The minor disturbance did nothing to dampen the banquet's festive mood. Perhaps it was because the nobles all keenly sensed the growing tension of an impending war, making them all the more determined to savor this rare moment of peace. The guests did not take their leave until midnight—and though it was customary for the host to offer lodging to out-of-town visitors, none of the nobles dared to make such a request, as if they had all picked up on some unspoken signal. Even though few of them had managed to exchange more than a few words with Blake throughout the evening, they left contented all the same. The sudden rise of this young noble had long cast a shadow of unease over the region, especially given the formidable power he wielded and his ambiguous ties to two of the realm's most influential houses. By hosting this banquet and inviting even those with no prior connection to him, Blake had at the very least demonstrated his willingness to abide by the unwritten rules of noble society. For the attending lords and ladies, this alone was enough to ease their concerns. As for the more weighty matters of alliance and power politics—those could be left to the representatives of the Byrd and Zack families to fret over.
Moreover, Celtic's presence at the banquet served as a quiet but unmistakable warning. After all, very few nobles in the kingdom could claim the honor of receiving a visit from one of the Three Great Legion Commanders in his capacity as a royal envoy—a privilege rarely extended even to the most powerful of lords. The nobles could not fathom why a mere provincial lord like Blake would command such attention from both the Legion and the royal court, but this only lent credence to the long-circulating rumors of his close ties to the monarchy. Faced with such a figure, they knew it was time to reconsider their stance toward him.
What Blake had not anticipated, however, was that the banquet would also earn him an unexpected—and rather unsavory—reputation. Nobles were notorious gossips, and the fact that Blake was the only male resident of Duskwood Castle did not escape their notice, spawning all manner of salacious speculation. In the wake of the banquet, the moniker of "the Most Debauched Lord" became firmly attached to Blake, clinging to him for years to come. But that is a story for another time.
For most people, the night had ended. For others, it had only just begun.
The soft glow of magic crystals bathed the study in a warm, golden light. Blake sat at his desk with his hands steepled, poring over a sealed letter with a thoughtful expression. Celtic sat across from him, his earlier relaxed demeanor replaced by the stern gravity of a seasoned soldier. The two men had already engaged in several rounds of subtle verbal sparring, and it was clear that Celtic had not gained the upper hand. Now, the preliminary skirmishes were over—it was time for the main event.
"Is this the King's will?"
After a long silence, Blake finally lifted his gaze from the letter, fixing his eyes on the elderly military commander before him.
"This is His Majesty's royal command."
Celtic frowned slightly, correcting Blake's deliberate choice of words. But Blake paid him no mind, merely shrugging his shoulders and leaning back in his rosewood chair, adopting an air of casual boredom.
The contents of the secret decree were, on the surface, unremarkable—so much so that it did not even mention Blake by name. Its message was simple: the kingdom faced an unprecedented crisis. The Sith Empire's armies massed along the border, and the time had come for the realm's nobles to answer their liege's call to arms. Brave warriors were to rally their forces, raise their banners, and defend their homeland with their lives.
On paper, it was nothing more than a standard call to arms, perfectly timed given the current state of affairs. But when one considered the identity of the messenger, the matter took on a far more sinister hue.
"I assume this letter was not sent to me alone?"
"That is correct."
Despite the mocking tone in Blake's voice, Celtic nodded solemnly.
"Copies of this same decree will be delivered to the desks of every great noble in the kingdom over the next few days. This is a summons to war. Conflict with the Sith Empire is unavoidable now. Our only hope is to gather as many fighting men as possible in the shortest time."
"Only to have them all wiped out in one fell swoop?"
A sardonic smile tugged at the corner of Blake's lips, his amusement plain to see.
"Ambassador, I do believe His Majesty has a penchant for putting all his eggs in one basket."
"..."
Celtic let out a long, weary sigh, making no attempt to refute Blake's accusation. From a political standpoint, uniting all the realm's bravest warriors under a single banner to face the Sith threat would be a rousing morale boost. But from a military perspective, the risk was catastrophic. If they failed to hold the line against the Sith advance, it would mean snuffing out all hope of resistance in the kingdom before it even had a chance to take root. The brave warriors who had earned their renown through years of battle would perish in an instant. One single defeat in such a battle would leave the Kingdom of Westria fatally wounded, its strength shattered beyond repair. Celtic understood this all too well. What's more, he doubted how many of the great nobles would willingly dispatch their most talented knights to fight and die in a distant fortress. Gifted knights were far too powerful to be dismissed as mere cannon fodder. The old adage that "many ants can kill an elephant" was nothing more than a figure of speech—it would never hold true on the battlefield.
