March 15. In recent days, Medith told Gill why she’d come, hinting the Kuso Guild held a Divine Stone of serious weight.

Gill said little. He had the underground gates unbarred, one after another, and bared the stone to the world.

The durian-sized Divine Stone hung still in endless dark. Its strange red glow painted the chamber, pooling into a scarlet lake.

Medith stepped through standing water to meet it. A tight breath. She lifted a slender right hand and tested the stone. No response. She grabbed it.

“Your Highness, is this really wise? The lord entrusted you with this treasure of the mountain. Back then, the lord—”

“Cecilia, what do you think a Divine Stone means?

Wealth? Fame? Deterrence?” Gill’s empty left sleeve swayed as he paced.

Cecilia walked toward Medith, thinking aloud. “It’s… leverage?”

Gill shook his head. “It’s a rock worth some coin. If someone wants it, it’s treasure. If no one does, it’s a stone.

Sell it to nobles, and it sits on a trophy shelf as a pretty trinket.

Sell it to a nation, and it becomes the ultimate weapon that changes how we live, even how we breathe.

That lesson has already been driven into us.”

Cecilia seemed to understand. The two stopped in front of Medith.

Vmmm—

The stone suddenly hummed. Cradled in Medith’s arms, it melted at a speed the eye could follow, turning into red sand. It sank into her palm, raced up her arm, then lodged at the center of her brow and faded to a phantom mark.

“Ho. So the gods’ mouthpiece isn’t a lie. Even the way you hide a stone is uncanny. Impressive, impressive.” Gill half-jested.

Truth be told, after seeing Medith’s world-ending form, nothing on this earth could surprise him. Until you’ve taken her Magic Breaker head-on, you’ll never know what it is.

That day, Medith forced Magic Breaker with her strength almost spent, so no Annihilation Zone formed. If Gill had seen that, he’d have found fresh words.

He’d see soon enough. After all, someone out there was worth enough for Medith to go all out to kill, Gill thought.

...

On the Southern Kingdom’s border stood a city of steel.

Dozens of kilometers of refined-steel curtain walls rose tall. Over twenty meters high, their black armor flashed in sunlight, sometimes throwing a sphinx-like, human-headed lion across the sheen.

It wore an outer skin of refined steel mixed with Impado. The inner wall was a cement-stone cast from Impado and Regido.

Across the continent, that steel skin alone could arm a fortress, even a great city wall, shrugging off a thousand troops with ease.

Let alone a wall of Impado and Regido. Even Sia City, the Eastern Nation’s vital throat, had never spent so lavishly.

Of course, tech and coffers decide reach. The Eastern Nation is slowest in Regido. The royal city has it, but only on the palace walls.

To sheath a border with it? They can only eat dust.

For the Southern Kingdom, it’s extravagant, not ruinous. Painful, not fatal.

This is their first line, and the most crucial.

It stands not only for the strongest nation on the continent, but for rule by absolute force.

That heavy, terrifying man-faced lion gate has sent how many heroes to bitter graves, dying without touching even a sliver of it.

Yet even with walls this tight, soldiers here don’t rest easy.

They bustle. They forge iron. Fit armor. Drill ranks. Service gear. Watchposts run around the clock. Iron hooves thunder. Smiths fling sweat, hammering arrowheads sharp as frost.

Among them, many in blue scholar robes work as well. They clutch blueprints and shout orders.

From a castle window above, Andrew watched the rush below. On the brink of war, yet a shadow still pooled between the soldiers’ brows.

“Ward, did you send the request for reinforcements?” Andrew spoke, worry first, orders second.

A man with long blue curls, commander in every gesture, bowed. “My lord, the nobles led by Duke Taylor seem indifferent.

They even mock you. They say…”

“Don’t spare me. Say it.” Andrew had expected this.

Ward straightened, solemn. “They say you’ve marinated in wine and excess for years. That a mere Sprite now frightens you like this.

They say, if you lose, they won’t wait for your plea. They’ll escort you to the Imperial Capital themselves.”

Andrew faced the wall and set both hands on the stone. Pressure built before he knew it. Grit cracked under his fingers.

“Recall every regiment. They must be in place within half a month. Late, and it’s court-martial.” His voice weighed like iron.

Ward didn’t argue. He nodded, withdrew, and went to muster the troops.

Andrew looked at the clear sky. The rising sun poured down, nourishing all things, lending warmth and breath to the land.

Yet he felt no warmth. He looked at his hands, stained by uncounted blood, a blade that drew blood with every stroke. They trembled.