Visiting The War Front.

While Alexander spent time with his mother and friends.

Camilla drew closer to the border between the Western Empire and the Fallen Kingdom.

The closer she got, the louder distant artillery roared.

The ground slowly transitioned into a muddy and ruined landscape.

Trains laden with military gear and soldiers rumbled by, shaking the earth.

Soon, makeshift wooden buildings and tents dotted the landscape.

Soldiers in Fallen Kingdom blue uniforms rushed about, hauling supplies or orders.

Artillery shells boomed louder; far-off Ambur war zeppelins dotted the sky.

Some plummeted in flames, while others dropped bombs relentlessly.

Camilla's face hardened as her carriage halted.

She stepped out swiftly, boots sinking into the churned mud.

Gunpowder and rotten flesh assaulted her nostrils, leaving a foul taste.

"Lady Camilla—thank the goddess you're here," a Pathfinder in Ambur uniform approached, relieved.

"I assume your journey was well?"

Camilla eyed his torn, filthy uniform—face smeared with mud and blood, eyes hollow from sleepless nights.

"My journey was fine, Sir…"

"Joseph, my lady." He bowed quickly.

Camilla nodded. "Sir Joseph—where is my father, Commander Napoleon?"

Joseph pointed ahead.

"Second line, with his lieutenants, ma'am. Preparing an incursion into the Western Empire, but—"

"Is he mad?!" Camilla exclaimed. "They outnumber us six to one—it'll be a massacre."

Joseph nodded. "Yes, ma'am—but he's got good reason."

Camilla narrowed her eyes skeptically, then sighed.

"Take me to him."

"Yes, ma'am—follow me." Joseph jogged ahead.

Camilla trailed, scanning the chaos with concern.

Urgency built palpably.

Soldiers passed with weary faces; wounded littered the ground as medics darted between them.

The dire sights worsened the further they went, sending shivers down her spine.

Camilla had seen battles aplenty—but stagnant fronts were new.

Ambur's wars usually leveraged tech and overwhelming force.

But the Western Empire differed.

No ragtag force of brawn over brains.

They regularly commanded armies in hundreds of thousands.

Their guns evolved from shoddy muskets to proper rifles.

Their Mages blasted zeppelins out of the sky with world energy and their Generals conquered vast swaths.

Despite Ambur's tech edge—and the Fallen's alliance—the Empire remained formidable.

They reached the command tent: large, dark green, guarded by Ambur and Fallen Pathfinders.

Guards nodded as Camilla passed, entering a calmer—but no less tense—atmosphere.

"Dammit, Napoleon—are you mad?!" Lord Lance—Alexander's father—slammed the table.

"My Pathfinders have run too many missions for your grand plan. Now you want them assaulting a weapons factory?"

Napoleon, in red-and-gray Ambur uniform, sighed.

He exuded authority: long blond hair, deep red eyes, towering over officers.

"I know I've asked much," his deep voice rumbled. "But truthfully, your Pathfinders are best for hit-and-run."

Lance frowned up at him. "No—I refuse.

This war started with twenty in my house; now eight remain—including the three guarding my family. I won't let you throw them away!"

Napoleon bowed his head, eyes closing. "I see…"

"Father," Camilla interjected, stepping forward.

Napoleon's eyes snapped open; a weary, warm smile formed. "Camilla—good to see you."

"Father, what's this about an incursion?" She approached his side.

He sighed. "Yesterday at 0600, scouts from Zeppelin Marie reported a massive army deep in enemy territory: 50,000 infantry, 400 mages, 600 artillery."

Pointing to the map—front lines between nations.

Mountains covered most of the border, but a 148-kilometer (92-mile) stretch ran from the range's end to the sea.

The Fallen Kingdom, dwarfed by the Empire (quadruple its size), owed its survival to those mountains.

"The formation's likely here," Napoleon indicated, not far into Empire territory.

"Waiting to equip at this ammo factory."

Glancing at Lance, he sighed.

"Destroy it, and we delay that force long-term. But it's risky—not just any squad can pull it off."

Camilla nodded, eyeing Lance.

"And you think Daname has the best shot?"

"Exactly."

Lance frowned. "No—find another house to bleed dry. I'm done."

"Lance, surely you see the Commander doesn't ask lightly."

Lord Claus Von Statem, another Fallen noble, spoke reassuringly.

Lance shot him disdain. "You're one to talk—your house still has 100 Pathfinders. Send yours!"

Claus sighed. "I'd volunteer if I could—but my men aren't trained for hit-and-run."

He placed a hand on Lance's shoulder. "Only you foresaw that need."

"Tch." Lance shrugged it off. "No—you won't sacrifice my men because they're 'better.' Final."

Camilla frowned at him. "So you'd let thousands die? Your kingdom's at stake—how narrow-minded!"

Lance stayed silent.

"Answer, Lance!" Camilla demanded. "If we're talking unfairness, Ambur should rage about aiding you! Thousands of our souls rot in these trenches beside yours—yet we don't turn selfish."

"You don't understand," Lance replied. "I hand-picked and trained my Pathfinders."

There was pain in his eyes.

"I knew every one who died—from graduation."

Camilla quieted.

"I've watched them grow into warriors—knew their fears, dislikes, histories."

His fist tightened. "To see them die—memories flashing as their corpse hits the ground."

"This happened to me!" He pounded his chest. "Twelve times! I've watched it twelve times!"

Pointing at Napoleon: "And you ask again?" Voice cracking. "Imagine your daughter—her head popping like a bad melon. Would you still be willing to sacrifice?"

Heavy silence fell; tension thickened.

Napoleon frowned, glancing at Camilla—then Lance. "I can't fathom your pain," he spoke in a reverent, regretful tone. "War burdens us unevenly, no doubt."

"But war ignores emotions, feelings, desires."

His eyes narrowed determinedly. "It demands sacrifice, courage, resolve. If we abandon the call—who steps up?"

Lance was silent, frowning deeply.

"The Empire won't stop until it crushes your kingdom—or its manpower dwindles."

Napoleon continued.

"Our enemies are many and our resources scarce—but we have what'll win."

"Like?" Lance asked, skeptical.

"Hope," Napoleon replied.

"For a future without sacrifice—peace, prosperity."

He extended a hand. "But to realize it, we must endure this path. Will you help?"

The tent went silent; eyes on Lance, scanning skeptically.

With a deep breath; he looked up. "I won't force my men."

Napoleon's face fell; his hand retracted.

"But if you send your daughter with any volunteers—you have my support."

Napoleon paused, eyeing Camilla then Lance.

"She's capable… but…"

Lance stared.

The tent waited; tension peaked.

Camilla watched her father—his words pivotal.

"…she's stubborn. Sure you can lead her?"

Napoleon grinned, extending his hand again.

Lance's lips curved slightly; he grasped it.

"Dealt with worse—Elise's twin Sophia was a handful." He joked.