Two months passed.
The great houses stirred. Feuds rekindled, alliances cracked. Dueling banners were raised across far-off realms.
Mortals fought, cities were besieged off in far realms, meanwhile Sahara simply started its skirmishes.
In the second level of the Umbral Abyss, Vesperion Umbra faced a creature —and vanished.
No news came from him. No body. No soul beacon. Just... silence.
In the meantime, Astra found himself caught in something rare: rhythm.
His days at the Academy of the Shadowkeep followed a subtle cadence. Study. Practice. Reflection. Research of House Night archives and Spells. He absorbed information like a drought-starved plain drinks the rain. Glyphwork, energy flow, mana-nerve channeling, Survival, battle tactics—things that took adepts years and lots of practice, Astra seemed to grasp in weeks. His instructors stopped calling it "natural talent" weeks ago. Now they watched him with careful eyes.
And yet, his curse gnawed quietly in the back of his mind. The Curse of Curiosity, left by Harbinger of Twisted Truths a devil far beyond his comprehension. With it, Astra learned faster, saw deeper. But knowledge wasn't free, and the deeper he delved, the more it frightened him.
For now, though, it was swordwork.
The Upper North Training Terrace reserved only for certain nobility overlooked the academy's central tower, golden rays from the embers of massive torches spilled down in shafts between flickering obsidian braziers. Nightbloom trees swayed above in slow, spectral arcs. Beneath them, Astra danced with a blade of dying light.
The Sword of the Stars.
His breath came measured, his strikes smoother than ever—but still, something faltered.
Watching him from the edge of the courtyard, arms crossed beneath violet-lined robes, stood Bishop Indigo Monte.
Sharp-jawed and expressionless, Indigo watched with the kind of boredom that meant he cared a great deal. His fingers twitched occasionally, mimicking adjustments Astra had not yet made. Finally, he exhaled in a way that made the lanterns dim just slightly.
"You're not breathing with it."
Astra stopped, blade lowering.
"It's hard to when I'm trying to get the third constellation right."
Indigo stepped forward, tapping the blade's spine with a single nail. "That's the problem. You're trying. You don't try to speak a language you were born to speak. You just speak."
He paced slowly, his boots silent on the stone. "The Sword of the Stars is not about power. It's about position. Precision. Pattern. It's drawn from constellations, not carnage. It's a rhythm as old as the stars ."
Astra wiped his brow. "So I'm offbeat?"
Indigo smirked. "You're butchering the tempo like a drunk with a war drum."
He turned, gesturing upward to the stars barely visible through the ever-flickering canopy of mana-warded leaves.
"You think swordsmanship is about memorizing forms and striking lines? No. The stars don't memorize. They exist. Each swing is a note in a song older than time. You don't command the sword—you harmonize with it. The moment you force it, it resists."
He paused.
"Remember this, Astra. The best teacher is not technique. It's failure. And not even failure, but the kind that comes when your life is on the line. A real fight is worth a thousand lessons. So stop rehearsing. And start listening."
Astra bowed, properly this time. "Yes, my Bishop."
Indigo's eyes narrowed—but then they flicked to something over Astra's shoulder.
A faint click sounded in his head. His mana coin had pulsed.
"Prince Astra," came Merry's voice, hushed, but urgent."Pardon the intrusion, but… Prince Vesperion has returned."
The words caught in Astra's spine like a blade pressed between vertebrae. He straightened at once.
Indigo had already begun folding his sleeves. "Go."
"You got a message too?"
"Something like that" Indigo replied, turning back toward the stairwell. "Go see your friend. You've earned the right to ask if he still breathes."
Astra left the terrace in haste, storming down dark spiraled stairwells lined with shifting murals of House Shadow's long history—wars, pacts, betrayals. He barely noticed them now.
As he passed through the academy's central gardens, someone else fell into step beside him.
Velora.
She was quiet. Taller than before. Stronger. Her Rank Two aura clung to her like cold night air—dense, coiled, commanding She's been given rank of Colonel not long ago, apparently she's a genius tactician which he can totally see.
The scar that crossed her left eye hadn't been there a month ago. And her mana?
It pulsed wrong. Darker. Heavy like oil. A Legendary Core burned inside her now—one born of descent and ascent. And she carried it with a weariness Astra didn't recognize.
"You going to see him too?" she asked.
Astra nodded. "Just found out."
"Then we're late," she said, adjusting her gauntlet.
