Second day of the War

The second day of battle dawned with a chill more bitter than the last. The snowy expanse of the Northern borders glittered under the muted glow of the rising sun.

Despite the frost, the mood across the tripartite camps remained confident. So far, the Shelb, Valenhart, and Imperial armies had succeeded in containing the beast tide.

Two more Hamoon tribe scouts had been found in the early hours—alive. The Shelb aerial patrol had done their part, swiftly swooping down from their mounts and binding the humanoid invaders.

The prisoners were turned over to the Valenhart command. It was becoming increasingly clear that this wasn't a mere mindless beast tide, but a calculated invasion masked by chaos.

A small squadron of five soldiers moved steadily toward the northernmost communication relay tower.

At the front, Lysander Valmont led the way, his cloak fluttering like a silver banner in the wind.

Behind him walked Magda, robed in grey trimmed with violet runes, and following close behind her, Vivian, clad in reinforced black leathers stained with beast blood. She held her blade low, each movement practiced and deadly.

The location was perilous. The northern relay tower stood closest to the edge of the battlefield, where the frost-slicked ground bore claw marks and the sky above still trembled with mana residue.

Fredrick had used the temporary lull in the beast tide—now reduced to mostly blue, indigo, and violet-tier beasts—to send Magda and Vivian forward under Lysander's guidance.

Vivian and the soldiers made swift work of any stray beasts that threatened their path. Their movements were fluid, precise, brutal when necessary.

By the time they reached the tower, the wind was sharp enough to cut skin. They began the climb, scaling the metal-wrought structure with haste.

At the top, the wind howled louder, and from the viewing platform, the battlefield stretched out like a chaotic painting.

The aerial troops and the ground troops coordinated as they took turns cutting down the beast ranks.

Magda immediately approached the central node—a dormant auxiliary transmitter half buried under snow and ice.

She wiped it clean with her sleeve and began adjusting the dials, fingers working swiftly across the brass knobs.

The carved rune plates responded under her touch, glowing faintly.

Her aim was to find the correct frequency that resonated with what she now called the life mana signal.

Lysander stood a respectful distance back, arms folded, eyes narrowed.

Vivian stood by the stairs, eyes on the horizon, her other senses attuned to the tension vibrating through the ground.

She frowned slightly. "Something shifted," she muttered under her breath. "The aura... it feels different."

Lysander looked at her, curiosity flickering in his gaze. "You sense aura that clearly?"

"More than most," she replied. "Especially compared to male users. Women are more attuned to the fluctuations."

Lysander raised a brow but said nothing.

Then, almost unconsciously, he murmured, "Yes, you're right. Something feels off."

Vivian turned sharply. "Wait—you can sense aura?"

Lysander blinked, as if realizing his slip. "I meant—I mean, just a hunch. Probably nothing."

Before she could question him further, he briskly stepped away and joined Magda at the transmitter, posture tightening as he leaned in to assist her adjustments.

The rest of the squadron circled the platform, guarding every direction.

Then, all at once, the static-filled silence broke. Every one of their Talkers—palm-sized communication devices crafted from etched mana stones and alchemical copper—crackled to life.

"Airborne units, come down. Now," came Micheal's voice, slightly distorted but sharp with urgency.

Lysander and Vivian immediately turned toward the receiver node.

"This is Micheal von Shelb. My mana fluctuation meters are showing an abnormal spike. Atmospheric readings suggest the presence of a high-tier aerial predator. Possibly a dragon."

The frequency widened. Everyone on the frontline who had their Talkers synced could hear the transmission.

But those with keen ears could sense something beneath Micheal's words.

A plea. Not to the armies—but to one man.

To Ethan.

Fredrick's voice came through next. "No red-tier aerial threat has been recorded in the Northern quadrant. No dragon signatures confirmed."

"I know what I'm reading," Micheal's voice crackled, a tremor slipping in. "My equipment has kept thousands alive since I arrived. I trust it. You should too."

