By the time Fulin finished everything and came back to George City, dawn rinsed the rooftops with pale gold.

She triggered Dual Incarnation and shifted into Lance Morrison, feet tracing the hillside street like a river of stone.

The sun climbed slow as a red ember, and the weight of a sleepless night finally settled like wet cloth.

Her spirit sagged, tiredness pooling in her bones like cold water.

The three who held the high seats in George City hadn’t slept either; anxiety gnawed them like rats in the granary.

For two days without Lance, they lived on pins, hearts tight as bowstrings.

Seeing “him” return instead of running, as mercenary rumor croaked, Count George burst out of the castle like a storm.

He met Lance in the street, eyes shining like hot coals. "Sir Lance, you finally came back!"

"Mm. I’m back," Lance said, voice flat as a still pond.

"No time to dawdle. Call an emergency war council. I have something important to announce."

"Understood!"

They filed into George Castle, boots ringing like hammers, and the emergency war council opened in the great hall.

Attendance held one more than usual: Count George’s eldest, studying at Golden Bay City’s noble academy, Duwei Lindebel.

"Father, is this the 'Flame of Chaos' knight you mentioned?" His gaze skimmed Lance like a dull blade.

"I find him plain as dust. Handing the fief to a man like this looks unreliable."

Count George flared like tinder catching. "How dare you be so rude?"

"Did the academy teach you nothing of knightly etiquette?"

"Sir Lance hails from Mubay City, a Charge Knight of strong arm and straight heart."

"Duwei, apologize to him at once."

Duwei balked, pride stiff as a fence post, but the name “Lance” tugged at his memory like ink on yesterday’s paper.

Golden Bay City’s daily had printed it; classmates had murmured of a prodigy from Mubay City.

He decided this wasn’t a charlatan dressing in borrowed robes.

He stood and bowed, posture long as a reed. "Lance Morrison, I was out of line."

"My name is Duwei Lindebel, first son and lawful heir to this fief."

"I hope, for that bond, you forgive my ignorance and discourtesy."

"No problem. I don’t mind," Lance said, calm as snow.

Fulin had worn this face so long that doubt and scorn felt like light rain on old leather.

"Mr. Duwei, you just came back from Golden Bay City. You likely don’t know the situation."

"Has your father explained?"

Lance’s eyes slid to Count George.

The count nodded, chin dipping like a blade. "I told my son. He knows we’ve set to make war on Karl."

"Yes, that much I know," Duwei said, brows tight as knotted cords.

"But why answer the challenge, and why fight on the Eroded Plains they chose?"

"I see no chance to win. They have ten thousand."

"We have under five hundred—regulars and citizen levies."

"As for commanders, they have Maple City’s genius knight, 'Rose,' and Golden Bay City’s Mage Association powerhouse, 'Raging Tempest.'"

"Even if you’re skilled, Sir Lance, this looks brave but brainless."

Lance smiled, thin as a blade’s reflection, and didn’t answer him.

Instead, he asked the scholar Fleming, whose robe fell like ink. "Can we refuse battle?"

"We can," Fleming said, voice dry as parchment, "but the other side is decided."

"If we refuse, they’ll come to our walls like floodwater."

"No matter what we do then, the fief and city will suffer. We have no choice."

Duwei finally understood why they must answer.

He pressed on, worry fluttering like trapped birds. "Then why fight on the Eroded Plains?"

"How do we beat ten thousand?"

"As far as I know, five hundred, however arranged, can’t break ten thousand."

"The gap is a cliff. Do we have a chance? I don’t want to die for nothing."

Osborne, now demoted to a supporting knight, snapped like a whip. "What noble fears death?"

"If you fear dying, how do you guard a fief?"

Lance raised a hand, palm calm as a placid lake, and asked Osborne to hold.

"Fearing death is normal. I never take reckless risks."

"In fact, I have a mage friend of equal strength."

"She can’t show her face, but she’s willing to help us."

"That’s why I agreed to fight on the Eroded Plains."

Duwei found it absurd, lips curling like a sneer. "Sir Lance, do you mean this mysterious mage friend not only helps you, but can wipe out all ten thousand on the plains?"

"Is that what you’re saying?"

The question hit hard, and Fulin felt a hollow thud in her chest like a drum in fog.

But truth was truth. Lance answered steady as stone. "Yes. That’s exactly it."

The great hall roared like a stirred beehive.

Citizen representatives and petty nobles argued, voices clashing like iron.

They didn’t think Lance was lying, but couldn’t picture a mage erasing ten thousand with one stroke.

What kind of storm would that power be?

Duwei doubted fiercely, words like thrown rocks. "This is outrageous, Sir Lance!"

"I studied two years at Golden Bay City’s academy and met many powerful mages."

"But killing ten thousand scattered across a battlefield—how?"

"Even dropping a massive meteor would take an Archmage."

"Is that possible?"

Their prejudice sat thick as dust, and Fulin’s temples ached like hammered bronze.

She couldn’t reveal the plan. Lance said the clean line. "Yes. She is an Archmage."

Voices died at once, silence sinking like snow.

Count George jolted like a man touched by ice. "Sir Lance! Is that true?"

"Can you tell me her title?"

Fulin’s headache pulsed worse, a tight ring like iron.

Archmages in the Doran Kingdom are few; even counting travelers, fewer than five.

Their names are bright as banners. You can’t forge one from thin air.

Lance chose caution like a closed fan. "I’m sorry. Archmages stand high."

"If word spreads that one intervened on a city’s affairs on a whim, it could stir turmoil in the Doran Kingdom."

Count George nodded, acceptance settling like dust. "I understand."

"Can you at least tell me if this mage is a man or a woman?"

She is a woman, but even that stuck like a thorn.

Lance kept to the veil. "I’m sorry. That Archmage refuses all probing."

"I could break my promise and tell you, but that would do no good."

"All right. It was rude of us." At that, George and the others stopped pressing, guilt dimming like embers.

The war council moved on, steady as a mill wheel.

Lance assigned tasks one by one, his voice a metronome.

Among them was gathering a large number of rafts.

For George’s fief, which trades timber and stocks piles like sleeping logs, that wasn’t hard.

But doubts rose like weeds.

Lance had to push back wave after wave and finally bent them to the plan.

In the last round, after the summary, the emergency war council ended, the hall emptying like a tide.

Duwei suddenly stopped Lance, curiosity bright as a spark. "I’m grateful for a man like you serving my father."

"But I’m curious. Why didn’t you choose to surrender at the start, instead of fighting back with everything?"

"Why would I surrender?" Lance’s gaze was cool as moonwater.

"Karl’s intent to strike George spread across Golden Bay City like smoke."

"No one stepped in or reached out a hand."

"Even the Vanilla Duke stayed a watcher on the wall."

"People are waiting for their moment, watching a tragedy come down the road."

"Don’t you think that’s unfair?"

Duwei’s first scorn had vanished, respect settling like armor. "Just as Father said, you truly are a man of justice."

"No," Lance said, a faint smile like a chalk line. "Simply put, I’m just looking for a place to earn my bread."