"Lord Draela, you didn’t claw up this cold wall at midnight just to sneak a look at your people, did you?" Erig lobbed the bait, his smile thin as a knife in moonlight.

Delaia’s gaze drifted like a leaf on dark water, as if a thorn struck true. "Erig! I’m your target, aren’t I? I’ll wager myself. You pull your troops back."

"Fine! Sure!" Erig snapped, quick as a flicked blade. "Problem is, how do you get down? I’ve got no way to catch you."

"Simple." Delaia pointed to a moon-silver coil of rope. "I’ve a transfer line ready. I’ll climb down slow, if you don’t shoot me."

"My lord, you jest. Why would we shoot you?" Erig pranced his horse, hooves tapping like drumbeats. "You’re a valuable ‘resource.’"

"Good. Then retreat. Fall back three hundred kilometers, and wait till my men confirm." His breath steadied; cold math lit his eyes like frost on steel. If they marched back now, they’d be too late to return. By then, the gate would be reclaimed, reinforcements in place—even a renewed assault would crash like waves against rock.

"No, no, no." Erig cut him off, voice like a blade through silk. "Get this straight. I’m negotiating with you, not you with me. I don’t accept. Come down now, or we’re done."

"My lord, he won’t take the bait. What do we do? They won’t enter our range; we’ve got no shot," Kasda whispered, worry tight as a bowstring.

Delaia didn’t answer him. He raised his voice, calm as deep water. "Then wait below the wall for me. Keep men watching. If the rope snaps, at least you can respond."

"My lord, is this a joke?" Erig scoffed, laughter dry as sand. "Even if we’re there, won’t you still splatter on our armor? What’s the point?"

Delaia smiled instead of bristling. "With your skill, you can’t save a single man?"

Erig fell silent. The night wind passed like a ghost between torches.

"Afraid we’ve set a trap?" Delaia’s tone goaded like a red flag before a bull. "Look at this chicken-scratch of footing on the wall. Everything else is slope. How would we even lay a trap? If you think it is, by all means, go rest."

Erig squeezed his horse’s belly and turned his back. "Hmph. You think you’re priceless? We hit our objective tonight or tomorrow night—it’s the same. Why risk coming close to the wall? Withdraw." He rode back at a measured pace. Like a receding tide, the army pivoted and started falling back in step.

"My lord!" Kasda blanched, the plan crumbling like dry clay. Delaia stayed unhurried, his tone steady as a stone pier. "If that’s the case, why march out and waste breath with me at all?

"Yes, tomorrow night the city will open, and we’ll be fully prepared. Your legion is fierce, and you’ve numbers like a forest. But if you want my head, you’ll pay dearly."

Erig halted. His eyes flicked, almost involuntarily, toward Skaro’s Mountain Bandits.

Delaia seemed to read the thought, words falling like pebbles into a still pond. "If you plan to pave the way with bandits, then sorry. Sia City’s soldiers are the elites of the ace infantry [Dike]. Not many—about five thousand. You know our armor’s hardness and our fighting mettle. Throwing bandits at us is eggs against stone, moths to flame.

"If your legion storms, half the men here will be graves by dawn. Can you stomach that? Or can the man opposite?" Delaia’s gaze angled toward Manto, resplendent, a flag in human form.

Manto’s eyes were blades wrapped in helplessness. His chin lifted. Erig understood.

"We can afford losses. You can’t," Erig shouted, voice like thunder over a field. "Come down now and I’ll free these civilians. If you refuse, I’ll kill them one by one. I’ll drain them dry in front of you. I’ll tear the dresses off the girls of Sia City and have soldiers pin them to the ground with boots and jeers.

"I’ll give you one chance.

"Obey.

"Or die."

Erig ripped off the mask, wolf’s fangs bared under iron.

Delaia felt the opening strike like lightning. He roared, chest a drum. "You pack of blind wastrel curs! Wearing the armor of the Eastern Nation, and staining snow-white steel—staining a snow-white will!"

"I like staining it. So what?" Erig’s tone slid colder, like oil over black water.

"Hmph! Worthy of the old, notorious [Guardian Hound]. Osnath was blind—feeding war with war, deaf to the people’s crying, casting loyal counsel to the wind. He abused power and butchered vassal nobles wholesale.

"He thought power came from the crown, not knowing the crown’s just a symbol.

"He lost himself in power, found his thrill in tyranny, becoming a full-blooded despot.

"And you—you call yourselves the ‘King’s Protectors,’ weapons of the throne, and ignored it all. You executed ‘loyalty,’ pointing your spears at nobles, ramming your peaks through vassals.

"You thought you were serving. You were aiding the wicked, being wolves for the tiger. You bear heavy blame for those dead in that war. You should be hung from the gates of the Royal Capital—left to rot, picked clean by vultures.

"Still unrepentant! Still parading under a laughable ‘national banner’!

"You’re absolute degenerates. Scum. Demons.

"A mangy, beaten cur."

Every word landed on Segireneto hearts like stones on glass. Erig trembled in his armor.

He spurred down to the wall’s base in a single rush, his men flowing in like ink. Erig finally saw Delaia up close. Mid-thirties, hair in wild disorder. Features straight, but plain—a face that could vanish in a crowd.

Only his eyes held starlight: blue irises like a river of constellations. He was bone-weary; his bags and dark rings were deep as shadows. His stance wavered, keeping upright by will like a bent reed in wind.

Beside him stood a young silver-haired aide, face keen as cut jade. His eyes were the exact green of a Wind Sprite—bright as polished agate. He stood 1.85 meters, posture straight as a spear, gaze sharp as a knife. His aura pressed like weather; he had the cut of a commander.

"Hah—hahaha!" Erig’s grin twisted under the helm. "You can’t even stand steady. What else can you say?

"You say our creed is warped? That we helped the tyrant?

"No! You’re the ones who ran with the tiger! You don’t know what happened back then. You can’t grasp Osnath’s greatness! What’s wrong with defending our own sovereign?

"Your king—he stabbed his own brother dead in the great hall. Wasn’t he pleased?

"The hero who ‘saved the kingdom’—the famed slayer of evil.

"You don’t understand. You don’t know how filthy your king is.

"We want revenge! On him! On his kingdom, on his people!"

"Rubbish!" Kasda roared, a flame ripping through damp night. "Who can compare to Ogathas’s feats these years? Across the continent, who can keep seasons fair, the nation safe, the people well?

"All this is His Majesty’s achievement, not your tyrant’s.

"He gave only pain to the realm. You twist history! You’re born of Eunomia’s soil—how can you not grasp this!"

"Bullshit!"

"Your dog-king’s the one twisting the facts!"

"Kill them!"

"Kill them!"

Segireneto faces burned; blades quivered, eager as hounds straining at the leash. Every eye pinned Delaia to the wall like a target. His hatred bar spiked, bright red in the mind’s sky.

...

"Commander!" Milia sensed the opening like a crack in ice. Medith watched through a narrow slit, hand signaling: not yet.

...

"Heh..." Erig shook his head, weary as a man in rain. "I’m being childish, arguing with you. Your king won. He writes history. Those who knew the truth are dead. We’re the beaten dogs of an old age.

"Your so-called ‘truth’ is a tool hammered out of power.

"So, Delaia—die."

He gave the order. A rank of archers loosed, strings snapping like hail. Arrows whooshed up toward the wall. In a breath, hundreds of shafts wove a net of iron rain and fell toward Delaia.