"We thank you both for the warning," the captain said as he led Ren and Argo through the heavy black-stone gates of the fortress.
The wind whistled through the cracks, carrying with it the stench of mildew and ash.
"Troops are being mobilized to reinforce the defenses immediately."
When the gate slammed shut behind them, the sound compressed, making the space within feel all the heavier.
Torches along the corridor licked the stone walls, carving out slow-shifting patches of light and shadow.
The commander halted, meeting Ren's eyes with a solemn nod weighted by responsibility.
"Knight Kizmel also ordered that if you appeared, you were to be received with the utmost respect. Thanks to your efforts, the Sacred Relic was safely delivered to the Kingdom of Lyusula. I am deeply grateful."
Ren only gave a faint smile, warmth blooming somewhere in his chest. The words were simple, yet they meant much to someone who had just trudged through a night of snow.
Argo dipped her head slightly, her expression caught between pride and embarrassment; her fingers clutched the edge of her cloak.
The soldiers guided them deeper into the fortress. Along the stone steps and passageways, Ren noticed groups of guards gathering at corners. They weren't exactly relaxed, but neither did they seem frantic.
They checked equipment, polished weapons, warmed their hands against their sleeves, and exchanged quiet words.
Every so often, their eyes flicked toward the main gate, expectant, as though waiting for something.
"Regrettably, we cannot welcome you properly under such circumstances, our friend," the captain added, his tone both laced with pride in the fortress's defenses and tinged with regret.
"But once this is over, we shall have time to celebrate."
Ren silently followed, eyes tracing the statues and reliefs etched into the walls, the intricate ancient patterns, the figures of Dark Elf warriors immortalized for their deeds.
His hand brushed against the insignia on his chest before his gaze swept the surroundings: lanterns, carpets spread across certain halls, the steady rhythm of footsteps echoing like a living pulse through the stronghold.
Everything gave the impression of a fortress alive, breathing, and yet ever-vigilant.
Still, Ren did not miss the most important detail: its position. He noted the front face of the fortress, where it met the lake.
The waterway was clearly the only viable approach wide enough for an army to launch an assault.
Though the stone defenses along the shore were formidable, even the most sophisticated commander could not ignore one fact:
To breach this place, the enemy would need a fleet large enough and battle-tested in naval combat, along with the skill to maneuver warships through the waves.
Argo, meanwhile, glanced around as she walked, her eyes sharp like a merchant sizing up goods. She muttered, "If the Fallen Elves are building ships, then… they've already solved one of the hardest pieces."
Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried enough for the captain and a few nearby soldiers to hear, their heads snapping around briefly.
The commander pressed his lips, his face darkening. "That is why every movement must be reported at once.
If warships truly approach this fortress from the lake…" He paused, his gaze sweeping the stone walls as if weighing his words, "…then the balance will shift. We must prepare for every possibility."
The Dark Elf captain spoke slowly, his tone dropping as though measuring every syllable.
"We have dispatched scouts to the area said to be the Fallen and Forest Elves' mustering ground.
The intelligence will return soon. As much as I would wish to bring you before the Duke himself… it is too late in the night, and with his illness, even I receive commands only from behind the curtain."
His eyes dimmed for a moment, then hardened once more.
Ren nodded, asking nothing further, a pale breath escaping into the cold air.
He understood such caution. A man of the Dark Elves' Duke's stature would not be easily approached, especially in these unsettled times.
"…By the way," Ren raised his head, eyes sharpening, "I want to know where Kizmel and our other two companions went."
The captain paused for a heartbeat, as if recalling precise words, then answered:
"After their audience with the Duke, they departed on a secret mission. Knight Kizmel instructed that… if all went well, they would return before tomorrow's dawn. But…"
He trailed off, tilting his head toward Ren and Argo, his voice dropping lower, "…everything depends on ensuring the enemy does not find It before we do."
The stone corridor chilled instantly. That single word....It, fell like a stone into a chasm, echoing in Ren's mind. He frowned.
Argo seized the moment, her eyes flashing with curiosity. "What is It? Another relic? Or… something even more important?"
The captain only shook his head, gaze guarded. "I have no right to reveal it. I only know this: if It falls into the hands of the Forest Elves, then this fortress's very existence will be meaningless."
