The border strongholds fell faster than Kai had ever planned for.

Stone walls that should have held for weeks had folded in days. Towers meant to rain spells and arrows for months now flew his banners instead. At first, he counted that as a blessing. The quicker he crushed the border resistance, the sooner he could turn the full force of his army towards Aldrin.

It should have felt like victory.

Instead, a cold prickle lived in the back of his mind, refusing to leave.

All the forts were taken. Eldovar fell as easily as them, and none of the Mages and soldiers stationed there was able to stand against him.

But when Kai walked the ramparts of the city that evening, staring out across the dark plains stretching toward the heart of the Caelond kingdom, he knew something wasn’t right.

This was too easy.

Every captured soldier he questioned stammered out the same worthless things. The Mages who should’ve known better? They choked in panic, swearing they had no knowledge of Aldrin’s dealings with Caelond.

Which was a lie. A clumsy one.

His Watchers had uncovered enough to prove there was communication. There had been for a while and with Aldrin’s men having the border region, it wouldn’t be hard to do so. But he had no idea if they had failed in the end and if they hadn’t, what was the plan?

He felt like they were waiting and preparing. Setting the board while he moved straight into the center of it.

History made one thing very clear: Caelond was hungry. They’d battled Vanderfall across the sea for years—fighting for ports, influence, and more territory. Why would they ignore a civil war right next door? Especially when Lancephil’s fall could open up more territory and resources for them?

And from what he was able to gather about their Mages, they had a council of them running the kingdom with a Magus that sat on top of it. It made perfect sense for them to be interested in the Lancephil war, especially with news of Veridia being crippled.

Yet Caelond did nothing.

No sudden armies marching across the border. No cloaked Mages slipping into his territory. Not even a threat—just a polite letter sent to Fort Glaivegate when they had taken over it, that implied, “We wish no part in your civil war. We will respond only if aggression is shown toward us.”

On paper, it looked harmless.

But Kai didn’t trust it. Not when Aldrin was involved.

The silence felt planned. Too fucking clean. Like the quiet before the strike of a hidden blade.

His instincts screamed trap.

Still, even a trap could be beaten—if he used the right countermeasure in the right moment. Kai did have a solution, but it wasn’t one he wanted to use. That favor was too valuable to burn early. He could only hope it wouldn’t come to that.

So he pushed the thought aside and moved.

He stayed only a single night in Eldovar—long enough for Clement to arrive. The man barely stepped off his horse before Kai was already giving sharp orders on the wall: “Seal every smuggling tunnel. Guard the sewer access. Triple patrols near the border towers. If Caelond tries to crawl under us, they should run into steel.”

With Clement’s nod, Kai left the border behind.

He had already gotten the memo that they had captured Solmere City from Count Arvallen, who was now in chains, in the dungeon jail. Killian had apparently marched ahead with a moderate group of soldiers to clear out the way to Fort Valemount that stood on top of the kingdom.

There were other important cities and towns along the way but they were abandoned. Nobles had stripped their lands of fighting men and fled to Valemount, clustering like frightened deer behind the fortress walls.

All because of Solmere.

The strongest city Aldrin had in the region… had fallen in a single day of fire and panic. Now the nobles saw the truth: Arzan Kellius was coming. And they could not stop him alone.

On one hand, Kai thought it was smart for the nobles to pull back and not split their strength. On the other hand, it felt like cowardice. They had left common folk to face an enemy alone, praying the enemy would show mercy. What bothered him more was the speed. Armies did not uproot and march overnight. Orders crawled over distance in this age. For them to leave so quickly meant one of two things: they had already planned to fall back on Fort Valemount and only waited till Solmere fell, or Aldrin had a way to send orders as fast as Kai did. Both could be true. He needed to hear what Count Arvallen had coughed up in the dungeon.

He followed the river to Solmere, wind at his heels, and the city rose in a broken line of roofs and smoke. From the sky he saw long wounds cut through whole streets—collapsed beams, scorched stones, carts turned to splinters. Patrols moved in pairs, helping a few men clear rubble. On the walls, men stood close together, shields stacked, eyes on the horizon. Ward-lines glowed a faint, sickly blue along the parapets and he doubted it could stand even a single third circle spell. That would need fixing.

