largest anti-magic entity. Under certain conditions, they seem to transform. Sometimes their weapons change, sometimes their abilities, sometimes even their appearance.”
“Once they transform, their combat power surges like a storm tide. They’re lethal to magic, and their personal strength skyrockets. If a Magic Breaker appears on a battlefield, the entire situation can shift in an irreversible way.”
“Does this… tie back to the Divine Stone?” Medith asked, recalling old continental tales. Kailon shook his head, a reed in wind. “We don’t know, but the change did come from the Divine Stone. Because of this, every nation is trying to study its effects. The Southern Kingdom chases it with near-mad fervor. As for fighting purely by leveraging Divine Stone resources—likely only our Eastern Nation still does that.”
“Divine Stone resources? Magic Breakers?” Confusion pooled in Medith like fog over a river. The Queen’s brows knit like willow leaves in rain; much of this was beyond what she’d wanted to carry.
“Since the Divine Stone’s rise, research has never ceased,” Haidra continued. “We did develop an anti-magic substance—both offensive and defensive. We call it Impado.”
“Weapons and gear layered with Impado don’t just disrupt magic; they offer a measure of defense against it. You should know that.” Haidra shot Medith a puzzled look—like a sparrow hearing thunder. Medith seemed unaware of much of the continent’s intel.
The Queen stepped in to smooth the water. “Medith is still young and didn’t live through that era. By my own policy, such intel was sealed away. I didn’t want my subjects living in fear. But that almost cost us…”
Kailon heard the different note and asked, surprise flashing like steel. “If that’s so, Commander Medith barely knows continental intel. How did she lead a legion to such feats under those conditions?”
Medith didn’t rush; her calm was a shore in dusk. “Then how did Lady Haidra lead her legions? Some people are born for this work.”
It was a gamble, and Medith took it. Haidra looked no more than twenty-four, yet she’d climbed to her post; she had to be remarkable. As expected, Haidra spoke with a touch of pride, a plume catching wind. “Exactly. Some are born to the blade—more so the dream-born Elf Clan.”
Kailon watched Haidra’s airy expression and frowned slightly, a crease like a cut in paper. She had many strengths, but youth weighed heavy, pride heavier, and she didn’t veil it among others.
Sensing the moment had ripened, the Queen opened a cabinet and drew out a stack of papers. Strange symbols tangled across them like vines; the strokes looked hurried, logic scattered like leaves.
Yet Haidra and Kailon stared, eyes wide as lamps. The Queen gathered the sheets and handed them to Haidra. “Intel on the Collapse Point—and the schematics of our barriers. A small return gift, light as a feather, but offered with respect.”