Ren held his silence, though suspicion now burned deep in his eyes. That familiar feeling again, another secret, another game of which he was shown only a fragment of the board.
Argo glanced at him, caught his expression, and swallowed hard. For the first time, she felt the night air inside the fortress colder than the snowfall outside.
They were given a chamber in the castle to rest. Yet even knowing they could do nothing for now, neither Ren nor Argo could find sleep.
Through the night, sounds drifted in: hurried footsteps along the corridors, the clatter of iron armor, sometimes sharp and urgent, sometimes deep and heavy.
Here and there came clipped exchanges between guards, their tense words cut short by gusts of wind seeping through the window slits.
The fortress itself seemed like a great beast stirring, bracing to hurl itself into battle.
The clatter of supplies being hauled away, likely weapons and munitions, hinted at storerooms being stripped bare, readying for a siege.
Now and then, faint notes of a signal horn echoed from the inner courtyard, cold and foreboding, as if heralding something drawing near.
Ren sat with his back against the wall, eyes half-closed but never asleep, while Argo curled under the blanket, shifting restlessly now and then, unsettled by the ceaseless noise outside.
The room itself seemed to shrink by the minute, weighed down with an unspoken sense of waiting.
"Hey… tomorrow I'm leaving," Argo suddenly broke the silence, her voice cutting through the heavy air of the chamber.
Ren stiffened, his eyes opening wide toward her. "Mm… leaving should be safe. Your job is already done here. Sorry for dragging you into this mess."
Argo sprang upright from the soft bed, the blanket slipping off her shoulders. "What are you talking about? Besides you, Kirito and Asuna are also my friends. I can't just abandon them like this."
Ren froze for a moment, lips parting but no words coming out.
"I want to try negotiating with the two guilds." Argo paused, her gaze sharp and unwavering on Ren, as if she meant to pierce the night itself to read whatever thoughts lay behind his calm expression.
He tilted his head slightly, listening intently. The moonlight falling through the window traced along the strands of hair on her shoulders, making them glimmer like silent streams of silver cutting through the dark.
Argo let out a soft sigh, her lips moving in a muttered grumble. "Damn beautiful bastard…"
Ren blinked but said nothing, waiting patiently for her to continue.
"I hope the two guilds will once again lend their aid to the Dark Elf… like they did back on the third floor." Argo's voice sank low, carrying both hope and worry, as though even she wasn't certain of the outcome.
The next morning, Ren parted ways with Argo. He stood quietly at the harbor, watching the slim figure of his friend and her small boat drift farther and farther away, until it became no more than a faint dot swallowed by the misty horizon.
Only when the last wave lapped softly against the pier did Ren finally turn back. A vague emptiness welled up inside him, difficult to name.
Without Argo, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now.
He had no clear role in the Dark Elf's war preparations, yet doing nothing only made the unease grow stronger. So he rolled up his sleeves and helped the guards carry supplies.
The crates were heavy, filled with raw stones that gleamed faintly under the pale morning light.
Ren raised his brows in surprise when he saw catapults already mounted along the ramparts, massive war engines he had never expected to encounter in this place.
Together with the soldiers, he stacked quivers of arrows in position, checked crates of freshly honed spearheads, and arranged coils of bowstrings so numerous it seemed a rain of death could be loosed at any moment.
Later, Ren made his way down to the harbor, inspecting the number of boats moored on the half-frozen lake. If the enemy advanced from the water, this would be the line where survival was decided.
The atmosphere within the fortress was tense, yet oddly weary at the same time.
The Dark Elf soldiers worked diligently, but Ren noticed their eyes lacked full focus, moving more by habit than conviction.
They looked like warriors waiting for orders, yet uncertain where to turn their gaze.
Unconsciously, Ren lifted his head toward the tallest tower of the castle. He didn't know exactly where Viscount Leyshren Zed Yofilis resided, but it had to be somewhere near that lofty spire.
And yet, from that place, no figure appeared. No command banner unfurled to signal leadership.
"These soldiers…" Ren muttered, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. A sense of unease stirred within him.
They needed a presence. A strong voice. A command that could make their hearts beat in unison.
Only with a true leader standing before them could the Dark Elf's strength gather, firm and unyielding.
He exhaled slowly, leaving the question hanging in his mind: was Yofilis truly such a leader?