He dropped from the clouds and let his boots touch the ground before the gates. Bows locked onto him immediately, hands tightened on spear shafts on the walls. Then a cry went down the line and the tension bled away. A soldier hurried out, saluted with a fist to chest, and called for the wards to be eased. The city’s ward shivered, flickered, then lowered. Kai asked him where he could find Duke Blackwood and the soldier told him that all the nobles were gathered in the Count’s estate.

Kai thanked him with a nod and set off.

He didn’t bother with the streets. The air was faster. With a push of mana, Kai glided above the cobbles, slipping through narrow lanes and ruined rooftops. Solmere still carried the smell of smoke and fear. People stayed behind shuttered windows, waiting to see if the nightmare was truly over. He could not blame them. Being conquered—no matter how cleanly—was still terrifying.

The Count’s estate rose ahead, its banners torn down, his soldiers filling the gardens and steps. Crates were stacked in messy rows being carried somewhere. The soldiers recognized him at once, straightening their backs and bowing with pride in their eyes as he lowered himself.

“What floor is Duke Blackwood on?” Kai asked.

“The third floor. They are using the fifth room there for meetings, my lord,” one answered quickly. “All the other nobles are also there and Knight Killian has returned as well.”

That made Kai pause for a heartbeat.

He thanked them and dropped lightly to the paving stones. The estate’s corridors felt fancy—a polished floor, velvet curtains, portraits of the Count’s family. Most of the estate had been untouched by war.

He climbed to the third floor. Even before he reached the fifth door, voices leaked through the thin wall—heated, tired, urgent. He didn’t wait for permission. He pushed the door open, casting a small wind barrier spell as he entered; he doubted there was going to be anyone evasedropping, but it didn’t cost him much mana.

Faces turned at once—some startled, some relieved. Duke Blackwood’s irritated expression shifted into a respectful nod the moment he saw who entered. Chairs scraped as nobles stumbled to their feet.

Killian stepped out from the table with a small bow. His armor still carried dust and dried blood, proof he hadn’t rested much since Solmere fell.

“Lord Arzan,” Killian said, voice cutting clean through the room. “We expected you tomorrow. The Watchers reported your message from Eldavor only last night.”

Kai crossed the room, eyes scanning the maps and markers laid across the table. “I finished at Eldavor faster than planned,” he replied. “Clement now holds command there. Once the smuggling routes are sealed, he’ll stabilize the border.”

He stopped beside Killian, looking him over quickly—checking for wounds, exhaustion, anything hidden.

Then he asked, “I thought you would still be out clearing our way to Fort Valemount.”

Duke Blackwood answered before Killian could. “He was until Aldrin’s forces countered. They pushed him back once they realized he was operating with only a few dozen.”

Kai stepped to the middle of the table, eyes drifting over the war table once again. One of the nobles, Baron Casten, quickly moved his chair and offered it to Kai. Kai shook his head.

He preferred to stand.

His gaze fixed to Duke Blackwood. “How many men did he clash against? A guerrilla force?”

Killian’s jaw tightened. He looked down, as though replaying every moment. “Yes, it was a guerrilla force,” he confirmed. “But they weren’t soldiers.” He drew a slow breath. “They were Mages, all of them were flying. And the whole experience wasn’t anything I had seen before.”

Questions rose in Kai’s mind at the last part of the sentence. He wanted to ask more about what he meant, but he let the man speak.

Killian’s hand curled slightly on his side. “There were five of them. Only one actually fought. The other four—” He shook his head. “I could see spell structures on their palms, but… none of them attacked. They simply stood behind the attacker.”

Kai raised an eyebrow in confusion and kept his tone flat when he asked, “How many made it out?”

Killian’s voice grew rough. “Twenty-eight. Out of fifty. If I hadn’t held the attacker back,” Killian continued, “if I hadn’t used every destructive potion I had—” He exhaled slowly. “None of us would have survived.”

He reached toward the map and tapped a marked stretch of terrain. “There’s a network of underground caves along that road. We fled into them. The caves hold twisting paths. Our tracks disappeared fast. The Mages either didn’t chase us or lost us.”

