Duke Blackwood sat alone in the room assigned to him in Fort Valemount. He uncorked a bottle of wine, poured it into a glass, and drank slowly. Wine was probably the only thing he had carried into this war that wasn’t a weapon or a piece of armor. The one thing his soul needed to stay steady despite everything happening across the kingdom.

A part of him still felt a quiet grief. The country he had fought for, bled for, and given decades of his life to was being eaten alive by parasites wearing crowns. Another part of him knew this was simply the start of a new beginning. And new beginnings always rose from rough, ugly times.

At least they had secured a major victory, and somehow, without drowning the field in blood. But even that had been uncertain. He had truly worried the day would end in bodies and flames rather than surrender.

Yet he couldn’t show any of this. Not the weariness. Not the doubts. He was one of the leaders of a growing army, and he needed to act like one, especially with the battles ahead. The next month was going to be far worse.

He took another long swallow of wine and let his thoughts drift back to the meeting earlier in the day. It had gone on for hours, and every moment had been filled with decisions that would shape the next stage of the war.

They had discussed how to hold the captured nobles—how to keep them caged without provoking riots or escape attempts. They examined the number of soldiers willing to join Arzan’s forces now that Aldrin had surrendered. They argued about how much food they could afford to return to the common people, food the nobles under Aldrin had stolen. Even the churches needed aid; many had been ransacked.

Blackwood rubbed his forehead as he remembered everything. Commanding wasn’t glory. It was exhaustion, wrapped in duty.

But someone had to do it. And for now, he was one of those someones.

He raised the glass again, took another drink, and exhaled slowly. The night was quiet around him, but the weight of the kingdom pressed heavily on his shoulders.

All of this—food shortages, church support, caged nobles—might have seemed like problems to handle after the war. Many of the nobles certainly thought so. But at least Arzan understood what they did not: if they wanted to rule a kingdom after this, they needed to pave the road for the future while marching through the present. Having the public on their side now meant fewer blades in the dark later. A smoother crown. A smoother transition.

Still, the real focus of the meeting had been the coming battles against Thalric and Eldric. And that was where things became… interesting.

Arzan had clearly put a great deal of thought into it. The groundwork of his plan was already set. Dangerous, yes, but in Duke Blackwood’s eyes, just risky enough to work.

Many in the noble council wanted to push directly for the capital. They argued that attacking from two fronts—Fort Valemount and the Sylvan Enclave—would overwhelm Eldric’s forces. But Blackwood knew better. Thalric would use that opportunity to strike back, ripping apart their stretched lines. That was exactly the sort of brute, reckless gamble Thalric favored.

Arzan had proposed something else.

They would send a smaller, faster force to take down Thalric, led by Arzan himself, supported by the Lombards already stationed in Matilla City. Meanwhile, the main army would remain under Blackwood’s command and move toward the capital from the flank. If Arzan succeeded within two weeks, they would strike the capital from every side at once, crushing Eldric thoroughly.

A clean pincer. Brutal. Efficient.

Blackwood had considered it carefully. It was bold. It was dangerous. And it relied heavily on one thing: Thalric’s predictability.

From Blackwood’s past dealings with him, he knew Thalric was exactly the type to fall for it.

So he supported the plan.

And beneath all the strategy and careful words, Blackwood sensed something else—Arzan needed the weeks. Needed time to prepare something he kept close to his chest. Something he wouldn’t share yet.

Blackwood didn’t ask. Arzan wasn’t the type to reveal a card before it needed to be played.

And the war was far from over.

As he poured more wine into his glass, a knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. Duke Blackwood turned, set the bottle down, and opened the door to find his son standing there.

Leopold smiled lightly. “You called for me, Father.”

“Yes. Come in,” he said.

Leopold stepped inside, his gaze flicking to the half-empty wine bottle on the table, then to the window where the sun hadn’t even set yet.

“It’s rare to see you drinking before nightfall,” Leopold remarked.

