Arteon's Return
At the foot of the mountains, in a vast basin carved into the earth, the warriors of the Kar Tribe gathered like a black tide.
With every gust of wind, leather armor and weapons clashed, sending a low, metallic resonance rolling across the plain. The air—thick with the reek of oil-soaked winter gear and sweat—froze solid and stabbed deep into the lungs.
And watching it all stood one man.
The supreme Taman of this place, bearer of seven feather tattoos.
Barg exhaled softly.
“Hmm…….”
Already thirty thousand warriors had assembled here. An equal number were crossing the ridges toward them. Once they all gathered, the host would rank among the greatest armies in Kar history. Rarely had more than thirty thousand warriors massed for a single battle.
“…….”
Barg’s eyes slowly swept the entire formation. Warriors crouched over their weapons, wordlessly tightening one another’s armor straps. That silence itself pressed down like the weight of impending war.
Then—
“Taman!”
A warrior sprinted up and halted before Barg. Deep scars across his body were frozen a pale blue, and five feather tattoos stood out sharply on his right shoulder.
Durokam, Barg’s right-hand man.
Durokam dropped to one knee, eyes lifted, and spoke rapidly.
“Every order you gave has been carried out. The warriors already assembled stand ready to cross that mountain the moment the command is given.”
“And the ambush on the ridge?”
“Three thousand warriors have already taken position.”
The corner of Durokam’s mouth curled ever so slightly. Killing intent and confidence bled from him in equal measure.
“The instant those fools dare cross that ridge…… the entire mountain will be dyed with Imperial blood.”
Barg drew a short breath. In matters of tactics, Durokam’s skill was considerable. If he showed this much confidence, the ambush could be called perfect.
Barg slowly lifted his gaze to the sky. Low clouds rode the wind, and the snowflakes they carried grew heavier by the moment.
“……The wind.”
Its texture was shifting, little by little.
“Before long…… a blizzard will come that blinds even the eyes.”
Durokam gave no answer. He felt it too.
On these snowfields, the weather itself was a weapon of war. That was why the Imperials would have to choose: force their way through this killing cold, or wait endlessly. Either path would be hell for them.
Barg turned his back. Behind him the breathing of thirty thousand warriors rolled forward like a low moan.
“Well…… it is no concern of ours.”
His footprints sank deep into the snow as he walked on.
“The moment they set foot on this land and covet it…….”
His eyes settled cold as ice.
They will all die.
Barg’s gaze flashed sharp as a predator’s.
Snowflakes trembled faintly with the vibration of the ground, and the sky hung low beneath ash-gray clouds.
Bwooooooooo!
A long horn blast split the frozen air and rolled across Preldior.
“His Highness the Imperial Prince approaches!”
The thunder of hooves, the dull crunch of military boots on ice, and the clash of metal armor mixed from every direction into a rising murmur. The breath of the long ranks of soldiers rose white, and the northern cold, sharp with frost, sank deep into their lungs.
“You have come a long way through hardship.”
At the camp entrance Velkain stepped forward first to greet Sedrian.
Sedrian, descending from the carriage, shook his head.
“Not at all. The greater labor has been yours, Commander, preparing in this cold. How stand the preparations?”
“Please come inside. I will report.”
Guided by Velkain, Sedrian entered the command tent. The large pavilion, layered thick with leather and cloth, cut the wind better than the open air, yet the chill still clung to everything. On one wall hung a map of the terrain around Preldior; a dozen or so division-level officers took their seats one by one.
“Hoo.”
When Sedrian at last sat in the place of honor, the operations staff officer Breon stepped forward and began the situation report.
“The ground ahead of the camp is a continuous chain of low hills and high mountains overlapping one another. Below the hills a snaking defile restricts the movement of large forces.”
Breon moved his pointer across the topographic map; every officer’s gaze locked onto it at once. The densely drawn mountain lines and the widths of the paths—all of it could decide the life or death of countless soldiers.
Breon continued.
“On the forward hills already scouted, no sign of enemy ambush has been found thus far. The rear mountain range, however, is so rugged that accurate assessment remains difficult. Moreover the blizzard has grown fiercer than two days ago, hampering both visibility and supply movement.”
“Hmm…….”
Sedrian let out a short breath. A quiet tension settled over the tent. They could not simply keep the army sitting here. Fifty thousand men consumed an enormous quantity of food each day. The longer they waited, the steeper the supply burden would climb and the more their momentum would erode.
Sedrian slowly raised his eyes to Velkain.