Ethan's voice followed, clipped and skeptical. "We're holding aerial control. If we retreat now, we lose advantage."

"This beast tide has been too mild," Micheal replied. "The Hamoon scouts are too convenient. The madness among the beasts is too patterned. Something is waiting."

"Enough!" Fredrick snapped. "We need these channels for real coordination, not wild theories—"

But Micheal interrupted again, his voice lower now. Controlled. Intimate.

"If you die up there, she dies too."

A pause.

Others didn't know what he was talking about. But Ethan did.

Vivian, standing beside the relay, blinked. Her brows drew together.

Micheal never said her name. But the message struck Ethan hard.

He knew, if he died, and something truly dangerous was lurking, Vivian would follow.

She'd come for him. Try to save him. That had been their dynamic since they first stepped into the battlefield together.

Fate had always ensured that she fought alongside him, even if he hadn't wanted it.

But now if it was against a dragon? She'd stand no chance.

Ethan had noticed the changes in Micheal—he who was never trained in the art of war was pacifying armies and coordinating battle plans.

Fredrick was about to protest again, but Ethan's next words stopped him cold.

"I understand. I'm calling my men down."

"Ethan, you can't be serious." Fredrick couldn't believe what he was hearing.

There was shock in the silence that followed.

Fredrick watched as the Shelb aerial troops, their eyes in the sky, descended.

"I'm blindly trusting you on this, Micheal. Just this once," Ethan said as he guided his Wyvern into descent.

"You won't be disappointed, Elder Brother," was all that came in reply.

Lysander narrowed his eyes at the Talker in his hand. "What the hell is happening… Micheal, you."

Vivian clenched her jaw but said nothing. She felt as if this was adding to her premonition.

From another device, Fredrick's voice buzzed again. "Then what? You want us all to pull back?"

"Yes," Micheal replied. "Fredrick, I need you to vacate the Phoenix Fortress. Get to the outer wall of the castle. Cross the bridge. Now."

Fredrick was not used to being ordered on the battlefield. "Us? The vanguard?"

"The battle will move inward soon enough. The enemy won't require the land to cross over to the castle," Micheal's voice seemed as if he was calculating.

Fredrick hesitated. "We're holding the line. I can't abandon it—"

But another voice broke through.

"MOVE."

It was Rüdiger.

Fredrick blinked, startled. "Rüdiger?"

"I can feel it. Something with a larger mana field than anything I've encountered is moving toward the Phoenix Fortress. Something that would eclipse even me. And Magda…"

The tone shifted, deepened with unmistakable anger.

"…is standing exposed in the northmost relay tower? Who decided to send my niece into the frontlines?"

Silence.

No one answered. Not even Micheal.

He hadn't known. He would have never let Magda anywhere near the battlefield.

But now that he did, his hand gripped the Talker tighter, his heartbeat spiking.

What was Lysander thinking?

He gave a comms soldier who stood nearby the keys to handle the monitoring devices he had been controlling from the fort. For now, he was to be Micheal's proxy.

The monitoring devices were connected to every reinforcement unit and other surveillance nodes Micheal had planted around the fort over the past week.

Before anyone could notice, he slipped out of the comms tower in the Valenhart castle.

Before long, Rüdiger's voice was heard again. "Someone get to her. NOW. She's the imperial princess. We lose her, we lose the Empire's last hope."

Micheal's steps quickened. If there was another person who would die for Magda here, then it had to be Rüdiger. 

And he wasn't going to question Rüdiger's instincts now, not when he knew what Rüdiger really was.

Magda, for her part, remained calm. Her fingers moved in steady precision across the transmitter's dials. Her eyes were locked on the fluctuating frequency lines.

She was close.

Vivian cast her a glance, then toward Lysander. Both of them moved subtly closer.

Something didn't feel right.

And the sky above was beginning to change.