Postscript to the events of December 31, Year 995 on the Talos Continent:
The battle at Sia City was the Eastern Nation’s first war in years, but not its last; a shadowed hand would raise storms and sweep Eunomia.
When the siege ended, news sped like wildfire across the continent, and even the Southern Kingdom’s Emperor felt his crown tremble like thunder on stone.
Under a hopeless ring of walls, three thousand shattered twenty-three thousand; fate played its part, yet Medith’s wit and iron were terror made flawless.
The Emperor decreed: any who encounter the Black Sun, no matter rank, must avoid clashing with her unless necessity bites like winter.
In effect, whole legions stepped aside at the sight of her white cloak, blades lowered like grass before wind.
Rumors rose like mist: Medith died and lived again; some swore she was the Ancestor Master reborn, to finish an unfinished vow.
Her presence would press an indelible seal on the continent, like ink that will not wash from parchment.
Others called her the most ruthless witch alive, killing with a blink; offend her, and your fields run red like rain.
Truth matched the tales: in the Eastern domain, bandits fell to her hand, their number over twenty thousand like leaves burned black.
So the Mountain Bandits read the storm in the clouds, joined forces, and fled to the far north, not daring a step back east.
Every foul power eyeing the Eastern Nation heard the bell toll; the realm may be waning, but with Medith and the Royal Guard, it will not yield.
...
After the siege, trust in nobles in Sia City froze solid; all titles, high or low, met rejection like stones hurled at gilded gates.
Elyu had foreseen it; he withdrew every noble from the city and set lesser officials to govern, beneath even the City Guard’s captain.
Those appointees bore no noble style, only “Managers”; they handled daily affairs, but the City Guard remained a blade they could not touch.
Thus, under the Gate Guardian and the new City Lord, sword and code coexisted, and order returned like dawn thawing frost.
Notably, in Hope Plaza, the ruined statue of Ostos was replaced by one of Elyu, still bearing sword and code like paired stars.
Elyu carried his father’s virtues like a candle in wind, and the people loved him as if he were hearth and home.
...
Powell shouldered the world’s curses like sacks of stone; “traitor,” “lapdog,” “beast in robes,” “animal” replaced “Marquis” on every tongue.
Troupes and bards reenacted his poisoned feast and his collusion with bandits, on lamplit stages with operas, comedies, farces, and verse.
Some citizens still claimed Powell was their beloved Marquis, cornered and forced, held by the throat like a stag in a snare.
Angry voices drowned them like drums in a storm; no proof surfaced, though some whispered of a letter holding every answer.
The crowd scoffed; who still trusts a traitor’s words, scattered like chaff in wind?
Whether he was coerced, no one knew; even if he was, his guilt stood like iron that will not bend.
For a time, tales multiplied like mirror shards; later generations twisted them, until only “Powell the Betrayer” rode the song like ash.
...
Xurenxus City, chastened by war, saw its long-closed gates as moss on stone; the world had overturned like a river after flood.
They now cut new trade routes and struck first accords with the Eastern Nation; military and trade would cross like threads on a loom.
Medith’s journey bound the allies tight as knots in wet rope, and both sides smiled like harvest under clear skies.
Armed with Collapse Point intel, the Eastern Nation gathered its finest scholars, bent over chalk-stained schematics like monks over sutras.
They confirmed the theory: workable, yet forever beyond human hands; only pure-blood magic users can take a Collapse Point apart and see it live.
Semi-mages may reach effects, but they cannot render its body like carvers finding grain in stone.
Still, it could serve war; the best was a “pseudo-barrier,” mixing Impado and Regido to simulate a Collapse Point.
From that seed, countless light points would bloom, forming a barrier like a net of stars.
The path was long; theory only; to make it real was like creating from nothing; the Collapse Point is an ideal substance, birthing light points on its own.
You can mimic the point, but not its lights; it’s a moon you can paint, but not its glow.
Beyond the Collapse Point, Medith offered field-tested improvements: the City Gate Nemesis battering ram, the repeating crossbow, the Blackblood War Chariot.
Especially the Blackblood War Chariot; with inscriptions from the Wind Sprites, the Bonecrusher Arrow would launch faster and bite deeper, like iron through oak.
Its hardness remained; Medith’s ideas filled gaps like rivets in steel, fixing flaws in half a dozen engines of war.
...
Medith herself gained the most fearsome Lawbreaking Ability—[Destruction Chess]; the mana leash she hated snapped, and she returned to close-quarters like a wolf to snow.
She kept her spellwork’s edge; her strength surged like tide at full moon.
Elyu personally bestowed the title “Dawn Paladin,” with the same honors and stipends as Haidra and the others, delivered monthly to her manor like clockwork.
She received free passage through the Eastern Nation, save the royal palace, and authority to mobilize up to three thousand soldiers, with reasons stated like writ on jade.
In this city, the Queen, honoring her wish, granted her the title “Protector Grand General,” a crest bright as sun on bronze.
Such supreme power was unprecedented; placing that weight in an “outsider’s” hands stirred noble vassals like hornets under a lid.
Elyu silenced them cleanly: surpass Medith’s feats, and you’ll receive the same; words fell quiet like snow.
Sais, near-demoned by hatred, saw her hair and eyes turn red like embers; yet her mana ceiling rose like smoke into a higher sky.
Rumor says the Elf Clan can beget children with humans; whether Medith knows, the wind keeps its secret.
Phiby and Iling awakened their talents, carrying battlefield auras like halos, granting nearby humans small boons without consuming mana.
Milia grew most; she broke into A-grade mana and honed herself like a veteran hammering steel on anvil.
...
Even as that day drew near, unease moved first in Medith’s chest, like a sparrow trapped in bamboo; she still didn’t know who that boy was.
Was her ability linked to him, like shadow to flame?
Luo Tianfeng—who was he, and who was Zhigu? Every flashback felt like a omen, a reed whispering of rain.
Mysteries veiled her like silk; along the road, the only harvest was more riddles, ripe as fruit with no knife to cut.