They didn't speak much after that. Velora wasn't like Vesper. She didn't tease. Didn't joke. She never asked about Astra's progress, nor did she comment on the sword he carried.
But she was worried. Her eyes had that look—like someone who'd been close to death and didn't trust what came back.
Astra didn't ask. They weren't close. Not like he was with Vesper.
The higher floors of the Shadowkeep were reserved for champions, nobles, and other beings too volatile or important beings. Each floor was more a sanctum than a residence—tailored to its occupant's power, mana type, and nature.
Vesperion Umbra's floor pulsed with a kind of stillness that felt alive.
The door was already open.
Astra stepped in first. Velora followed in silence.
And there he was.
Vesper.
He was taller, by just enough to make it noticeable. His hair was darker, but streaked with a faint red sheen now, as if the Abyss had left its mark not just in soul, but in pigment. His black eyes shimmered red, not glowing—but reflecting light in strange ways, like a pool that saw more than it should.
But it was his aura that made Astra pause.
It wasn't heavy. It wasn't malevolent. It was... wrong. Maddeningly wrong. Like hearing a lullaby played backward or seeing a mirror reflect something that isn't you.
Astra's curse flared involuntarily. Strings—red strings—coiled around Vesper like a web spun in haste and fury. There were more now. Dozens. Hundreds. Twisting, laughing, moving. It looked like Vesper had used his unique Mana far more than was sane.
"Interesting," Astra thought grimly.
Vesper smiled wide. "Well, well, well," he drawled. "Color me surprised. You two look like someone told you your favorite cat learned how to speak and insult your fashion sense."
Velora folded her arms. "Well yeah, of course we're worried. That Abyss really is cursed but unlike me you have it way worse."
"It is indeed worse for me," Vesper said, plopping down onto an obsidian lounge draped with furs. "But I'm basically just as cursed, so it's kind of like returning to the womb."
Astra walked in, cautious but steady. "Glad to see you back... and powerful."
Vesper winked. "Why thank you, princess. Say—did you get skinnier? Or are you just wearing misery better these days?"
Astra clenched a fist. "Ill throw you back down I swear."
Vesper held up his hands in mock surrender. "Yikes. Okay, okay. No need to go full drama queen on me."
Astra smiled but he couldn't fully shake the unease.
He leaned in. "So when did you actually come back from the Abyss?"
Vesper blinked innocently. "Oh, about three days ago? I needed the full royal spa package—healing, care, an ocean of food, and the world's longest shower and really pretty girls. Oh, and apparently I had to be 'monitored' for 'aberrant psychological phenomena.'"He wiggled his fingers. "Still twitchy, though."
Velora gave him a long stare. "And they cleared you?"
"Cleared-ish," Vesper said, then grinned wider. "Come on sit. Let's catch up."
A few minutes later, they sat in a dark, high-vaulted lounge beside a flickering hearth. The wine had already been opened.
Valquein 32. A bottle older than many realms.
A blood-dark red, brewed from 32 different types of shadow berries harvested in the Umbral Abyss, fermented undert the moonless skies of Shadowkeep, and enchanted for centuries. It was said to taste different depending on what berry you thought about the most.
It also cost a fortune.
Astra sipped cautiously. "Wow. Someone's feeling festive."
Vesper raised his glass and swirled it lazily. "Trust me—after crawling through a cursed hellhole to kill a half-eaten soul-mirroring thing birthed from the clash of two now dead gods? You'd celebrate too."
Velora raised a brow. "So… what did you actually fight?"
Vesper leaned back with a theatrical sigh. "Ah, the Legendary tale."
He took a longer drink and began, in a voice equal parts mischief and madness:
"Picture this: I'm dropped into a the abyss half buzzed aiming for the cave of mysteries right off the bat. The laws of physics are arguing with each other, time skips like a drunk bard with a lute, and suddenly Im face to face with a soulstealer grappling the bastard mid air, then I blink and boom, Im in the center of the abyssal forest surrounded by abominations of all ranks."
Astra stared.
"So naturally, I do what anyone would do. I fought for my life running around the forest for days. About 2 days in, I come up with this genius idea of launching a lance of filled to the brim all my unique power while being hunted by rank threes creatures towards even more powerful rank threes."
"You did what?" Velora stared at vesper like he was an idiot.
