November 16. Medith loosed the Emerald Hawk; its jade wings cut damp sky, carrying all recent events to the Queen. The hawk took the word and arrowed for Xurenxus City.

That same day, Sia City locked down the captured Mountain Bandits. Haidra sent Jerome and five hundred elites, rotating around the clock, a ring of steel so transfer to the Royal Capital stayed safe.

That afternoon, Mure and Kasda returned, salt-stung and scar-slashed. They led three flotillas—about 2,500 men—in pursuit. A Royal Capital warship mutinied and led a thousand in counterattack.

At the knife-edge moment, Manto used his Lawbreaking Ability. He blew apart a battleship from Mure’s fleet, and a high-tier combatant died aboard.

Helpless, they were driven to retreat, like a tide pulled back by a blood moon.

That night, everyone hurried to recover the fallen, lanterns bobbing like fireflies over dark streets.

November 17. Body recovery, damage tallying, and post-battle repairs ground on together, like gears gnawing through dawn.

November 22. The last bodies were finally gathered in. That same day, Emperor Aelius rushed to Sia City without rest; winter sun seemed to thaw faces into long-lost smiles.

At 10:13 a.m. on November 22, Aelius’s royal fleet arrived. Ten elite warships loomed, hulking giants, more than twice the size of Medith’s escort vessels.

Thud—Emperor Aelius led from the front. Urgency burned in him as he leapt off the gangplank.

“Your humble servant… bows to Your Majesty—” Haidra and the others knelt. Medith wore a snow-white gown, fingers pinching the hem, knees bent in the Eastern Nation’s newly learned salute.

“Commander Medith, you…” Aelius’s words tangled. He stared at Medith’s shock-white hair and could not speak for a long beat.

Kailon shouldered the Eastern Nation war banner and planted it at the shore’s set ground. Then he strode to Medith and Sais.

His mouth twitched, tears almost spilling. “You… after a few days, why’d you both dye your hair?”

Medith let out a free laugh. “Yeah—city folk were too enthusiastic. They insisted on dyeing mine. My green turned white. Sais’s turned red.”

Aelius’s face clouded with grief. His knees softened, and he knelt straight down, ignoring silk’s splendor and dust. “I, Ogathas the Eleventh—Aelius Ogathas—offer my meager respect to you and all Elvenfolk.”

“Your Majesty!” Kailon jolted. Aelius broke the script; he panicked and knelt. The line of nobles and soldiers followed, bowing toward Medith.

“Show respect to Medith Waheit and all our soldiers—” The troops slammed their right fists to their foreheads, a drumbeat against bone.

“Your Majesty, why this?!” Medith was startled cold; sweat beaded. She pressed her skirt and knelt, heart thudding like a war drum.

Aelius lowered his head to the earth, posture humble. “Without you, Sia City would’ve fallen. Two hundred thirty thousand would suffer inhuman cruelty, lives ground into ash. Even the Eastern Nation would be on a knife’s edge.

“Dare I ask, with one kowtow, Commander—what honor could you not accept?”

“Your Majesty, you mustn’t, you mustn’t! You’ll cut years off your servant’s life!” Medith knocked her head to the ground, iron in her spirit flaring awake.

“Commander… up, now!” Aelius’s tone turned to command.

“You first, Your Majesty.” Medith didn’t dare raise her eyes. Aelius sighed, brushed dust from his robe, and helped her rise.

“All of you, rise.” Only then did the crowd climb back to their feet.

Sais’s snow-white gown had picked up a trace of road-gray. Her dress was plain; she hadn’t really touched up her make-up, just a light dusting. Even the cut stayed conservative.

Medith’s was at least low-cut. Sais had tightened up lately, as if afraid of eyes on her skin.

“Your Majesty just arrived. Would you rest a moment?” Sais ventured gently.

Aelius shook his head at once. “Into the city first. I need to see what these damned beasts did to my people.”

“Please don’t rush. Let us finish…” Milia feared he wouldn’t stomach it; she wanted time to tidy the scene.

Delaia cut in. “Your Majesty, come with me. I’ll walk you through every thread of this.”

“Your Majesty! It’s Emperor Aelius!”

“His Majesty in person—”

“Your Majesty! Thank the heavens! We… we thought you’d abandoned your people…” A farmer burst past the cordon and grabbed Aelius’s pale hand.

“Bold—”

“Seize him—”

The guards flared, ready to strike. Aelius thundered, voice like a sword ringing. “Can’t you see he has only one hand? Would you knock away his last shield?”

The soldiers froze and withdrew, cold as cicadas in late fall.

“I’m deeply sorry, Your Majesty. I don’t know proper ceremony…” The farmer let go, stumbled back a few steps, and knelt.

He limped, one stride heavy, one light. His right leg had a chunk of flesh missing. His left hand was half gone; below the elbow was emptiness.

Aelius lifted him. “Rise, my child. Roll up your sleeve and let me see.”

The farmer trembled and bared the arm. An uneven stump showed, scabbed over. From the cut’s rawness, it was recent.

“Your Majesty… I’m from outside Lachesis. You wouldn’t believe what they did to us. That night, we fled and fought the Mountain Bandits. In the melee, my hand was chopped off. I blacked out.

“When I woke, a smear of afterglow slipped in through the boards… I truly, from my heart, thank you, Your Majesty. You didn’t abandon us.” Tears streamed; faith had been shredded, and Powell—the “lord” they trusted most—had betrayed them.

Aelius’s gaze hardened like tempered steel. “Everyone! We did not refuse to deploy. I have never abandoned any subject!

“Powell! A marquis my father personally honored with the Model Medal! He colluded with outside scum, killed every homing pigeon, sealed every message. Were it not for Medith—our great Elven hero—

“All of you should feel this more keenly than I, a ‘bystander.’ We won’t abandon a single subject, nor will we spare a single enemy.

“Duke Aiden!”

“Your Majesty!” A middle-aged man in White Hawk armor stepped out.

“I order you to wipe out all surrounding Mountain Bandits within three months. Leave not one.

“If, in three months, I still hear of any raid or injury, strip your armor and return to your little island.” Aelius’s voice carried a cold, merciless will, like frost over iron.

Aiden bowed. “By your command, Your Majesty. I will complete the task.” It wasn’t hard; he’d long hated these rats. Xurenxus City was vile enough. They dared climb on their heads again—no more mercy.

“Imperial Officer Delaia!”

“Your Majesty.” Delaia had expected it.

“I appoint you Commander-in-Chief of Operation Iron Shield. Thoroughly investigate these so-called Segireneto—where they came from, what they covet, and who stands behind them.

“Anyone who provides any lead—reward, three hundred gold coins; at minimum, a Viscount’s title.

“Whoever dares trespass against Eunomia—god or ghost—will pay in blood!” Aelius raised his arm; his voice surged like a storm-tide.

Soldiers and citizens erupted in cheers. The cry rolled through Sia City, echoing long and loud.

Behind them, Medith smiled, soft as a spring blade. She knew Aelius did have a monarch’s magnetism. He bowed low to his own, and that alone spoke volumes.

Medith admitted she couldn’t do that. Pride lived in her bones. She was cut to be a general, a Commander, not a king.

Aelius could bend and stretch, a hand for sword and law alike, played to artful perfection. He was indeed much better than his elder brother, Medith thought.