After that incident, Crimson Fortress fell into an uneasy calm. The annihilation of the Mobius private army had served as a brutal wake-up call to the other nobles, forcing them to abandon their arrogant postures. They now kept to their camps obediently, no longer stirring up trouble—a welcome relief for Celt.
The only discordant note came when the royal family dispatched an investigation team to look into the Mobius massacre. Despite being directly under royal authority, the team was clearly not taken seriously. Celt had given them a perfunctory welcome, then informed them that his subordinates would assist with their inquiries before excusing himself on the pretext of pressing fortress duties, keeping a deliberate distance from the investigators ever since.
The investigators were understandably annoyed by Celt's snub, but they knew better than to push their luck. This was a military fortress, not the royal palace—even with a royal warrant, they had no leverage over General Celt.
Left with no other options, the investigation team quickly shifted their focus to Blake. Legend painted him as a man of immense power, but as a noble of the realm, surely he would show the royal family more deference than a stubborn military man. However, when they arrived at Blake's encampment, they were told he had left several days prior to "take a stroll and clear his head." As for when he would return—only the gods knew.
Misfortune truly came in threes.
Back-to-back setbacks left the investigators on the verge of tears. The military commander refused to cooperate, and the prime suspect was nowhere to be found. How were they supposed to conduct an investigation under these circumstances? On second thought, though, Blake's absence might be a blessing in disguise. The truth was, they were secretly relieved at not having to confront a man rumored to command dragon knights. With him gone, they could turn their attention to the eyewitnesses instead. After all, when the Mobius forces were wiped out, other nobles had been present. They had to be able to provide some valuable information, right?
To the investigators' further disappointment, the other nobles were even less willing to cooperate. Unlike Celt and Blake, who could afford to snub the crown, these nobles knew they were in no position to defy royal authority. But compliance was out of the question. They were well aware that refusing to assist the investigation might offend the powerful Mobius clan—but cooperating could get them incinerated by dragon fire, leaving them just as dead and scattered as the Mobius troops. The Mobius threat was distant and abstract; Blake's wrath was immediate and deadly.
The choice was a no-brainer.
The noble coalition had originally been split into three factions. With the scheming Mobius faction eliminated by Blake, the remaining two groups had no more enemies to contend with. Houses like Byrd, which had long been at odds with the Mobius clan, greeted the investigators with thinly veiled sarcasm, singing Blake's praises while painting the Mobius heirs as arrogant provocateurs who had ignored repeated warnings and sealed their own fates with their recklessness. After all, the dead couldn't argue back.
The third faction, meanwhile, was deliberately obtuse—either answering questions with irrelevant non-sequiturs or remaining stubbornly silent. When pressed too hard, some even threatened to cause a scene. Many of them had been sent to the fortress as cannon fodder by their families, and they bore no shortage of resentment toward their lords. If stirring up trouble could bring their own clans down with them, they would gladly burn everything to the ground.
Caught between a rock and a hard place, the hapless investigation team was at a complete loss. But soon enough, another event would transpire that would make their trivial troubles fade into insignificance.
The fifth day of the Frostmoon Blossom, Autumn.
On the second day after the expiration of the temporary truce, the Sith Empire finally launched its assault on the Oult capital. After holding out for three desperate days, the city gates were thrown open in surrender. The King and Queen of Oult chose to take their own lives rather than submit. All royal nobles within the palace were executed by the Sith army. From this day forth, Oult ceased to exist as a sovereign nation, reduced to a static footnote in the history books of every kingdom on the continent.
But what happened next would shock the entire continent to its core.
Following the fall of the capital, the Sith Empire did not do as it had always done—leaving the occupation to local garrison troops. Instead, for the first time in history, it deployed its elite home army to replace the garrisons, initiating sweeping reforms to the capital's administrative structure. This alone was not surprising; the complete annexation of Oult marked a historic victory, and changes were to be expected. What truly stunned the world, however, was the Empire's next move.
The armies of Sidwei the Puppeteer and Karan the Windbringer—two of the Sith Empire's legendary Four Scourges, who had been tasked with securing the occupied territories—marched directly to the border of the Wester Kingdom and deployed into battle formation.
