"Continue… forward!"
General Surt ground out the same order once more, his patience stretched to the breaking point.
Frankly, Surt had not been entirely unprepared for this turn of events. Ever since the second outpost had fallen, he had suspected that unseen allies were clearing a path for them. But privately, the general resented this so-called "assistance." On the surface, it was undeniably effective—it had eliminated their greatest threats and swept away the obstacles in their path. Yet the brazen, heavy-handed way these "helpers" operated filled him with rage. Originally, Surt had planned to sneak across the border under the cover of stealth, catching the Sith Empire off guard. With no clear intelligence on their movements, the Sith would have been forced to hold their hand, unsure of how to deploy their forces. But now, with outposts being attacked and destroyed in such a spectacular fashion, even a fool could see that someone important was attempting a breakout. At this rate, word of their escape would spread far and wide before they even crossed Orlt's border.
And now, as he stared at the battlefield before him—freshly fought, the bloodshed still less than ten minutes old—Surt found it hard to breathe. As a seasoned general, he could read the defensive layout of the fortress at a glance. Unlike the previous outposts, this final line of defense was formidable indeed: towering walls of hewn stone, reinforced wooden palisades, and the gaping muzzles of magical artillery cannons lining the battlements. Surt calculated that it would take at least three to five thousand men to breach this fortress if he were leading the assault.
But now, this last stronghold lay in utter ruins, reduced to rubble by some invisible force. The massive, powerful magical cannons lay crumpled and twisted amid the debris, rendered useless scrap metal. The ground was littered with the bodies of fully armed Sith soldiers, their deaths so gruesome that even these battle-hardened veterans could barely stomach the sight. Judging by the number of corpses, the garrison here had numbered around a thousand men.
A thousand soldiers, plus a fortified outpost—yet they had failed to withstand even a single assault, not even managing to send out a distress signal. That was terrifying. Surt vividly recalled that as they approached, he had seen no unusual lights or flares emanating from the outpost. In other words, the defenders had not even had time to alert their superiors before being wiped out—a scenario that should have been impossible by all rational standards.
Surt's gaze swept over the battlefield again. Just like before, he saw only the bodies of Sith soldiers—no enemy dead lay among them. He could not begin to fathom who was going to such lengths to help them. Worse still, he had no idea what their motives were. He had even suspected it might be a Sith trap—a elaborate ruse to lure them into meeting Wester's envoys, then wiping them all out in one fell swoop. But Surt quickly dismissed the thought as absurd. If the Sith wanted to catch them, it would have been far easier to simply relax their border defenses and let them slip through, then ambush them later. And if these mysterious allies were agents of Wester, their actions made even less sense. They could have revealed themselves openly, joining forces with the royal party instead of skulking in the shadows like phantoms, deliberately avoiding any contact.
Of course, it was possible that the allies had their own reasons for remaining hidden. After all, this was Sith territory. Even if they had stepped forward to introduce themselves, Surt would have been hard-pressed to trust them. But the general had tried to make contact. On several nights when they had camped in the wilderness, he had deliberately lingered outside the camp alone, hoping to draw their mysterious benefactors out into the open for a face-to-face talk. Yet he had waited until dawn every time, and not a single soul had emerged to parley. It was enough to drive a man to frustration. As a general and a seasoned politician, Surt knew better than anyone that there was no such thing as a free lunch in this world. The idea that this was some kind of repayment for past favors to himself or the royal family was laughable. Politics was politics, pure and simple. In times like these, even their closest allies would hesitate to lend a hand. This was no mere personal grudge—anyone who dared to help them would have to face the full wrath of the Sith Empire and its dreaded Scourge Knights. The Sith had long coveted the territories of their neighboring nations; all they lacked was a pretext to launch their invasion.
No one in their right mind would give them that pretext.
In truth, Surt did not fully trust Wester either. Though the two nations had been allies for years, he knew all too well how fragile such alliances could be in the face of self-interest. What was more, he had heard that King Wester V was no magnanimous visionary. Even if the king did agree to shelter them, Surt suspected their days in exile would be far from easy. But they had no other choice. Not a single country bordering Orlt was willing to take them in—they were a hot potato, dangerous to even touch. The only reason they clung to hope in Wester was that the Sith Empire had already identified Wester as their next target. In this, they were two grasshoppers tied to the same rope. It was the best of a bad lot—quite literally the only option left to them.
"Just a little further, men!" Surt called out, his brow furrowed as he looked at his exhausted soldiers. He had anticipated hardships during their escape, of course, but he had been confident that they would have time to rest and recuperate along the way. Instead, this inexplicable chain of events had turned their journey into a desperate race against time, forcing them to march relentlessly for days on end without a moment's proper rest. Even he, a seasoned warrior, felt the strain—how much more must his men be suffering? And besides…
Surt's eyes darkened as he glanced back at the carriage behind him.
"We're almost at our destination! Once we cross the border, we'll be safe!"
"Yes, Your Excellency!"
The soldiers gritted their teeth at his words. They were right—against all odds, they had reached the border region. Just a little more effort, and they would be free from danger! With that thought, they summoned up their last reserves of strength, their steps growing a little steadier as they pressed onward.
