Advance on Preldior
The evening air of the north cut through the body like shards of glass.
With every exhaled breath, a pale plume of vapor faintly clouded the window of the commander's office, and beyond it the massive fortress rose in solemn majesty from the heart of the Belikezel plain.
Three years ago this had been nothing but a merciless stretch of empty land, wind howling across it without purpose. Now everything had changed.
An enormous Imperial fortress stood upon that once-barren ground, and torches lined its towering walls, driving back the northern dark.
"Hah…"
Behind a desk buried under mountains of paperwork, Velkain slowly lifted his head.
A heavy fatigue settled in his eyes — the kind that came from spending more time at this desk than in a bed.
He let out a quiet breath and looked down at the letter that had arrived through the commander's private channel.
The seal affixed to it bore the emblem of the Imperial Court.
At last…
"Summon Staff Sergeant Claw."
"Yes, sir."
The soldier waiting outside hurried off at once. Before long, Claw stepped into the commander's office.
"You called for me, sir?"
The door swung open and a rush of cold air from the ramparts swept into the room.
Velkain looked at him and spoke.
"We are reorganizing the army. The northern campaign will begin again."
"…So it finally starts."
Claw's eyes trembled deeply.
Velkain nodded.
"Even if this is a struggle between the two princes, what we must do in the north remains the same. The war only paused for a while. If anything, we should be grateful we were given time to catch our breath."
There was a heavy weight of three years behind those words.
Before that, the north had seen battle nearly every other day — death as constant as the cold itself.
Whether the Kar Tribe had sensed the Empire's present state, or whether they too had needed time to regroup, the fighting across the northern front had dwindled dramatically over the past three years.
The Empire had halted its northward push, and the Kar seemed to have decided this was the moment to steady themselves as well.
But the peace was over now.
It no longer mattered whether the Kar drew their blades first.
It was time for the Empire to advance into the north once more.
"The Central Army is unlikely to move, but substantial support from the Imperial Court is expected."
"Of course. They've finally felt just how valuable the north's resources truly are."
The mines secured through the conquest of Belikezel had poured forth natural resources on an almost absurd scale.
It was wealth that tied directly into the Empire's revival — living proof of the new resource expansion First Prince Sedrian had so relentlessly championed.
The Court had taken careful note of it. Naturally, their support would only grow stronger.
Velkain rose from his seat.
The long-quiet north would seethe again.
Not even the northern cold would stop it.
Claw asked,
"Have you decided where we begin?"
"Of course."
Velkain's fingertip settled on a single point on the map.
Preldior.
A critical Kar defensive stronghold — the gateway to the north.
Bring that place down, and the entire northern front would shudder.
Velkain spoke briefly, his voice full of certainty.
"We advance on Preldior."
The table was steeped in the rich scent of warm stew and the faint perfume of herbs.
As always, they took their familiar seats.
The maids carefully set down the dishes, and a whole roast, fragrant with spices, claimed the center of the table.
Once the food was laid out, Rionhart spoke with his usual offhand manner.
"Eat well. If anything's lacking, speak up."
"Whoa… since this guy's leaving, you really went all out today, huh?"
"It's no different from an ordinary meal."
At Rionhart's reply,
"That doesn't explain the care put into this lamb. Ciela must've worked herself half to death preparing dinner tonight."
"It was fine. And we get to eat something delicious too, so it works out for everyone."
Ciela, lightly stirring the stew, answered with her characteristic bright smile.
Rionhart shot Kairon a sharp look.
"Enough nonsense. Just eat."
"Heh heh. Yes, yes."
Kairon lifted his spoon and tasted the stew.
Watching the two of them, Arteon simply smiled faintly, as if the scene were long familiar, and began his own meal.
He knew.
They were deliberately shielding him from the heavy atmosphere of a final night.
Everything he had gained in this place… so many things beyond counting.
Thinking of it as the end, Arteon felt the ache of parting more keenly than he expected.
But then—
"And."
"…?"
Mid-meal, Rionhart suddenly drew something from beside him.
An Imperial document sealed with a crimson crest.
Through the maid, he passed it to Arteon.
"This came from the Imperial Court."
Arteon regarded the document the maid offered him with a calm expression.
"May I open it now?"
"Of course."
When Rionhart nodded, Arteon broke the seal without hesitation and read the letter within.
"Hey, what is it?"
"Transfer orders."
"…Man. You're really leaving."
Kairon spoke with a look that was half wistful, half resigned.
Arteon read through the document in silence. In truth the contents hardly mattered.
Everything was already compressed into those two words — transfer orders.
What mattered was the destination.
"Where have they posted you?"
Rionhart asked. Arteon folded the letter and answered.
"I've been ordered to return to Preldior."
"Preldior, is it…"
Rionhart's eyes shifted by the barest degree.
Preldior lay not far east of the Belikezel plain — close enough to be considered something of a central hub of the north, and a place where military strength was concentrated.
Which meant—
"It seems the First Prince has been making thorough preparations."
It was a clear declaration that the Empire intended to drive not merely along the fringes, but straight into the heart of the north.