"And... it worked gods was I laughing my ass off as the whole forest became a war zone! You really should have seen it man it took everything that wanted me off my ass for a bit"
"Anyhow after that genius idea of mine, I descended into one of the caves fought lots of rank two undead's to where I can still smell them, they smell terrible mind you, found their leader...the uh the Cursed Wretch a rank two pinnacle tier creature, the really corrupted kind.
Velora grimaced. "You fought that ? Gods even I just snuck past it."
"Well I tried to flirt with it first," Vesper said with a grin "Astra I know you definitely don't know art they look like, picture a old fat giant granny with pores and rot all over her as well as having a horde of annoying undead just like her."
Vesper continued,' So my flirting didn't work...shocker. but I think it spoke in reverse Ancient Saharan—couldn't really tell you. It also tried to eat my shadow, which was very rude and it hurt a lot. I fought it using everything I had-Shadow, Sinister red flame, More shadows, sarcasm but what can I do to an already corrupted insane creature. I even threw a rock at it. Big rock. Hit it in what might've been its eye."
"And so you won?" Astra asked, unconvinced.
"Ehhhhh....won is a strong word. I survived. It fell into a pit of infinite mirrors or crystals I don't know it's the cave of mysteries after all and probably got stuck reflecting on its decisions. Meanwhile, found the altar of mysteries that was part of my quest by the way, fought a corrupted rank two version of my self for weeks and its stupid minions won in an epic fashion as my domain spell evolved three times I almost felt like I was like you, you cursed bastard....man oh man was I magnificent..." Vesper stared off into the wine smiling
"I bet you were" Astra laughed
Vesper shook his head "Well then as I ascended I somehow got pulled into a memory loop , figured out a few things about my mana the future gods and what not, I still cant even make sense of it..., panicked, screamed for hours...days? I really don't know...also hence why I had to get quarantined and examined, then I got hunted by even more rank threes almost almost died more times then I can count, ran into a mysterious monkey because of my mana fluctuations got a high Tier legendary core and somehow made a ladder of screaming shadows and fire?, Then climbed back up."
He drained the rest of his wine.
"Ta-da."
The silence that followed was… heavy.
Velora blinked. "A ladder made of shadows that scream and fire?"
"Oh yeah. Surprisingly sturdy."
Vesper leaned back with a self-satisfied sigh. "So yeah. Legendary core. Earned the hard way. You're welcome, realm."
Astra raised a brow. "Congratulations. Want a medal?"
Vesper grinned. "Nah. Just eternal respect. Maybe a statue—shirtless, preferably."
Velora, quiet until now, set her glass down with a soft clink.
"Well," she said coolly, "while you did less in the sense of not almost dying every five minutes, Astra…" Her gaze turned on him—flat, analytical. "What you did was highly symbolic. And more importantly, it destabilized things that were never meant to shift."
Astra frowned slightly. "You mean the finals?"
"No," she said. "I mean all of it."
Her tone was clinical, like ticking boxes on a medical report.
"You clashed with Princess Aster Hunt—heiress to House Hunt, marked for divinity, considered the most gifted of her generation. Then Prince Lucien Solaris, who holds the same status, also evolved domain spells in days. And yes, some of it was the curse… but not all. You matched their power again and again—after training for what, two weeks? Oh and I'm sure you had multiple run ins with many powerful players and what not, also whatever fiasco happened above Duskfall the week prior to the tournament."
Astra didn't answer.
"You beat Lucien. Then you clashed with Aster to the bitter end—on the largest stage possible. And after that, you declared yourself—not just as an individual, but as heir to House Night. Fully. Publicly. In doing so, you shifted noble hierarchies, insulted half a dozen realms, and forced the Great Houses to acknowledge you."
She leaned back slightly. "That kind of declaration? That kind of defiance? It's the sort of thing mana watches for."
Vesper blinked. "Wait, wait. You're telling me he got a Mythical Core because he stirred political drama and looked good doing it?"
"No," Velora said simply. "Because he broke powerful beings scripts. Shattered centuries-old designs. While barely knowing his lines."
Vesper gave Astra a long, sideways look. "Well, well, Princess. Color me... slightly impressed."
Astra just shrugged. "I didn't want to die."
"Exactly," Velora said, voice razor-thin. "And that's what makes it worse. You weren't trying to be extraordinary. You just were. You changed the story… without realizing you were writing one."
Astra tilted his head changing the topic and a little curious. "You learned something about your mana?"
Vesper's smile vanished just slightly. "Might've. Wouldn't you like to know, Princess of Curiosity."
