Even beneath the glow of the magical lights, the girl's expression remained calm and wise. Her eyes were half-closed as she sat in silent thought. At her side stood Sidvi, her face as impassive as ever—cold, emotionless, like a machine forged from steel.
After a long while, the girl finally opened her eyes slowly.
"That is everything he said?"
"Yes, Lady Sister," Sidvi nodded slightly.
"They are truly Gifted Knights?"
"I can assure you of that. Though I cannot discern the range of their auras, their power is more than a match for my own. And if my senses do not deceive me, two of them wield auras of the Law system, while the third commands an Elemental aura."
"Truly astonishing…"
Lindilot's eyes widened a fraction. She understood perfectly well what Sidvi meant—this was information of critical importance to their cause. Yet the Silver Princess could not help but wonder how this would alter the tide of the coming conflict.
"All things considered, however, it is a blessing that we have learned of the enemy's strength before the battle begins," Lindilot concluded, closing her eyes once more. As she had said, this was a stroke of luck—but for the Sith Empire, the situation had grown considerably more precarious.
"Lady Sister, do you intend to agree to his terms?"
There was a rare hint of anxiety in Sidvi's voice. It was no wonder. Leaving aside their individual strength, the enemy already outnumbered them by a wide margin. The Sith Empire currently had only two Gifted Knights fit for battle: herself and Karan. Even without counting Black, the enemy fielded three Gifted Knights—enough to engage her and Karan in a one-on-one stalemate with one knight left to spare. Of course, these were merely speculations; no one could predict the chaos of the battlefield. But Sidvi knew Lindilot's temperament well—she had never been one to take unnecessary risks, and she had always abhorred wars that wasted the lives of her soldiers for no just cause.
Yet to Sidvi's surprise, Lindilot did not answer her question immediately. Instead, when she opened her eyes, a bitter smile tugged at her lips.
"Sidvi, do you know how the old Sith Empire fell?"
Sidvi fell silent for a moment, then shook her head. The historical records contained only vague accounts of the empire's demise, with no detailed explanations. The people of Sith regarded it as a stain on their history, a topic they avoided at all costs. Thus, even as one of the Four Generals, Sidvi had never been told the truth. And truth be told, she did not care—it was all so long ago, after all. The old Sith might have perished, but a new, mighty empire was rising in its place.
But now, the Princess had chosen to ask her this question, and Sidvi knew there must be a deeper meaning behind it.
"The old Sith was but a small, neutral kingdom," Lindilot began, her voice soft and distant, not waiting for Sidvi to respond.
"Our territory was tiny, comprising no more than two or three cities, and our people were few. For generations, Sith had lived in peace and tranquility—until the day everything changed. Two great powers fell into dispute: the Kingdom of Tyran and the Holy Green Alliance, hegemons of the eastern and western continents, respectively. No one knows what sparked their conflict, but soon enough, the two nations were locked in a bitter feud, and war seemed inevitable. Both sides mustered their full strength, along with their allied armies, and marched to the front lines. The forces stood ready for battle—but then, the tide turned."
Lindilot's voice grew somber as she spoke.
"For reasons unknown to this day, the supreme rulers of both nations ultimately decided to call off the war. We still have not uncovered the truth behind their decision, even though both countries have long since vanished into the annals of history… But that is of no consequence now. When the rulers ordered their armies to withdraw, they faced an unforeseen problem. The scale of the mobilization had been unprecedented, and countless soldiers were furious at having marched all the way to the front only to be denied the chance to fight. It was in this atmosphere of discontent that a young general proposed a 'peaceful' solution to resolve the conflict between the two powers."
When she spoke the word "peaceful," Sidvi detected a strange, bitter lilt in her beloved Princess's voice.
"His proposal was simple: hold a contest. Since neither side was willing to back down, they needed another way to settle their rivalry. And since they could not go to war against each other, there was only one alternative—attack a third party. Whichever side conquered this target first would be declared the victor. It would be a victory won on the battlefield, but not on their own soil. And our Sith was chosen to be that target."
Lindilot's voice grew lower, heavy with sorrow and helplessness.
"It was a catastrophe. Back then, Sith was a tiny kingdom with no strength to speak of, no ability to resist. And the forces arrayed against us were the two most powerful nations on the continent. Our defeat was inevitable… It had nothing to do with territory, or honor, or diplomacy. The old Sith was destroyed and conquered not because of any crime it had committed, but merely to satisfy the pride and vanity of two great powers. Sith had done nothing to deserve such a fate."
Sidvi's expression remained unchanged as she listened. This was indeed a humiliating chapter in Sith's history—a small nation that had been attacked and annihilated for no reason at all. No Sith could ever come to terms with that. They had buried the memory deep in their hearts, striving to forget. But not everyone felt the same way. Sidvi, for one, did not care. It was all in the past. The old Sith might be gone, but a new, formidable empire was rising from its ashes.
"This is a truth known only to our royal family. To the rest of the world, it was nothing more than an anecdote—a trivial story of a great power conquering a small kingdom during a distant campaign, a mere topic for idle gossip over dinner. But for Sith, it was everything. So when Sith rose again from the ashes, our ancestors swore a solemn oath: to forge Sith into a great power, a nation so strong that it would never again suffer such a fate. That is why we stand here today."
Lindilot's voice trembled with emotion for a moment, but she quickly composed herself. She had noticed that Sidvi was completely uninterested in this "patriotic lecture," but she did not mind—this was not the point. What came next was what she truly wanted to say.