A beginning steeped in the First Prince's will.
Commander Velkain must have agreed as well.
For the past three years the north had been quiet — almost unnaturally so.
Minor skirmishes had continued, of course, but large-scale war of the old kind had all but vanished.
When the Empire first pushed north, the Kar Tribe had felt a genuine sense of crisis for the first time.
And once that advance stalled, both the Empire and the Kar had used the pause to catch their breath, stockpiling strength and resources.
And above all, the reason a bold drive into the central north had become possible at all…
The Court must have thrown its weight behind it as well.
With the mines won through the Belikezel campaign, the Empire had secured resources on a scale unlike anything before.
It was only natural.
After long years of depleting the old stores, they had found an entirely new warehouse of wealth.
Three years of vast gains had been more than enough to turn the Court's attention northward.
Of course, with the two princes locked in a struggle for the throne, the Empire's Central Army would not move.
But other forms of support will be more than sufficient.
It was a situation clear enough without needing to see it firsthand.
And at the starting point of it all, they intended to place Arteon — his training complete.
Rionhart nodded.
"A carriage will arrive tomorrow morning. Take it."
"I'm grateful for the consideration."
"The army is sending it. No need to thank me."
Rionhart set down his spoon and looked at Arteon.
"But there is one thing you must take with you."
"…What is it?"
Rionhart slowly turned his head and looked across the table from Arteon.
There, Kairon — who had been diligently chewing on a piece of meat — suddenly froze.
"…What?"
Arteon's brow slowly furrowed.
"…You can't mean."
Rionhart answered shortly.
"I do. Go with Kairon."
"Whaaaat?!"
Kairon nearly shot out of his seat.
His eyes looked ready to pop from his head — only a slight exaggeration.
Kairon shouted,
"Y-you want me to go to a war zone?! I… I'm still—!"
"There's nothing more for you to learn here."
Rionhart's words were sharp, but affection ran through them.
"If you want to climb higher than you are now… you must kill and risk being killed. You must fight those equal to you — or stronger — and cross the boundary."
Kairon opened his mouth.
No words came out, but his expression alone laid bare the turmoil inside him.
Looking at his restless disciple, Rionhart said,
"Your belongings are already packed. Leave for the north with Arteon tomorrow."
And from that look, Kairon understood as well.
Rionhart had never worn such eyes before.
After a moment's hesitation, Kairon exhaled through his nose and spoke with a serious face.
"…Thank you for everything, Master."
He bowed his head.
To which Rionhart said,
"Finish your meal."
He resumed eating as if nothing had happened — though whether the food simply refused to go down today was only his imagination, he could not say.
Barely had the morning sun risen when a carriage arrived before the house.
Hooves struck the frozen dirt road with a dull, rhythmic sound.
Presently the coachman who had driven it raised a hand toward Arteon.
"Lord Arteon!"
It was the same coachman who had accompanied him all the way from the distant north, come now to collect him again.
Then he caught sight of Rionhart standing opposite Arteon and bowed his head.
"You must be Lord Rionhart. Your renown has long reached even my ears. It is an honor to meet you."
"Renown? Mere remnants of old glory, nothing more."
A quiet authority threaded through the low voice, pleasant to the ear.
"I'll write to you, Master."
"A grown man talking about letters. Just keep all your limbs attached and stay alive. That will be enough."
Rionhart snorted at Kairon's words.
Beside them, Arteon stepped closer.
"When next we meet… I'll bring a fine bottle of wine, at least."
"You can simply send the wine."
Rionhart clapped him lightly on the shoulder.
"Don't get hurt."
Then he murmured inwardly,
How many beings in this world could even manage to hurt this one…?
But war was unpredictable.
Deep concern for both disciples had already settled into Rionhart's heart.
The two young men looked at him in silence.
The time each had spent with him differed, yet what they had received from him was beyond comparison with anything else.
Knowing that, their feet would not easily leave the ground.
And yet—
"At this rate the sun will set on us. The weather's turning cold — hurry and go. Making an old man stand out here this long…"
Rionhart turned away.
The coachman curved a small smile and spoke to Arteon and Kairon.
"Please board. We have a long road ahead."
From this place in the southwest to Preldior was a considerable journey.
Arteon nodded.
"…Let's depart."
As Arteon climbed into the carriage, Kairon hesitated a moment, then followed.
His gaze still lingered on the world beyond the window.
"Then we shall be off."
At the coachman's call the carriage lurched into motion, kicking up dust from the frozen road.
And after it had gone—
"…"
Rionhart, whom they had thought already returned inside, opened the door and stepped back out into the open air.
By the time the departing carriage had dwindled until it was no longer even a speck—
"Both of you… take care."
Rionhart spoke softly.
Strangely, his chest felt hot, and the tips of his fingers trembled faintly.
He had sent countless disciples on their way before, but never with a feeling like this.
"…I've grown old."
With nothing more than that quiet self-reproach, Rionhart went back into the mansion.
The places left empty by the two who had gone felt larger than ever today.