The duel came to an end just like that. The soldiers were satisfied—they had been treated to a spectacular show and had plenty of new gossip to chew on. Black was satisfied too—this little exhibition had shifted the situation subtly in his favor. And Semia was positively ecstatic, curled up in Black's arms like a contented kitten, her eyes half-closed as she let him stroke her hair. It could have been called a perfect outcome for everyone—if not for the one party who was far from pleased.
By the time the hapless nobleman was carried off the square, he was already clinging to life by a thread. Though Semia had held back significantly for the sake of her performance, high-level magic was still high-level magic. It was like comparing a nuclear bomb to a bullet—even a tiny nuclear device was still a weapon of mass destruction. The White Lightning, the Frost Shroud, and the Earthshaker—those three consecutive high-level spells had utterly drained the poor noble's life force, leaving him with no way to resist Semia's assault. That very night, the unfortunate man breathed his last, without even having the chance to utter a final word.
His retainers were not about to let this matter rest. In fact, shortly after his death, they stormed the headquarters, demanding that General Celt give them justice.
"This is murder! A vile conspiracy! The heir to the Chenis family cannot die like this! We demand retribution!!"
They shouted their accusations with righteous fury, but Celt had no intention of indulging their hysteria. He simply waved a dismissive hand and had the troublesome lot thrown out on their ears. The Chenis family was nothing more than a second-rate noble house—hardly worth Celt's attention. With war looming on the horizon, those nobles would soon be doomed to die by the sword if the fortress fell anyway. So he cared nothing for their so-called "heir." What was more, the man had only been a *secondary* heir. Besides his loyal followers mourning his demise, it was doubtful even his own family would shed a single tear over his death. Celt was not foolish enough to turn against that terrifying young man over someone so utterly insignificant.
At that moment, Celt's expression was grim. He leaned over his desk, his eyes fixed solemnly on the map spread out before him. Dozens of bright red crosses marked the locations where human forces had clashed with the Cyclops tribes—and by now, those marks dotted the entire map.
It was not that Celt dared not send his troops into battle. Even if his men were caught, he could simply disguise them as adventurers and flatly deny any knowledge of their origins. The Sith Empire could not possibly pin the blame on him without proof. But he still chose not to take this route, and the reason was simple: Celt knew all too well that he was severely lacking in capable men.
The Cyclops tribes had inflicted heavy losses on the Crimson Fortress, but their attacks were merely hit-and-run raids. His most trusted and skilled officers, however, were needed to prepare for the impending war against the Sith Empire. These were valuable assets—far too precious to waste on such trivial matters. The Cyclops were formidable foes, and their territory now lay within Sith borders. If the Sith Empire set a trap and caught his men, all the effort he had put into training them would be for nothing.
If it were just a matter of manpower, Celt would have gritted his teeth and thrown bodies at the problem to buy some peace of mind. After all, being able to focus on preparing for the real war would have been worth the cost. But no matter how many times he ran the numbers, he arrived at the same frustrating conclusion: eliminating the Cyclops would require a staggering number of soldiers. Anything less would be a futile endeavor.
These were the two core problems plaguing Celt—**manpower and quality**.
But now, Black had offered him a way out.
Celt had witnessed the young man's combat prowess firsthand—he was easily Celt's superior. And today, that girl had displayed power that bordered on terrifying right before his eyes. If the rest of the young man's followers possessed similar strength, then letting them handle the Cyclops problem might not be such a bad idea. But…
Celt's furrowed brows showed no sign of relaxing. He understood exactly what Black was getting at—and in fact, he was secretly impressed by the young man's sharp intuition. It had taken Celt months of in-depth investigation and analysis to reach his current assessment of the situation. But this young man had arrived only days ago, taken a single patrol with the garrison, exchanged a few words with Celt, and quickly pinpointed the crux of the problem. And this duel— it was no doubt a deliberate demonstration to reassure Celt that he had the strength to get the job done. Celt was certain that even if that foolhardy noble had not provoked Black, the young man would have found another way to prove his worth.
Yet…
Celt tossed and turned the matter over in his mind, but he still could not make a decision. The reason was simple—**Ophelia was part of Black's retinue**.
Celt fancied himself quite familiar with the former princess. Letting her travel the continent to gain experience was one thing. But this kind of military operation—long marches through the wilderness, ambushes, and brutal combat—was far beyond what most people could endure. And the princess had absolutely no combat experience to speak of. Celt even found himself silently blaming Black for dragging the princess into this mess. Did the young man not understand how dire the situation was?
Of course, grumbling aside, Celt knew that Black must have his reasons. But Ophelia was still the former princess, even if she no longer held that title. The bonds of old friendship still lingered. Moreover, after picking up on Black's hints that Ophelia's supposed "death" might have been something more than it seemed, Celt felt even more uneasy about letting her face any danger. So even though Black had dropped ample hints, he still could not bring himself to commit.
