"I am a soldier—so I have no choice."
This was the first thing Celt said when he met Black again. The old man looked at Black with an expression that was equal parts helpless and weary.
"Still… I have to ask. Are you really sure you want Ophelia on the battlefield?"
"She is my adjutant, General Celt," Black replied, sidestepping the question entirely.
"As a fellow general, you of all people should know what an adjutant's duties entail."
"Of course I do," Celt let out a bitter laugh. He opened his mouth to say more, then shook his head and abandoned the thought. Afterward, he pulled out a map and spread it out before Black. It marked the entire terrain of the river valley.
"To this day, we have not been able to locate the Cyclops tribe's true stronghold. As you can imagine, that is no easy feat in our current situation. Time is short, and our resources are stretched thin. The only valuable intelligence we have is right here…" Celt pointed a finger at a gully on the western bank of the river valley.
"This area has access to water, is easily defensible, and lies deep within Orlutian territory with a maze of interconnected passages. Every patrol we've sent here has encountered those monsters, and they all trace back to this spot. The problem is the terrain—it's far too complex. Look here. These gullies were carved by the river when it still ran full, creating a tangled web of paths. Without a guide who knows the area well, it would take weeks just to navigate. I know our intelligence is lacking, but… we have no other options left."
"I understand," Black said, studying the map intently. After a moment of quiet deliberation, he nodded and lifted his gaze.
"Is there anything you need from me?"
Celt gave a faint smile.
"Since I'm the one ordering you on this expedition, I won't let you go ill-prepared. Supplies, men—name whatever you need. Ask for anything, and I'll grant it if it's within my power."
"No need," Black shook his head, refusing outright without the slightest hesitation.
"Those things mean nothing to us. We have our own methods. All you need to do is cooperate—keep an eye on those stragglers wandering outside the fortress and don't let them slip through your fingers."
"Very well. I understand," Celt nodded. He knew exactly what Black meant. Clearly, Black's team would focus on striking the enemy's lair, leaving the scattered raiders outside their purview. The fortress would have to deal with those. It sounded simple enough—but Celt knew better than anyone how difficult that would be in practice.
"It won't be easy… but I have a few tricks up my sleeve," Celt said, keeping his methods to himself. Black did not press for details.
"When do you plan to depart?"
"That depends. When you notice I'm gone, you'll know we've left," Black replied, offering no specifics of his own. Celt did not ask further. Their conversation ended there.
But things were far from simple.
The day after their meeting, Celt received an order directly from the palace. It contained only one instruction: **immediately place the woman calling herself Ophelia, who was impersonating the late princess, under surveillance. Report her every move to His Majesty the King at once.**
"Just as I suspected…"
Staring at the order, Celt gritted his teeth. He was no fool. As the oldest and most respected of the three army commanders, Celt had a keen sense for political intrigue. Ophelia had only arrived at the fortress a few days ago—he hadn't even had time to send word of her presence to the capital, yet the king already knew. That meant there was a royal spy lurking within the fortress walls, watching his every move. But why would His Majesty do this?
The answer seemed painfully obvious.
Celt's mood was a jumble of conflicting emotions. He silently folded the royal order and put it away, with no intention of carrying it out. For only moments earlier, a messenger had delivered word: Black and his retinue had vanished from the fortress sometime during the night, their whereabouts unknown. Not a single guard on the fortress walls had seen them leave—not even noticed their absence until morning. This was no small village or town—it was a heavily fortified military stronghold! How had Black managed to pull this off?
Celt made no attempt to track them down. He simply went about his duties, making quiet preparations for his own part of the plan—after all, he could not rely on Black alone to get the job done.
While the royal order lay abandoned on Celt's desk, Black was already deep within the dense forests of the river valley.
"To General Celt, we are expendable. Or rather, our sacrifice is an acceptable loss. That's why he was certain to agree to my proposal," Black said, still dressed in his elegant noble's attire. Beside him, Ophelia wore the same scholarly robes as before. Behind them stood Messiah and Semia, holding hands as they gazed down from the hillside at the tangled maze of gullies below. Further back, the orc soldiers marched in silence, clad in their armor but traveling on foot, following the group without a word.
"Our strength is formidable, but…" Ophelia sighed at Black's explanation, her expression tinged with bitterness and helplessness.
"We are not military personnel. We will always be lacking in trust."
"We *are* trusted—up to a point," Black said, patting her on the shoulder.
