Had cooperation been sought with kind words, there would have been no movement. They would have responded only with endless refusals. In that case, the solution was simple. Force a situation where movement became inevitable.

“Easterners may be timid and prefer to hide behind walls, but they are not without a sense of honor. In fact, they place great value on it.”

“Oh,so that’s why the flag…”

“They are people who grew up on foreign land. If they lose even the honor of being imperial citizens, what difference remains between them and invaders occupying foreign soil?”

Being closed-off and conservative does not mean they are ignorant of honor. Their tendency to avoid asking for support and instead linger near lost fortresses, searching for an opportunity, this reveals everything.

Having a fortress taken from them is a disgrace, and reclaiming it is a matter of honor, as though defending their own home. Without the status of imperial citizen and without a fortress to call home, they are no different from mere resistance fighters. That is why their most cherished identity, as citizens of the Empire, was placed at stake.

Their habits were known. The situation was constructed accordingly and exploited. While Sol and Andre watched with wide eyes, the tides of destiny steadily advancing were once again confirmed.

“And so, they were given a chance. A chance to preserve their honor and their identity as imperial citizens. It is only right that they now act.”

At the bold and arrogant declaration, Sol and Andre stared on in stunned silence. But it did not end with mere arrogance.

Soon, across the eastern front, especially around its farthest reaches, movements began to stir.

Among the two ducal houses dividing the eastern front between north and south, change began from the House of Hardel, which commanded the northeastern army.

“This is Tridon von Fior Hardel, third son of the Duke of the Northeast. Is His Highness safe?”

“Inform them: His Highness is safe and wishes to witness the sincerity of the ducal house.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

After Sol relayed the message through the communication crystal.

“We will gather and dispatch troops from the surrounding fortresses. Forgive us for not being able to send all forces, as some must remain for defense. Wizards and knights will also depart shortly.”

“Satisfactory. Order the strong to move in secret and the soldiers to march openly and with grandeur.”

With that, support from the ducal house was secured with ease. Overwhelmed by the rapid developments, Sol and Andre stared blankly, half in a daze.

“Shall this news be shared with the soldiers? Their morale would rise!”

“Yes, Your Highness! No one would dare complain!”

As the two continued to gush with excitement, a single wave of the finger signaled them to stop. Such talk was meaningless. There was no need to plant hope in the soldiers beyond what was already given.

“They need only know fragments of the truth. Not the whole picture. Your job is to gather and prepare the approaching stragglers.”

Until now, the deputy commander of the fortress had remained silent. Then he finally spoke.

“Will the enemy press toward the fortress?”

“If they do not gather their forces now, they will never get another chance. They have no choice but to act.”

“Will those who have only conducted ambushes from the shadows truly come together?”

“They must. The moment they claim this life and this banner, they may also claim independence.”

“…!”

At the prince’s calm words, the deputy commander lowered his head. His hands trembled, shaken by the weight of what he had just heard. Sol and Andre looked at him with a sense of understanding.

“Why tell me this?”

“As deputy commander, you must know. The fortress commander is dead.”

“Is that all?”

“There will be many who seek to learn of this victory in the future. One as noble as His Highness will not have time to answer them. You will.”

The certainty in the words left no room for response. The prince’s platinum hair, shining faintly in the sunlight pouring in from behind, and his eyes were blood-tinted and shadowed, along with the crimson smile on his lips, created an unnerving image. The face of a beast, soaked in death, blood, and certain victory. 

Breath caught in the deputy’s throat.

Never before, not even in the face of armies aiming to breach the fortress walls, had he been so afraid.

Was this what it meant to be of royal blood?

Confusion, fear, awe, and conviction swirled in his mind.

Eventually …

“Everyone, leave. The work you’ve been given is heavy. Handle it well.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“I’ll be back soon!”

“…I shall take my leave.”

Andre, Sol, and the deputy commander, each carrying their own astonishment, turned to leave. Just before they reached the door, the prince spoke again.

“Do not wake me until tomorrow morning. I intend to sleep deeply tonight.”

Reclining carelessly in the chair, the prince closed his eyes in silence. With the madness withdrawn, his appearance resembled a statue. All three paused momentarily in admiration before quietly shutting the door. Left alone in the war room were the prince, and a map overflowing with shifting fates.

Death and the scent of blood clung to the map like damp ink, swirling around him. Soon, night fell.

The once-blazing sun disappeared, replaced by cold moonlight streaming through the window. Through the communication crystal, the quiet voices of Sol, Andre, and the gathering stragglers echoed. Voices desperate to live.

In the stillness of night, it was a pleasing sound. Soon, the prince would add his own voice to it.

“Clack.”

The window creaked open, and a man stepped through, with a face full of scars.   But more than that, the thick aura of murderous intent that pressed down on the room was overwhelming. He looked around briefly, then slowly curled his lips into a twisted grin. He had found him.

Recklessly slouched in a chair, sleeping without even a single guard. He would never have imagined dying so pathetically. Until moments ago, this man must have believed the world revolved around him.

The assassinations that had occurred at fortresses across the eastern front. The fall of those fortresses after their leaders were killed. Then the prince appeared, bringing miraculous strategies.

It had all gone well, up to that point. Now, once the prince’s throat was cut, everything would return to how it was. Or better yet, the chaos would grow even greater. It was a fine revenge.

The assassin stepped soundlessly in front of the prince. Tilting his head, he examined the eyes that remained closed even in the presence of such thick killing intent.

“Asleep even now? Or pretending? Trying to survive? Beg, crawl. Maybe then I’ll let you live.”

“…”

There was no answer. The assassin frowned deeply.

“No, the arms and legs must be severed. That’ll make me feel better.”

Such arrogance. To posture before someone like him. A fitting punishment would be to slice those long limbs, forcing him to crawl for the rest of his life. 

Energy, invisible and deadly, gathered in the assassin’s hand. He raised it toward the prince, preparing to strike.

“Drip. Drip.” Scarlet blood began to fall onto his hand.

A thick, iron scent filled the air. The wood around the room began to split, and blood gushed out, was it an illusion? Or a reality?

Blood, heavy and dark, bathed in moonlight, flowed throughout the room …Danger.

Only then did the prince’s closed eyes open; Crimson eyes, dyed with the same shade as the blood around him, turned to the assassin. There was no fear, no worry, no uncertainty.

“So you’ve arrived. At the place where you will die.”

A seductive smile formed on the lips that continued to mock, even now, in a posture of complete indifference. The moment the assassin, unable to contain his rage, unleashed his invisible energy …

“Splat.”

The room was engulfed by the cascading blood and the blood-wood it carried.