"Sigh…"
Staring at the map before him, Celt let out a long, heavy sigh. He shook his head helplessly, then turned his gaze back to the marked-up parchment.
"We've done everything we can."
Meanwhile, in his own room, Black wore a smile that was equal parts elegant and cunning as he addressed the others gathered there.
"Celt is no incompetent general. He'll make the right choice."
"But this is just your speculation, Lord Black," Ophelia said, furrowing her brows slightly.
"What makes you so certain that General Celt will agree to this?"
"It's simple," Black replied, tapping a finger lightly on the tabletop.
"From the intelligence we've gathered, the Crimson Fortress has been under attack by these Cyclops monsters for quite some time. But Celt has chosen passive defense instead of taking the initiative. That tells us he has no confidence in wiping out the enemy's main force in one strike. And during dinner, I took a close look at his officers. Their strength is mediocre—not terrible, but not great either. If they were truly willing to sacrifice themselves, dealing with a mere Cyclops tribe would be well within their capabilities. But it's clear they're not willing to pay that price right now."
"Why is that?" Ophelia asked, curious. Then she snapped her fingers in realization.
"Oh right! You said the Cyclops tribes are just a nuisance, and those officers are the fortress's elite. Throwing them into the fray against these monsters would be falling right into the enemy's trap, wouldn't it?"
"Precisely," Black said, snapping his fingers triumphantly. It seemed the princess had made some progress in military matters. While it was nothing to write home about, it was still a vast improvement over her previous state of complete ignorance.
"Even so, we cannot be certain that the general will agree to Lord Black's plan," Charlotte spoke up, her voice calm as she stood quietly behind Black.
"Why not?" Ophelia asked, looking at her in surprise.
"If everything is as Lord Black says, then we're the perfect choice, aren't we? General Celt is reluctant to risk his own men to buy time. But our retinue is a noble's private army—we have no official ties to the fortress. From a political standpoint, if General Celt lets Lord Black take on this mission, it will be easier for him to answer to His Majesty the King. At the very least, it will look like he's acting under the king's orders."
Ophelia trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid. In truth, she had another thought lingering in her mind—whether the king was doing this to save face or for real, Celt's decision would send a clear message to the other nobles: coming to the Crimson Fortress was not a vacation or a chance to mooch military merits. It meant fighting and dying on the front lines. That would make the great nobles even more reluctant to send their men, and the king's plan would end up falling flat on its face.
How shortsighted.
Ophelia's feelings were mixed. On one hand, she worried about the king's ill-conceived scheme. On the other hand, she found herself feeling a faint sense of… schadenfreude?
"Things are not that simple, Miss Ophelia," Charlotte said, then fell silent after that one sentence. When Ophelia looked up in confusion, she found Black watching her with an amused glint in his eyes.
"You mean…"
"Exactly. It's because of *you*, Miss Ophelia," Black said, spreading his hands.
"I don't know the exact nature of your relationship with General Celt, but it's clear you two know each other well—and that he knows you inside and out. I won't sugarcoat it: if General Celt chooses us for this mission, you'll face dangers and hardships you've never dreamed of. This is nothing like our leisurely little jaunt hunting bandits in Duskwood. This is a grueling, brutal assignment. Frankly, General Celt doesn't think you're up to the task."
"This…"
Ophelia frowned. Contrary to what Celt thought, her initial reluctance to go on this expedition had mostly stemmed from unfinished business back in her domain. Now that she was here, she found herself secretly looking forward to this kind of life. As a princess, Ophelia had never participated in any military operations in either her past or present life. Once, she had been forbidden from doing so. Now that she was free from those constraints, it was only natural for her to yearn for the chance to do something she had never been allowed to before. Deep down, she was eager for this mission. What was more, she was no longer the delicate, helpless young woman she once was. Her strength now surpassed even that of the orc soldiers under her command. Having trained so hard for so long, she was itching to put her skills to the test.
And there was another reason—after being thoroughly trounced by those two sisters in training every single day, she deserved a little payback, didn't she?
But if this was the real obstacle, then she could not speak up about it. She knew full well that Celt had recognized her, but she had already made her stance clear: she was no longer the princess she once was. She was a stranger with no ties to them. So she would not go running to Celt to plead her case.
"Don't worry about it," Black waved a hand, clearly unconcerned about the matter.
"After all, Celt is no fool. He's the fortress's commander-in-chief. Right now, his responsibility extends far beyond his own soldiers—it encompasses the entire nation's border defenses. I think he knows what he has to do."
Black's eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke.
"After all… he is a soldier."