1. On the 17th, Haidra and her party crossed back into their own lands. Relief washed over her like cool rain after a long drought. Her body felt unstrung and scattered, yet the months behind them glowed with hard-won gains.

[Godspear City]

It was a city of iron, a fortress like a winter river frozen solid. Steel walls rose ten meters high, and on the snow-white plates, the Royal Capital’s crimson Sixpetal Rose bled like dawn on frost.

Those plates were forged from wall-steel mixed with Impado special alloy. A skin of iron, not bone-deep. Compared to infusing Impado within the stone, this veneer was weaker, a lacquer on a shield.

But the look of it was thunder and oath. The steel gleamed like a storm-lashed cliff, urging trespassers to turn away before their courage cracked.

Godspear City sprawled across the eastern domain like a steel constellation, on the west edge of the Boya Sea. Roads braided through it, arteries to the West Sea’s trade piers, military docks, and the pressure points that made strategy worth ink and blood.

It was the main city of the Dike Guard, the East’s strongest and most numerous infantry corps. Nearly twenty thousand soldiers breathed under its roofs, boots like rain on iron.

Five thousand of them were Haidra’s own handpicked blades, trained by her until sweat tasted like iron. Most Dike Guard troops were spread across the East, a lattice of order.

They worked more like military police, the city’s quiet heartbeat that kept streets from boiling over.

The Erene Guard held the eastern lines and packed their finest inside the Royal Castle itself, even the Commander kept within that ring of stone and spell.

The Royal Castle sat in the deepest, safest fold of the whole domain, a pearl where danger could not find seam. To its east, the Erene Guard watched from saddle and wall.

To its west, an infantry corps called the Godbreaker Corps sharpened their teeth against myths.

To its south, Sia City hunched like a steel beast, a mountain in armor.

And the castle itself was the strongest bulwark, a cliff of men and mystery. Its troops and unknown magic systems were the core of the East, the drum that set the march.

At the Dike Guard’s western headquarters, inside Godspear City, Haidra had barely let the dust settle when an unusual letter thudded onto her desk.

Annoyance pricked first, lips puckering like a thorned rose. She stared at the seal, strokes flying like dragon and phoenix, and simmered a while. Then the heat drained; she sighed.

One day to pack. One day to gather a slice of her elite. She handed the main city to Mure, the Iron Leopard, White Rider, and turned her face to the south like a hawk gauging wind...

...

2. Morning of the 18th.

[Royal Palace Watchtower]

“What do you think their goal is, Captain Hibo? You lived that war.” Elyu’s voice was low iron; he and Delaia leaned on the railing, eyes cutting the distance like spears.

Hibo held a long lance of black-gold, its surface drinking sunlight like night water. His black-and-gold armor gleamed, a shadow with edges.

He stood with plain soldier’s aura, a ripple among waves. Only his eyes, slipping from the helm’s slit, chilled like winter river ice.

“Your Majesty, they’re rabble who confuse right and wrong.” Hibo’s tone was flat as a slate. “They’ll die for their so-called ‘glory.’ They’re the froth left by a storm, outraged and obsolete.

“If need be, I’ll lead the troops and cut down such traitors myself.”

“‘Glory,’ is it...” Delaia’s words drifted like smoke, then tightened. “Recent intel turned odd. They’re fanatically loyal to the Fool King Osnath. They worship a ‘truth,’ a patchwork of rumors.

“And in that patchwork, there are whispers about you.” He flicked a sheet from his sleeve; paper flashed like a fish’s glint.

Hibo scanned it fast, eyes like a hawk’s shadow crossing the page. In moments, he returned the paper to Delaia.

“My lord. Your Majesty.” His voice was stone in a river. “These rebels crossed my path long ago. The former Erene Guard Commander, Sea-Current Mansto, fell to my spear.

“I was only a youth then, barely past ten summers. I served under him. When it broke loose that year, I refused the blindfold, and followed Ostos to right the greatest calamity in our history.

