March 23, 8:00 a.m. At the usual morning court, crests glittered like a field of steel as nobles gathered. New faces dotted the hall like fresh surf. They were vassals, old and new, summoned from the Near Isles. At Elyu’s side stood Delaia, and a man past fifty with shoulder-length silver hair, hair like frost over stone.

His irises shone a rare silver-white, cold as winter mercury. That gaze made spines lock, like wolves fixing prey across snow. His face was a map of unhealing battle scars, as if fire etched riverbeds. Just standing there, he made hearts thud like drums before a storm.

“Is that Lord Pullman from the King’s Vanguard?” “Silver eyes, silver hair, and by His Majesty—hard to be anyone else.” “The King’s Eye—Delaia; the King’s Left Hand—Valde; the King’s Right Arm—Pullman.” “Besides the ‘Brain’, every member of the Vanguard has shown themselves.” Voices rustled like reeds, while the sharp-nosed already sweated cold, as if doom crept in.

The prime minister’s seat, one step below Elyu’s left, sat empty like a missing tooth. Elyu’s face stayed calm as a lake, yet inside waves broke and crashed. Last night’s storm still rang in him; his mind hadn’t caught up.

After court, Pullman’s silver-white robe, embroidered with Eunomia’s brilliant Sixpetal Rose, flared like a sail as he hurried to Elyu. “Your Majesty, the upheaval in the city already unsettles many—shall we soothe them?”

“Mm... go, and be gentle with your words.” Elyu answered, mind adrift like a leaf in eddying water.

Pullman bowed and swept away like a gust. Elyu pressed his temples; a prickling ran over his scalp like cold ants.

...

Tianensai ate with both hands, a drumstick in the left, a sip of broth in the right. He swept the feast like a north wind over fields.

“Lord Tianensai, His Majesty ordered me to deliver this sword to you. It’s named Frostbite. A trial piece forged by mixing Impado with Wind Magic; its bite is extraordinary. There’s only this one in the realm; I entrust it to you.” A general in black-and-white war armor offered a longsword sheathed in water-blue.

“Oh?” Interest sparked in Tianensai’s eyes like flint. He flicked the food aside, wiped his hands, and snatched up the sword fast.

At first touch, cold drilled to the bone, with a faint sting like a thousand needles. “Whoa... this blade’s got secrets.”

The general smiled with pride, chin lifting like a banner. “A dozen master smiths and designers forged it together. After the warhorse upgrades, the crossbows, and the Blackblood War Chariot refits, this is the first weapon to fuse magic and Impado. Its power, my lord, you’ll savor in time.”

Tianensai’s brows rose; doubt colored his young, handsome face like cloud over sun. “I don’t buy that His Majesty is just ‘cherishing talent’ by gifting me this. What happened?”

“No details to share. Just stay here for now. Your army stationed in the east is temporarily under His Majesty. Please recover fast, for whatever may come.” The general spoke, then left at a brisk march like iron on stone.

Tianensai wasn’t dull. A quick turn of thought, and he guessed most of it. “Nice toy... I wonder how it feels to cleave rebels with it.”

...

March 23, 11:00 p.m.

Paris Castle’s gate was ringed by dozens of Erene Guard elites, like iron thorns for a prison. But atop the castle, Paris laughed freely. He had tried, and he had failed.

“This is the last time. I gave you your chance.” Paris spoke to the sky like a man to an old moon. At his side, a lithe girl in a black-and-red knee-length dress bowed, voice low as incense smoke. “Your Majesty’s righteousness is clear. How can mortals read a god’s mind?”

Beside her stood several tall, burly men, danger clinging to them like the smell of steel.

Paris chuckled. “And you, Velledo—do you know my mind?”

“We needn’t know. Fate braided us together.” Velledo smiled. Moonlight washed her face, bright as water on white stone. Brown hair fell to her slim waist, and pale blue eyes flashed, keen and teasing.

“Your Majesty, they’ve arrived.” A figure sealed in heavy black-gold armor raised a heavy lance, voice muffled like thunder in a barrel. On his chest, the crest showed Paris’s Six Clawed White Dragon.

In the hazy distance, more than ten tall ships loomed like cliffs. And a powerful hawk streaked through the night, clutching a scroll, arrowing toward Elyu’s palace.

Paris didn’t notice the hawk. He nodded, opened his arms, and lifted his gaze to the bright moon. His eyes grew deep and airy, as if they pierced the veil of things. “Then let the wild wind begin to wail.”