In the Rock Bear Tribe
Inside the tent of the high shaman Babaru, preparations for a ritual were underway. Sitting before a mirror, she painted a third eye onto her forehead with black dye and draped herself in a bear pelt.
As the reflection grew darker, a sinister aura filled the tent. Rising slowly, Babaru stepped outside, where her long-time companion awaited—a second-tier magical beast, a siren. Its upper body was that of an exquisite maiden, while its lower body shimmered with scales. The siren spread its massive white wings.
Though the tribe's chieftain had attempted to conceal the identity of Kalina's killer, Babaru had her own sources. The Lania Kingdom's fledgling hero, Michael, was responsible.
Two hundred of her kin had been taken as prisoners, leaving the tribe paralyzed. Yet Babaru, long detached from her kin, felt only cold resolve. The moment she learned of Kalina's death, her heart had frozen over.
Mounting the siren, Babaru's voice echoed with fury. "Let's go! Kalina's death will not go unanswered."
Her eyes burned with vengeance as they soared into the night sky.
"Ha ha! It's refreshing to indulge for once, isn't it, Count Michael?" Randolph, the Crown Prince, declared loudly, his voice echoing through the grand banquet hall. Reclining comfortably in the seat of honor, he swirled the wine in his goblet, his broad shoulders radiating ease.
"All thanks to Your Highness," Michael replied politely. "The wine is exquisite."
Michael, recently elevated to count, sat between the Crown Prince and Duke Capone. Despite his newfound fame and elevated status, he maintained a cautious demeanor.
"Ah, this wine? Elise recommended it," Randolph said with a grin. "She's a woman of refined taste and knows how to support a man."
Michael suppressed a sigh. Randolph's casual mention of Princess Elise's name hinted at their growing familiarity. The banquet, hosted in the same opulent hall where a grand ball had once taken place, felt overly indulgent, especially given the war's ongoing challenges.
The dazzling chandelier hanging from the high ceiling illuminated the luxurious hall. Nobles mingled, chatting over delicacies and fine wine, their laughter mingling with the tinkling of glassware.
The ostentatious grandeur of the Elonia fortress starkly contrasted with the memory of its ill-equipped soldiers. Michael shook his head at the thought.
Nobles flocked to exchange greetings with Michael and the Crown Prince, eager to make an impression. Their overconfidence troubled Michael. The recent victory against the Rock Bear Tribe, one of the Five Great Tribes, had clearly emboldened the nobles of Lania.
"It's surprising how much the Elonians exaggerated their plight," remarked a viscount from the central regions, sipping his wine with a smirk.
"Indeed," another noble chimed in. "While we've endured countless wars, Elonia seems unaccustomed to conflict. They could have avoided such humiliation if they'd invested their wealth in military strength instead of luxury."
The group laughed, their derision filling the room. However, nobles from the northeastern provinces, more experienced with the Empire's forces, frowned at the remarks.
"They speak so lightly," one whispered to another. "They'll pay for their arrogance."
"Michael's victory was as much a result of careful preparation as tactical brilliance," another replied. "They underestimate the Empire at their peril."
The cautious northeastern nobles remained silent, unwilling to provoke their complacent peers. Even Randolph seemed unbothered by the reckless attitudes. Michael, too, chose not to intervene, merely observing with a faint smile.
The limitations of feudalism, Michael thought grimly. The reckless boasting and lack of coordination underscored the challenges of managing the coalition forces. The Special Task Force's covert operations had already been compromised by the fanfare surrounding their success.
Despite the festive atmosphere, Michael's unease deepened. The advancing Pamir Imperial Army was a formidable foe, one that demanded vigilance.
"Count Michael, what are your plans for tomorrow?" Randolph asked suddenly. "I plan to ride with Princess Elise after breakfast. Would you care to join us? We could discuss current affairs during the ride."
Most nobles would have eagerly accepted such an invitation, especially given the rumors of a potential royal engagement between Randolph and Elise. But Michael was not most nobles, and he had no interest in the prince's romantic pursuits.
"Forgive me, Your Highness," Michael replied, "but I have scheduled a full day of training with my soldiers."
"Oh? Then perhaps I'll visit after my ride to observe your training," Randolph suggested, his tone bright.
Michael's expression tightened. The Crown Prince's growing interest in his forces threatened to undermine his command. Noticing Michael's discomfort, Duke Capone interjected smoothly.
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"Your Highness," the duke said, "Count Michael has recently assumed his new title. As the head of his house, he'll need time to reorganize his forces. Perhaps a visit would be more appropriate at a later date."
Michael offered the duke a small nod of gratitude. Capone returned the gesture with a benevolent smile.
"Ah, I see," Randolph said, laughing lightly. "My apologies, Count. I got ahead of myself."
"Not at all, Your Highness," Michael replied, his tone measured. "It would be an honor to host you, but as the duke mentioned, I must first stabilize my position. I hope you'll visit once everything is in order."
Unaccustomed to deferring to others, Randolph simply laughed, brushing off the matter with ease. Capone, sensing the prince's growing agitation, quickly moved to diffuse the situation further.
"Count Michael, you seem fatigued. Perhaps you should retire early and rest," the duke suggested.
Michael seized the opportunity, pretending to press a hand to his temple. "Thank you for your consideration, Your Grace. Your Highness, with your permission, I'll take my leave."
Randolph, oblivious to the undercurrents, waved him off cheerfully. "Go, go. Rest well. We'll speak again soon."
Bowing politely, Michael exited the hall, his mind already shifting to the challenges ahead.
Randolph, the Crown Prince, seemed thoroughly satisfied and waved Michael off with a genial smile.
"Of course, go and rest. It just occurred to me—you've been fighting relentlessly without a proper break. To think I had you kneeling to receive a decree in such a state... Ha! My apologies. I should have let you retire sooner."
"It was an honor to speak with Your Highness," Michael replied courteously.
"Good to hear. Let's make time for more conversations in the future."
Michael bowed to those gathered, then left the hall. The banquet, however, continued in full swing behind him.