"Right—and that's why we gathered, like wind drawing clouds together."

"Her stance toward us is hazy; right now we can't tell friend from foe."

"But judging by Gulo's case, she's an ally... no, more likely a friend."

"Mmm." The castellan nods. "If we can lean on Medith's power, it helps our moves and our future. But that's not why I called you."

"Oh?" Xilona lifts a fine brow, sensing the shift like a chill before rain.

"The one in the Eastern Nation will move soon. He won't touch the Guild. North of the eastern front, Sass City and the Sanctuary of Freedom sit in Medith's pocket—Dusk Legion plus Guild."

"From Queen Lahiss of the centuries-old Alliance and her subtle shifts over the East, the Wind Sprite clan seems under Medith's full hand. Right now she's a walking powder keg across the continent—touch her and you die."

"The Mountain Bandits don't matter; they won't shore up the regime he needs. Which leaves..."

The castellan traces a finger over the map, landing on the Dawnlight castle, north of the Sanctuary of Freedom.

"What?" Faces around the table stiffen. "But... we don't have their kind of reputation. We're not as strong, sure, but plenty of common folk stand with us."

"And what's the pretext to attack? Aren't you afraid of the Grand Commander's revenge?" Xilona asks, calm first, then voice like a blade.

"Not necessarily. He's a devil who killed his own father and brother. His hands haven't spilled enough blood? Reasons—he can spin them anytime he wants. Isn't he doing that now?" says a handsome man in his early thirties, words sharp as frost.

The castellan nods, expression hardening. "Exactly. I want you to file a joint petition. Ask the Grand Commander to detach three thousand heavy cavalry. With them alongside my men, this castle can sleep without fear."

"Unless he chooses to raze us at any cost."

The captains' faces knot—some dismissive, some worried, some skeptical with a shadow of contempt.

"Gerald, have you been holed up too long? Did your guts shrink? You're fretting at ghosts."

"Shut up, Dennis, you idiot." Xilona's patience snaps like dry bamboo. "Gerald's got more experience than us, and he's not wrong. Lately even the Grand Commander feels unsettled. Since that one in the East took office, nothing good has happened."

"Now the Southern Kingdom has crossed Medith. In the East, they're itching to move on her. The Northern Kingdom sits on the mountain, watching tigers fight. Medith alone has lit the continent's temper. They can't touch Medith—so who do they vent on?"

"Use your head. Think before you talk. Or you'll step outside one day and get split in two, never even knowing why."

Dennis finally gets it; cold sweat beads like dew at dawn. He doesn't dare make a sound.

"Better safe than sorry. I'll give it my all," Xilona says first, resolve steady as granite.

"I agree," the handsome man adds. Gerald smiles gently. "Then stay here a few days. Let me be a proper host."

"No. We don't have time. Long night, too many dreams. I'm not staying—do as you please." Xilona's face is set like iron. The other captains want to stay, but fear tugs them away. After a moment's struggle, they leave with her.

They go fast, clean as a blade rinsed in rain. Gerald doesn't even manage a goodbye. Mercenaries, seeing captains familiar or strange, can only salute from afar and watch them vanish at the rim of the plains.

...

"That is... oh God! Is that a Green Sprite?" An outpost merc peers wide-eyed through a simple scope.

"Let me see... That's... Medith? The Dusk Cloak, a golden Sunflame medal, emerald eyes steady as pine, green hair bright with valor. The Scarlet Valkyrie Sais, Jade with the demon mask, the long-shot riders, the Lina Sisters."

"Nameless the warrior, Iling with far-seeing eyes, Milia the God of Tactics, and a few unknowns... My god! The Dusk Legion! The entire Dusk Legion staff!"

Woooo— A long, bright horn sings across the walls like sunlight over water. Men tense—then realize it's the fanfare that welcomes heroes. Not long after Gerald watched the captains leave, Medith arrives—too late for him to hold them back. Regret sinks, heavy as dusk.

"Open the gate—welcome our guests!" Gerald stands atop the castle and shouts.

"Open the gate—!"

Neigh— Hooves drum like rain on stone. Medith and her party pass through unimpeded. Along the line, eight hundred mercenaries watch with respectful silence, their gazes steady as pines.

The sprites of rumor aren't the ghoul-song horrors the ballads promised. No—demons, yes, but the kind that steal breath with beauty.

Sais has grown over the last year; the old sultry air shed like paint washed away. In every frown and smile there’s a grace that makes hearts drift—admiration rises, yet lust doesn't dare.

Milia's neat, shoulder-length brown hair stuns more than a shout; her simple cut is sharp as a blade. The Lina Sisters have shed girlish cuteness; mature smiles glow like warm amber. Iling remains the same—nodding, laughing, light as spring wind.

It's Yunita's first time ringed by iron men. She fidgets, cheeks flushing like warm jade. Her fine features, so like Medith’s, draw the inevitable "baptism" of stares, gentle as rain yet relentless as tide.