Stone Fortress—a defensive citadel of the Empire stationed at the border of the Fire Eagle Duchy. It had transformed entirely into a military stronghold. Defensive measures lined every street, preparing for street-by-street fighting should the outer walls or gates fall. Barricades blocked every intersection.

Inside a grand mansion at the city’s heart, Marshal Elinorond pored over battle reports. He coughed intermittently—his seventy-year-old body buckling under relentless strain.

*Knock knock knock!*

"Enter... *cough!* ...Ahem... Ken? What is it?"

His aide-de-camp, a forty-something officer named Ken, strode in. He snapped to attention, fist thumping his chest in salute, then stood rigid by the desk. Ken’s short, thick brown hair framed a face radiating earnest loyalty. At nearly six-foot-three, he towered over most men.

"Marshal, sir... something feels off."

"Oh? What’s happened?"

"General Hisar’s aide reassigned troops from this sector this morning. And Hisar’s personal guard suddenly distributed rations and weapons. It looks like... mobilization. Suspicious timing, sir. Was this your order? Also... spies within the White Oak Kingdom’s army report they began issuing supplies at dawn too. The coincidence worries me."

"Hmm... and your conclusion?"

"If General Hisar plans a surprise attack, I advise canceling it. The Kingdom’s army seems alert. Or..."

"Why hold back? Or Hisar has another goal? That’s what you mean, isn’t it?"

"This... General Hisar *is* your grandson, sir. I merely speculate..."

"He wants to betray me. Isn’t that it?"

Ken nodded silently.

"War... twists hearts. After repeated humiliations—especially from family... A spoiled heir with no real bond to his grandfather... Misunderstandings fester easily. Killing one’s own grandfather to seize command and carve a legacy? It’s logical. Why be shocked? Just an old man. A dying, timid shadow of the hero he once was. Nothing remarkable..."

...! Ken spun toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To secure the fortress. This *cannot* happen."

*BANG!* A hand cannon’s bullet tore through Ken’s skull. He collapsed backward, eyes wide with disbelief. The door burst open—two soldiers rushed in to find Marshal Elinorond standing firm, smoking hand cannon still raised.

"What happened? Mar—Marshal! Are you unharmed? This is... Lord Ken..."

"I’m fine. Drag this corpse out. He was a spy planted by the enemy. I uncovered him and executed him."

"Lord Ken... a spy? Unthinkable."

As the soldiers lifted the body, Elinorond called out:

"Hold. Keep this quiet. No word until after the battle. Such news shatters morale. If I hear whispers, I’ll have you both court-martialed!"

"Yes, sir!"

After they left, Elinorond gazed at the setting sun. His expression twisted with regret.

"Forgive me, Ken. My most capable officer... Your brilliance was the problem. Such talent left alive would threaten *His* plan. Every risk must be erased. You served well all these years. Under a better commander, you’d have risen to Admiral—maybe even Marshal. A commoner climbing by merit alone... history would’ve remembered you. But... destroying this Empire is my life’s work. I sacrificed everything for it—my life, family, lovers, friends, grandchildren... and you. So many beautiful things. Yet... *His* vision is perfect. I’ve seen the hope. Hope to unite this continent. Hope to save a rotten-to-the-core kingdom... Even if millions must die in the fire... a new nation *will* rise from the ashes..."

Darkness swallowed the sun. Shouts, clashing steel, and warhorse whinnies erupted in the streets. Flames flared. Heavy footsteps pounded outside the room.

The door crashed open. Hisar charged in, clad in black armor, red-eyed and gasping. He stared at Elinorond’s back, silhouetted against the window. His soldiers followed, equally breathless, hesitating to advance. This was the Empire’s Marshal—the man they’d come to kill. Yet facing this unarmed old man, their resolve crumbled under crushing weight. They’d charge fearless into armies, but here... their blades trembled.

"Well? Why not use your Shadowless Slash? Your signature move—refined from relentless thrusts. Hisar. My grandson."

"Hah... hah... hah..."

"Come. Kill me with your sword. What holds you back? You chose this path. There’s no turning back. Step forward. No traps. No tricks. I won’t dodge or flee. *Come.* Pierce my heart. When did you lose even this much courage?"

*Tch.* Hisar tightened his grip. His blade flashed—Shadowless Slash. He vanished.

Elinorond smiled faintly, tension melting from his face—

Blood sprayed. Hisar’s sword erupted from Elinorond’s chest, tip gleaming through his back.

"*Cough...* Well done... grandson. I... never held you. Not once... since you were born."

Elinorond opened his arms, pulling Hisar into an embrace.

"My fault... *cough...* Flee. Hide. Never... show yourself again. One day... you’ll understand... you’ll..."

