Chapter 164

“There’s a courier who arrived in Sapa just yesterday,” Ruben reported breathlessly. “It came from the Ugel forces advancing on Regal. They said there was an initial skirmish, and then the real battle started… A mage appeared on the field. That is to say—it was Her Highness…!”

“What the hell are you saying, idiot?” Isaac snapped, cutting in sharply. “The point is, Her Highness the Princess revealed herself on the battlefield. She’ll almost certainly appear in the next one, too. The Ugel army is preparing accordingly. So, what are your orders?”

Rezette remained silent for several long moments, unmoving. Then, slowly, he raised a hand, signaling Ruben to stop.

“They let her use magic?” he asked, voice low and tight.

The Arganians… allowed her?

“Um… well, the rumor is just that the princess reappeared on the front lines,” Ruben replied hesitantly.

Naturally, neither Ruben nor Isaac could possibly know the full extent of the situation. Rezette was so stunned he couldn’t even muster a bitter laugh.

He hadn’t imagined for a moment that Elizabeth would set foot on a battlefield again. If the Ugel army had gone so far as to send an emergency courier, then it could only mean one thing: she had unleashed another large-scale spell—just like in Norella.

“The Arganians just stood there and let it happen?” Rezette muttered, disbelief twisting into fury.

They had to know whose blood ran through the child she carried. And even knowing she was pregnant with a dragon’s offspring—they still let her use magic?

Unless they meant to kill her outright.

It was clear now: the Emperor of Argan had never truly understood Rezette’s final warning. Or worse—Barnon Conrad had failed to deliver it at all.

So this was their response? Hiding like cowards behind his sister?

Isaac spoke up cautiously, his voice measured.

“And… there’s one more thing you should be aware of. The movements of Norella and House Irrien—they’re unusual.”

Rezette’s gaze sharpened. “Explain. In detail.”

“The Duke of Irrien has declared that there will be no funeral for his daughter until Ugel completes the subjugation of the southwest,” Isaac began. “And the moment the harbor was functional, he launched the fleet.”

In the wake of the large-scale tragedy in Norella, House Irrien had wasted no time shifting into full wartime readiness.

The grief of a father who had lost his cherished daughter—one he had raised with such care—could only be imagined. While Rezette remained behind the scenes in Opel, pulling strings in silence, the Duke of Irrien had abandoned his earlier plan to hold the Grand Duke accountable with imperial backing.

Word had reached Norella that Rezette was leading the allied forces to support Ugel, but the Duke had no reason to believe it. After all, there were eyewitnesses—people who had seen Rezette part ways with Elise with their own eyes.

And so, the Duke made his own decision: to mobilize his private forces independently. Since sailing was faster than the roundabout land route leading south, his ships were dispatched as soon as the harbor was repaired enough to set them afloat.

After a month-long voyage, Norella’s fleet reached the southern coast of Grandel and dropped anchor. Almost immediately, they extended a hand in alliance to Ugel.

That was the complete report, as delivered by the Ugel forces stationed near Regal.

“I completely forgot about Norella,” Rezette murmured.

He had known from the moment Genovia Irrien’s death was confirmed that things would get complicated.

The murder of the highest-ranking noblewoman in Van Yela provided a convenient pretext—one that Ugel, Van Yela, or even House Irrien could wield to justify military intervention. But to Rezette, her death held no meaning. It hadn’t then, and it didn’t now. He had cast it from his mind without a second thought.

“They say Norella’s reinforcements are advancing straight across the Great Plains—from the southern coast up to Regal’s western front,” Ruben reported. “They’re heading directly for Ugel’s camp and are expected to join forces there. Based on the distance, they’ll likely arrive a full ten days before we do. And the Argan forces probably haven’t caught wind of it yet. What are your orders, Your Grace?”

He didn’t have to ask twice.

In the distance, a black horse—Rezette’s summon—came bounding toward them at breakneck speed, its jaws clamped around a severed human arm.

Fierce and bloodthirsty, much like its master, the beast charged forward with such violence that the very air seemed to reek of death.

The grotesque sight—like something out of a nightmare—had the watching soldiers stiffen in horror, instinctively stepping back. Amid the tension, Rezette moved forward.

“What’s the last remaining city?” he asked.

“Taro, sir,” Isaac replied.

“You’ll handle it. Ruben will take command.”

“You’re entrusting the final city to us?” Isaac asked, taken aback.

“Yes.”

Ruben and Isaac exchanged a quick look before nodding in unison. As they suspected—Rezette had no intention of delaying any further.

“What are your orders once we take Taro?” Ruben asked.

“Move straight down to Riosa, in Regal territory,” Rezette instructed. “But do not join Ugel. Make camp and wait there until I give the word.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The two knights couldn’t contain the gleam in their eyes. They were Northerners—men of war. After weeks of dull, dragging marches, the scent of battle stirred their blood.

With the promise of open ground laid bare before them, it was no wonder their excitement showed. They shouted in turn, voices booming.

“Then we’ll be waiting for your return!”

“No matter how worried you are, Your Grace, kidnapping and threats won’t help! You’ll only make her hate you more!”

“Shut up,” Rezette muttered.

He silenced their spirited farewell with a single word, then kicked his heels into the horse’s side.

The black horse reared up, hooves slicing the air, and let out a piercing cry. It didn’t sound like a horse at all—more like the roar of a lion or the snarl of a wolf. Soldiers who had been sneaking glances toward the commotion recoiled in terror, some stumbling back as if they might faint.

Rezette yanked the reins, turning the beast’s head with a firm grip. The pressure mounting in his chest pulsed like veins on the back of a clenched hand.

In truth, this was a stroke of luck. The situation handed him a perfect excuse to break away from the army without delay—and a ready-made pretext to offer Elise.