"I know you care nothing for this history, but there is one thing I must tell you. The young general who proposed that fateful contest was none other than the leader of the *Doomsday Knights*—Black."
"Black?"
For the first time, a flicker of surprise crossed Sidvi's face.
"Lady Sister, you know as well as I do that this happened a very long time ago. And we both understand that even Gifted Knights are not immortal."
"Of course I do," Lindilot said softly, reassuring her.
"But Sidvi, you must realize that since that day, the name Black has become a taboo across the entire continent. Those who know the truth dare not even speak it aloud. And this is not the first time the name has appeared in the pages of history… That is why I am so uneasy. We know nothing of this man's origins, but the mere fact that he dares to use this name is enough to fill me with dread. I cannot take the risk… Perhaps I will speak to Father and ask him to postpone our invasion of the Kingdom of Westerland."
"That will not be necessary, Lady Sister," Sidvi spoke up suddenly, her voice firm.
"Whether he is some immortal monster or a fraud pretending to be someone he is not, the Sith Empire will never retreat! I give you my word—I will breach the Crimson Fortress! With Karan's assistance, I have no doubt we will succeed. Please, rest assured!"
"Are you certain this is what you want?"
At Sidvi's declaration, Lindilot's face clouded with worry for a moment.
"Yes, Lady Sister. I have made my decision. Please place your trust in me."
"Very well," Lindilot nodded, seeing the resolve in Sidvi's eyes.
"For safety's sake, I will send you an additional thirty thousand troops. Remember, Sidvi—do not always rush headlong into danger. I do not wish to see you wounded, let alone lose my dearest friend. If you ever find yourself in mortal peril, I beg you to make a wise choice. Do not forget the story I just told you… Temporary humiliation is nothing. As long as we seize our opportunities and strive for strength, one day we will wash away all these indignities with our own hands."
"I understand, Lady Sister."
This time, Sidvi made no retort. She bowed deeply, her voice filled with solemnity.
"I will keep your words close to my heart."
The magical light in the air congealed suddenly, and the Silver Princess's form shattered into countless brilliant shards of light, vanishing without a trace. When Sidvi raised her head again, her face was etched with nothing but gravity and determination.
Thousands of miles away, Black had no inkling that the Princess and General of the Sith Empire were discussing him. But rumors, like wildfire, always found a way to spread.
"Achoo!"
Black rubbed his nose, then looked up to find Ophelia and Charlotte gazing at him with worried expressions.
"Lord Black, are you feeling unwell?"
"Master, shall I examine you?"
"I'm fine," Black waved a hand dismissively, turning his attention back to Viscount Wen and Della, who sat awkwardly beside him, forcing strained smiles. There was now a faint glimmer of envy in their eyes as they looked at him. Truth be told, any man would be flattered to be the object of such concern from so many beautiful women. After leaving the reception room, the two men had followed him closely, clearly eager to speak with him in private. So Black had invited them to his temporary quarters in the Crimson Fortress.
"Now then, let us get back to business, Viscount. What brings you here? I would have thought the Byrd family would be quite busy these days."
"We have made all the preparations you instructed, Mr. Black," Viscount Wen straightened his posture at once, answering solemnly.
"The old patriarch has begun mobilizing all the family's forces and putting them through intensive training. We have also started reinforcing the defenses of our territories. But to be honest, we do not know if any of this will be enough. The power of a Gifted Knight is far beyond anything we can imagine."
"The Zachary family is doing the same," Della said quietly, picking up where the viscount left off.
"The clan leader has started deploying our men. It was not an easy task, but they are now in position."
This was hardly surprising. The Zachary family had only recently quelled an internal rebellion. Although the current clan leader had managed to suppress the dissenters, mobilizing the family's military forces was another matter entirely. Convincing everyone to entrust their strength to a clan leader who had not yet been formally installed was no small feat.
"I understand your concerns," Black nodded after listening to their reports, appearing unfazed. He pressed on with his earlier question.
"But you still have not answered my question, gentlemen. What are you doing here? Did you come all this way to relax, answering the royal summons?"
"Of course not," Viscount Wen let out a bitter laugh, shooting a helpless glance at Della, who remained as impassive as ever.
"The truth is, we came here for you, Mr. Black. We learned that you had accepted General Celt's invitation to come to the Crimson Fortress. So the old patriarch ordered me to lead the family's finest troops here, to see if there is anything we can do to assist you."
"I am here for the same reason," Della said, her words few but her meaning clear.
At this news, it was not Black who reacted, but Ophelia, who gasped in surprise.
"Viscount Wen—does this mean the Byrd family is willing to place its forces under Lord Black's command?"
"That is exactly what it means, Miss Ophelia," Viscount Wen confirmed without hesitation.
"We believe Lord Black has more than enough ability and strength to lead us! We also heard that before our arrival, Lord Black led you all on a special military mission. We do not know the details, but judging by General Celt's reaction, it is clear that Lord Black achieved a resounding victory. If he has earned the general's trust, then we have no reason to doubt him. Besides, we are in desperate need of real combat experience… It has been far too long since we last fought a war."
It was a perfectly reasonable explanation.
Ophelia said nothing more, though she still felt a twinge of unease. On the surface, however, the offer was undeniably tempting. What would Black decide?
She turned to look at him. He still wore that elegant, gentle smile, his expression unchanged even after hearing Viscount Wen's words. The lord was always like this—impossible to read, impossible to fathom what was going on in his mind. But to everyone's surprise, this was what Black said in reply.
"I have heard your excuses," Black's smile never wavered, but his tone was sharp and direct.
"Now, let us hear the truth."