“The war efforts are stressful,” Blackwood answered, settling back into his chair. “I needed to clear my mind. Pour yourself a glass and sit.”

Leopold obeyed, taking the seat opposite him. He poured a small amount of wine, took a sip, and then looked up at his father. “Why did you call me here? Is there something important?”

“There is always something important to discuss with my son,” Duke Blackwood said, clasping his hands together. “But yes, I called you mostly to talk about Arzan.”

Leopold raised an eyebrow. “Another one of your evaluations? I thought he’s already proven himself. He’s doing well and has shown he can lead.”

“He has,” Blackwood agreed. “But he is not aiming to simply lead. He’s aiming to be king. And kings need more than battlefield instincts and clever planning. Your studies should have taught you that.”

“They have,” Leopold said, nodding slowly. “But Duke Arzan already has strong leadership skills. He has personal strength, capable subordinates, and he’s smart enough to always have a backup plan.”

Blackwood let out a quiet breath, neither agreement nor dismissal.

Leopold wasn’t wrong. But he wasn’t entirely right either.And that was exactly why the conversation needed to happen.

“Yes, he is,” Duke Blackwood said. “He thinks of the kingdom while he moves, and that alone places him above most nobles. But he still lacks two things.”

He raised two fingers.

Leopold leaned forward. “What are they?”

“First,” Blackwood said, “blood.”

Leopold opened his mouth—likely to defend Arzan’s lineage—but Blackwood spoke over him.

“I don’t mean he’s a peasant. I know he comes from a line of Dukes. But that’s not enough. The common people have been ruled by the Lancephilian bloodline for generations. Replace that bloodline with another, and some part of the kingdom will always resist. Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. Many nobles only stand against Arzan because of this alone.”

Leopold’s brows drew together. “And the second thing?”

“His line’s future,” Blackwood replied. “Lucian is dead. Edrian left the kingdom years ago. There may be distant relatives, but none who could stand as true heirs.”

Leopold’s eyes brightened as the meaning clicked. “So the issue is that he isn’t engaged. He has no guaranteed successor.”

Blackwood gave a single nod. “Yes. And both problems must be solved before the civil war ends if we want the kingdom stable.”

Leopold blinked, then stared at his father in dawning realization. He swallowed the rest of his wine in one quick motion.

“You want him to announce an engagement between himself and Princess Amara.”

Blackwood nodded again. “Yes. It is necessary if we intend to unify the nobles and secure the throne once the war is over.”

He set his empty glass down.

“For Arzan to rule… the people must believe the Lancephilian blood still flows beside him.”

Leopold leaned back in his chair. “But won’t that be easy? There are already rumors about the two of them.”

“No,” Duke Blackwood said firmly. “Those are just rumors. I’ve asked around myself. There is nothing between them. Princess Amara seems to fancy him, yes, but Arzan has eyes for no one. We need to change that. And more specifically, you need to change that, Leopold.”

Leopold blinked, confusion tightening his expression. “Me? Father, how? I don’t think I can do much. Especially not in the middle of a war.”

“I will be here, leading the main force and attacking the capital from the side. You will be with Arzan to deal with Thalric. That means you’ll be close to him. All I want is for you to open these conversations, subtly. With him, or with Princess Amara when she joins us. She’s still in Veyrin for now, but she will eventually be involved. If we don’t start preparing now, an engagement after the war will seem too sudden.”

Leopold frowned. “I don’t even know if the war will end so soon.”

“It will,” Blackwood replied without hesitation.

“You said yourself that the plan is risky.”

“Everything in war is risky,” he countered. “But Arzan pulled off the victory against Aldrin. There is no doubt in my mind he can do the same against Thalric. You’ve seen his strength, and the strength of those who follow him. Trust me, son. By the end of the month, Thalric will fall, and we will march on the capital.”

He refilled his glass, his voice steady with conviction.