“Commander, what is your plan going forward?”
“I intend to form a vanguard and advance the main force while simultaneously probing the mountain range.”
Forward reconnaissance was already complete. They had no leisure to wait until every deep fold of the mountains had been scoured one by one. Hesitate, and the enemy might seize the initiative first. Risk would accompany the move, which was precisely why every available strength would be poured into the units going out as the vanguard.
Velkain said,
“For the vanguard I mean to commit the Silent Sword unit under Lieutenant Colonel Isaac together with Major Tairen’s battalion.”
“Lieutenant Colonel Isaac and Major Tairen…….”
Sedrian murmured softly. Both men were core commanders who had carved out major achievements on the Belikezel battlefield—officers who combined mobility, combat power, and leadership. Calling them the sharpest blades Velkain could draw was no exaggeration. It was also a clear declaration that this time they would tolerate no losses from ambush or surprise attack.
But then—
“……?”
Outside the tent a rising murmur of soldiers’ voices broke out, almost cheers. The sound was oddly elated for mere disorder. The officers inside the conference tent all lifted their heads at once.
“What is that?”
“Such a commotion during a staff conference…… has discipline grown lax?”
One officer rose, unable to hide his displeasure. The very fact that the camp had grown restless at so critical a moment clearly rankled him. In an army on the eve of battle, discipline was survival itself.
At that exact moment—
“Might I join that vanguard as well?”
A low, calm voice drifted into the tent.
Every gaze snapped to the entrance. A man pushed aside the heavy flap; fine snow lay thinly across the shoulders of his robe. In the puzzled silence he slowly drew the robe back.
“Steel Heart.”
The instant his face was revealed, the expressions of those inside the tent hardened in different ways. Some eyes flew wide with shock; others curved into faint smiles of welcome.
Velkain rose slowly from his seat.
“……Major Arteon.”
“Major Arteon. As of this moment I report my arrival and attachment to Preldior.”
Arteon delivered the report with perfect posture and formality. Velkain looked him up and down at leisure. The man standing before him now was utterly different from the one he had last seen three years ago. He had grown a full handspan taller—tall enough that even Velkain had to lift his gaze slightly—and his entire frame had become a body that held both lean speed and solid power. No single muscle bulged excessively; the whole physique was evenly tempered and balanced.
Yet what struck hardest was his presence. Even the quiet, carefully sheathed aura of ordinary times was enough to stiffen the faces of the officers in the room.
A brief silence.
It was Arteon’s composed voice that broke it again.
“I overheard the conference contents outside, though not by design. May I join the vanguard?”
Velkain regarded him a moment longer, then the corner of his mouth lifted the faintest fraction.
“……If you would, nothing could please me more.”
There was much he wanted to say. But this was not the time.
“Detailed talk can wait. Return to your tent and rest for now.”
“Yes. Steel Heart.”
“Steel Heart.”
A brief exchange of salutes. Arteon drew his robe closed once more and left the tent. As his back vanished into the swirling snow outside, Velkain kept his eyes on the place where he had stood for a long while.
He has become a completely different man.
Without realizing it, a small curve had already formed at the corner of Velkain’s mouth.
The Imperial camp at Preldior.
A freezing wind whipped between the endless rows of tents, and ice crushed under soldiers’ boots with a soft crackle. An ordinary day, little different from any other. Most of the men rested to keep their condition, but these soldiers were different.
Even in the frost-laced cold they kept their bodies moving without pause, grinding through their daily training routines as if by habit. And right now, just like any other day, they were in the middle of physical drills.
Then—
“Lord Arteon has come!”
Like a spark dropped onto dry grassland, the cry raced through every soldier present in an instant. Heads snapped around.
“……What?”
“Lord Arteon?”
“Lord Arteon has returned?!”
The men who had once belonged to the Silent Spear unit abandoned whatever they were doing and came running. Some shoved past one another, cutting between the tents at a full sprint. Waiting and longing—complicated emotions tangled across their faces, and they could not quiet the pounding of their hearts.
Among them one man lowered the sword he held and turned his head.
“Arteon is here?”
Unlike three years ago a neatly trimmed beard now sat on his jaw, and long exposure to wind and battlefield dust had roughened his skin. But the light in his eyes was unchanged. Deep within those dark pupils the old hunger for the battlefield still burned.
Isaac Duraik.
At the familiar name a glad smile rose on his face as he turned fully around.
At last…….
He’s here.
How much has he changed?
Isaac’s expression brightened with fresh expectation as he strode quickly toward the place where his men had run.