Chapter 183

[When the war is over, I want to go somewhere where it’s just the two of us.]

The moment the carrier pigeon landed, Rezette untied the small roll of parchment from its leg and unfolded it at once. His eyes darted quickly across the neat, steady lines, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he could stop it.

“So,” he murmured to himself, “she doesn’t plan to stay long in Argan once this is over.”

Five days earlier, Barnon Conrad had brought him the same news—that the emperor had made his final decision. Now that message had finally reached Elise as well, and she had sent her reply without delay.

The parchment the bird carried bore the decree of Argan’s late emperor, the last command he would ever give. Elise wrote that she would invoke Sameshita, and even Rezette had to admit—it was a dangerous yet clever move.

[I won’t use magic,] she wrote. [I realized I don’t even need to. Isn’t it funny?]

[To think they tampered with my circuits without a word to me. They claimed it was all for my sake, yet not one of them ever cared to ask what I wanted. I’m not some porcelain doll meant to be handled carefully and kept safe behind glass.]

Even in her precise handwriting, the quiet resentment was unmistakable. Each stroke carried a tension that told of exhaustion held at bay. Rezette, reading her words in the dim tent light, felt a pang of guilt crawl through his chest. He had been one of those men once—so intent on possessing her that he had forgotten she was not a thing to be owned but a will as fierce and untamed as his own.

Still, her letter bore no trace of weeping or despair. That, at least, was something.

“The emperor, then…” Rezette muttered, half to himself, “he must truly be gone.”

Yet Elise wrote nothing of her twin’s death—no mention of the body, no word of farewell. Instead, the letter continued, steady and unflinching:

[One way or another, I gained something precious and dangerous thanks to my foolish, selfish brother. A power too volatile to predict, too radiant to tame. The perfect weapon to strike back at the barbarians.]

[That’s why I’m writing to you, Rezette. About that plan you told me before—could you adjust it for me?]

[I hope you can reach me soon.]

Rezette’s lips curved faintly as he folded the letter and slipped it close to his heart. “You don’t need my permission, Elise,” he said under his breath. “You never did.”

He raised his head, the murmuring wind outside carrying the sharp scent of pine and snow. Around him stretched the camp of the Northern Alliance’s vanguard division, their banners rippling in the cold light. They had set camp upon the flat plains, close enough that the fortress of Riosa was visible—a faint shape of white and stone perched atop the cliffside, no larger than a fingernail from here. Across the shallow river lay the enemy: the Ugel encampment, its banners of beast hide and bone trembling against the wind.

The barbarians had already sensed their arrival. The moment they caught sight of the allied banners, the Ugel commanders moved their troops into a state of restless defense. Rezette noted it in their silence—the lack of any messenger dispatched for parley was proof enough. He also noticed how their formation began to splinter, small groups of soldiers retreating piecemeal through the canyon paths. They were trying to thin out their forces, to slip free of the encirclement that was fast closing around them.

Rezette gestured, and the signalmen obeyed. Two sets of banners unfurled skyward: one navy blue, embroidered with the white peaks of the northern mountains, and the other deep green with a golden ear of grain stitched across its center. The emblems of the Northern Alliance and Rotiara rose together, fluttering in the wind like a pair of twin wings.

“Break them apart,” he ordered calmly, “and drive them inward.”

The troops were already splitting into smaller units, advancing through narrow gorges and over ridgelines. Piece by piece, the trap was tightening. The Ugels would fight their scattered skirmishes, but by the time they realized the scope of the encirclement, it would already be too late. Once the last retreating band was driven into the canyon’s depths, the divided squadrons would merge again, sealing off the only way out. That would be the moment the final assault began.

Rezette slipped Elise’s letter back into his coat. “It’s been a while since we last hunted rabbits,” he said wryly.

Ruben Diark, standing beside him, grinned. “How far do you want them driven?” he asked. His tone was almost playful; he had returned from sacking the Ugel’s last northern city just days earlier, still flush with victory.

Rezette lifted his gaze to the sky. The fortress loomed distantly, its spires piercing the pale blue where no cloud dared to drift. His answer came as simply as if it had been scripted for him.

“To her feet,” he said.

***

Every two or three days, sometimes less, a messenger pigeon flew to and from Riosa Castle. Lately, the intervals had grown even shorter—today’s bird arrived with not one, but three small slips of parchment tied to its leg.

Each contained a single, concise line written in Rezette’s hand.

[Ten o’clock from the fortress—covered approach.]
[North stream—encirclement complete.]
[Four o’clock pass—bridge sealed.]

Elise read them aloud under her breath as she pressed colored pins into the large map spread across the table before her. “He’s fast,” she murmured.

