Chapter 165

“…The weather isn’t looking good,” Elise murmured, her voice barely rising above a whisper as she lifted her gaze to the cloud-laden sky.

It was only midday, yet the world was cloaked in a premature dusk. Thick, thunderous clouds churned above, and the air thrummed with tension—charged and expectant, like the breath held before a storm.

Of all days… why does a full-scale battle have to fall on one like this?

She picked up the pace of her movements, resuming the spellwork she had briefly paused.

Ever since Andrei had shared part of his circuit with her, the world had shifted—like a blindfold removed. The intricate weave of mana, once hidden from her eyes, now revealed itself in exquisite, terrifying detail.

The power of the dragon was everywhere in Grandel—like air and water, it threaded through the natural world and the lives that clung to the land.

Magic, at its core, was the collision of a mage’s mana against nature, producing unstable and unnatural results. But only those who could perceive the vast, net-like lattice of magic flowing through the world could understand how to shape those collisions with precision and intent.

Carefully, Elise began sketching the spell anew.

Following Andrei’s original design, she etched the pattern of the barrier spell—stroke by stroke, symbol by symbol—until the magic circle was complete. Channeling her power into it, she watched as a translucent film shimmered to life before her eyes, glowing faintly with shifting hues like oil on water.

A small flicker of satisfaction sparked in her chest.

But it vanished almost instantly.

A sharp, unsettling ache bloomed low in her abdomen.

Her breath caught.

Instinctively, she slipped a hand beneath her cloak, pressing gently against her stomach. The pain, mercifully, faded within seconds—but a lingering discomfort remained. Not quite pain, but a deep, internal pressure, as if something had been struck or wrenched out of place.

“Are you all right, Your Highness?”  

Duke Bellator’s voice came from just behind her, low with concern. He had been watching her spellwork closely, and now, unable to hide his unease, he stepped forward.

Elise turned slightly, offering him a composed, reassuring smile.

“I’m fine, Duke. The barriers are fully in place.”

Behind him, ranks of Argan knights and soldiers stood at attention, their armor gleaming faintly beneath the gray sky. Elise hesitated before facing them fully.

She had been taught all her life never to avert her gaze from those under her command. But lately, meeting their eyes took more strength than she liked to admit. Subtle shifts in posture and loose cloaks were no longer enough to conceal her condition—every day, it grew harder to hide.

And in truth, she’d stopped trying. There was no longer any point in denying it. Andrei had certainly noticed by now. So had others.

She knew the rumors had already begun to circulate through the ranks.

After nearly ten months in the North, their princess had returned visibly pregnant. It didn’t matter whether the soldiers whispered in sympathy or suspicion—there were whispers all the same. To the Arganians, Elise had never just been royalty. She was a sacred symbol, the vessel of their gods’ blessing, their last fragile hope in a crumbling empire.

She could imagine their disappointment. The sense of betrayal.

And that was why she had to keep proving herself, no matter the cost.

It was why she still stood on the battlefield, casting spells that drained her strength. Why the Argan commanders, even knowing her condition, continued to rely on her. 

Because they had no other choice. Because hope, however fragile, was still hope.

Elise turned back toward the iridescent wall of magic she had conjured and rapped her knuckles lightly against it.

Thud. Thud.

The sound rang out solid and true—like a promise.

“I’ve cast five barriers,” she said, her voice carrying across the wind. “From the base of the cliff up to the forward line of Argan’s camp. As long as the mana is replenished every half-day, they won’t break.”

This gently sloped rise, just before the camp, was their last fallback—Argan’s final defensive line.

They had chosen their ground carefully, placing the camp just beneath the cliffs leading to Riosa Castle, cutting off the approach completely. If the worst came to pass—if the enemy pushed through and took the slope—then at the very least, the castle must not fall.

Elise stepped back, her gaze sweeping over the gathered troops.

“From here on, it’s in your hands.”

Naturally, Elise would not be leading the charge in this operation. Andrei had forbidden it—so adamantly that he’d threatened to resort to force if necessary to keep her off the front lines. And, truthfully, there was little tactical value in placing her there now.

Instead, she would hold the line here.

Elise drew a slow breath and turned. The assembled knights and soldiers stood in solemn ranks, every eye trained on her.

“There’s no need to push yourselves past your limits,” she said clearly. “This isn’t about how many Ugel soldiers you can cut down. Your job is to draw them into the right positions.”

The gorge’s foundation had already been weakened by her last large-scale spell. Any further disruption could trigger another catastrophic landslide—one that wouldn’t distinguish between ally or enemy. Precision now mattered more than brute force.

The odds weren’t in their favor, but the land itself was. Duke Bellator, leading the operation, had identified key positions to bait the enemy, and Elise had embedded attack spells there in advance. The plan was to gradually thin their numbers over several days—then wipe out the remaining forces in a decisive blow, ideally before Ugel’s reinforcements arrived.

“There’s no shame in falling back,” Elise continued, her voice firm. “Retreat is not defeat. If you find yourselves overwhelmed, return here. This ground is shielded. I’ll make sure it stays that way.”

She paused. Her chest tightened. Breath caught in her throat, unexpected and sharp—something that had been happening more and more lately.

After a moment, she steadied herself and spoke once more, this time louder:

“Remember this. Argan’s mage is standing right here. No matter what happens—this place will not fall.”

Several hours later, as dawn’s pale mist crept down into the gorge, Duke Bellator and his strike team descended into the ravine.

Elise stood alone before the barrier, watching the soldiers disappear into the gloom—swallowed one by one by the shadows.

Thanks to the circuit she shared with Andrei, she could feel the barriers she had constructed still holding—solid, unwavering, humming with her magic.

Just a little longer, she thought. Once this operation ends… I really do need to rest.

