The ground trembled as if the very bones of the earth stirred.
A radiant curtain of golden-white light descended upon the village, sweeping down like a divine veil from the heavens. With each heartbeat, the light intensified—brighter, warmer, almost blinding—until the very air seemed to hum with restrained power.
Just as it teetered on the brink of eruption, ready to explode outward in a devastating blaze, the brilliance shattered.
Not into fire—but into cascading embers. They floated gently, like autumn leaves kissed by the sun, spiraling down to settle softly upon the ground.
And where the humble village once stood—there rose something entirely new.
A towering wall encircled the settlement, now a full nine meters high, forged from polished whitewood reinforced with interlocked beams and gleaming iron bands. Along its crown ran a wide rampart, four meters across, broad enough for patrols, defense lines, or even carts if needed.
Braziers stood at fixed intervals, their fires igniting one by one with a deep orange glow, ready to repel the coming night. Four watchtowers stood far inside the forest, about 1 kilometres away, empty but waiting to be occupied, they were to watch the forest line and inform the town of approaching dangers.
But perhaps the most astonishing change of the upgrade was within.
The village had grown.
The land behind the walls had expanded, nearly tripling in size. Towering ten-meter whitewood trees now lined some of the inner paths, like silent sentinels watching over the settlement. Fifty newly-constructed homes dotted the landscape—no longer the rough shelters of a fledgling village, but solid, well-crafted dwellings, each with tiled roofs, glass-paned windows, and braziers outside their doors.
The barracks had transformed as well. It now stood proud and imposing—two stories tall, its stone and timber frame capable of housing at least fifty soldiers with ease. Weapons racks, training dummies, and even a modest war room could be glimpsed through its tall arched windows.
And then there was the lord's residence.
It no longer resembled a modest hall, but a proper manor. Its structure had shifted outward, creating more distance between it and the rest of the village.
An upper floor had been added—graced with balconies, tall banners bearing the crest of House Ashbourne, and a tower-like corner study that overlooked the square.
One of the windows was left open, a gust of wind stirring the silken curtains within. It wasn't hard to imagine the bedroom now tucked into the upper level—a proper place of rest for the one who carried the burden of command.
The air felt different now—crisp, noble, heavy with potential.
Whitewood was no longer just a village.
It had become a town.
And it was time to summon the Giant race!
Several kilometres away, from the battlements of a fortified town, Reuel and Aaron stood side by side, their eyes fixed on a striking sight below.
Across the snow-blanketed plains, a vast force of three thousand men clad in gleaming titanium armor—crafted from the same rare metal that armored the legendary Fourth Knight—moved steadily forward. The warriors rode warhorses, their powerful hooves carving deep, heavy prints into the frozen ground as they advanced in disciplined rows of ten, like a massive serpent winding through the white landscape.
From the top of the city walls, the two lords watched the column with a mixture of anticipation and resolve.
The pale winter sun cast long shadows, but their attention was drawn even more to a brilliant golden light burning steadily on the distant horizon. That luminous beacon—fiery and unyielding—marked Asher's territory.
The flame, visible for miles across the realm, was a signal known to all lords in Eden.
Aaron broke the silence, his voice low and thoughtful. "Do you think the snow has reached him yet?" His gaze remained locked on the glowing flame, a symbol of hope and defiance amid the cold.
Reuel's lips curved into a grim smile. "I do not know of that but we'll reach him within a day's march. And thanks to one of my owns here, we have the advantage. Before Asher can make any meaningful progress, a sword will be pressed to his throat."
Aaron chuckled, the sound echoing softly in the crisp air. "You still refuse to call him the Blood King."
Reuel's expression darkened with disdain as he turned his gaze toward the sprawling forces below. "He will never stand on the same platform as me," he scoffed, voice heavy with scorn. "Asher has always been nothing but a pawn—a fleeting shadow in this game. He will never truly be a king."
Aaron shrugged and began to walk toward the stone staircase leading down to the stables, where horses awaited their riders. "Then let's not waste any more time debating titles," he said with a steady confidence. "Come. It's time we met the man they call the Mad Duke."
Reuel followed closely behind, the cold wind tugging at their cloaks, as the two lords prepared to ride out.
In Whitewood, Asher stood firmly in the town square, his gaze fixed on the imposing sight before him—nine-foot-tall knights clad in gleaming crimson armor, marching out of the shimmering portal with disciplined precision. One by one, four hundred of these towering warriors emerged, each gripping massive warhammers and carrying enormous crossbows slung across their backs. When the last knight stepped through, the portal flickered and then closed silently behind them.
The surge of relief that came with the arrival of reinforcements was quickly overshadowed by the crushing weight of the news Asher had received upon returning to Nineveh. A message from his sister Mary lay heavy on his mind.
According to both Mary and Lucas' letter, there was a grim possibility that Crown Prince Aaron had taken her.
The memory of the Dauntless Knight's infuriating words about Aaron's tendencies echoed in Asher's mind, tightening the knot of anger and worry deep within him. He lowered his head, his jaw clenched in silent frustration.
"My Lord," came a soft but deep voice. Omar, commander of the towering crimson troops, stepped forward, breaking Asher from his dark reverie.
Asher cleared his throat, forcing himself back to the task at hand. "Our priority is building. Right now, we need to find sources of large stones—massive stones. Get familiar with this land; we'll be moving soon."
Omar bowed his head respectfully, and without another word, Asher turned and strode away, already planning the next moves, but one question hung on his mind.
Where exactly was Yuna?