Meanwhile, atop a nearby hillside, Sydri stood motionless, her crimson eyes fixed on the distant caravan of fugitives. A faint, almost imperceptible smile played on her lips. She turned, leaped lightly down from the stone platform, and returned to her waiting army—thousands of soldiers standing in perfect, silent formation before her. Not a single man moved. Though their faces varied, their expressions were identical—cold, impassive, devoid of all emotion.
"Retreat," the young lady ordered.
At her command, the soldiers immediately turned as one, their boots thudding in perfect unison as they marched back along the path they had come. Sydri fell silent for a moment, then cast a glance at the surrounding forests and mountains before following at the rear of her column, leaving without a single backward glance.
Every moment of this scene was watched closely by Blake, hidden deep within the trees.
"As I thought," Blake murmured, his hand tightening on the reins, his expression grave.
General Surt had no idea that, in truth, they were still moving far too slowly. They had vastly underestimated the power of a Born Knight—and they had grown far too complacent about the pursuit at their heels. Though they believed they were pushing themselves to the limit, racing against time with every step, their efforts were futile in the face of a Born Knight's relentless chase. In fact, by the time Surt reached the third outpost, Sydri's vast army was already hot on his trail, shadowing them like a persistent shadow.
When Blake had spotted Sydri's forces, he had been faced with a dilemma. He had no intention of revealing himself to the Orltan fugitives at this juncture, nor did he wish to engage a Born Knight in open combat. But what happened next had taken him by surprise. Instead of ordering her troops to surround and annihilate the fugitives, Sydri had done the exact opposite—she had ordered her men to withdraw. Then she had climbed the hillside alone, watching the caravan's departure as if she were merely out for a leisurely stroll, paying no heed to the "vital targets" right before her eyes.
In that moment, Blake had finally confirmed his suspicions. This young Born Knight was far from as simple as she appeared. She had known exactly who the fugitives were from the very beginning, and she had known exactly what they intended to do. Yet she had chosen to let them go. There could be only one explanation for this: the young lady was eagerly anticipating a war with Wester—and she had no intention of letting this opportunity slip through her fingers. If there was no opportunity, then create one… that was precisely this young lady's style.
"She's leaving, Brother," Misaya said softly.
"That's strange, Father," Semia added.
The two sisters, who had been following Blake in silence, finally spoke up, their voices tinged with curiosity, as Sydri's figure vanished over the horizon.
"She didn't try to attack."
"She didn't try to capture them."
"She just… left."
"She did it on purpose," Blake replied.
"Exactly."
Blake let out a long breath, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. Having a Born Knight breathing down your neck was never a pleasant experience, after all. Now that Sydri had made her stance clear with her actions, the number of unpredictable variables in his plan had decreased significantly.
With that thought, Blake gave the reins a sharp tug.
"Then it's time for us to move again… and now, the main course begins."
As he spoke, the shadow steed beneath him broke into a run, darting swiftly through the forest.
While complex mountain terrain would slow ordinary men to a crawl compared to open roads, the mounts ridden by Blake and his companions were anything but ordinary. The shadow steed was clearly accustomed to navigating such landscapes; the unicorn was the undisputed king of the forest, moving over rough mountain paths as easily as taking a stroll before dinner; and as for the nightmare—its natural habitat was far more treacherous than this mere woodland, making it a master of the terrain.
It was precisely because of these extraordinary mounts that Blake and his companions had been able to destroy each outpost just ahead of Surt's arrival, then escape unscathed. Without them, racing against time would have been an impossible feat.
Unaware that they were still being watched, General Surt pressed onward. But this time, he led his men off the main road and onto a winding mountain path through the forest. After marching for half a day, Surt suddenly ordered the carriage to halt, and his men began to set up camp on the spot.
"Why are they stopping here to camp, Brother?" Misaya asked, tilting her head.
"Aren't they afraid of being discovered, Father?" Semia echoed, both sisters staring curiously at the soldiers busying themselves in the distance.
But Blake paid no heed to their questions. Instead, he studied the surrounding area carefully, then held up a hand to stop the sisters, his gaze sweeping toward a patch of underbrush nearby. He made a gesture for silence. In the next instant, the steed beneath him vanished without a trace. Blake nimbly stepped to the side, leaped up onto a nearby tree, and concealed himself quietly in the dense foliage.
Seeing his actions, the sisters quickly dismissed their own mounts and followed suit, moving like two agile cats as they climbed the tree after him, hiding their figures behind the thick leaves.
It did not take long for them to spot the source of Blake's caution. The seemingly innocent black dots in the underbrush nearby were not shadows or clods of earth—they were human beings, clad head to toe in black. They lay motionless in the grass, watching the camp below with intense focus. These were clearly soldiers from Wester. Only they could have known where the Orltans would stop, having arranged a rendezvous point through their secret agreement. Only they could have laid such an ambush in advance.
Blake's suspicions had been correct all along.
"How interesting," Blake sneered, tearing his gaze away from the hidden sentries, saying nothing more.
Clearly, events were unfolding exactly as he had predicted. For Blake, this was the perfect outcome.
