Lia barely felt her boots striking the stone floor as she left the war chamber. The air in Korvath tasted like smoke and cold metal—like a forge about to crack. The echoes of the arguments, the pleas, the hopeless debates still clung to her hair and uniform, but there was no time to breathe them out.
Yaguro Aka was already waiting for her at the outer balcony, arms crossed, crimson cloak swaying in the harsh mountain wind. His face carried a scowl carved by fatigue rather than anger.
"They're ready," he said.
Lia nodded. "Send them."
He gestured sharply. Three scout teams stepped forward—elite operatives handpicked from the Adventurer Guild's top ranks. Light armor, travel compasses, runic flares strapped to their belts. Their faces were steady, but their eyes betrayed one shared fear:
What if they found nothing?
What if they found too much?
Lia addressed them directly.
"Your mission is reconnaissance only. No engagements. No heroics. Get in, observe, return."
She looked each scout in the eye.
"Reflynne is bleeding. Korvath is next. We need to know what's coming."
They bowed, touched their hands to the sigil of their guild badges, and vanished—one shimmering north to Frostholm, one west to Bustleburg, one southwest to Giggleburg. Three streaks of enchanted motion cutting across the dim horizon.
Yaguro exhaled. "Iroko and Kouki… any updates?"
"Kouki regained consciousness an hour ago," Lia replied. "He's stable. Iroko is… Dead."
Yaguro's brow lifted. "Dead? From what? That man"—he clicked his tongue—"is a continent-cracking powerhouse. What could have him that?"
Lia didn't answer. The memory of Iroko's broken, steaming form in the ruins of Reflynne sent a coldness through her spine that had nothing to do with the wind.
The truth was simple and horrifying:
Masaboru's group didn't defeat Ostoria.
They brushed it aside.
Hours crawled onward in a restless haze. Lia and Yaguro relocated to the communication tower—an old, high-arched structure filled with floating crystals used for long-distance scrying.
The first crystal pulsed.
The Frostholm scout.
Lia touched it. His voice came through, steady but whisper-thin.
"Reporting from Frostholm… I don't understand what I'm looking at."
Lia braced herself. "Describe everything."
"It's… pristine," the scout said. "Perfect. Every building intact. No signs of battle. No frost damage beyond the usual. No scorch marks. No corpses. No footprints."
"No people?" Lia asked.
"None. Not dead. Not alive. Not even animals. It's like the city was repainted less than an hour ago."
A chill clawed at the back of her neck.
Frostholm wasn't peaceful.
It was paused.
"Return immediately," she ordered.
The crystal dimmed.
Yaguro muttered, "A silent city in this situation never means anything good."
The second crystal flared.
The Bustleburg scout sounded breathless, wind roaring in the background.
"Reporting—heavy movement. Valerian banners sighted. Their main army is here. And—"
"—and what?" Lia pressed.
"Ogre King present. Marching alongside them. I repeat: Ogre King confirmed. Bustleburg has fallen into Valerian control."
Yaguro cursed under his breath. "That makes no sense. Bustleburg isn't even a strategic—"
"They're not fortifying," the scout interrupted. "They're mobilizing. Heading northeast. A lot of them."
Lia's heart pounded. "Destination?"
"Based on formation—Korvath."
The crystal snapped dark.
"Send evacuation notices," Lia said instantly.
Yaguro sprinted toward the runners.
The third crystal lit with a sickly blue glow.
Giggleburg's scout spoke in a low, tight whisper. "I'll make this fast. Dargath warhosts are gathering in the forest outside the city. Fully armored. Siege beasts too—big ones. They're preparing to march, but not yet moving."
"Casualties?"
"City mostly abandoned. Those who stayed are hiding in the mines."
"Direction?"
"Hard to tell," the scout murmured. "But… if they move in a straight line—"
"To Korvath," Lia finished.
The scout swallowed audibly. "Requesting immediate extraction. I hear something—"
The crystal flickered violently.
Then went dead.
Lia's breath froze in her lungs.
Three cities.
Three threats.
All pointing in the same direction.
Yaguro returned just as she turned from the crystals.
"The messengers are moving," he said. "Did Giggleburg—?"
"They're coming," Lia said. "Everyone is coming."
They stood there in the cold tower for a moment, neither speaking, both understanding:
Korvath was now the center of a storm that no longer cared about borders or politics.
Within half an hour, the city erupted into frantic motion.
Blacksmiths dumped every untouched blade onto the streets.
Mages carved wards into the stone with bleeding fingers.
Farmers and carpenters were ordered to build barricades.
Healers distributed charms against frostbite and blunt trauma.
Children were sent underground.
Scribes copied evacuation routes until their ink-stained hands shook.
Citizens who had never touched a weapon were handed spears and told to guard their own homes.
Above it all, Korvath's great bells rang, deep and solemn, as if trying to keep the city awake.
Lia watched from the ramparts, cloak whipping behind her.
Fear seeped from every alley.
Determination rose from every heartbeat.
The weight of leadership pressed on her like a mountain.
"They'll reach us in days," Yaguro said beside her.
"No," Lia whispered. "Hours."
Below them, the people of Korvath moved like ants building a wall against a rising ocean.
And in the corner of her mind, Lia wondered—
What if all three armies reached them at once?
What if Winter's Kiss struck again?
What if this fortification wasn't preparation…
…but merely delaying the inevitable?
The wind shifted, cold enough to sting her eyes.
Ostoria was bracing for a war it had no strength left to fight.
And Lia knew, with a sinking bitterness, that this night—the frantic, desperate race to fortify Korvath—would be remembered as the moment the country stopped preparing to win…
…and began preparing to survive.