He frowned, looking back at him. “Lord Arzan… that Mage wasn’t like anyone we’ve faced.”

Duke Blackwood nodded grimly. “We expected something like this when Kiliian left to clear the path. Traps and guerrilla forces, but I didn’t expect them to attack with Mages.” He looked up at Kai, expression hardening. “And we believe the person who led the charge was Prince Vhailor. Killian confirmed it.”

Killian reached across the war table and picked up a folded parchment—its edges smudged from anxious handling. He flattened it in front of Kai.

A sketch stared back at him. A young man drawn with bold charcoal strokes. His face was sharp and his eyes were like one of a wolf.

Kai studied the face for a long moment.

“So this is the Alparcan Prince,” he said. “Rumors have him as a Fourth-Circle Mage, correct?”

Viscount Alburn cleared his throat. “Yes, Duke Arzan. I worked as a diplomat in the Alparcan Kingdom five years ago. I saw him duel.” He gestured toward the sketch. “They keep a full ranking system for Battle Mages there. Everyone measured, judged, compared. Prince Vhailor has been at the top of that list for years. He was only third-circle back then. Even so, he was terrifying.”

His voice lowered. “If Knight Killian hadn’t been the one to face him… I doubt anyone would have survived to report back.”

Killian’s hands curled into fists. “I ran,” he muttered. “Lost men. That’s as good as a loss.”

Leopold scoffed from the side. “You survived a clash with a fourth-circle prodigy and saved half your party. That is a victory. Right now, we should be asking—why is a prince acting as a lone hunter in the woods?”

Duke Blackwood nodded grimly. “It is… highly unusual. But Prince Vhailor is known to be battle-hungry. Word likely reached him that you were advancing ahead of the main force. A Mage like that can be unpredictable, especially with the mobility of being able to fly, and Prince Vhailor is known to be anything but predictable.”

Kai drew a slow breath, eyes returning to the sketch.

He had met such Mages before. Men who believed power meant permission to do anything they wanted. Men who treated war like a personal tournament. They moved on their own volition and could be nightmares to deal with, depending on their strength.

Prince Vhailor was unfortunately powerful. The question was how strong was he truly?

He knew Alparca had sent forces to aid Aldrin, but sending a prince? That was far more direct involvement than he had expected. Still, at the end of the day, royalty bled just like anyone else. If Vhailor stood before him, Kai was sure he could kill him… But strength wasn’t measured in circles alone.

Something gnawed at him.

Kai turned his eyes to Killian.

“What did you mean earlier?” he asked. “You said the five Mages were casting spells, but only the prince attacked. The others… what exactly were they doing?”

Killian inhaled sharply, as if unsure of his own memory. “When the prince charged us, he was the only one attacking. The others stayed back. Floating. Each holding glowing spell structures. At first I thought they were preparing tracking magic, so they wouldn’t lose us if we escaped. But it was certainly not that, nor tracking magic would require four Mages.” He shook his head.

“Then what was it?”

Killian tilted his head, looking conflicted. “I truly don’t know, lord Arzan. They simply stood behind the prince surrounding him. I have no idea what their spell structures were for. The prince didn’t have any barriers around him. Whatever they were doing, it was not something I was able to see through.”

Kai fell quiet.

If they weren’t casting a spell on the enemies, then… What could it possibly be? His years of magical knowledge told him one thing: they were doing something important.

But what? He couldn’t assume. He had no knowledge of such an instance… but again, he doubted they could do something that he hadn’t seen before, so he thought and thought. He even replayed the scenario in his head—five Mages positioned around Vhailor, glowing spell structure held still in their palms… like anchor points.

The answer clicked into place so suddenly he almost doubted it was that. But then, he wondered if there was anything else it could be. Kai doubted that and looked at everyone in the room before speaking. “It was a human Mage array formation.”

Everyone in the room straightened and looked at him. Before they could ask questions, he explained on his own.

“They weren’t trying to cast any spells. They were supporting the prince by pumping all their mana into his spells. Prince Vhailor was the center of some kind of array. A living conduit.”

“What do you mean, Lord Arzan?” Killian looked perplexed and everyone else in the room had similar expressions to him. He doubted anyone would like what he was going to say next.

***

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