"So what is it that you want from me?"
Seeing the conflict etched on Celtic's face, Blake cut straight to the chase, tossing the letter emblazoned with the royal seal aside as if it were worthless scrap paper.
"You are a formidable warrior, young man."
Celtic paused, gathering his thoughts before speaking.
"To be perfectly honest, after our duel, I do not believe I possess the skill to defeat you. I find myself both astonished and curious—how did you manage to attain such mastery of the sword at your age? It is truly beyond comprehension. But I know you will not give me a straight answer to that question... What I *do* want to ask is this: I hope to enlist your aid. Will you come to Redcliff Fortress and stand with us against the coming storm?"
"I have very few soldiers at my disposal, Ambassador."
Blake's smile never wavered, not even at the prospect of receiving a direct invitation from one of the kingdom's Three Great Legion Commanders. It was as if Celtic had invited him to discuss tomorrow's breakfast menu rather than a desperate defense of the realm.
"I can tell you without exaggeration that Duskwood Forest is severely understaffed. I have fewer than five hundred men under my command—and even they are still in need of more training before they are ready for battle. So even if I were to agree to join your defense of Redcliff Fortress, I would not be able to bring many troops with me. My forces are simply too limited."
"I understand what you are saying, Mr. Blake."
Though Celtic was advanced in years, his mind remained sharp as ever.
"If you are willing to take up arms for the kingdom, I can place a full battalion of soldiers under your direct command. You may deploy them as you see fit."
"Oh?"
Blake's eyes widened slightly, clearly caught off guard by Celtic's offer.
"Why would you do that?"
"Let us dispense with the pleasantries, Mr. Blake. I will speak plainly."
Celtic adjusted his posture, fixing Blake with a solemn, earnest gaze.
"Before I came to Duskwood Forest, someone approached me with a proposition. To be honest, I paid little heed to their words until I met you in person. But now... I think I must reconsider my position." Celtic's hands tightened into fists, his voice growing heavy with resolve as he locked eyes with Blake. "But I must say this, Mr. Blake—this is not a request born of desperation, but of principle. I do not believe that one or two individuals can turn the tide of a war, no matter how powerful they may be. War is never a one-man show. While there are always those who play pivotal roles in battle, their efforts mean nothing without the countless others fighting beside them. I am a Legion Commander. I am a High-Ranked Swordsman. But I alone cannot win a war. So from the bottom of my heart, I do not agree with the notion of staking the kingdom's fate on the shoulders of a single chosen hero! It is a disservice to every other soldier who stands ready to give their life for their homeland. I can accept that our efforts may end in failure. I can accept that our blood may be spilled in vain. But I will *not* accept that their sacrifices be dismissed as meaningless!"
Celtic slammed his fist against the arm of his chair, then fell silent, as if suddenly realizing he had let his emotions get the better of him. He rose to his feet, his face shrouded in the shadows cast by the magic crystals.
"Young lord, I do not believe in prophecies. I do not believe in fairy tales of heroes destined to save the world. Those are nothing but stories. But the danger we now face is every bit as terrifying as any legend. That is why I have come here. That is why I extend this invitation to you. That is why I make this promise now. If you are willing to fight, I ask you to lend me your strength—for the sake of protecting this kingdom."
This time, Blake did not respond immediately. The playful smile faded from his lips, though his expression did not mirror Celtic's solemnity.
"I understand your sentiments, Ambassador. I understand your motives... for the most part."
Blake's voice was calm and steady, as if he were discussing a matter that had nothing to do with him.
"To be perfectly honest, I have little interest in this war. But I will admit—your words have moved me, in their own way. As a noble of Westria, I cannot in good conscience refuse this call to arms. However, I must warn you—things may not unfold as you hope. Life is full of uncertainties. Dreams are beautiful, but reality is often cruel."
"I am well aware of that. But right now, I need strength—strength to defend my kingdom. It does not matter where that strength comes from, who it belongs to, or what their motives may be."
With those words, silence descended once more over the study. No sound could be heard except for the howling of the cold night wind outside, and the faint tapping of tree branches against the windowpanes.
After several long minutes, Blake's voice finally broke the silence.
"Tell me the exact date."
"Within twelve days of the Harvest Moon Festival."
"I understand, Ambassador."
Blake nodded slightly.
"I will give you the answer you seek."
With that, he rose to his feet and gestured toward the door, the unspoken signal that their meeting was at an end. Celtic looked at him with a complex expression, then turned and walked out of the room. As the wooden door swung shut, concealing the old soldier's hunched figure from view, Blake's expression darkened instantly. He strode over to the window, gazing up at the bright full moon hanging in the night sky, his hand resting gently on the hilt of his sword.