Astra met his gaze and smirked, tired but amused. "I kinda do... but don't tell me."
The three continued to chat for some time about random mishaps
Velora eventually stood, brushing invisible dust off her coat. "I've said enough for one evening," she murmured. "Try not to break any more dynasties while I'm gone."She gave Astra a look—half fond, half warning—and nodded to Vesper. "Watch him."
"Always," Vesper said smoothly, raising his half-empty glass. "Even when he sleeps."
Velora rolled her eyes and disappeared into the hallway with a rustle of her cloak.
The moment the door clicked shut behind her, silence settled. The kind that only followed truth being spoken too loudly.
Vesper sighed, his body slackening as if a weight had finally dropped from his shoulders. "It's a mess," he muttered. "The realms are going to shit."
Astra didn't respond. He knew Vesper wasn't done.
"I've been back for what—days? And the debriefs I've gotten… Gods." He ran a hand through his dark hair, jaw tight. "Duels between divine heirs. Houses collapsing. Alliances forming between the Outer Houses and the guilds—the ones led by devils, even some sins."
Astra's brow rose, but he said nothing.
"Some of the minor houses that lost their duels were eradicated if their champion fell easily then you can imagine the massacre that followed. Astra. Not disgraced. Erased. It's culling season. The major players are making moves, clearing the board of anyone too weak to keep up. And I swear, even when this realm war ends… it won't really be over."
He stood, pacing now, wine bottle dangling from one hand. "From what I've seen? This isn't just a feud. This feels like a prelude to a full-on inter-realm war. One bigger than the Fracture Wars. Bigger than anything we've seen in millennium."
He chugged the last of the bottle before throwing the empty glass cup into the fireplace. It shattered with a hollow ring.
"Every potential prodigy is being pushed to the limit. Groomed. Sharpened. Even me. My schedule is more packed now than before I left, and I just got back! We're expected to lead squads, win battles, gain experience in live combat. And if we die?" He gave a bitter laugh. "Then I guess we weren't bright enough to rise."
He turned, eyes locked on Astra. "This is an age of war, Astra. And you—especially you—you're expected to fight. Because of your bloodline. Because half the realms want House Night erased from the annals of history."
Astra leaned back in his seat, swirling his own drink. His voice came quiet, thoughtful.
"I've known. Not everything, but enough. They keep me… loosely informed when it concerns me directly."
He sighed. "War is here."
Then, with a smirk and a glint in his eye, he lifted his glass. "But what can you do? It's simple, really. I become divine as fast as possible. Kill countless enemies. Claim my inheritance through strength and stubborn will. Lead some armies. Nearly die a few dozen times. Maybe charm a few pretty maidens and steal some wine in between."
Vesper blinked, then snorted. "Thats your master plan.....I kinda like it?"
Astra grinned. "Well Isn't that the life of adventure I always dreamed of?"
He downed the rest of his glass, then added with mock solemnity, "My house has a saying, you know."
"Oho," Vesper said, laughing. "You've been brushing up on House Night's literary collection? Look at you—starting to resemble an actual noble."
"Yeah, yeah its like the only one that doesn't mention casualty or stars mind you." Astra waved him off. "The saying goes: Fortune favors the bold. The brave. So why not go for it?"
He looked down at the glass in his hand. "If we die, so be it. Let death claim us as it claims all. At least I'll die fighting for myself. Not rotting in the outskirts of Duskfall, caught in some holy war I didn't even get to choose."
He tossed his cup into the fireplace, letting it shatter beside Vesper's.
Vesper laughed. "That's a good one. Fortune favors the bold, huh? I might steal that. Tell it to my soldiers next time I'm forced to give some rousing speech. Don't worry, I'll credit you."
He deepened his voice in a mock imitation. "Oh, the ever noble Prince Astra once said—"
"Bastard," Astra muttered, but he was smiling.
Then his expression turned serious. The air shifted.
"But really, Vesper… I'm glad you're back. Seriously. You're one of the only people I can actually talk to. No gawking. No envy. No plotting. Just… talking."
Vesper grinned. "Gods, so serious." Then, without missing a beat: "And you're wrong. I am plotting. Just… for different things."
Astra looked at him. "Gods, Ves—"
"Don't look at me like that," Vesper said, exaggeratedly disgusted. "Not those kinds of things. I mean—maybe. Depends on the wine. Depends on the lighting."
Astra groaned. "You're impossible."