Time ticked by, and soon the sun began to set, painting the valleys and forests in a crimson glow, casting a somber atmosphere over the land. It was only then that the Orltan soldiers, who had been resting, suddenly rose to their feet, scanning their surroundings with renewed vigilance. Moments later, a series of sharp birdcalls echoed through the forest, following a specific, rhythmic pattern.
"—!!"
At the sound of the calls, the Orltans responded in kind. After exchanging the secret signals, the forest fell silent once more.
Then, several burly men clad in leather armor parted the underbrush and walked toward the Orltan camp below.
The Orltan soldiers tensed visibly at the sight of the strangers, but General Surt quickly silenced their restless movements. He recognized the men approaching—they were aides to Celt, one of Wester's three legion commanders. As allies, Surt was familiar with the key figures in Wester's military. Seeing a familiar face appear here, he felt a wave of relief wash over him.
"Greetings, General Surt," the young Wester officer said, bowing slightly as he reached the general's side before straightening up, offering the Orltan commander a faint smile.
"It is a great relief to see you safe and sound. We heard that the Sith Empire has been stepping up its activities lately, and when you failed to arrive at the scheduled time, we were truly worried."
"We appreciate your concern," Surt replied, returning the bow before turning his gaze toward the carriage.
"Though the Sith blockade was indeed formidable, fortune favored us in the end, and we managed to escape… may I ask when we can depart?"
"I'm afraid that won't be possible for the time being," the young aide said, shaking his head with a troubled expression. Surt looked at him in surprise.
"Is there a problem?"
"You have been in the capital for so long, you may not be aware of the situation on the border," the young aide replied with a bitter smile.
"The truth is, half a month ago, our patrols came under attack by unknown assailants. Three patrol teams were killed in quick succession, and it seems the same thing has been happening along the Sith border as well. At this point, we suspect someone is deliberately trying to provoke a conflict. As a result, border patrols have been intensified to an unprecedented degree. Our influence in this area has been weakened—we can no longer guarantee your safety as we once could. That is why I have received orders from the legion commander: we can only dispatch a rescue force once we have confirmed your safe arrival here. Until then, we are unwilling—and unable—to engage the Sith Empire in a large-scale open conflict."
"Is that so?" Surt frowned, his brow furrowing deeply. He had had no way of predicting this turn of events. He did not know that it was Blake's actions half a month ago that had thrown the border around the Red Fortress into such chaos. Celt, having lost three patrol teams in quick succession, had been unwilling to let the matter rest. He had even risked launching a reconnaissance mission to gather intelligence on the attackers, but had come away empty-handed. To make matters worse, days later, reports had emerged of Sith patrols being killed along the border as well. Now, though the two nations maintained a fragile peace on the surface, behind the scenes, they were already engaged in a shadow war of mutual espionage and skirmishes.
This complex state of affairs was far beyond Surt's expectations. He hesitated for a moment before speaking again.
"Surely with our combined strength, we can make it back before the Sith can intercept us?"
"Frankly, the odds are stacked against us," the young aide replied, spreading his hands helplessly.
"The Sith have strengthened their border patrols, deploying them in small, scattered teams rather than large units. In fact, you won't see any regular patrols on the border now—they've gone to ground, lying in wait to swarm any target they spot. To be honest, our own patrols have already learned this lesson the hard way. To deter them effectively, we would need a large, well-equipped army. But as I'm sure you understand, the Red Fortress is still under construction—we simply cannot spare the manpower. That is why the legion commander has ordered me to wait until we confirm your location before sending reinforcements. Until then, I'm afraid you will have to endure the inconvenience of staying here for a while longer."
"I see…" Surt hesitated, thinking for a moment before nodding firmly.
"Very well. We will abide by your request and remain here for the time being."
Though this went against all his original plans, Surt knew that when you were under someone else's roof, you had to bend to their will. Even though he found this arrangement far from ideal, he had no other choice.
"Thank you," the young aide said, a relieved smile spreading across his face. He turned and issued an order to his men.
"You two—return at once and report to Lord Celt. Tell him we have successfully made contact with our Orltan guests, and request that he dispatch the rescue force immediately!"
"Yes, Your Excellency!" the two soldiers replied, saluting crisply. Then, one of them stole a glance at General Surt, who had turned and walked back toward the camp, a look of unease crossing his face. He leaned in and asked in a low, hesitant voice:
"Sir… do we really have to go through with this? After all, Orlt is our ally, and they have always stood by us…"
"I understand exactly what you're saying," the young aide replied, his expression serious and resolute, without a hint of hesitation.
"It is true that they were once our allies, and what we are doing is far from honorable… but we do not want war. Let me be clear, men—we are not cowards. We simply refuse to watch our families and loved ones die in the flames of battle. Orlt has fallen. We will not let our homes and families suffer the same fate. This is an order… I think we all understand what we are fighting for…" the young aide bit his lip as he spoke. "Now—carry out your orders."
"Yes, Sir!"
The two soldiers' expressions hardened at his words. They glanced once more at the distant camp before nodding firmly, then turned and left. The young aide watched their retreating figures, lost in thought for a moment, before sighing softly and walking toward the camp.