"Your Highness, Hellagur has sent back his latest report. While assisting the Self-Salvation Army, he clashed with a Vampire from the Military Commission. He was wounded and ultimately forced to withdraw."
At the report, Felix lifted his head slightly, one brow arching. "The Vampire Lord?"
"It really was him." Ines sounded faintly surprised before her tone turned grave. "Hellagur is not adept at Originium Arts, but with his combat strength, he couldn't last more than a few exchanges against the Vampire Lord. We may need to reassess the Military Commission's overall combat capabilities."
"No need." Felix remained calm, idly turning the device in his hand. "If we truly intended to confront the Military Commission head-on, a few shots from the Yamato cannons would suffice."
He spoke evenly. "The Vampire Lord's strength does not reach the level of a natural disaster. He may be capable of slaughtering a squad, even an entire legion, on his own, but he does not approach the level of Teekaz."
Felix's gaze sharpened. "At present, the only one in the Military Commission who could directly threaten a landship is likely the King of Nachzehrer."
"Hm? Why?" Ines asked, puzzled.
"The Nachzehrer corrodes everything, organic and inorganic alike. Metal is no exception," Felix explained. "Of course, before they ever had the chance to try, the Yamato cannons would reduce them to ashes."
"I see."
Ines smiled faintly. "The supplies are nearly prepared. We are three days from Londinium. Your Highness… shall we proceed as planned?"
"Yes."
Felix's voice softened. "The previous battle has lifted morale. All we can do now is maintain the momentum. It has been some time since I stretched my limbs."
"Your Highness… what do you mean?"
Only then did Ines fully remembered that His Highness possessed not only unparalleled charisma, but also strength whose limits remained unknown since his evolution into Teekaz.
No one had sparred with him after that transformation. Or rather, no one had been capable of forcing him to reveal his true power.
The thought stirred anticipation within her. Yet as a strategist and commander of this campaign, she hoped he would not act too frequently. For someone of his caliber, a single engagement could invite injury. She would rather clear every obstacle in his path than see him harmed.
After only a single day of resupply, the Venus departed and moving straight toward Londinium.
___
As the outer perimeter of Londinium shifted into wartime formation, the colossal city cannons transitioned from idle to standby. Operated by the Victorian city defense forces, their muzzles aimed toward the distant horizon, though more often they were trained downward at the crowds beneath the walls.
War had driven villagers from the surrounding countryside to seek refuge within Londinium, fearing they would otherwise become collateral victims of cannon fire. Yet entry into the capital was far from guaranteed. The Military Commission's mercenaries suspected spies among the refugees. Every Victorian attempting to enter was subjected to strict interrogation, and some were turned away outright.
To deny them entry was tantamount to condemning them to death.
Before long, unrest erupted at the city gates. Sarkaz mercenaries drew their weapons and cut down more than a dozen agitators without hesitation. The screams caused the Victorian city guards to frown and left even those who had managed to enter the city uneasy.
But the tension quickly escalated into outright violence.
The Victorians barred from entry suddenly produced hidden weapons and struck at the Sarkaz mercenaries. The scene descended into chaos in an instant.
"Bloody hell, what's going on? Why've they suddenly started fighting?"
The captain of the Victorian City Defense Patrol frowned as he listened to the commotion below. "Could someone be inciting them?"
Before he could think further, a communication call came through. After responding with several acknowledgments, the captain cast a long look at the crowd beneath the walls.
"Activate the city defense cannon."
"…Yes."
A soldier's duty was to obey. Moreover, he himself held little affection for the Sarkaz mercenaries. If the order was to fire and assert authority, then so be it.
The city cannons rumbled as their gears turned, slowly pivoting toward the fifty or so figures locked in combat.
Then—
Boom.
A shockwave tore across the ground. Sand and dust exploded into the air, mingled with blood and shattered bodies. Screams rang out; those closest were obliterated or burned alive. Those farther away heard nothing at all, their mouths opening and closing soundlessly as they shouted in terror, unable to distinguish their own thoughts.