The map of the Riosa canyon was dotted with seven markers already, each representing the choke points Rezette had quietly secured. With today’s updates, the encirclement was complete. Not a single path remained open. Down below, the Ugel army must already be floundering, retreating deeper and deeper into the gorge without even realizing it. Every battle they fought only pushed them closer to their own tomb.

Barnon Conrad stood beside her, his brow furrowed. “This is exactly how he crushed Argan’s allies,” he muttered.

“How so?” Elise asked without looking up.

“The same trick,” he said grimly. “Before they even realize it, they’re trapped like rats in a barrel. That’s how the duke fights.”

Elise had never seen Rezette at war, but Conrad had. He knew the man’s methods intimately.

“He stretches the front lines thin,” Conrad went on, “and he waits. That’s what makes him terrifying. You can run until your lungs burst, and still never find a gap in his net. Once he marks a land as his hunting ground, no one ever reclaims it.”

There was an old saying among soldiers: if the black banners of Duke Rezette Kyrsten are visible to the naked eye, the battle is already lost. By then, his circle has closed completely.

“He always begins the same way,” Conrad continued. “He lays out the field, draws invisible lines across it, divides his forces like threads of a web. Then he just… tightens it. Slowly, methodically, until there’s nowhere left to go.”

“He’s patient,” the Barnon said, his tone thick with something between admiration and dread. “He takes his time narrowing the snare, then in one clean strike, he tears the throat out. And when it’s done—there’s nothing left to bury.”

Elise said nothing. She didn’t need to.

“The worst part,” Conrad whispered, “is his thoroughness. He doesn’t let anyone walk away. Every inch of ground he crosses turns to black ash. That’s why men call him inhuman. You can’t outthink him. He leaves you no chance to breathe.”

He paused, lowering his gaze. “And if you’re unlucky enough to see him when the madness takes him…”

“Enough,” Elise said quietly.

The Barnon fell silent at once.

She didn’t need the reminder. She had seen the signs of Rezette’s madness once before—the storm at Norella, when lightning tore through the sea and the air itself screamed. Even then, when it was only his aura unraveling, the world had trembled.

Elise turned back to the map. The Ugel and Norellan lines had already been driven far into the canyon’s throat. The pattern was clear now. This wasn’t a battle. It was a hunt.

For a fleeting second, a chill ran through her. She understood why the Barnon had looked so uneasy.

She thought of the man who had conquered Norella before she even arrived, the one who had nearly caged her atop Rotiara’s tower to wait out the rest of her days. Had he not changed his mind at the last moment, that might have been her fate.

Maybe he’s trying to match me now, she thought.

It must be his way of easing her fear, of showing her that this time, she was not the one being cornered but the one commanding the trap. He reported his every move to her, not for strategy—but for reassurance.

A beast that only softened for her touch. That was what he’d become. And beasts like that could never be allowed to slip free again.

The pendant hanging from her neck began to tremble faintly, beating in rhythm with a distant, unseen pulse. He was moving fast. She smiled faintly, dipping her quill into the ink and writing her reply in a flowing, deliberate hand.

[Thank you. I love you. I miss you.]

That night, under her command, the Argan troops began their silent withdrawal from Riosa. Every squad that slipped out carried servants and attendants among them, their faces pale but resolute. The corridors of the fortress grew quieter by the hour.

“Your Highness,” one of the knights asked, hesitating near the archway, “are you certain we should leave so few behind?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “The tower guard will remain, no one else. When the Ugels come, even they will be ordered to flee.”

“But if they realize this is a trap,” the knight pressed, “won’t they hesitate to enter? They know they’re already surrounded. Even fools know the fortress leads nowhere.”

Elise smiled faintly. “Then we’ll give them something they can’t resist—a bait too tempting to ignore.”

She knew exactly what that bait should be. The barbarians craved magic. It was why they had crossed the borders in the first place—to seize what they could never create. To them, the mystical was not art or faith, but power. And power was everything.

So she would use it.

Before dawn, Elise made her way to the northern gate. The air was heavy with frost; her breath turned to pale mist before her face. The golden barrier she had woven around the fortress shimmered faintly, wrapping the towers and walls in a translucent glow. The magical sigils pulsed like veins of light, flawless and unbroken.

Elise extended a hand toward them. The surface rippled, and the lattice of spells began to soften beneath her touch. The golden wall melted like warm honey, its light spilling down the stones in viscous rivulets.

The first crack in perfection. The first sign of invitation.

And from somewhere deep within the sleeping fortress, a whisper seemed to stir—an echo of flame waiting to be born.