Her body ached. Her limbs felt heavy. She pressed her fingertips to her eyes, trying to rub away the weariness that clung like fog.

It had been quite some time since her last proper check-up. Over a month had passed since she’d secretly seen a physician—just before they landed on the Tentaluna Peninsula.

Her belly had grown noticeably since then, which, she hoped, meant the baby was developing well. But the not knowing gnawed at her. With so many eyes on her, summoning a female doctor wasn’t so simple anymore.

This is supposed to be my homeland… so why does it still feel like I’m alone in the world?

Today, of all days, she found herself missing Rezette. She also had an unbearable craving for cherry compote.

There’s barely a spoonful left.

The memory of the nearly empty jam jar drew her gaze downward. A sigh slipped from her lips. At once, several nearby knights—who had been nervously watching her—began murmuring reassurances.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness. You’re not guarding this place alone. We’re here with you,” one said gently.

“Just one last battle, alright? Then please—stay in the castle until the baby’s born. If you don’t, we’ll all be… we’ll all…” another began, then faltered awkwardly.

“O-our hearts will be crushed! With worry!” the third blurted, voice rising in panic. “Because we care deeply for you and the little one, Your Highness!”

Ironically, they were the same men who had suffered the worst seasickness on the way to the peninsula. Elise had seen them around Riosa Castle often enough to remember a few names—Barbin, Clava, Robinson. Especially those three. Always chattering nonsense, always saying something ridiculous that made her smile when she least expected it.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Huh? For what, Your Highness?” Clava asked, blinking in confusion.

Elise smiled faintly. “Just… for being who you are.”

Of course, she didn’t know that Baron Conrad had personally selected and assigned them to her after much deliberation—for that exact reason.

Still, she steadied herself.

No more weakness. Just get through this. After that… I can finally rest.

At the time, Elise didn’t yet know.

She didn’t know what kind of backlash would strike a mage when their magic was forcibly shattered.

She didn’t yet understand that one woman holding out with everything she had… wasn’t enough to fix a world already coming undone.

***

At that very moment, Duke Bellator’s strike force descended toward the river winding through the base of the gorge.

The mist today was unusually thick—so dense it turned the world to pale smears beyond five paces. Each step sank into the soggy ground, the earth sucking greedily at their boots like a sponge soaked in blood.

Bellator led from the front, his pace steady and deliberate. Years of warfare had taught him the dangers of unseen terrain. When a dark figure flickered through the veil of fog, he raised a hand sharply, signaling the men behind him to halt.

Something was coming.

Possibly a lone Ugel scout—or a small patrol.

But then that one shape became two. Then four. Then more. The shadows stretched, split, multiplied. They moved in strange, staggered gaits—some lurching, others sprinting. Some towered over the mist, others skulked low like beasts.

Bellator’s brow furrowed.

Too many. And their formation… it’s wrong. No discipline. No coordination. Just chaos.

A chill ran down his spine. His instincts prickled with warning.

What in the Emperor’s name are those?

He squinted through the murk as the shapes surged forward—gaining speed. Then, like a wave crashing through fog, the first figures broke into view.

Even staring straight at them, Bellator couldn’t register what he was seeing. His mind rejected the image—tried to name them men, or beasts, or something between.

And then it clicked. His stomach turned cold.

“Dragonkin…” he breathed, barely audible over the wind.

They came in droves—bodies rippling with unnatural muscle, eyes glinting with primal hunger. The pale mist parted around them as they thundered forward, snarling, shrieking, mouths wide with bloodied teeth.

Monsters.

Cannibalistic, feral hybrids born from dragon blood and human flesh. During their frenzied states, they did nothing but kill—and breed—without reason, without rest.

In most places, they were slaughtered the moment they were born. It was the only safe option. A newborn dragonkin was weak, vulnerable. Wait too long, and they would turn on everything—family, neighbors, entire villages. That was why many were executed along with their mothers before labor ever began.

But a few survived.

Those unlucky ones were raised like animals, trained in blood-soaked pits for gladiator fights. No love. No language. Just hunger and instinct.

They couldn’t be tamed. Not really. But on the battlefield, they didn’t need to be.

They just needed to be aimed.

Toss out a human sacrifice, and they would charge—locked onto their prey, mindless and unstoppable. No flanks, no plans, no orders. Just a straight line of carnage.

It was crude. It was monstrous.

And it worked.

A simple tactic. Pull back, release the beasts, let them tear the enemy to pieces.

And the result?

Pure devastation.

Until the dim hours of dawn, the gorge echoed with the screams of men and the inhuman howls of monsters.
Below, laughter rose from those watching the slaughter like a grotesque form of sport.
Above, the soldiers hidden among the cliffs reeled in confusion and dread.

In just a few hours, the world had turned into a waking nightmare.

Elise leaned heavily against a knight—the same one who’d once tried to cheer her with awkward jokes. Now, her breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps.

It hurts…

Three of the five barriers she had set were gone, shattered beneath overwhelming force. Some of the attack spells within had triggered properly—others hadn’t even had time to activate, unraveling before they could release.

The mana she’d bound into the formations had snapped back into her like a whip recoiling. The backlash was fierce, unforgiving.

If she hadn’t instinctively shielded her abdomen—if the knights around her hadn’t caught her in time—she would have crumpled to the ground.

“We need to get you back to the barracks, Your Highness!” one of the knights urged, gripping her shoulders firmly. “You can’t stay here!”

Elise grimaced, her shoulders burning and her back aching as if someone had lashed her with invisible cords. The lingering sting of the rebound still radiated through her bones.

Something broke the barrier—by brute force.

For a split second, she’d thought it was Rezette. That he’d finally arrived.

He was the only one she believed capable of dismantling her magic. She was wrong.