When the dust finally settled, the patrol captain atop the wall straightened his posture and silently regarded the massive crater and the rising smoke in the distance.
"You bastard!"
The Sarkaz mercenary stormed forward, seized the squad leader by the collar, and pressed his longsword against the man's throat, madness blazing in his eyes. "My brother is dead. You'll pay for his life!"
Without another word, he slashed. Blood spilled like ink across the stone. The squad leader's eyes widened; a few broken sounds escaped his throat before he collapsed, lifeless.
"You bloody demon, die!"
At the sight of their fallen commander, the city guards' eyes burned red. Weapons were drawn in an instant, blades cutting through the air. Chaos erupted. Blood flowed freely.
One city guard drove his longsword into a Sarkaz mercenary's chest, ignoring the blade lodged in his own abdomen. Even as he staggered, he tore his weapon free and struck down another Sarkaz who tried to intervene.
Within moments, more than a dozen bodies lay scattered across the battlements. Sarkaz mercenaries and Victoria city guards alike rushed into the fray. If this continued, the clash would spiral into uncontrollable infighting.
Bang!
"Stop!"
A furious shout rang out as several Victoria garrison weapons were knocked from their owners' hands, clattering across the stone. A Sarkaz in high-ranking military uniform stepped onto the wall, his sword planted upright before him, his voice cold as ice.
"Keep your men in line, Lieutenant Colonel Lettou."
"General Manfred, this isn't our fault, is it?"
The middle-aged Liberi officer remained outwardly composed. His gaze swept over the corpses, lingering on his adjutant among them. The corners of his mouth tightened; his voice trembled faintly.
"Manfred, shouldn't you give us an explanation?"
"Who had ordered the activation of the city's defensive artillery?"
"Our people are dead."
"Ours as well."
Manfred regarded him indifferently. "A major battle is imminent. There is no need for meaningless argument. The Duke of Wellington's fleet will arrive in Londinium in five hours. You should be preparing, not us."
"Hmph."
Lieutenant Colonel Lettou stood amid the pooling blood. "Tomorrow's Development fleet will reach Londinium in six hours, one after another. You are the ones who should be preparing."
"That is not your concern."
Manfred cast him a cold glance and turned away. "We're leaving."
With the general present, the Sarkaz mercenaries did not continue their assault. Instead, they fixed every Victoria city guard with bloodshot eyes, as if carving their faces into memory. One day, blood would be repaid with blood, tooth with tooth.
Lieutenant Colonel Lettou looked toward the smoke and flames beyond the walls. He swallowed his sigh.
"Clear the remains outside the city. Inform all defense units to establish obstacles and barricades before the enemy fleet arrives."
"Sir… but Lieutenant Colonel, I heard the enemy fleet has already destroyed two Dukes' ships."
Lettou drew a steady breath. "That's an order."
"Yes, sir!"
Better to make the enemy uncomfortable before dying than to wait helplessly. Though Lettou knew Tomorrow's Development objective was not Londinium but the Military Commission, he had made agreements with them. He still clung to the hope of Gaul's restoration. Faced with Tomorrow's Development aggressive advance, he could not convince himself that Londinium would remain untouched.
In this era of unprecedented turmoil, yet another unpredictable variable had appeared. Lettou ground his teeth.
Damn it. Why are Kazdel and Tomorrow's Development stirring trouble with the Military Commission? A pack of lunatics.
___
Hellagur's injuries were not severe, only draining. His blood loss had stabilized, yet when recounting the encounter, he could not suppress a heavy sigh.
The Vampire Lord's Originium Arts… no, the innate magic of the Vampire race, had laid bare the vast gulf in power. Without his specially designed combat suit, Hellagur might have suffered far worse.
Now that the mission was complete, the Tomorrow's Development infiltration group regrouped. Under Stainless's leadership, they rendezvoused with the Self-Rescue Army's commander in the Oakley region.
As the person in charge of this operation, Vina stepped forward to meet the elegant, long white-haired woman before her.
Allerdale Cumberland.
By her surname alone, it was clear she was the daughter of the Duke of Cumberland.