"And you're dramatic." Vesper dropped back into the chair across from him.
Astra bid Vesper farewell, their laughter fading behind him as he moved through the vast, echoing halls of Shadowkeep.
The fortress pulsed with night: arches of onyx, walls that shimmered faintly with enchanted obsidian runes, shadowflame torches that flickered violet-blue. Guards and maids bowed in silence as he passed, their eyes averted. Some in fear, others in awe.
But Astra's mind wasn't here.
He was to lead soon.
A Special Major in the Armies of Shadow. It sounded impressive—looked even more so on official parchments and mana networks. A rank typically reserved for Powerful Knights, and almost never for a Rank Two squire. The mere fact that he held it was a political statement. But Astra knew better.
It was all for show.
After all, he'd spoken to the angels he knew what they wanted. His survival was its own message. But surviving wasn't enough. Not in this world. If he wanted real power—real influence, the kind that would let him live without looking over his shoulder—he needed to reach Rank Five. At a minimum.
A Saint.
And not just any saint—one powerful enough that no realm would dare silence him again.
But who knew how long that would take?
For now, all he could do was survive. Endure the wars. Endure the attention. Become a symbol—a star of hope for the disgraced and the damned. And keep climbing. Battle after battle. Step by blood-stained step.
He was already famous. Super famous.
After the Springtime Advent Tournament—and especially the final match in Duskfall—his name had become a wildfire. The Mythical Core, the Prince of the Stars, the last heir of Night.
The mana network was still ablaze with rumors. His story had become legend overnight. Even now, every few days, new photos would circulate: him studying in his academy uniform, the House Night sigil prominent, the golden chevrons of his Special Major rank gleaming on his collar.
The gossip guilds loved it.
The Guild of News. The Guild of Information. Dozens of independent broadcasters and political analysts. His face had become a symbol, a target, and a warning all at once.
And it unnerved him.
He could still be killed at any moment. He reminded himself of that daily. The price on his head hadn't disappeared just because he stood on a stage and didn't die. If anything, it had grown higher.
Astra sighed as the mana elevator hissed open and he stepped out onto the high floor of his personal wing. His quarters were massive—almost excessive—curved windows, blackstone floors, veiled paintings, and spell-forged lighting that adjusted to his emotions if he didn't suppress the enchantments.
He felt drained. His thoughts always tangled, his curse always coiled tightly inside him like a second heartbeat.
He walked over to the side table, grabbing a chilled bottle of dirty strawberry lemonade and a soft pastry layered with melting cheese—light comfort food from a city steeped in shadow.
He stepped onto the balcony. The view sprawled before him: the Umbral Plains, blanketed in veiled darkness of ancient shadows. The city of Shadowkeep glimmered below—massive, alive, and ancient.
And above…
He could still feel the stars beyond the shadows very faintly.
Calling to him. Watching. Whispering.
Astra leaned against the railing and exhaled. He felt it again—that old, heavy loneliness that no title, no victory, and no crowd of admirers ever seemed to erase.
And, of course… her.
Aster Hunt.
That strange, divine-born girl who'd clashed with him so violently… and who still lingered in his mind. He didn't know why. Something about her unsettled him. And drew him in.
And then there was Seraphine. Beautiful. Brilliant. Gone.
He laughed bitterly. She had used him—got close, shared something intense—and vanished like he was nothing. He'd reached out during weak moments.
Silence.
And yet, if she appeared right now, walked through his door... he knew he'd still fold instantly. He hated that. But it was true.
He shook his head as his imperial squire mana coin flared with a soft pulse.
A message.
"Squad Assignments – Army I – Legion of Shadows Company Designation: Special Reserve Battalion VII Company Type: Quick Response Unit Company Seven Personnel Assigned: 1,200"
Astra stared.
"…I lead a thousand people?!" he blinked. "This is their small unit...it's not even a unit! im an charge of a company??"
His voice echoed back at him off the balcony wall. He looked down at the city again.
"Gods… what?"
