The Black Knight—who had intended to intercept Ensia—found herself completely gridlocked by Blaze.
Capitalizing on the window of opportunity, Ensia had successfully swayed a substantial portion of the retainers left behind at the Silverash Clan estate. These guards had long harbored misgivings about Enciodes's coup, which was precisely why he had left them behind to manage administrative affairs rather than bringing them into the active vanguard.
Now, with a true bloodline heir stepping forward to lead them down a path they actually believed in, these retainers had zero reason to refuse. In fact, they threw their full support behind Ensia as the temporary administrator of the Silverash household.
Yet as the representatives of all three great houses gathered in the makeshift headquarters, an awkward, suffocating quiet settled over the room. The three leaders stared at one another, completely at a loss for words.
"So, who's going to start this off?" Sciurus broke the ice, her patience wearing paper-thin. She was easily the most anxious person present, her mind consumed by the urgent need to rescue her sister. "Or perhaps the chief of the Paleroches Clan—as the only active clan chief sitting here—should share a few words of wisdom?"
All necessary tactical preparations outside had already been assigned. Now, the three representatives sat in a circle, trapped in uncomfortable silence as they studied one another's expressions, trying to decipher what the others were thinking.
Sciurus's sister remained in enemy hands. If full-scale combat erupted, Ratatos would be the very first victim caught in the crossfire.
"Say something... Sciurus, you need to calm down slightly," Arctosz grunted, rubbing his heavy brow. For once in his life, the loud Ursus chief seemed entirely unsure of what to say.
"Calm down?!" Sciurus snapped, springing up from her seat as her Zalak ears twitched in fury. "How in Kjeragandr's name am I supposed to be calm when Ratatos is sitting in his camp?! If he insists on forcing a battle, do you honestly think my sister comes out of this alive?!"
Hearing her outburst, Ensia shrank back slightly in her chair, feeling extraordinarily awkward.
Her own brother was holding Sciurus's sister captive; anything she said right now felt inherently wrong and ran the risk of provoking Sciurus further.
Ensia knew her position here was delicate, yet having chosen to take up this responsibility, she refused to cower. Taking a deep breath, she prepared to step in and de-escalate the argument.
To her absolute astonishment, however, no argument took place.
The traditionally hot-tempered Arctosz did not roar back. Instead, he lapsed into a rare, solemn silence.
"You speak the absolute truth," Arctosz said softly, his voice devoid of its usual booming aggression. "Yet as matters stand, our only option is to pool our strength to protect this nation first—and then do everything in our power to extract your sister."
He adjusted his posture, keeping his tone as measured and gentle as his massive frame allowed. "I have no desire to squabble over past grievances right now. We must stand together if we hope to hold the line, so... let us keep peace between us."
Sciurus stared at him, taken aback. The old bear sounded so unnaturally reasonable that she almost wondered if he had taken the wrong medicine this morning.
"Fine," Sciurus muttered, slowly sinking back into her seat as her composure returned. Though her heart still panicked for Ratatos, her sharp intellect reminded her of what needed to be done. "Let us discuss our next move."
"I... I brought some internal intelligence from our estate," Ensia offered quickly, pulling out several charts. "While it might not be a total game-changer, knowing their equipment, unit distributions, and supply routes beforehand will certainly work in our favor."
And so, the three figures leaned over the table, mapping out their defense of Kjerag just as their ancestors had done when the Tri-Clan Council was first forged centuries ago—united in purpose to safeguard their mountain home.
Had their opponent been a foreign invader, this unity would have been remembered as a legendary epic of national defense. Yet the tragic reality was that they were preparing to bleed against their own kin.
Meanwhile, in the valley encampment...
"Master Enciodes, if we intend to march, we should order the vanguard to move now," Courier noted quietly, stepping to Enciodes's side. "If we delay any longer, our tactical window will close, and casualties will rise."
Ever since his conversation with the Saintess concluded, Enciodes had sat alone in his quarters, staring silently out the narrow window at the heavy, dark sky.
The canopy over Kjerag today was noticeably darker than in years past. As the freezing wind whipped snow across the crags, it produced a low, howling sound that almost resembled someone weeping in the distance.
"Tell me, Courier," Enciodes murmured, his eyes fixed on the clouds. "If Kjeragandr is truly watching our actions today... how does the divine look upon us? Does she view us as vile traitors, or does she quietly approve of our resolve?"
At the mention of Kjeragandr, both men's expressions turned profoundly solemn. No true child of Kjerag would ever treat the name of the Divine Mother lightly.
