"What do you mean devils don’t deserve forgiveness?!"

Sais burned hot; her red lips were bitten near blood, tears turning like silver fish in her eyes. She hadn’t known Medith had borne such a weight, while she played like a child chasing paper kites. She hated it—hated her own uselessness, hated Medith for standing like a lone pine and taking it all.

Medith folded her anger like a paper fan and shifted the talk. "Let’s... change the subject. Haidra, did you pass any attacked areas on your way?"

Sais turned her face away, anger sharp as frost. The riders’ gazes, hawk-sharp on her curves moments ago, turned to doves. They fumbled out kerchiefs to catch her tears.

Haidra wore no helm; her white-glow warplate flashed in the sun. "See that banner?" she said, pride ringing like bronze. "Unless you’re a fool, nobody attacks an army under that flag."

Medith nodded; power speaks louder than any tongue, the strong devour the weak. That banner is a mountain’s shadow, not a man’s sigil. It marks a nation, one of this world’s lords. Only a fool would swing at it.

"On the road, did you spot men in black warplate? A lion-headed, man-bodied sigil on their chests. They claimed to be a state Hunting Corps. Which country’s arm is that?"

Kailon jolted. "Southern Kingdom Hunting Corps? What, this mess ties to them?" His gut was sharp as a blade; once foreign powers get involved, nothing stays simple.

Medith nodded. "I met them first—around three hundred in their unit. The captain called himself Kridi, with a squad leader nicknamed Fire Dog. They vowed to take our sisters back to a ‘Duke.’"

"This... looks knotted," Haidra said. "Best not entangle yourself. The Hunting Corps squad you mentioned is already dead. We found armor like shed scales, and a Southern Kingdom flag snapped like a bone. Was the captain the man with a straight blade-scar on his face?"

Medith shook her head. "No. The straight scar belongs to Fire Dog, the squad leader, not Kridi. He looked twenty-eight or nine, stubble on his cheeks, eyes like a hunting leopard—piercing."

Haidra shrugged. "Then we don’t know. We only saw him and a few Southern Kingdom hunters lying dead. As for Kridi, Mountain Bandits might have hit him, some other force might have hit him, or he already slipped home."

Medith’s willow-brows cinched hard. Milia found a seam and slid in. "Um, bold question... Why would Mountain Bandits dare cut off the Southern Kingdom Hunting Corps, but not Lady Haidra’s Dike Guard? You both carry a nation’s crest..."

Haidra spat, a spark off flint. "Tch! Don’t lump us with that rabble!"

Milia saw Haidra’s face darken like a brewing storm and rushed into apology. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. Please don’t take it wrong..."

Kailon smoothed the water. "Don’t worry, Captain Milia. Haidra just hates evil like fire." At last night’s banquet, he’d chatted happily with the ladies. Sprite nobles were guarded at first, after what had happened. Then he sang a song, and the air turned like a flipped fan. Sprites danced; he played and sang; cups rose; the hall grew warm and noisy.

"Yeah, Milia, don’t worry. I’m not coming at you. That so-called corps? Their style is infamous across the land, like dust blown everywhere. If they provoke me, I’ll smash them just the same, mountain bandits or not.

"But talk is talk—unless they strike first, our hands stay tied. The Southern Kingdom isn’t like our Eastern Nation. Their realm has many lords who wield true power. In our Eastern Nation, usually only dukes and above can hold troops in number.

"As you can see, it leaves us quite helpless. Our state’s strength has thinned in recent years, like sap in winter..." Sorrow softened Haidra’s eyes.