"Whatever the cost?" he murmured softly. "Then let us see just how strong your resolve truly is, Commander."
The next morning, Blake called a meeting with his most trusted subordinates to inform them of his decision. Their reactions were varied, to say the least.
"Now, Master? This is a most inopportune time."
Charlotte was the first to voice her opposition, shaking her head firmly.
"There is still much work to be done in Duskwood Forest. Our border patrols are plagued with problems, and we are already stretched thin as it is. We cannot spare any more men to send to Redcliff Fortress for this... defense. Besides, this is Westria's war. What does it have to do with our Order of the Ebon Blade? I believe we should focus our efforts on strengthening our own defenses now, so that we may stand firm when the Sith inevitably march on Duskwood Forest. As for the rest of the kingdom—let them fend for themselves."
"I hate war, Brother."
"I hate war, Father."
The twin sisters sat side by side, their hands intertwined, speaking in perfect unison.
"Those tedious battles are so boring."
"All we need is to stay by Father's side."
"Let the others fight their own wars."
"They will never stand a chance against the Gifted Knights anyway."
"Pointless resistance is meaningless."
"A foregone defeat is worthless."
The girls laced their fingers together, their identical beautiful faces pressed close, wearing matching smiles.
"We have our own glory."
"We have our own strength."
"We will emerge victorious."
"We will never know defeat."
"We do not need to borrow the strength of others."
"We do not need to lend our strength to others."
"Is that not right, Brother?"
"Is that not right, Father?"
"And what do you think?"
Instead of answering the twins directly, Blake turned his gaze to Judy—the one person in the room whose opinion carried the most weight, given her position and experience. At the sound of Blake's question, Judy rose to her feet, snapped to attention, and bowed respectfully to the assembled group before speaking.
"Lady Messiah and Lady Semia make valid points, Your Excellency. As for my report—I can only say this: while our recruits' performance during training has been less than stellar, the majority of them now meet the basic criteria for active duty."
"I see."
Though Judy had not explicitly stated whether she supported or opposed the plan, Blake's eyes narrowed slightly as he processed her words.
"Practical combat experience is invaluable. I believe this could be an excellent opportunity for them."
With that, Blake turned his attention to the only person in the room who had not yet spoken.
"And what is your opinion, Miss Ophelia? Should we join this defense of Redcliff Fortress?"
At the sound of Blake's question, Ophelia looked up, a helpless smile tugging at her lips.
"From a personal standpoint, my lord, I would be more than happy to support your decision. However, I must be frank—this defense of Redcliff Fortress is... highly likely to end in failure. No—*certain* to end in failure."
"Oh?"
The room fell silent, every eye turning to Ophelia in surprise. Such a dire prediction would have been unremarkable coming from anyone else—but from Ophelia, who had little to no experience with military matters, it carried far more weight.
"What makes you say that?"
"I do not pretend to understand the true power of the Gifted Knights. I do not know how impregnable Redcliff Fortress truly is. I know even less about strategy and tactics. But one thing I *do* know—if this order came directly from King Westria V, then I can already predict the outcome. He has always been a man who appears decisive on the surface, but pays no heed to the finer details. And more often than not, it is those small, overlooked details that lead to the complete collapse of even the most well-laid plans. Take this decree, for example."
Ophelia picked up the letter from the table and held it up for everyone to see.
"The wording is far too vague and simplistic. If this were a public notice posted on the streets to reassure the common folk, then such brevity would be acceptable. But this is a secret missive sent to the desks of the realm's most powerful nobles—and that is a grave mistake. Raising an army and mobilizing troops requires precise coordination on all fronts. What are the troop strength limits for each noble house? How can large-scale military movements be carried out without sparking conflict? What provisions have been made for supply lines and logistics? What rewards will be given to those who fight and die in battle? None of these critical details are mentioned in this letter. These are the very assurances that should have been included to persuade the great nobles to answer the call to arms. Yet here, there is nothing. So I can say with absolute certainty that even if the nobles *do* send their troops to Redcliff Fortress as commanded, chaos will inevitably ensue. And on the battlefield, chaos is a death sentence."
"Well said."
Blake clapped his hands slowly, a look of approval in his eyes. It was true that Ophelia knew little of warfare—but that did not prevent her from reaching the same conclusion through her keen political insight.
"Thanks to your input, I have made my decision."
With that, Blake rose to his feet, his hand resting once more on the hilt of his sword, a meaningful smile playing on his lips.
"We will take part in the defense of Redcliff Fortress. Prepare yourselves, everyone. This time—we will forge a new path forward for ourselves. A new future."