After the smoke of talk cleared, Medith made the call: Sais and Melia would travel with her. For Iling and the Lita Sisters, she left three gold bars, bright suns to play under, and cut them loose.

Melia wore a stormy face, blaming Medith’s “bias” in her heart. On the road, the mood eased like rain lifting; this trip was meant to grow their whole branch.

Medith was planting seeds on purpose, a patient gardener at war. Otherwise she wouldn’t have swapped out Milia and sent them forward together.

Catching Medith’s intent, Melia let a knowing smile break through, like sunlight cracking cloud on a dusty road.

She pulled on the Dusk Legion uniform. She rarely wore it at formal times; old habits and her knot with Medith kept a misty gap with the Crimson Sun.

There’ll be time to get used to it, she thought, like a river smoothing stone.

...

“Whoa, damn, it’s really huge...” Sais stared at a pure-white giant gate, her jaw dropping like a hooked carp.

The gate stood three meters tall and nearly four wide, the building behind it castle-large, shouldering the sky with quiet weight.

Impado tiles ringed the walls, ornate and stubborn; their winter-cold bite made Medith think there was Divine Stone in the mix.

A banner of freedom flew high, a lighthouse burning in night, stark against the blue.

Elation rose first in Medith, a breeze through the chest. She pictured her own banners planted across the continent, and the buried fire in her soul stirred.

Ahead were three long lines, rivers of bodies inching on. To their right stood a man-made rampart, a gate where you’d be screened to enter.

Medith eyed the tide of people and could only sigh at the shore. She lined up, quiet, and began to wait.

“White hair... long pointed ears. You’re a Sprite. Hell... you wouldn’t be Medith?!” A young man in brown cloth pointed, eyes wide.

“Redhead, white-haired Sprite, and that rumored Black Sun. Yeah! They’re the ones from the Dusk Legion!”

“Gods! It’s really them!”

...

“Ah... it begins.” Disgust pricked first; Sais clapped her hands over her ears, trying to dam the churning noise around them.

Medith’s patience snapped like a dry twig. She drew her longsword and roared, “All of you—shut up—”

Her bellow tore through the square like a dragon’s cry. Noise died at once, a shroud dropping over the crowd.

“Isn’t this the Sprite General everyone talks about?” A young man in a black coat, a Black Tulip inked on his skin, shouldered through.

“He’s an attendant. Damn...” the crowd murmured, surprise rippling like wind over wheat.

“You’re here to establish a guild, General? Madam already gave orders—if the General comes, full clearance. General, please.” He bowed low, a courteous path laid with his hand.

So they were swept inside while the stunned crowd stood blinking.

“Look, I only won a few little wars. Why does it feel like the whole world knows?” Medith’s voice carried a dry helplessness, like sparks turning to bonfires without her.

Two victories, both close to pyrrhic, yet people flocked like a king on parade. The weight of it felt absurd.

“You might not know, General. Someone in the Eastern Nation spread Sia City’s reports across the continent. It rang alarms for every country; outside threats matter, and inside ones too.

You moved before the storm showed its teeth, driving ships with sorcery to reach Sia City’s blood tide.

Under a siege with no clean exit, you made a path where none existed, lifted your own morale, bled the enemy’s numbers and will.

With layered tactics and guile, three thousand broke twenty thousand elite iron cavalry. That tale’s everywhere by now.

No need to be modest. Elsewhere, you might not be as known. But in the Free States, and among those in black armor, your name hits like thunder.” He led them up a spiral stair, coiling like a serpent through light.

Medith glanced down. At the front desk, a hum of talk rose, bees clustering while they registered things she couldn’t see.

“Thanks for the lesson. Isn’t guild work done downstairs?” Fame didn’t stir her. When strength is solid, fame sticks itself on, moss on stone.

“You honor me too much, General. I’m just a guide, not any ‘sir.’ You’re a guest of honor. Founding a guild’s far more complex than you think. See Madam, and she’ll explain.” His tone stayed warm.

Medith had more to say, but the stair had ended. A broad, lavish hall opened, the floor a sea of roses and red carpet, petals afloat on a crimson river.

Crystal hung from the ceiling, flashing like sun on frost, enough to make eyes swim.

Doors lined the walls, half-ajar and finely made, their faces black as a night lake, depthless—and somehow safe to the touch.

They breathed a faint floral scent. Even the warm-toned walls smelled clean and soft, silk-smooth under the palm. Living here would be a swoon.

Sais’ pulse kicked first, heat rising like wine. She looked at Medith and lost her reason for a beat, wanting a wild, blazing romance on this rose-red carpet.

She pressed her soft cheeks hard, shook her small head, and scattered the madness like water tossed from a bowl.

Melia wasn’t so dramatic. She spun as she walked, dreamy-faced, a petal caught in a gentle waltz.

“Seems the Elf Clan’s gift for song and dance isn’t just a rumor.” The guide smiled, watching Melia turn with starry eyes.

The women didn’t hear him. They drank the scene with their gaze and reached the corridor’s wide end.

“Madam’s been waiting for you, General. I hope your talk goes well.”

“Wait—what’s your name?”

“I’m only a guide, nameless and quiet...”

Creak... thud... The wooden door sighed, then closed with a soft weight.

“Mmm-huhu... General, I didn’t expect we’d meet again so soon.”

Medith turned. Olivya sat with one leg angled, elegant as a night flower. She lazily swirled a glass of red wine.

Her eyes were green waves laced with static. Her scarlet lips grazed the rim. The black dress framed half-bared curves, wicked and bewitching.

“Madam... why did you lie to me?” Medith strode over, thunder in her steps, dropped into the sofa opposite, clasped her hands, and crossed her legs like a commander at court.

Melia and Sais took seats too, mirroring Olivya’s poise, tilting their legs aside. They watched her with a strange, searching look.

“Don’t trouble me, General. When did I ever lie to you?” Olivya set down her glass, a smile blooming like a rose.

“You said you—”

“Eh, Miss Sais, I’m a member of [Blackberry Flower]. That’s true. However, the president is also one of the members.”