9:42 a.m., November 2, Paris received a letter in his castle, a leaf on still water: “The right wing has arrived safely.”

Relief rose first, warm as morning sun. Then his hand moved. He swept ink across the page: “If this reaches you, my lord, I’ll offer you a song.”

He slid a seal from the hidden niche beneath his bed, signed his name, and pressed the wax like a stamp of thunder.

He loosed the carrier pigeon. Its wings rattled like cards in a fan, then it knifed toward the far side of the sea, so fast it made tongues click.

Resolve flashed in Paris’s eyes, a shard of blade catching cold light.

...

This time Medith found Elyu in the palace. He was chatting with Haidra and Venus, their words drifting like petals. Seeing her, all three startled.

She laid out her purpose, a pebble dropped into a quiet pond. Elyu’s gaze turned crafty, and their haggling moved like feints and counters before spectators.

In the end, part of Medith’s method for forging a Demon‑Slaying Sword bought ten “slaughter‑weapons.” Elyu snagged a free bargain and hurried off to fetch them, grinning.

“Your prince counts every grain of rice,” Medith sighed, disappointment like rain on eaves. “I didn’t even fleece him, yet he won’t gift me a few toys.”

Haidra’s ears flushed like embers. “He… His Highness is just a businessman! Yes, a businessman. Years adrift honed his trading. It’s habit, not malice. He’d never slight Sia City’s great hero!”

“Mhm, mhm!” Venus bobbed her head, worried a brittle bridge might crack, not wishing her dear sister-figure to fall out with her brother.

“I see…” Medith laughed, willow-soft. Of course she knew; she’d only wanted to spook them. She took Venus’s hand. “Little princess, where’s your sister?”

“Hm? Sister Talant?” Venus tilted her head, the name like a bell.

“Princess Talant went north to the Northern Kingdom for talks,” Haidra replied. “Allies should keep the roads warm.”

“Out on talks?” Medith narrowed her eyes at Haidra, then glanced at Venus, and something clicked like a latch.

“Princess Talant is the eldest,” Haidra said, awe bright as a banner. “She loved blades since childhood. Court rules never held her. Her temper blazes, but her talent blazes brighter.”

“At eight, after three months of spearwork and riding, she beat a famed Northern Kingdom knight at a joint tourney. Now she favors the sword. Her grip on Regido is a marvel. In combat power, she tops any of us!”

Medith’s interest sparked, a flint on steel. “Single combat?”

“In duels, the whole nation may not find her a match,” Haidra said, proud as a standard. “My spearwork? Taught by Her Highness Talant.”

“Damn…” Medith muttered under her breath. If Haidra’s bite came from that training, how sharp must the wolf be?

After that, Medith and the two women chatted about this and that for a long while...

...

At Sia City’s main border gate, the city guard patrolled as always, steady as millstones turning—a duty done with clean hands.

“Man, those sprite ladies the other day were too pretty. Like spring walking by.”

“No kidding. I’ve got a wife and kids, but my mortal heart still stirred.”

“You’re done. I’m telling my sister‑in‑law.”

“Hey, hey, don’t be like that. Drinks after shift? My treat.”

“Ha, you guys… But seriously, that one in the short skirt was criminal. I kind of get why those bandits threw their lives at our walls.”

“Hm? You want to, too?”

“What? I said I get it, not that I agree. Don’t slap a hat on me!”

“Hey! What are you doing? On shift and goofing around—”

“Not good, the captain’s coming!”

Laughter bobbed along the wall like lanterns. They teased about the brief glimpse of sprite ladies, yet stood like brothers, reliable as rock.

Thud, thud, thud... From afar came a dozen fully armed soldiers. They wore the Northern Kingdom’s black‑gold armor, chestplates emblazoned with a figure swaddled in plate, spear planted deep into the earth.

“Halt! Who goes there? State your business!” the captain shouted from the wall.

“By the name of Duke Ladriel, lord of the Northern Kingdom, we come to visit Count Powell,” a smiling young envoy called back.

“Hm?” The captain frowned, doubt like a cloud’s edge. Just then, a runner arrived: “Report, Captain! Count Powell confirms this by word!”

“What a coincidence?” Suspicion pricked like burrs. He had barely stopped them, and a confirmation already fell from the sky. It felt arranged like chess.

Doubts remained, but he didn’t dare botch diplomacy. If trouble came, let Powell shoulder it. He thought that, then opened the gate and let the squad pass.

“May the Earth God be with you, my honored ally,” the envoy said with a slanting smile, heading straight for Powell’s manor...

...

“Ah, Sia City at last. The view really is beautiful,” said a man in his early thirties, ordinary as dust at first glance. His clothes matched a commoner’s.

But his black eyes flashed like obsidian catching sun. This wasn’t a simple man.

“It is beautiful indeed, Lord Draela,” said a young adjutant. “If the weather at sea hadn’t turned, we’d have arrived days earlier.”

“Then let’s see what needs fixing,” Lord Draela said, voice calm as a sheathed blade.

The winds everywhere felt mild, warm as a hand on the back. None knew a storm was about to sweep the continent.