The Edge of the East
A soldier’s front tooth flew into the dirt. Kardia Noxbell did not retract the pommel of her sword. The training ground reeked of sweat. It smelled of earth, too. And, just faintly, it smelled of blood. Kardia did not dislike that scent. Quite the opposite. The smell of blood meant that, at the very least, someone was still fighting for real.
“Get up.”
The soldier, kneeling on the ground, wiped his mouth. Blood stained the back of his hand. He staggered to his feet.
“Again.”
“Yes!”
The soldier raised his sword. He was slow. Half a beat. Truly, half a beat too late. Kardia’s pommel moved again. Thwack. This time, the soldier’s shoulder slumped. He stifled a scream and slammed one knee into the ground. Kardia looked down at him.
“Those who let their hands falter after hearing the Royal Decree,” her voice was low, “will also be slow to block the blade.”
The soldiers on the training ground held their breath. Kardia slowly scanned the area. No, "scanned" was not the right word. She slashed. With her gaze, one by one. The hand gripping the sword. The fingers tying the shield strap. The hardened saliva beneath the chin. The lips that moved late when trying to repeat the chant. She saw the small things. On the battlefield, those small things are what die first. A shield a beat too late. A formation spread by half an inch. Feet that followed orders a moment too slow. And right now, the Eastern military camp was full of such things.
“Repeat,” Kardia commanded. “Loyalty to His Highness Belion.”
The soldiers shouted, “Loyalty to His Highness Belion!”
The sound was loud. But Kardia did not trust the sound. Sound is easily amplified. Even a coward can shout loudly. The problem was the body, which moved before the sound did. One soldier in the front row pressed his throat before shouting the slogan. Another retied his shield strap. Yet another tightened his grip on his sword, only to loosen it immediately. Kardia pointed her finger at that soldier.
“You.”
The soldier stiffened. “Step forward.”
The soldier took a step. The dirt crunched under his feet. Kardia leveled the tip of her sword beneath his chin.
“What were you hesitating about just now?”
“It is nothing.”
“Those who say it is ‘nothing’ are the first to die on the battlefield.”
The soldier’s lips clamped shut. Kardia watched that mouth. That mouth was hiding words. That was why she liked it even less.
“Is it my sword that you fear?”
The soldier could not answer.
“Or is it a single sheet of paper that flew from the Black King Castle?”
At those words, armor clattered somewhere in the back ranks. Clink. A very small sound. But on the training ground, even such a sound cut like a blade.
Kardia did not turn her head. “Disgusting.”
She said, “That prince was the same in the past.”
The soldiers did not move. Kardia’s sword tip dipped ever so slightly.
“He always looked for letters before swords. He would swallow his breath at the smell of blood. He even asked me, in my presence, if there wasn't a way to avoid fighting.”
She paused for a moment. She remembered Lucion as he was then. The pale face. The neat hands. The wrists that hated the weight of a sword even when holding one. And the voice that asked with a face of genuine incomprehension: Is there no way we can avoid fighting?
Kardia had hated those words. No. To say she hated them was a lie. She hadn't hated Lucion for saying them. That gentleness sometimes strangely made people stop. But. She could not respect him. A prince of the demon race should not close his eyes in the face of the smell of blood. The throne was not a place that could be protected by soft hands. That was why Kardia had abandoned Lucion. Not because she didn't love him. It was because she could not see him as a king.
Just then, a messenger entered the training ground entrance. He held a document bearing the black seal of the Black King Castle. The entire training ground saw that seal. Kardia saw it, too. The messenger stopped in front of Kardia.
"Vergrad has not forgotten the soldiers of Noxvine."
“Read it.”
The messenger’s fingers unfolded the document. The soldiers on the training ground looked toward it with sweat-drenched faces. These were the men who had been swinging swords just moments ago. Yet now, they did not move before a single sheet of paper. Kardia found that even more disgusting.
The messenger read the first sentence. “Vergrad has not forgotten the soldiers of Noxvine.”
At that moment, an old veteran in the front row lifted his head. The soldier next to him stopped, still clutching his shield strap. Even the soldier whose tooth had flown out earlier stopped wiping the blood from his mouth. Kardia saw it all.
The messenger continued reading. “The military achievements of the soldiers who participated in the Noxvine defense are recognized.”