Neon stood outside the door, repeatedly reviewing the latest intelligence sent back by the Clever. Ever since learning that the Military Commission had deployed Originium Arts surveillance across the city, the Clever had stopped flying over it entirely. Neon had little interest in the negotiations taking place inside. She was not like Morgan, who had always stood at Vina's side, nor was she a Victorian like Stainless.
"How did it go?"
Vina stepped out, her expression steady. "Allerdale will lead us to the burial site of the Sighs of Kings. She will serve as our guide."
Hellagur nodded. From this moment on, Vina would reclaim the longsword that symbolized Victorian sovereignty.
"Let's move. We don't have much time."
___
"Your Highness… Your Highness!"
Felix stirred from his nap, finding himself stretched across the sofa, a blanket draped over him.
'Whose clothes am I wearing? They're definitely not mine. I must have dozed off while reading the battle damage report. Someone must have carried me here.'
He turned his head and saw the Northwind Witch, Qalaiša, kneeling beside the sofa. When she saw him awaken, she let out a quiet breath of relief.
"What is it?"
Senior executives could enter and leave his office freely. He was rarely alone.
After handling an overwhelming stack of documents, Felix rose from the sofa. Noticing Qalaiša's anxious expression, he asked again, "What happened?"
"Your Highness, I can sense the King of Nachzehrers ahead. He is waiting for you… waiting to challenge you."
"The King of Nachzehrers…"
It took Felix a moment to shake off the last traces of drowsiness. As he accepted the clothes from Qalaiša and dressed, he murmured, "I've heard of him from Theresa. One of the six heroes, the embodiment of war. Arrogant by nature, but respectful toward those he acknowledges. So he wants to fight me?"
Qalaiša lowered her head in silence. Then a thought struck her.
"Your Highness, Patriot was once his student. If he seeks battle with you, perhaps you should bring Patriot along... Seeing him might at least ease the exchange."
So there was another layer to this encounter.
Felix nodded faintly. "Summon Patriot. He will accompany me."
"Your Highness, please allow me to go as well." Qalaiša knelt on one knee before him. "My body and soul have long belonged to you. Let me stand beside you. I want to show my clan's king what Kazdel has become."
"…Very well."
After changing his clothes, Felix glanced at his status panel and began stuffing food into his mouth. The food buff was still useful, an essential advantage before a dungeon or a difficult encounter.
Patriot stood silently behind him. He clearly knew whom they were about to meet, but true to his nature, he said nothing.
The three of them informed Commander Ines before departing. Though Ines wished to object, Felix insisted, and she did not press further.
Ahead, upon a lonely precipice, the King of Nachzehrers awaited.
The aircraft descended slowly, landing on the sand some distance away. Felix, Patriot, and Qalaiša stepped down and faced the figure before them.
This was Felix's first meeting with the Military Commission's people, the King of Nachzehrers, Nezzsalem. He resembled a peculiar old man wrapped in white cloth. For reasons he could not quite explain, Felix's first impression was unmistakable: this was an old man, not a youth.
"Kazdel… has become like this."
The King of Nachzehrers spoke in a hoarse voice, strangely resonant yet grating, like sandpaper drawn across stone.
"Your Highness, I must thank you." The old man slowly extended a hand, pointing toward Patriot. "Buldrokkas'tee, it brings me great solace that you were saved, that you now fight for Kazdel, that you have become one of its warriors."
Patriot bowed his head deeply. A red glimmer flashed in his eyes.
"Teacher."
"Hmph. Without the king, you would have long since returned to the dust."
Black lines began to gather along the Nachzehrers King's body. Strips of white cloth fluttered in the wind, fragments cut from countless Kazdel war banners.
"The only one I acknowledge is Kazdel, not you." He tightened his grip on his scepter. "But I owe you a debt, and I will repay it with this battle."
"Elder… Elder…" Qalaiša's voice trembled with bitterness.
"I am now the heart and soul of Kazdel."
"Empty words!"
Blue flames surged skyward.
"Come. Fight me!"