He continued in shock
Total Structure Overview
Total Soldiers: 1,200
Platoons: 20 Total
15 Standard Platoons: ~60 soldiers each
5 Elite Platoons : 120 soldiers each
Leadership Core:
Head- Astra Noctis of House Night-Rank Special Major-Prince
Each Platoon has:
5–10 Rank Threes (Majors, Captains Elite Specialists)
20–30 Rank Twos (Lieutenants, Senior Operatives)
Remainders R1s
Unit Type; Rank Composition
01 Umbra Fang Vanguard/ Infantry 7×R3, 25×R2, 38×R1
02 Night Serpents Stealth / Recon 6×R3, 23×R2, 41×R1
03 Daggerfall Urban Combat 8×R3, 24×R2, 38×R1
04 Iron Howl Beast Infantry 5×R3, 22×R2, 43×R1
05 Widow Flame Pyromancer Battalion 9×R3, 26×R2, 35×R1
06 Black Mire Terrain Ops 6×R3, 25×R2, 39×R1
07 Void Stalkers Elimination Force 10×R3, 20×R2, 40×R1
08 Ash VulturesSalvage / Recovery 5×R3, 27×R2, 38×R1
09 Umbral RainSiege Defense 7×R3, 23×R2, 40×R1
10 Night Reapers Heavy Infantry 8×R3, 22×R2, 40×R1
11Duskscourge Border Patrol 6×R3, 20×R2, 44×R1
12 Specter Bloom Magic /Surveillance 9×R3, 24×R2, 37×R1
13 Shadow Weavers /Tactical Mana Unit 7×R3, 25×R2, 38×R1
14 Cry of Thorn Beast/Monster Suppression 6×R3, 26×R2, 38×R1
15 Crows of Dusk Mobility/Strike Force 7×R3, 25×R2, 38×R1
Deployment Type: RESERVE-Defense, Reconnaissance, Realm SkirmishesMana Core Range: Rank 1–3 | Officers: Verified
SPECIAL OPERATIONS PLATOONS (16–20)
Merry; Smaller in number but exceptionally powerful. Elite response units for inter-realm crises, divine interference, or unstable gates.
Special Role
Rank Composition
16 Obsidian Wing Aerial Combat & Skyship Units 10×R3, 35×R2, 75×R1
17 Voidborn Howl Anti-Divine Assault Division 9×R3, 32×R2, 79×R1
18 Eclipse Company Realm-Transfer / Border Ops 10×R3, 30×R2, 80×R1
19Talons of Nihil Cursecraft / Interrogation 8×R3, 33×R2, 79×R1
20 NightShadow Conquest / Strike Command 10×R3, 35×R2, 75×R1
.....
"what the actual hell am I looking at? since when did Special-Major become Field Commander?! The Saint Valerius said SMALL squad this is a fucking massive company!...Im summoning merry gods..."
Not even three minutes later she was at his door..."its as if she expected me to be confused and summon her "
Merry stood at attention. Astra hated that.Her voice was crisp, her coin in hand projecting several sigils across the air.
"So. I just got off a call with Bishop Atramentus Conti—he's the commanding overseer of the Seventh Reserve Battalion. Your direct superior, though technically, your status as Special Major and Prince gives you leeway."
She looked up at him. Calm. Calculated.
"Here's what he wants, and what's expected of you, my Prince."
"Despite the ceremony and titles… you're not decoration. You're expected to lead. The Bishop made that very clear. You were given the Seventh Quick Response Company because you're fast, dangerous, and highly mobile. Your myth isn't the shield. It's the spear."
"You'll lead from the front when needed, not the middle or the rear."
"You are a Mythical core holder. The only one in this Battalion. That means you will not be treated as a support asset. You're a Shock Commandant—deployed when the tide needs turning. If a fort needs to fall, if a powerful combatant needs to be stalled, if a battle line is buckling—you'll be sent."
"Your presence is both sword and signal. The Bishop expects you to break things the rest of us can't."
Astra sat quietly listening
"You have 1,200 under your banner. You are not expected to know all their names, but you are expected to trust the right people."
She summoned the projected command structure again. Names, ranks, squad links.
"Twenty Platoons. Fifteen regular. Five elite. Each led by multiple Rank Threes and dozens of Rank Twos. You'll be expected to meet with the five Field Captains or Platoon leaders twice a week—set directives, approve movement, discipline failures. The rest will flow through me and the adjutants."
"In wartime, you issue battle-wide commands. Captains execute. You don't move pieces—you set fires."
Astra smiled still shocked "Wow I didn't think they thought so highly of me"
"There's more. The Bishop made this very clear—you are being watched. The network is still spinning about your duel, your House, Lineage"
"They expect you to be a symbol as much as a soldier. Rallies, speeches, appearances. Especially among the common ranks. You'll be sent where morale is dying or politics need a push as a way to also push the agenda of your house."
