“All commanding officers of the fortress report to the strategy chamber. I will assume full authority over the stronghold.”

Leaving those words behind, the prince departed the battlements. A strange silence settled over the fortress. The crisis had been averted, but no one could bring themselves to cheer.

The highest-level strategy room of the fortress. It lacked the grandeur of the royal palace or the Royce estate, built purely for function over form, meant only for war.   At the foremost seat of the room.

[Subordinate Fate: Fortune and Delusion have clouded the enemy’s perception.]
[The fate of utter defeat has been deferred.]

Observing the change in fate as it appeared before his eyes, the prince calmly turned his gaze toward the window.

No fear stirred within. Not even in the face of bloodlust or hostile eyes. The perilous situation failed to reach him. It had been the same when he encountered Bloody. Despite her being an opponent no one dared defy, not a shred of fear stirred.       The emotions of a tyrant often moved as though something was missing, incomplete. And that worked in his favor.

No room for hesitation when arrogance and madness alone ruled. Victory was all that remained to be pursued.

“Your Highness… did you truly intend to fight?”

“I did.”

“Then I shall serve with my life.”

“Commoner. Do not serve me with your life. Devise a way to win. There’s no merit in futile death.”

“I understand, Your Highness. I shall take that to heart.”

“Do I look like I came here to die?”

“I believe in Your Highness. But the current situation appears grim.”

“Blunt. I came to change that. What says the lamppost?”

“Are the Eastern front and the Northern mission related? And for the last time, I’m not a lamppost.”

“Not at a glance. But from a broader view, yes. Still too narrow-sighted, sword-stand.”

“…What’s the point of a sword-stand with wide sight.”

“Was that defiance?”

“…No, Your Highness.”

“Quite the narrow-minded lamppost. Look at the commoner. Quiet as stone.”

“…At least he gets called a person. I miss the days when you pretended to use my name.”

“Commoner. Lower the fortress standard.”

The unexpected order left both Andre and Sol tilting their heads in confusion. Taking down the standard often signified retreat, an obvious reason for their curiosity.       Yet retreat had nothing to do with the plan. Quite the opposite.

Just as the officers began entering the room, the prince issued a second command, eyes still averted.

“Take down the standard and raise the imperial banner.”

“Your Highness?”

“You mean… the imperial standard?”

“We cannot retreat under such a signal! Please reconsider!”

The officers who had just entered cried out in alarm. Raising the imperial standard was a declaration to hold the fortress, an unequivocal message of no retreat.

With the imperial flag hoisted, this nameless fortress would become the frontline’s focal point. Allowing the banner to be torn down would mean disgrace on par with treason. No one could survive it.

“Commoner.”

“I shall lower the banner and raise the imperial standard.”

Despite the protests, the prince’s order stood firm. Andre obeyed without question.

A sweep of the room revealed the officers fidgeting with words unsaid. So the prince granted them a chance.

“Speak, then. But if you’re going to say it’s impossible, too dangerous, that we cannot hold against an attack… If all you offer is such drivel …”

The sword placed atop the table was drawn.

“Then place your necks on the line first.”

Ah. Would severed heads still speak? Who knew, who cared.

Instantly, the room brimmed with killing intent. He meant it.

Those who spoke of defeat before battle were better off absent from the field. He would personally ensure they were the first to die. But it seemed no such cowards sat among them. Not a word was uttered. Perhaps death frightened them.

“Good. I won’t need to cut down our own numbers.”

The discontent hovering over their faces was almost amusing. Dissatisfaction and unrest clung to the officers’ fates. But whether they harbored resentment or not …it mattered little.

A monarch, a true leader, could not hope to please everyone. Striving to do so only paved the path to ruin. Hence, there was no intention to please anyone. Such was the way of a tyrant.

The only difference was , 

[The fate of the fortress: defeat, further postponed. Your decision has twisted the fate of this place.]
[A new fate, Assassination, approaches. Blood-scented fate lingers from another nearby.]

Between cruelty and madness, the prince sought the path to the correct outcome.    A moment more was spent watching their faces.

“Sol. Bring out the crystal.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Receiving the bluish crystal from Sol, his gaze turned cold toward the others. Unlike the capital, which had real-time voice lines, the Eastern front still operated on an older mana communication system. And among those, this was the royal mana crystal, exclusive to the bloodline of the crown.

