Tristan surveyed the aftermath. Some knights stood guard while the mages tended to the wounded; others looted the fallen or gathered the bodies of ally and foe. Gilbert and Kyle led a small unit into the forest to scout for any remaining ambushers, while Lucien and Wilhelm spoke in hushed, serious tones.
The flutter of wings drew his attention. In the distance, an eagle perched atop a tree—the message bird. After a quick scan of the surroundings, Tristan slipped into the woods.
After ensuring no one was around, he raised his arm. The bird swooped down and perched on it. He untied the paper from its leg and offered a strip of dried beef in return. With a swing of his arm, the bird took off and settled on a nearby branch to enjoy its reward.
Tristan unfolded the letter, his expression darkening with each line he read. Crumpling the parchment in his fist, flames burst between his fingers, reducing it to ashes.
His jaw tightened, his feral emerald eyes burning as he stared into the distance. So the enemy's reinforcements arrived… wiped out my men in the forest, then ambushed us.
"Just—" He slammed his fist into a tree trunk. The wood shuddered, sending the bird screeching into the air. "Damn it!"
He threw another punch, breath ragged and chest heaving. Even with knowledge of the future… even with the power to change it… I still failed.
Tristan pressed his forehead against the tree's rough bark, his arms hanging limp at his sides. The last of his strength drained away.
"…Why am I so useless?"
Silence stretched, broken only by the wind rustling the leaves. Slowly, Tristan straightened and exhaled a long breath, rubbing his face with trembling hands.
This isn't the time to fall apart.
Lowering his hands, he forced air into his lungs, steadying himself. Think.
How had they moved so many troops so quickly?
The first wave was brutal enough, yet the reinforcements arrived within hours. Could Zerounix have allied with the cult? Only the cult possessed the means to transport troops so swiftly. If that were true, it explained everything—why he failed despite all his efforts.
An image of a long-haired figure flashed through his mind.Always ten steps ahead.
Tristan's fists clenched at his sides. If only I had a shred of wit sharp enough to outmaneuver him…
But what would Zerounix gain from siding with the cult? The cult sought only one thing—the artifact, a relic so powerful it could tip the balance of the entire continent. Would Zerounix truly sacrifice something of such value to provoke a war with the Empire?
No matter how he turned it over in his mind, it didn't add up. It was a losing bargain.
Tristan breathed out slowly, raking his fingers through his hair. The deeper he delved, the more tangled everything became, and the more his head pounded.
Not only that— His brows furrowed. What was that vision in the carriage?
He clearly remembered Luce's head being pierced by an arrow—yet when he blinked, it was gone, as though it had never happened.
Was… his mind playing tricks on him?
"Your Highness?" A voice called from behind.
Tristan turned to see a knight approaching. "What is it?"
The knight bowed respectfully. "Lord Marshal requests your presence. He has something to discuss."
Tristan nodded. "…I understand."
With that, they headed back.
***
Lucien stood in silence, eyes lowered to the rows of fallen soldiers laid to rest in a freshly dug burial pit.
"Marshal, you called for me?" Tristan's voice drew his attention.
They turned to see him approaching. With a wave of Wilhelm's hand, the surrounding knights dispersed, leaving only the three of them.
"If you left your post without a word," Wilhelm said coolly, "I'll assume you went off to send your mother a secret report about how miserably this mission is failing."
Of course, his very grandfather wasted no time hurling verbal jabs at Tristan.
Yet the man in question merely smirked, utterly unbothered. "I'm flattered you think I have time for espionage, Marshal."
Wilhelm scoffed, eyes narrowing. "Your timing is too convenient. If you truly wish to earn our trust, don't vanish the moment blades are sheathed."
Tristan tilted his head, a smug curl on his lips. "And why would I want your trust in the first place?"
"I'm sorry," Lucien interjected, "but can we start the meeting?"
Had he not, the entire session would have devolved into insults instead of anything productive.
The two men exchanged one final death glare before turning to him, conceding with reluctant nods. With their attention secured, Lucien began to chant. A transparent dome enveloped them, muting the space.
It was a silent magic, designed to keep all sound contained within; no one outside would hear a word.
"During the attack," Lucien began, "I noticed something peculiar. The enemy spoke fluent Zerounian, yet their features were unmistakably local. I hesitate to jump to conclusions, but the discrepancy is too stark to ignore."
Zerounix lay far to the south in subtropical lands, its people typically olive-skinned with darker hair and eyes. In contrast, Solairé's northern climate produced pale-skinned citizens with fair features. Light-skinned Zerounians existed, but they were rare.
Wilhelm nodded. "Indeed. And beyond their fluency, their combat style was unmistakably Zerounian. I've crossed blades with their knights in the past. I'd know those movements anywhere."