They actually intended to attack Wester.
The news sent shockwaves across the continent.
It was no wonder. Though the Sith Empire was undeniably powerful, its original territory and population were far from dominant. The Kingdom of Oult, by contrast, was vastly larger. The Sith invasion had long been likened to a small snake attempting to swallow an elephant. Most nations had assumed that even after fully conquering Oult, the Sith would need years to consolidate their gains and digest the new territory. This was why, despite their growing unease, the other kingdoms had not regarded the Sith as an immediate existential threat. Time was a powerful ally, and fortunes could shift in an instant. But now, barely days after the fall of Oult, the Sith were already poised to launch another invasion?
For any ordinary nation, such a move would be sheer folly—a reckless overextension of power. But this was the Sith Empire. The entire continent held its breath, every eye fixed on the border between Sith and Wester, waiting to see what the Empire would do next.
If the Sith Empire declared war, what would it mean for the rest of the world?
No one knew.
For the defenders of Crimson Fortress, however, such questions were irrelevant.
"It has been fifteen days now," General Celt murmured, prodding the burning logs in the fireplace with an iron poker. His expression was grim and somber.
"The Sith army remains camped on the border. According to our intelligence, Sidwei and Karan are still holed up in their headquarters, making no move to advance. This is troublesome. We are left to hold the line on our own… and passive defense is never a good strategy."
Celt let out a long, heavy sigh, then turned his gaze to the assembled figures filling the large war room. In addition to his own senior officers, Blake and his retinue were also in attendance. Celt's eyes rested squarely on Blake.
"What are your thoughts on the matter?"
"They are biding their time," Blake replied, his words catching everyone off guard.
"The greatest strength of Gifted Knights is their ability to maintain peak combat readiness at all times, in any situation. For the Sith Empire, this means they can launch their attack on any day of their choosing. Until then, they can afford to wait indefinitely. Which means we must remain in a constant state of high alert, day and night. But for them? They need only wait for a single command. The current situation is extremely unfavorable to us… after all, the initiative is not ours to seize."
"We still do not know the Sith Empire's true motives," Ofaliel added, speaking up in her capacity as Blake's advisor. She had grown far more confident in the war room, her bearing that of a seasoned stateswoman rather than a sheltered princess. Having been raised in the royal court, she was no stranger to addressing crowds of military men. To her, these officers were simply another audience to persuade.
"While it is possible they are merely trying to apply pressure through posturing, based on the Sith Empire's past tactics, the situation is likely far more complex than it appears. I suspect they are employing a two-pronged strategy to box us in, leaving us unable to act or retaliate freely."
"What do you mean by that, young lady?" one of the officers asked, frowning in confusion.
"The situation seems clear enough. The enemy has massed their army on our border. Are they not here to invade? Could it be some kind of military exercise? We all have eyes—how can we misinterpret what is right in front of us?"
"Because what we see is not necessarily the truth those in power wish to believe," Ofaliel countered with a faint, knowing smile. "And the truth they seek may be something we cannot see at all."
Celt nodded slowly, a look of approval in his eyes as he regarded Ofaliel. He had always known the former princess possessed a sharp mind for politics, but her insight into the Sith strategy was impressive. Of course, Celt also understood why she was able to see through the Empire's tactics so clearly—she knew King V of Wester far too well. His character flaws, his lack of confidence, his penchant for reckless decisions… none of this surprised her. From the very beginning, Celt had seen through the king's bluster and bravado, recognizing the deep-seated insecurity beneath. The king's imperious tone and demands had none of the calm assurance of a ruler who had everything under control; instead, they betrayed a desperate, impulsive anxiety. His decision to assemble the noble coalition was a prime example—like a gambler doubling down on a losing hand, throwing more chips onto the table in the vain hope that sheer quantity would turn the tide, regardless of the quality of his forces. It was a classic sign of crippling self-doubt. And faced with the overwhelming pressure of the Sith Empire, Celt could only imagine how easily the king would fold.
