“Before we noticed, the Dusk Legion had swelled to this size,” Medith said with a relieved smile, pride blooming like dawn in her chest as white banners flooded the streets.
The Queen had changed into a snow-lotus gown, her Scepter bright as ice in sunlight. Her silver-white heels clicked like light rain on stone as she strolled beside Medith.
“Yeah. Your training works,” she said, voice smooth as silk drawn taut. “After the Mountain Bandits and the stand at Sia City, the nobles finally felt it—when the shield breaks, everyone’s teeth chatter.”
“We break to build; we raze, then we raise,” she went on, words like paired strokes of a brush. “The strong hunt and the weak bleed. Once that truth sinks to the bone, hands join, and the rest flows downhill like water.”
“Most powers have folded under the Dusk Legion,” she said, gaze sweeping like a hawk’s. “In three months, Xurenxus City may fly only one banner—ours, dusk red over the walls.”
“When that day comes, you, Commander—if you still can’t stand me—just lift my crown off.” The Queen’s laugh chimed like glass, her smile a net of light.
They passed a park. Sprites played and glimmered like fireflies at dusk. Old, stiff chains of disdain lay discarded like rusted shackles. Commoners and nobles shared benches, their laughter ringing under green shade.
Medith eased onto a long bench, comfort settling like warm tea. “Your Majesty, why say that?” Her gaze wandered like a lazy river. “Frankly, if I wanted your crown, I didn’t need to wait; I could’ve moved in the hall that day.”
The Queen didn’t bristle; her brows lifted like willow leaves, her tone a tease. “General, you think because I’m soft in bed, I’m soft in court?”
“Heh… who knows?” Medith’s grin was wicked, a crescent blade. The Queen gave her a light push, playful as a breeze. “With your strength back then, one slap from me and you’d be ash in the wind.”
“Hey, didn’t I already push—and crash—into you?” Medith shot back, sparks in her voice.
The Queen scolded her softly, then her gaze tightened like drawn silk. “Medith… why did the Eastern Nation’s prince choose now? Or, as you said… did he truly seek the crown hard enough to cut down his own father and brother?”
Medith’s face grew severe, fingers locking like clasped iron, eyes flickering like blades catching light. After a breath, she nodded, firm as stone.
“Your Majesty, years hang on me like armor. I’ve seen too much,” she said, voice low as thunder under cloud. “I’ll be blunt: I know humans ten, a hundred times better than you.”
The Queen nodded, the memory dark as soot. If she were truly that wise, Nessos wouldn’t have breached the walls like a black tide. Had they laid trade lines early, silk roads across dust, they might be the continent’s strange fifth power. They might have rekindled a magic age, a phoenix flame over ruins. But the page turned; the ink lies dry.
Medith’s gaze hardened, gravity rare on her face, solid as a cliff. “I have seen wars like storms. I have killed royals and nobles, crowns withered like dead branches. Even Sons of Heaven and Human Emperors fell, food for my Godslayer Blade.”
“I’ve watched desire swell like a flood and drown kingdoms,” she said, the words cold as river stones. “But…”
“Paris is different,” she breathed, winter in the syllables. “He is the most frightening foe I have met, a shadow colder than frost. Not only because he cast off blood ties and, like me, became a devil.”
“It’s because his goal and his faith reach beyond human bone,” she said, eyes like knives. “I aim at the devil and become one when needed. He aims at gods, plotting to slay divinity in a human body and forge a man-made god.”
“In pure strategy,” she continued, voice steady as a drumbeat, “if there exists someone who can calculate without a single leak, turning every event and person like pieces on a board—if such a player lives, it isn’t me.”
“I never thought someone could be this terrifying,” she said, breath thin as smoke. “He forged a false doom for a nation’s luck, called tsunamis like moon-dragged tides, dragged down a Meteor, and turned an ancient royal order on its head.”
“Add the tricks,” she counted, fingers like tally marks. “Misdirect and swap, lure the tiger from the mountain, kill with a borrowed blade, rest to strike hard, feint east and hit west, encircle one point and smash the relief—all of it, woven like a net.”
“His grasp of war lore hardly loses to mine,” she said, voice iron. “On raw scheming, I fall short. I think he moved only after some event—or some ‘truth’—hit him like lightning.”
“Whatever that was, it’s tied the whole continent to a thunder-bomb,” she went on, breath like a cold wind. “The fuse runs under every city. Any moment, the blast could spread fire across every land.”
“Paris taking the throne is disaster, not blessing,” she said, words heavy as lead. “If we can, we should cut all ties with the Eastern Nation.”
“Except Haidra and Talant—two islands in that storm.”