Dust settled low on the training ground. As if it had been trampled, though no one had stepped on it.
“The crime of treason lies with Belion Vergrad and his command staff.”
Several officers gritted their teeth.
“However, the glory of Noxvine belongs to the soldiers.”
The messenger’s voice stopped. The sentence had ended. But the training ground did not end. The soldiers did not look at each other. That was the bigger problem. If they looked at each other, they would be caught in their own wavering.
Kardia felt it. This Royal Decree did not erase Belion’s name. It was, instead, filthily clever. It did not take Belion’s achievements. It returned them to the soldiers. That was why it was hard to refute. Were you nearly killed at Noxvine? Yes. Did you hold the defensive line? Yes. Does that achievement belong solely to Belion? This was where the soldiers’ tongues froze.
Kardia’s fingers tightened on the hilt of her sword. Lucion. That weak prince. He was piercing the soldiers’ tongues with words. A very short scene flashed through her mind. The east gate of Noxvine. The collapsed walls. The holy army surging under white banners. And the Holy Sword. Kardia had clashed with the Holy Sword that day. The moment the blades touched, her arm burned. It wasn't a wound; it was a blessing.
The blade, blessed by the Saintess, burned the demon blood. If they retreated, the supply line would be cut. If the supply line was cut, the east gate would die. If the east gate died, Noxvine would be opened. At that moment, Belion threw in the reserves. Not to save Kardia. To save the front line. Kardia just happened to be inside it. That was why she could trust him. Belion saw the battlefield. He didn't see people; he saw the front line. And he saved the front line.
Kardia returned to the present. She grabbed the soldier in the front row. The breastplate of his armor was crushed in her grip as if it were paper. “Answer me.”
The soldier’s throat tightened. Kardia asked in a low voice, “At Noxvine, what you protected—was it the name of His Highness Belion?”
The hands of the surrounding soldiers stopped.
“Or was it Vergrad?”
The soldier opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Before, it would have been an easy question. It is His Highness Belion. That would have sufficed. At Noxvine, the soldiers had held out, carrying Belion’s name like a shield. When they were starving. When the walls were collapsing. When they stepped on the corpses of their comrades to raise their spears again. That name was the excuse and the pride of those who survived.
But now, a different brand was stamped over that name. Traitor. And Lucion’s Royal Decree was pulling the blood they had shed out from under Belion’s name. You protected it. You held out. It is your achievement. That was why they could not answer.
Kardia heard that silence. It was clearer than the sound of clashing swords. She released the soldier. The soldier retreated backward.
“Training suspended.”
The officers stiffened.
“Messenger.”
“Yes.”
“I am going to His Highness Belion.”
Kardia did not put her sword in its scabbard. She walked, carrying the blood-stained blade as it was. The barracks of the Eastern military camp were quiet. Belion Vergrad was already reading the Royal Decree. Several officers stood before him. One of them, unable to swallow his rage, said, “Lucion is stealing Your Highness’s achievements.”
Belion looked down at the document. He did not get angry. He did not shout. That silence was even heavier.
“No,” Belion said.
The officer stopped.
“He is returning my achievements to the soldiers.”
He pressed his finger onto a line of the Royal Decree. “That is why it is worse.”
Kardia heard those words. Belion knew. He knew what Lucion was doing. This was not a sword aimed at the hero’s neck. It was a whisper to the soldiers buried beneath the hero, telling them that they, too, were heroes. Once a soldier hears that, he can no longer bow his head as he did before. Because the moment his own achievement is recognized, he must also choose his own guilt.
Kardia opened her mouth. “I will go.”
Belion looked up. “Where?”
“I will go to where the Royal Decree reaches.”
The officers in the barracks looked at Kardia. She did not care. “Whether it is that prince’s intention, or the interference of those around him.”
Kardia’s hand pressed against her sword hilt. The reality of that prince. “I will see it with my own eyes.”
Belion watched her for a moment. Then he said in a low voice, “Lucion is not the prince you once knew.”
Kardia replied, “Then I must verify it all the more.”
Her voice was cold.
“Whether what I abandoned was a weak prince.”
The scabbard rang briefly. Her eyes were burning fiercely.
“Or a sword that had yet to be drawn.”