"In short: they want the Prince of Night to cast a long shadow."
"This isn't a training post, My prince Astra. The Bishop wants you combat-ready within ten days. After that, deployments begin. The first is likely to the border of Shadows Domain"
"And… unofficially?" She lowered her voice. "The Bishop believes this is a culling season. Weak houses are falling. Weak officers too. He thinks war is inevitable—true interrealm war. So your performance here… will either carve your place at the table or get you buried beneath it."
She straightened, tone cooling to its usual cadence.
"That's what the Bishop expects, sir. I'll have platoon rosters -squad rosters and the Field Captains ready for you to meet by tomorrow evening. I recommend rest tonight."
She turned, then paused.
"...And I recommend you pick someone to watch your back. Someone you choose—not House Shadow. Because out there, your name paints a very big target."
Astra leaned back against the balcony rail, the breeze from the Umbral Plains tugging gently at his coat. He sipped his strawberry lemonade.
"What about Prince Vesprion?" he asked, curiosity threading through his voice. "What's his company looking like?"
Merry didn't hesitate. She knew the files.
"Prince Vesprion Umbra. Has been assigned to Battalion Nine Special Expeditionary Forces he also got promoted to Colonel. Five thousand soldiers. Multi-realm specialists, mostly from House Umbra's extended military. But…"
She paused.
"He's not directly in command. Not officially."
Astra raised a brow. "That sounds like a 'but.'"
"Because it is." Merry continued. "The current acting general is one of House Shadows war marshals a rank four. But make no mistake—Vesprion has enormous pull. His mana type? Catastrophic class even for a rank two. It's especially effective in blitzes, assassinations, and large-scale strikes. If you need to erase a noble line and their fortress in an hour, you call him."
"He doesn't need the title. The battalion moves when he moves. That's influence, he's also a kind of adjutant to the General Bishop and still is a field commander so he leads more men than you if thats what you were asking"
Astra snorted. "Sounds about right."
Merry nodded.
"The higher-ups see him as an unchained blade. Too valuable to bind, too dangerous to ignore. Expeditionary Nine isn't just any battalion. It's the first response force if the Realm Gate Wars spark again. They go into enemy territory first."
She tapped her mana coin, bringing up a faint sigil projection.
"Rumor is he'll be put in direct command before next winter ends. If he performs well during the Shadowfront Skirmishes, they'll crown him as Shadow Marshal. That's a Rank Four title, by the way if he ascends to rank three only."
She looked at Astra.
"Which, for context, means your best friend may soon be commanding operations across three Fronts."
Astra whistled low, then grinned.
"Guess I better not let him get too far ahead of me."
Astra sighed
"Well merry this is a lot dont you think?"
Merry tilted her head, the faint mana-glow of the coin reflecting in her sharp green eyes.
"A lot?" she echoed, lips twitching with the faintest edge of amusement. "My Prince, this is the light version."
She leaned back in her chair, arms crossing with practiced poise. "You're a Mythical core holder. You beat Lucien Solaris. You survived Aster Hunt. You declared yourself heir to House Night. The Bishop in charge of the Seventh Battalion didn't hand you this role because he thinks you're capable—he did it because he thinks you're dangerous. And in this age, dangerous things get pointed at the enemy."
Merry tapped the mana-coin again, the screen shifting slightly as names flickered by in your squad's structure.
"What's expected of you is simple. Be seen. Be feared. Keep morale up, even if that means giving the troops a glimpse of your mythical status once in a while. You're not here to micromanage one thousand two hundred soldiers. That's my job. You're here to win."
She raised her gaze again, expression firm now.
"The Bishop assigned you command not because you're the most experienced fighter—but because you're a symbol. You've shaken the structure. You're young, but you're loud, and your presence on the battlefield speaks volumes. You're expected to lead from the front in key battles, rally morale, and show initiative where others hesitate."
She pointed toward a section of the squad list.
"That's why you're not expected to micromanage these 1,200 soldiers. That's what I'm here for. My job is to coordinate logistics, movement, structure. Yours is to lead the tip of the spear—when it counts. You fight with squad 20. You get seen. You survive. You send a message."
Then, quieter, but not softer:
"And if you don't? Well… the Bishop's made it clear. You've got eyes on you, Astra. From nobles, from guilds, from the mana network… even from the angels and devils watching this mess play out. So no pressure."
She smiled faintly. "We'll make it work. Just… try not to die yet."