What?! This is a prototype combining Regido with weapons? Sais blanched, then sprang from her chair with a whoosh.

After Pers finished, everyone’s brows tightened like knotted rope. Every nation had started secret research six months ago, like roots spreading under frost. They were harvesting Regido’s energy, tailored to each user.

They bottled it inside blades, like lightning corked in steel. Power spiked according to the wielder’s attributes, flaring like dry grass. But instability ran wild, a wild horse under a thin rein. It could drain one’s strength in a heartbeat, like the tide sucking sand. Or leak, or detonate mid-swing, a starburst gone wrong.

It turned the user into their own gravedigger, and could gut nearby allies like shrapnel in a storm. Yet from Robert’s performance, it looked close to a finished form.

When it rains, it pours. We haven’t even moved, and they’ve forged this thing. The Southern Kingdom’s grasp of Regido coils like a serpent around fire...

Was this my doing? Medith twisted her hands, anxiety fizzing like ants. Pers shook his head, calm as stone. This has nothing to do with you. The Emperor began studying Regido at its first spark, but they hit a glass wall and couldn’t break through.

For some unknown reason, they broke through recently. The technical wall cracked, and this first-generation piece became reality.

It’s still unstable, a flame in wind. The making cost is sky-high. The blade must bear its tier like a spine holding thunder, and it drinks massive energy like life poured into steel. One slip can leak like a ruptured dam and cause heavy casualties.

All told, mass production’s not ripe yet. But with the Emperor’s talent, give it three years, and fire will spread—everyone carrying one...

Gasps rippled through the room. Medith tapped the table with a fingertip, like rain on wood. Looks like we won’t need to act. Someone’s about to lose patience on their own.

You mean... Milia caught on in an instant. Medith smiled, sly as moonlight. She dashed off a letter, added intel on the Red Sword, called a courier pigeon, and let it wing toward the Eastern Nation...

Good—Sip’s chipped to ruin, like a chewed bone. Let’s use this... what was it? I heard Robert call it [Flame-Soaring Radiance]. Medith weighed the longsword, its heft and edge like a song in her hand.

Thanks to her unusual constitution, winter couldn’t bite through the blade’s chill. The women shook their heads like grass in a breeze. Don’t. This sword feels wicked. And Pers said it has huge side effects. What if you mishandle it and hurt yourself?

Sais rubbed the brand-like scar on her brow, pain pulsing like a drum. The wound had healed, but the mark was forever. She’d need bangs to hide it from now on.

Fire rides the wind. Since this sword’s fire-aspected, a Wind Sprite should wield it. You can’t even lift it. The only Wind Sprite who can is me. So, any objections? Medith smiled, confident as a sunrise.

Turning down such a gift would slight Robert’s effort, carried across a thousand miles like a burning offering.

Fangge shrugged. Whatever. Flashy toys aren’t my style at all.

Nameless, of course, uses a long spear and won’t even look at it. The rest had no objections. The claim was settled. Medith’s heart filled with joy. Then a thought flickered. Flame-Soaring Radiance is a mouthful. Since it’s mine, and I’m a woman, how about calling her [Flame Lady]?

Sure. Heads bobbed in agreement. Yet as Medith studied the hilt, that blazing beast sigil left a sour taste in her heart...

September First. Unknowingly, Medith had walked this otherworld for over a year. That year felt like ten, rings in a storm-swayed tree.

Speaking of it, Xier’s birthday is a bit over a month away... The thought made Medith’s smile bloom like spring. With every trial endured, hope for Xier’s return grew brighter.

Medith had reason to believe the island that buried everything held a way to save her. And, of course, Melia...

They passed layered gorges and dense forests. Then the world opened. A magnificent castle rose. Its walls ran unbroken, iron cliffs a hundred meters high, fear gnawing like cold wind.

Most striking were the countless silver-lit knights. Ranks neat and uniform, some seated, some drilling, some chatting. Iron riders on white steeds skimmed past, lending the mercenaries a high-knight aura.

Any newcomer would call them a virtuous, well-drilled order without doubt. Longing flashed in Medith’s eyes. She pressed her heels. The mount shot forward like a loosed arrow.

The group could only shake their heads, helpless as reeds in wind. That’s Medith. Soon, they were laughing as they caught up.

[Dawnlight]

The fortress lord sat upright in a spacious hall. A smooth marble round table for twelve stood at the center. Overhead, an oval skylight was cut open. Heavy plates on both sides were drawn back, opened for today to flood the room with gold sun.

Around the table, men and women sat beaming in their places. They wore heavy silver armor. On each chest, a knight in silver-white plate, helm crowning the head, lance tilted, sun pouring over him.

Ah, Shilona, haven’t seen you in years. You’re more charming now. Learned plenty at the Grand Commander’s side, huh? A rough man spoke lazily.

Hmph, naturally. And when have I ever lacked charm? The woman smiled, golden-green eyes casting autumn waves, allure alive in every glance. The lord’s stern face bent into a teasing look. Shilona, this place’s a den of sweaty men. If you’re going to flaunt it, mind yourself.

Tch. You think you can take me?

How would we know without trying, right?

I’m not wasting breath with you. You all know about Medith heading north? Shilona shifted the topic. The room shed its levity. Everyone sat upright.