His body slumped. Blood pooled beneath him. His face was serene—utterly without regret.

———

Glennt watched flames devour Stone Fortress in the distance. He sighed. Behind him, White Oak Kingdom knights and their conscript army formed ranks.

"Advance! Take Stone Fortress in one push!"

"Yes, sir! CHARGE!!"

At Glennt’s command, knights shielded battering rams as they rolled forward. Cannons emerged from the Kingdom’s lines, black muzzles aimed at the fortress’s freshly patched wall breach.

"FIRE!"

*Cannon fire boomed.*

"KEEP FIRING!"

Cannonballs shattered the repaired breach. Imperial soldiers scattered in panic. Fires raged brighter within the city.

A knight galloped to Glennt’s side, eyes alight with the assault.

"My lord! Conscripts have scaled the walls. The ram reached the gates... Chaos erupted inside the city."

"Good. Prioritize securing the gates. Force the Imperial garrison to surrender. Execute resisters. And... we take no prisoners. At dawn, execute every captive."

"Yes... but civilians remain inside. Should we..."

"Fine. Consider it a reward for your men. Do as you wish—but herd them together before we withdraw. Kill them. We lack troops to guard this ruin. Or grain to feed them. After the slaughter, seize all provisions."

"Understood... Thank you for your consideration, my lord."

———

Five days later, Duke Kein slammed his fist against the railing of the *Bailong*’s bow, crumpling a report in his hand.

"My lord... what’s wrong?"

"That traitor Hisar switched sides... The Marshal is dead. Stone Fortress has fallen. The Kingdom’s knights... those beasts accepted 50,000 Imperial surrenders—then massacred them all at dawn. And the 20,000 civilians trapped inside... slaughtered."

"*What?!* Damn them, they—"

"Worse is coming... This happened *five days ago*. I fear..."

A sailor sprinted over, panic etching his face. Kein’s brow furrowed.

"My lord! Scouts report Fire Eagle and White Oak fleets converging on us! Over a thousand ships—closing in from three directions!"

"A *thousand*? Impossible! Their combined navies total six hundred! Are you mad?!"

Kein’s aide grabbed the sailor’s collar, lifting him off his feet.

"Dummy ships," Kein muttered. "Hulls with sails but no oars—lightweight decoys towed to inflate sail counts. They’re hiding their main force’s position. Trying to pin us down..."

"My lord... we could identify the real fleet by speed. Dummy ships slow them down. Feign retreat—let them chase. The fastest pursuers lack decoys."

"And if they hold back? If their *real* fleet lags while decoys surge ahead? We’d scatter chasing bait. Even if we win, we’d be crippled. How then do we strike the Kingdom’s heart and force their army home?"

"I... hadn’t considered that."

Kein clapped his shoulder.

"Full retreat! Now!"

"Retreat?!"

"Yes. Let them chase their tails. Without magic-powered paddlewheels, they’ll never catch us. We’ll pick them off—slowly, surely."

"But the land campaign—"

"Not our concern. Our duty is offense. And... keep the Marshal’s death secret. For now."

"Understood, my lord."

———

In Vanelshire Empire’s capital, Duke Ciseph—armored and grim—bowed before the Queen before leading 20,000 Imperial Guards out of the city gates.

"Your Majesty... the capital now lies defenseless."

"I know. But how can a ruler stand by while her people are slaughtered?"

The capital was incredibly sturdy, thanks to its magical defenses—even ordinary garrison troops could hold it...

Civilians along the route stepped forward, offering bouquets and fruits to the departing soldiers. Girls dashed up to kiss the young men.

The Imperial Guards wore the empire’s standard half-armor, shielding only their torsos. Now and then, a robed figure holding a staff appeared in their ranks.

“Are those mages?” Mary asked.

Mary and Madam Franlen stood at the manor gate, seeing off the passing Imperial Guards.

“Yes,” Madam Franlen replied. “They’re disciples of Lord Rudingelnan... all wielding immensely powerful Arcane Arts. Keane said they can hurl fireballs barehanded... and lightning spears... Warriors who get close are frozen solid by their icy chill. They also cast barriers to block arrows and gunfire... or summon elemental creatures to attack enemies...”

“So amazing...”

“True, but mages aren’t made overnight. Talent demands are brutally strict... Only this emergency made the Queen send them. See? Most are elderly—the youngest is fifty... Who knows if they’ll return?”

Mary watched hooded elders: beards streaked gray-white, faces deeply wrinkled. She nodded... then handed a bouquet to a passing hooded figure. The person took it and nodded back. That aged face beneath the hood made Mary’s heart ache.