"What of evidence?" Tristan asked. "Did the scouts find anything?"
Lucien shook his head. "Nothing. Those who fled into the forest were found dead—they took their own lives before we could reach them."
"So, plainly put, the ambushers appeared Zerounian, yet we have no proof," Tristan concluded.
Lucien dipped his head. "Yes."
Tristan's brow furrowed. "But to what end? If they wanted war, a formal declaration would suffice. And yet, they staged shadowed attacks, even recruiting mercenaries resembling our people. It raises more questions than it answers."
"It's plausible they're attempting to provoke us," Wilhelm responded, "to force a reaction. A calculated effort to escalate tensions without outright war."
Tensions between Zerounix and Solairé had reached a critical point, marked by the prolonged presence of Zerounix ships along Solairé's maritime border. Despite the provocation, the Empire remained outwardly passive.
"Ah, I see the picture now," Tristan chimed in. "By avoiding a formal declaration, Zerounix retains flexibility. They can retreat or deny involvement should matters spiral beyond their control, keeping the upper hand."
Wilhelm inclined his head. "Precisely."
"What if someone else is pulling the strings?" Lucien's words drew grim looks from both men. "What if someone's trying to pit us against Zerounix—without either side realizing it? The timing is far too precise to be a coincidence."
Tristan nodded slowly. "Not implausible. Considering the size of the ambushing force, they couldn't have slipped past Solairé's marines unnoticed."
The Zerounix Kingdom lay far to the south, with the sea as the only viable route to the Empire.
"And a lack of evidence explains much," Wilhelm added. "Should we publicize this, Zerounix will demand proof, and without it, the Empire risks international condemnation. The real question is: who benefits from such a conflict?"
"Perhaps a rival nation seeks to undermine both sides," Lucien replied. "Or a shadowy organization with its own agenda—"
"Those bast—"
They turned sharply to Tristan, who whipped his head away, jaw tight.
"What is it?" Wilhelm asked, voice clipped, gaze sharp.
Tristan turned back with a too-smooth smile. "Nothing. Please, continue."
Lucien's gaze fell to Tristan's fist—trembling, knuckles white. When he looked up again, Tristan's composed mask was back in place.
Lucien exhaled softly. Whatever. The protagonist's business isn't my concern.
He refocused. "If their only goal were my death, they wouldn't have staged such an elaborate ambush. But if there's a larger scheme at play, the mastermind won't stop here. They'll exploit this incident to stir unrest and push us toward open war. All it takes is a few well-placed whispers."
Wilhelm's expression darkened. "Once rumors spread, public pressure could force the court's hand. Even an unwanted war can become inevitable."
Lucien inclined his head. "And even if the Zerounix Kingdom catches the wind of the rumors, they'll deny everything. Without proof, the burden falls squarely on us."
Wilhelm nodded. "Precisely. We must tread carefully—any misstep could play right into their hands."
"Agreed," Lucien said, but Tristan's distant gaze drew his attention. "Are you alright?"
Tristan blinked, meeting his gaze. "Pardon?"
"Ha!" Wilhelm scoffed. "Daydreaming in the middle of a critical meeting, are you?"
Tristan didn't flinch. "Forgive me, Marshal. I was considering our options—some prefer thinking to barking."
Wilhelm's scowl deepened, but Lucien raised a hand. "Enough. We don't have the luxury to quarrel."
Movement beyond the treeline caught Lucien's eye. Kyle and one of the scouts emerged, leading three horses. He gestured toward them. "The scout brought mounts for us."
As Wilhelm and Tristan followed his gaze, Lucien dismissed the silent magic. The forest's symphony returned, along with the bustle of knights.
After a brief discussion and simple burials for the fallen, the group resumed their journey—they couldn't linger with the threat of another ambush looming. By evening, the local lord, responding to Wilhelm's letter requesting reinforcements, arrived with his knights.
On the third day, they reached the lord's territory, where he welcomed them with generous hospitality, providing two carriages and replenishing their provisions. They departed the following morning, continuing their journey toward the capital.
The road ahead was mostly uneventful, apart from Tristan's incessant chatter and his frequent bickering with his grandfather—arguments Lucien had to step in and defuse whenever they escalated.
By the sixth day, the landscape began to change. Dense woods gave way to rolling meadows, sunlit grasses dotted with wildflowers swaying in the breeze. The uneven dirt path transformed into a smooth cobblestone road.
Seated inside the carriage, Lucien peered through the window. On the horizon, the star-shaped fortress walls came into view, the moat shimmering beneath the sunlight. Knights patrolled the ramparts, flags bearing the Empire's coats of arms fluttered in the wind.
Lumière, the Empire's capital, lay before them.