After a quick wash and a palace breakfast, they drifted out like swallows at dawn, and their striking looks stirred the streets like a hive kicked awake.

“Medith... I can’t shake it... Prince Paris seems...” Sais’s mood knotted like wet silk as she recalled last night. Paris had chatted long, open praise laced with soft pressure. Medith parried like a fan in summer. He didn’t sulk; instead, he pressed a Dragon Seal into her hand, a token to call him anytime.

“That’s normal. What ruler doesn’t favor a fine Commander?” Medith’s tone was level as still water. “His Highness Paris is the recognized heir. That move’s as normal as rain in spring.

I’m thinking of recruiting Tianensai myself.” She wore an I-know grin, sly as a fox in brush.

“You want Tianensai? Why?” Sais frowned, her doubt rising like mist.

“I don’t see what’s good about that guy,” Milia muttered, a leaf caught on a reluctant breeze.

“All it took was one line from Haidra and you’re this invested?” Phiby’s voice cooled like shade at noon.

Medith laughed, light as bells. “What’s this? Worried your places won’t hold?”

“Uh...” The girls’ secret frets were pricked like bladders by a pin, and they went awkward as startled deer.

“He’s young, he’s proud, and he climbed under Haidra to become a Guard Captain. That doesn’t happen without edge,” Medith said, confidence steady as an oak trunk.

“Fine. Then where now?” Sais shelved the worry and looked around. Awe rippled over her face like sun on water. “Medith, these buildings look like they’re made of cement. Same stuff as the Council Hall, right?”

“For real... and there’s iron bars inside...” Milia pressed a palm to a wall, feeling it like cold stone in shade.

“It’s the Royal Capital. This level fits, but where’d the tech come from?” Medith’s thoughts circled like hawks. “Thanatos again? Is this nation here to scatter seed—advanced tech and knowledge—on the wind?

No... if so, they wouldn’t be called a ‘mystery nation.’

What are they after?”

“No idea...” The doubt hung like fog that wouldn’t lift.

Clank, clank... the sound of armor rang like hail on eaves. A bold silhouette strode up. “Well now, isn’t this Medith.”

“Haidra?” Medith’s gaze caught on the long pheasant plume that hung to her waist like a willow branch.

“Out to tour the Royal Capital?” Haidra unhelmed with a smooth motion, revealing a face bright as a polished blade.

“That was the plan. Now scrap it. I’m visiting your headquarters instead.” Medith’s smile tilted, fox-sharp and playful.

Haidra spread her hands like a hostess out of tea. “Sorry. As you see, I’m on patrol. I can’t take you myself, but I can send someone to guide you.”

“Oh? Even patrols need the Commander herself?” Sais teased, her words a flicked pebble across water.

“Normally, no. Today’s special. You showed up, didn’t you?” Haidra’s bitter smile curved like a nicked edge.

“My bad then. We’ll go ourselves. No need to trouble you.” Medith clapped her shoulder, light as a friendly gust.

Medith and the others headed east through the Royal Capital, and an open tract unfolded like a parade ground after rain. The place had been turned into a war site—watch posts everywhere, soldiers drilling like waves, a mass of warhorses and trainees filling the earth with thunder.

“Wow! This is your headquarters?” Medith’s eyes lit like torches. It was her perfect picture: a forge of men and horses. With a ground like this, who fears for strength?

“Honored Lady Medith, this isn’t the Dike Guard’s headquarters,” their guide said, voice even as a metronome. “It’s a branch. The Erene Guard garrison the Capital, so we keep our footprint light here. The Royal Capital sits ringed by sea. The eastern waters are tricky, so we hold that shore.

It’s not many, about three thousand. But don’t underestimate them. Their bite can make a ten-thousand host think twice.”

“I don’t doubt it for a breath,” Medith said, smiling like a cat in sun.

They passed through checkpoints like green lights in a night city. Warhorses pounded the dirt like drums; soldiers roared like surf; Medith’s smile opened, bright as dawn.

“Yo? Isn’t that our Ironblood War Deity? What brings you to our patch?” A young voice cracked in, fresh as a green reed.

“Little Gourd?” Sais turned toward it, and sure enough, a boy with a sneer like a knife-edge slid into view.

“‘Fatty’ has room to talk?” Tianensai’s gaze slid over Sais’s white-trimmed outfit like fire over oil. “Dressed that light, I can’t promise my men won’t get ideas.” His tone was flippant as a tossed pebble, yet his eyes said she was a storm in silk.

“Hmph. Keep your men on a tight leash, or they’ll lose their lives before they know how,” Sais said. Her fingers twitched once, like a viper tasting air.

Tianensai’s pupils spun, fast as spinning tops. “Hidden weapons? Twin blades, about twenty centimeters. Pure steel. Top grade. Razor sharp. And that vibration... hell—never heard anything ring that loud.”

“You—!” Sais jolted, hiding her hands behind her back like a child tucking away candy. She’d barely moved, made a whisper of sound, and he almost peeled her secrets to the bone.

“My gods...” The girls gasped, shock blooming like frost. Even Medith clicked her tongue in secret. Sais’s pair of Dark Blades had never touched another’s palm. Even Medith didn’t know their build or trick.

“Those twin blades—what’s their origin? Feels like a gale coils round your edges,” Tianensai pressed on, curiosity bright as flint. Medith cut in before Sais drew blood to keep a secret. “You’re stationed here?”

“More or less,” Tianensai said, pride rising like a banner. “It’s the Royal Capital. Anywhere else, I wouldn’t bother.”

“Anywhere else?” Milia blinked. The Capital felt vast as an inland sea to her.

“Huh? What do you mean? The Capital’s just on an island. This island’s called [Seleno]. About five million people. Our territory’s huge,” Tianensai said, looking at her like she’d tried to count stars at noon.

“But... the continent has over five hundred million people. Your nation has fifty-plus million, with a million soldiers and sailors. Where are they?” Medith’s doubt pooled like dark water.

“A million troops? Five hundred million people?” Tianensai snorted, then laughed, bright as struck iron. “Oh... I get it. Kailon and Captain Haidra told you that, right? Hahahaha!”

“So... we were lied to?” Iling’s brows drew together like twin bows.

“A million’s not wrong, but that’s total—includes the navy. Eight hundred thousand army. Two hundred thousand navy.

Our country’s only a bit over twenty million. And the whole continent? Just over a hundred million, not five hundred,” he said, each number laid down like stones on a path.

“What?!” Medith stared, disbelief flaring like lightning. A land this wide, with only that many souls?

Just then—“hoo... hoo-hoo-hoo...” The call floated down like night wind. (Not subtle at all.)

Whoosh—an emerald owl swept in and settled on Medith’s shoulder like a silk mantle. Its whole body was green as spring shoots, its amber-green eyes glimmered like polished gems. Its little head tilted left and right, cute as a dumpling. Its feathers were full and glossy, soft as satin under the palm.

“What’s this?” Medith tapped its small head, and it rubbed her neck like a cat who’d found its sunspot.

“That’s... Her Majesty the Queen’s own Messenger!”