Whether she would welcome his arrival was anyone’s guess. But if he told her he had rushed there for fear of being too late—of finding her in danger—she would find it difficult to fault him outright.

First, he would lock her away, far from the reach of the battlefield. Not even her shadow would touch the front lines. Then, he would check how far the child had grown.

And after that…

After that… we’ll see.

It wasn’t the right moment—nor the right state of mind—for making lasting decisions. But there was no time left for second-guessing.

Seven weeks and three days. Regret had run its course. Patience had bled dry.

The wind that swept in from the south was warm, thick with the scent of early blossoms. Spring carried the promise of life. Of change.

With a sharp snap of the reins, the horse charged forward, hooves pounding the ground like war drums.

Whatever madness remained—still lurking, still clawing beneath the surface like a tidal wave yet to break—he would forget it, for now.

***

Below the cliffs of Riosa, where the river snaked through a winding valley, crimson flags bearing the symbol of a bull’s head snapped in the wind.

At the flat mouth of the gorge, an expanse of tents—dyed deep, blood-red—spread like a wound across the landscape. It was the main encampment of the Ugel army, commanded by the Third Prince, Hanan Sihat.

Weeks had passed since the devastating landslide in the gorge that buried a third of their forces.

Even by the time the First Prince, Rihan, and his legion arrived at the gorge’s edge, the Ugel army still hadn’t found a way to counter the magic weapon Argan had unleashed.

In the command tent, the conversation among Hanan’s officers had turned heated—loud, spittle-flecked, and desperate. They weren’t arguing about tactics or morale.

They were debating what to do with the bodies of the soldiers who’d been crushed in the gorge.

“Let’s just dump them in the river,” one officer growled, slamming a fist on the table. “The water they draw up in the castle has to come from this river, right? If we release the bodies and a few rats during the floods, disease will spread upstream without us lifting a finger.”

“And where exactly are we supposed to get drinking water from, huh?” another snapped back. “Or don’t you care if we poison ourselves too?”

“We can store it in advance!” a third retorted. “Are you thick or just lazy?”

The tent flap was suddenly yanked open with a sharp snap.

“I’ve heard enough of this pathetic nonsense,” came a cold, cutting voice.

It was Rihan Sihat, the First Prince of the kingdom.

The officers, who had been bickering like dogs around the tiger-hide-covered war table, instantly straightened. Their tempers vanished, replaced by discipline. Each raised a clenched fist in the formal desert salute. Hanan stepped forward and gave his older brother a brief, customary embrace.

“You’ve arrived? I didn’t expect you so soon, brother.”

“I heard some fool managed to lose nearly half his troops, so I figured I’d better hurry and come make up the difference,” Rihan said dryly.

Without hesitation, he made his way to the seat of command—a thickly padded chair draped in animal pelts—and settled in with practiced ease.

“So,” he drawled, glancing around the tent, “you got completely wrecked by magic, huh, little brother?”

“It was a natural disaster,” Hanan muttered, scowling.

“I warned you this would happen. That princess should never have been allowed to return to Argan.”

Just a year ago, when the emperor still held the Argan capital, large-scale magic like this had been nothing more than a rumor. If they’d had such power then, the capital would never have fallen so easily.

“She’s the first one we should kill,” Rihan said coldly. “But that cursed barrier is still holding, isn’t it?”

After the landslide, Hanan had tried to launch an immediate counterattack to salvage morale. But every path into the gorge had been sealed with magic—barriers, one after another. He hadn’t been able to take a single step forward.

He spat out a harsh curse. “We can’t keep dragging this out. Every wasted day gives that castle more time to prepare. They’re probably waiting for the perfect moment to strike us.”

“You’re blind, Hanan,” Rihan said flatly. “The easy path is right in front of you, and you still don’t see it.”

“What?” Hanan snapped. “Are you saying you have a better plan, brother?”

Rihan leaned back in his chair with deliberate ease, his fingers idly rubbing together—thumb to forefinger—in a gesture that radiated smug composure.

“Think about it,” he said calmly. “The princess uses magic. To counter that, what do we need? A weapon that can break magic. Thornvine armor only protects the wearer—it doesn’t attack. What we need is something offensive.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Hanan shot back, his tone heated. “The only way to beat magic is with stronger magic. But that hasn’t arrived yet. I’m talking about Grand Duke Rezette of Van Yela. What are we supposed to do—sit here and twiddle our thumbs until he shows up?”

“You’re being overly optimistic,” Rihan said flatly, clicking his tongue in open disapproval. “The Grand Duke isn’t our weapon.”

It was surprising enough that Van Yela had sent reinforcements at all—especially this quickly—but that didn’t mean Rezette was cooperating entirely on Ugel’s terms.

We can’t afford to lower our guard around him yet, Rihan thought. Just look at him—he’s here to find his wife, nothing more.

Even the Norella forces moving northward had sent multiple warnings: Don’t trust the Grand Duke.

True, it would be difficult for Rezette to act against them directly, not with commanders from every Northern Alliance state keeping watch. But still—better to stay cautious than be blindsided.

Ultimately, what Ugel needed was twofold: first, a weapon that could resist magic; second, one they could control.

And the answer, Rihan realized, was far closer than anyone expected.

“There’s a race that carries magic in their blood,” he said slowly. “Just like Rezette Kirstan. And they’re not rare. They’re scattered all across Grandel—like wild seeds in an open field.”

“…Wait,” Hanan said, blinking. “No. You can’t possibly mean—”

Only then did he grasp the implication. His voice faltered.

“Exactly. That’s it.” Rihan’s lips curled into a thin, predatory smile.

“The filthy offspring that sprouted from the dragon’s seed. Stupid, savage hosts of depraved lust.”