“The Glory Faction spat at me for it. They believe glory means dying for their king, even when he’s wrong.”

“If I err,” Elyu asked softly, like a blade’s whisper under silk, “will you become my enemy, like then?”

Cold settled in Hibo’s gaze. His hand tightened on the lance, knuckles pale as bone. “I serve the Eastern Nation’s future, and nothing else.

“Right now, you are that future, the sun of the Empire. You carry your father’s best virtues, and Prime Minister Paris stands beside you. When brothers stand as one, even iron splits.

“Give it time. Our Eunomia will rise again, the first among nations.”

“Good.” Elyu smiled, a crescent cutting cloud. “You may go, Captain Hibo.” Hibo let a small breath slip, bowed, and left like a shadow pulling loose.

...

“Did you hear it?” Elyu’s eyes tilted, a strange glint cast toward Delaia once Hibo’s steps faded.

“Ah... I’ll call Iron Leopard, White Rider Mure in.” Delaia’s reply was cool wind over gravel. “A king-slayer is still a king-slayer. Ostos likely saw the whole board long ago. Otherwise, Hibo wouldn’t have been kept leashed in the Royal Castle for decades…”

Elyu nodded, gaze lifting to the slow herds of cloud crossing the blue. The sky was a drink, wide and sweet, making the heart float.

Only, the sunlight felt dimmer, as if dust had veiled the sun’s face.

At the same time, on the far side of the continent...

....

[Free States, Sass City]

At exactly noon on the 18th, Medith used a few neat tricks, a fox through vineyards. Most of the applicants were washed away in one sweep.

Out of 536 names inked like a tide, fewer than fifty remained, stones that stayed when the water ran.

It was simple: a quick composite test, an ambush in miniature. Medith staged a small raid to measure reflex and spine.

Most chose anger first, heat before sense. They lashed out at Iling and the others playing enemy, fury like sparks in dry grass.

Many were gifted; several could use Regido. But Iling didn’t flinch; she’d already weathered Erig’s Magic Breaker, a storm where spells broke like reeds. She wouldn’t be rattled by minor squalls.

So the angry ones discovered their counterstrikes rang hollow. Panic pried them open; they scattered like pigeons under thunder. Discipline evaporated. Unity broke like thin ice.

Only a few kept clear minds when the strike hit. Even under the Lita Sisters’ twin assault, they moved like water around stones, poised and precise.

Seeing brute force wouldn’t hold, they rallied allies and built a defensive line, an abrupt wall against the tide. The Lita Sisters slipped back nursing small wounds, surprise like frost on their tongues.

Finally, Medith stepped out, the curtain lifted. Her intent laid bare like ink on white.

Those who’d run felt shame burn like a brand. Before Medith spoke, they slunk off, tails cut short.

“You look lively.” Satisfaction warmed Medith’s voice, a brazier on a cold morning. Her picked members stood tall, spirits bright, presence like hawks on a ridge. On faces and bodies, the Lawbreaking Brand flickered red in the visible places, sigils like embers.

A brief meet-and-greet, names traded like cards. Then Medith sent them home. Once the guild was set in stone, she’d call them to move in.

When the crowd thinned to drifting leaves, a few men and women remained, rooted by intent.

Medith noticed them at once—the first to weave a defense, the minds that parsed “enemy” flaws and pressed back like tide against tide.

“Here to claim credit?” Her laugh was quick silver. “Names.”

“Reporting, ma’am. I’m Nora.” The speaker stood tall, a long brown ponytail like a banner. Shorts and short sleeves, all muscle and sun. “From my right: Martina, Peggy, Occam, Croft.

“We were members of the Southern Kingdom Hunting Corps ‘Kuso,’ Third Battalion, Twentieth Squad.” Her right cheek bore a red six-pointed star, a brand like a seal on parchment.

“What?!” Melia’s shock snapped like a twig. “You said—Southern Kingdom Hunting Corps?!”

Beside her, Sais let killing intent bloom, cold as a blade’s breath in winter.