"If we weren't, General Celt would never have agreed to let us take on this mission. But… to him, our sacrifice is an acceptable one. It's as simple as that."
Ophelia frowned, saying nothing more. Black noticed her troubled expression but did not elaborate. For all her sharp political instincts and experience, Ophelia understood very little about the mind of a soldier. She could not grasp Celt's perspective as a military commander—and that was her greatest flaw as an adjutant. To this day, she still instinctively approached military matters from a political standpoint, failing to recognize the fundamental differences between the two. The reason for her confusion was simple: from a politician's perspective, a handful of overpowered individuals like Black and Semia were far more valuable than a regiment of ordinary soldiers. But she overlooked Celt's position. As a soldier, Celt's first loyalty was to his country. Black, however, was a noble—not a soldier. Their positions were not equal. Nobles craved power; soldiers craved victory. Their goals were different, so their methods of operation were bound to clash.
Black had no doubt that deep down, Celt saw him as a dangerous wildcard. After all, the kingdom had stood for decades. The noble system, for all its flaws, was a stable and self-sustaining structure. But now, here was a minor noble from a declining house, displaying incredible power and commanding a retinue of equally formidable warriors—all in the midst of a chaotic war. It was only natural for Celt to worry that Black might seize the opportunity to carve out his own kingdom. Black's demeanor certainly did not suggest he was a man without ambition. So when Celt agreed to Black's proposal, he had likely entertained the quiet hope that Black would never return from this mission.
Perspective was everything. As a former princess raised in the world of politics, Ophelia could never fully comprehend the depth of a soldier's loyalty to his country. It was not just a belief—it was a faith worth dying to defend.
A faith worth defending by any means necessary.
"Master," a soft voice called out.
A tiny figure darted through the gaps in the trees. Charlotte moved like a graceful forest spirit, leaping from branch to branch before twisting mid-air and landing silently in front of Black, dropping to one knee in a respectful bow.
"Well?" Black asked.
"Just as you predicted—the terrain is extremely challenging," Charlotte replied, her smile as serene as ever, though her words brought no comfort.
"The gullies form a labyrinthine network. My sisters and I have scouted as thoroughly as we can, but we've found very few clues. We did spot some tracks, but strangely enough, they've all been deliberately obscured. The method is crude and amateurish, but surprisingly effective."
"For creatures with the brains of a rock, they've learned to cover their tracks?" Black raised an eyebrow.
"It seems the Sith Empire has been helping them quite generously. There must be a human commander directing them… though honestly, what surprises me more is that these monsters are even willing to take orders from a human."
"It *is* strange," Charlotte agreed, shaking her head with a smile. Her expression then turned serious.
"What are your orders, Master? Should we launch a wider search? Frankly, given how complex the terrain is, I doubt we'll find any useful leads by continuing our current scouting efforts."
"If we can't find them… then we'll stop looking," Black waved a hand dismissively, falling into thought for a moment.
"I have another plan. Gather everyone—there's something I need to say."
The group assembled quickly, gathering before Black. As always, he looked out at his soldiers with a confident smile. His gaze swept over the orc warriors, then flickered toward the "guests" lurking in the shadows nearby before he spoke.
"I think you all understand how important—and how difficult—this mission is for us."
The soldiers remained silent, listening intently.
"General Celt has ordered us to conduct a thorough search and patrol of this entire region. So we must do everything in our power to fulfill that order… Your mission is to split into squads and comb every inch of this river valley. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir!!" the orcs roared in unison. After a moment's hesitation, the "guests" hiding nearby echoed the response.
"Good," Black nodded, smiling at the assembled troops.
"Judy will assign your patrol zones. I expect you to carry out your duties to the best of your abilities. Now, rest here for a while and prepare yourselves for the mission ahead!"
At Black's command, the soldiers immediately sprang into action, checking their weapons and armor. Black had made it perfectly clear: this was a solo operation. There would be no reinforcements. They would have to rely on themselves.
But…
"Lord Black," Ophelia said, her voice laced with confusion. "I thought General Celt's orders were different from this?"
"Of course they are," Black admitted without a hint of shame. He then nodded at Judy, a cunning glint in his eyes as he spoke.
"I was just saying that to keep our guests entertained. Let them believe whatever they want.
"Judy, now for the *real* orders—no more idle talk. Gather our people, and make sure we move without being detected. As for our 'guests'… they've been enjoying our hospitality long enough. It's time they earned their keep. I think this little 'search mission'—which isn't nearly as dangerous as it sounds—would be the perfect task for them."