To believe he had walked into the Eastern front aimlessly was a mistake. 

Imperial banners, scattered survivors, the Northern Duke, assassinations, and Bloody.

Fragmented knowledge and known incidents converged into a prediction of oncoming upheaval.

A smirk rose unbidden.

This would be fun.

Sol infused mana into the crystal, a chaotic chorus of transmissions surged forth.

Reports of survivor groups and desperate cries for support.

“This is the prince. Speaking from ‘Eastern Front’, Nameless Fortress No. 7.”

A voice of authority slipped through the clamor. All communication fell silent.

Whenever a royal crystal spoke, all other channels were forcibly halted. No one could speak over royalty. Before issuing the message, the prince glanced out the chamber window.

Andre stood outside, busily handing something out. Then the flap of cloth echoed loud and clear.

A banner unfurled, rippling like waves.

The black field of the imperial standard bore a twin-headed eagle in platinum,symbol of strength and steel. Its wings, flaring wide, flickered like white flame.

Bathed in sunlight, the flag gleamed as if aflame. Even those who had moments ago worn frowns now looked up in awe.

“This fortress now bears the banner of the imperial family. All stragglers, return. Your sovereign awaits.” A moment of quiet.

The first message wzs addressed to remnants of the Empire’s broken units.

Next, 

“To the revenants who commandeered stolen crystals,listen well. The prince stands at Fortress Seven. The imperial banner you so despise stands here. Come. I’ll bury you all.” A declaration of fury aimed at the enemy. Several held their breath.

The second message was an open taunt to the soldiers of the fallen kingdom.

And finally, 

“Northern Duke. I know you’re listening. If you would not see a prince die on your lands or the imperial standard defiled, then move. Rouse those cowardly soldiers hiding within your fortresses.”

To the Duke. To those who trembled behind safe walls. Only by his command would they move. Like the flag whipped by wind, hearts that heard the transmission must surely be quivering. 

With fear. With dread. But that was their concern, not his.

Attention turned to the large map of the Eastern front spread before him.Whether centrally placed or not, this fortress was now the front’s heart.

A deliberate change to the battlefield.

The first decisive move.

His hand reached for the map.

[Invest 1 point of Mystic Fate into the Eastern Front Map! The map absorbs a fragment of mystery. The terrain’s fate is now visible!]
[Invest 1 point into Mystic Fate: Devourer. Your sight into fate becomes clearer. The movements and fates of each unit become readable!]
[Scope: local region only]

It was time to sit at the center and begin moving the pieces. From this moment on, the front would move at his will.

Late at night. The echoes of the day’s chaos lingered among the swaying torchlight. Bleary-eyed sentries kept watch, alert for any encroaching enemy.

Within the strategy room, 

“Mmnya… no, Sol… not that Sol…”

Sol, who had spent all day sorting mana crystal messages and programming mana codes, had collapsed into a muttering sleep.

She had done well. By assigning unique mana codes to the various units that had escaped from other forts, she had established a new channel of communication.

A look at the map revealed emerging fates across different paths. Some showed retreat. Others, victory.

The burdens fate placed on each figure, now moving across the map,held captivating intricacy.

And then, 

[Subordinate Fate: Assassination, Death draws near!]

One particularly black fate hurtled across the map, faster than any other. Its projected path, straight for this fortress.

Nameless Fortress. As the shadow of death crept closer, a faint smile tugged at his lips. The wine in his hand glowed crimson beneath the pale moonlight. A cut opened in his palm, and blood dripped into the wine. A mingling scent of iron and berries hung in the air.

“A drink, prepared for you. I wonder if it suits your taste.”

As the scent of blood spread, another presence responded in kind, crimson, heavy, hungry. Seated in the center of it all, the prince let the laughter spill. Everything was going according to plan.

“No, my name’s Sol… not sul…”

Even in her dreams, Sol protested. Her muttered name stirred laughter. 

The pale reflection of platinum hair flickered in the window, bathed in moonlight.

Like a pebble dropped in still water, the map glimmered under the moon’s gaze, and the fate around Nameless Fortress rippled outward.