“But for a king to rule after the war, his future must be secured now—not later. We need to plant the seeds before the crown touches his head.”

***

Kai flew through the sky toward Matilla City, the wind cutting past him as a dozen different thoughts churned in his mind. He had only remained in Fort Valemount for three days. As soon as the strategy had been settled with the nobles, Mages, and Enforcers, he had decided he didn’t want to wait any longer.

The truth was, the plan they were using hadn’t been created for Thalric. Kai had drafted it long ago for a completely different purpose. But fate didn’t care about original intentions. If it worked, it worked, and this plan would give him the precious time he needed to work on the wand.

He had already sent word ahead to the Watchers stationed in Matilla, instructing them to prepare Elder Tree stumps for him. As soon as he reached the city, he was going to begin crafting the wand. If everything aligned—if the timing held—then by the time he finished building it, Thalric would be standing right in the center of the trap they were weaving around him.

And once Thalric fell, the path would finally open. Eldric. Regina. The final steps before the civil war ended.

The thought alone made something loosen in Kai’s chest, like a weight shifting, just slightly. But he pushed that feeling aside. He would earn his relief later. For now, there was still too much to do.

He pushed more mana through his limbs, speeding up his flight. After several hours, the silhouette of Matilla City rose in the distance. No ward glimmered around it, but Kai wasn’t surprised. He’d already heard through letters that the ward was damaged, barely functional. Still, the city looked intact.

That was the Lombards’ doing. Without them, Matilla would’ve been dust weeks ago.

As he descended through the outskirts, he spotted a line of broad-shouldered men dragging the massive corpses of flying beasts through the main street. Kraels—sleek-bodied, leathery-winged creatures native to Raktor’s duchy. He recognized them immediately. He had already been sent a full report on their anatomy, mana capacity, and flight patterns.

Seeing their bodies piled like hunted game made him slow in midair.

Matilla had been busy. Good.

He would need its strength, and their stability for the days ahead.

But he hadn’t known they’d managed to take down so many. Kai counted six kraels being dragged through the streets—massive carcasses hauled by thick ropes while the citizens cheered as if they were festival trophies. He hovered there for a moment, watching the people marvel at the kills. Their excitement was real. Hope, even fragile hope, mattered.

Kai turned his gaze toward the rest of the city, debating whether he should head to the estate to speak with Viscountess Vaessa first or go to the walls where the unmistakable shapes of Lombards stood. He needed to speak with both.

A quick cast of [Hawk Eyes] made the decision for him.

He smiled and angled himself toward the walls.

As he approached, he saw soldiers sparring with Lombards—wooden weapons clacking, laughter erupting every few moments. For a city in the middle of a war, the atmosphere was surprisingly relaxed. That was a good sign. Morale mattered as much as strategy.

Kai didn’t linger on the sparring. His gaze moved further down the battlements where he spotted exactly who he was looking for: Chieftain Yafgar and Viscountess Vaessa standing side by side, deep in conversation. Ragnar was nowhere in sight, nor any of the younger Lombards he recognized.

He descended quietly, and both of them noticed him immediately.

“It seems like the two of you are getting along, and the city’s holding well,” Kai said with a small smile.

Viscountess Vaessa inclined her head. “I was expecting you by nightfall, Duke Arzan. And yes—thanks to the Lombards, Thalric’s forces haven’t done much beyond damaging the ward.”

Chieftain Yafgar crossed his arms confidently. “The Mages and beasts they send now are far too easy. My people deal with them as soon as they appear. Honestly, they’ve started complaining. They want to be at the center of the war.”

Kai chuckled. He wasn’t surprised. The Lombards weren’t made for quiet walls; they were made for battlefields. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know I didn’t come here just to check on the city.”

He looked Yafgar in the eye, the wind settling behind him.

“I came because I have something more fitting for the Lombards. How do you feel about raiding some forts, Chieftain Yafgar?”

***

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