Enciodes was genuinely contemplating how he appeared in the eyes of their deity. Even though the god had not manifested before the public for centuries, Kjeragans never doubted her existence.
In fact, after learning of verified reports regarding ancient Beast Lords and divine beings across the wider continent, Enciodes believed in Kjeragandr's existence far more than most traditionalists realized.
Yet here he stood, initiating a clash right at the foot of her sacred mountain.
The bitter irony tore at his conscience, yet it simultaneously hardened his resolve: Kjerag must change, no matter the cost.
"If there were another way, none of us would choose this path, Master," Courier said softly, a trace of sorrow in his eyes. "Yet the squad will follow your command to the end. We know your heart bleeds for this realm, and we are prepared to bear the pain and bloodshed required to build its future."
"Everything... for the future of this realm," Enciodes repeated, savoring the words.
The hesitation vanished from his eyes, replaced by a cold, sharp focus. He stood up and barked his orders. "Assemble the entire force! We march to meet the remaining combined line. I am eager to see who stands against us on the field today."
He turned to the wall, donning his heavy metal plate armor and strapping his primary weapon to his belt. Once fully armored, he strode out of the command tent and stopped outside Ratatos's quarters.
"It is time to move, Ratatos," Enciodes called through the door, his voice echoing with iron authority. "As the chief of the Browntail Clan, you ought to witness this moment firsthand—a day that will be carved into the stone history of our nation forever."
Though framed as an invitation, his voice carried the unyielding weight of a command. Dressed in full plate, his presence radiated an imposing, unavoidable pressure.
Under the dark storm clouds, the polished steel of his armor reflected the cold white snow. When Enciodes pulled down his beast-visored helmet, he looked precisely like a legendary Tschäggättä stepping out of mountain folklore.
Behind him, two thousand five hundred armored warriors of the Tschäggättä Squadron fell into marching formation, surging toward the outer perimeter of the settlement where the loyalist forces waited. A small garrison of soldiers was left behind alongside the infected workers to guard the noble captives.
Above, the dark storm clouds slowly drifted toward the valley town, blanketing all of Kjerag in a biting blizzard.
Inside a quiet chamber within the Vine-Bear Court, Kjera stood near the tall window, her usually bright eyes dim as she gazed out toward the distant passes.
"Are you troubled by the path Kjerag is taking, Lady Kjeragandr?"
A frail, raspy voice called out from behind her. The Grand Elder—having miraculously survived the ancient poison—sat leaning against his pillows, gazing respectfully at the young attendant.
Kjera turned her head slightly, looking at him with mild surprise. "When did you figure out who I was?"
Though the old man had never explicitly stated it before, his complete lack of restraint around her over the mead incident had betrayed his suspicion.
"I had my doubts long ago, but today confirmed them," the Grand Elder replied, a faint, contented smile gracing his worn face. "An ordinary attendant would possess neither your depth of ancient knowledge nor your complete indifference to clergy hierarchy. And that name of yours... splitting your own divine name into 'Kjera' was hardly a clever disguise."
For a fleeting second, the old man displayed a mischievous spark like a cunning child, before his expression straightened into profound reverence.
"Our people have committed so many foolish, absurd acts over the years," he asked, his voice trembling slightly with anxiety. "In your eyes, do we appear utterly ridiculous?"
He desperately feared the answer, yet with his life rapidly nearing its end, he wished to know how his decades of service were viewed by the entity he worshipped.
Kjera turned, her soft gaze resting on the dying old man.
"To this nation, none of you are ridiculous," she spoke gently, her voice carrying a comforting warmth. "You may make flawed choices, but your hearts have always harbored love for this land—and for me."
She stepped closer to his bed. "I am not an omnipotent deity who can solve every plight. I can only do my utmost to preserve a peaceful sanctuary for you all. As for the rest... humanity must walk its own path."
Looking down at the Grand Elder, Kjera could still recall the vibrant, ambitious young man he had been decades ago. In what felt like the blink of an eye for an immortal being, he had grown old and fragile, standing at death's door.
Gods and mortals were fundamentally different after all. That was the primary reason she refrained from directly intervening in mortal politics—what a deity considered 'correct' was rarely suitable for human society.
"If you seek my judgment, Gith," Kjera said softly, using his true given name, "you have fulfilled your final duty to this realm. You made errors throughout your life, yes, but you successfully preserved the stability of Kjerag for decades. You have worked hard. Rest now."
Hearing her gentle judgment—and hearing the goddess speak his name—a look of profound peace washed over the Grand Elder's face.
His eyes slowly closed as his breathing eased into silence.
At the very end of his road, he had not failed the sacred trust of the Vine-Bear Court.