What a pity.
Celt glanced at Ofaliel again, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. He had always held high hopes for the young princess, believing she would have made an excellent ruler for Wester. If she had ascended to the throne instead of her brother, the kingdom would surely be far stronger today. Faced with the current crisis, she would never have allowed Wester to be reduced to such a passive, defensive position… but all such possibilities had vanished with her supposed death. In the end, her weak-willed brother had become king, a man clearly unfit to govern a kingdom, yet possessed of ambitions far grander than those of his father.
Celt shook his head, pushing aside his misgivings. What he did not realize was that Blake had been watching his every expression closely, noting the flicker of regret and disappointment in the old general's eyes.
"Setting aside the political machinations for now, we must focus on our defenses," Celt declared, bringing the meeting back to order. "Whether or not Ofaliel's predictions prove correct, small-scale skirmishes are inevitable."
"The main fortress gates are secure enough, but Crimson Fortress is only designed to defend against frontal assaults. It is vulnerable to infiltration through smaller, less guarded passages along the walls. In addition to leveraging the natural defenses of the river valley, we will need to redeploy our forces accordingly."
Blake nodded silently in agreement. Narrow borderlines like this were common in many nations. In his own world, his homeland had built the Great Wall—a colossal, impregnable barrier—to repel foreign invaders. But the kingdoms of this continent lacked the resources and resolve to undertake such a monumental project. Instead, they relied on natural barriers to defend their borders: towering mountain ranges, winding river valleys, treacherous swamps—terrain hostile to large-scale troop movements. Fortresses were then built at strategic chokepoints along these natural defenses, guarding the only viable routes through the wilderness. To bypass these fortresses and cross the natural barriers would cost an invading army dearly, possibly even leading to its complete annihilation. But capturing the fortress would open the floodgates, allowing the invaders to march unimpeded into the heart of the kingdom, with easy access to supply lines and reinforcements. This was why, no matter how well-defended a fortress might be, invaders had no choice but to storm its gates head-on.
Of course, while large armies could not sneak past these defenses, small elite units were another matter entirely. Especially under the current circumstances, both sides were keeping a close eye on each other's troop movements—any large-scale redeployment would immediately trigger the enemy's vigilance. Small-scale infiltration attempts, however, were far harder to detect. If the Sith could sneak their elite troops across the border, they could wreak havoc in Wester's rear, sabotaging supply lines, destroying infrastructure, and creating chaos. Such raids could tie down valuable fortress defenders, forcing them to split their forces to protect the homeland. Throughout history, many seemingly impregnable fortresses had fallen precisely because their defenders were distracted by enemy raids on their rear.
This was why Celt had called this military meeting—to address the defense of these "border rat holes," a task far more challenging than fighting the mindless cyclops monsters they had faced before. The cyclops were strong, but they were stupid; with enough effort, they could be defeated easily. But the Sith infiltrators would be elite soldiers—skilled, disciplined, and cunning. Defending against them would require far more than just tightening security and increasing patrols.
"First and foremost, the main fortress garrison must remain at full strength at all times," Celt ordered, slamming his fist lightly on the table to emphasize his point. He pointed to the military map spread out before them. "Starting today, ensure your men are rotated properly to maintain peak combat readiness. No exceptions."
"Captain of the First Company—you are responsible for the defense of Sector Three. Remember: hold the line at all costs!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Captain of the Fifth Company—you will coordinate with the Twelfth Company to defend Sector Nine. Report any Sith movement immediately, no matter how small."
"Yes, sir!"
"As for the Fifteenth Company…"
Celt issued his orders methodically, plugging the gaps in the border defenses one by one. As the fortress commander, he knew every inch of the territory like the back of his hand—where the weak points lay, where defenses could be relaxed, where a single breach would spell disaster. The old general was a master of troop deployment. But when he reached the end of his directives, Celt turned to Blake, making a decision that left every officer in the room stunned.
"Lord Blake. I need you and your men to take charge of the fortress's right-flank defenses… do you have any objections?"
The words hung in the air, and the faces of the assembled officers turned ashen in unison.