The western campaign ended without celebration.
There were no loud parades on the border. No music. No cheering crowds.
There was only wind moving across the dry plains of Solmara and soldiers dismantling camps in silence.
Arthur Albrecht von Frankenstein stood on a low ridge and looked at the horizon one last time.
The Kingdom of Solmara was no more.
Its banners had been lowered. Its fortresses now carried the crest of the Regalean Empire. Its king had fallen months ago on a quiet night under a sky without stars.
The war was finished.
At twenty-three, Arthur had spent eight years on the western border.
Now he was going home.
The capital of the Regalean Empire welcomed him with stone towers and wide white roads.
Word had reached the city before he did.
When his carriage entered the main military avenue, the streets were lined with soldiers.
Infantry in clean formation.
Knight orders in polished armor.
Magitech artillery divisions standing behind them, their mana cores dim but steady.
These were not ceremonial guards.
Many of them had served under him.
A captain's voice cut through the air.
"Field Marshal arriving!"
In one motion, thousands of boots struck stone.
The sound echoed down the avenue.
Salutes rose in perfect order.
Arthur stepped down from the carriage.
Golden hair moved slightly in the evening wind. Black sunglasses hid his eyes. A long sword rested at his waist, secured in a dark scabbard worn from use.
He looked at the soldiers.
Bandaged arms.
Scars across faces.
Young recruits trying to stand straight.
Older veterans watching him quietly.
They did not cheer.
They saluted.
Respect was quieter than noise.
Arthur walked forward.
The soldiers did not lower their hands.
A young knight near the front spoke suddenly.
"Thank you, sir!"
His voice was unsteady.
The officer beside him stiffened, ready to correct him for breaking formation.
Arthur stopped.
He turned his head slightly.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Leon, sir!"
Arthur nodded once.
"You held the eastern trench during the second assault."
The young knight's eyes widened.
"Yes, sir!"
"You did well."
That was all.
Arthur continued walking.
Behind him, the silence felt heavier.
Before entering the Imperial Hall, he turned back toward the soldiers.
"You held the line," he said calmly. "Remember that."
The captain's voice rose again.
"For the Field Marshal!"
The salute this time was sharper.
Not louder.
Stronger.
Arthur nodded once and entered the hall.
The Imperial Hall was colder than the battlefield.
White marble pillars.
Tall ceilings.
Nobles standing in ordered lines.
No dust. No wind. No blood.
At the far end sat the Emperor.
The hall doors closed behind Arthur with a low sound.
His footsteps echoed as he walked forward alone.
He stopped at the center.
He bowed once.
Not deeply.
Not casually.
"Your Majesty."
The Emperor studied him for a moment.
"The western border?" the Emperor asked.
"Secured," Arthur replied. "Solmara's remaining forces surrendered. Reconstruction teams are prepared. Our losses are within acceptable range."
His tone was even.
He might as well have been reporting on trade numbers.
"You have done well," the Emperor said.
Arthur did not respond to praise.
Facts were enough.
The hall remained silent.
Many nobles looked at him with careful eyes.
They knew he had fought.
Some knew he had led.
Only a few understood how much power he truly held.
"You have served since you were fifteen," the Emperor continued. "Eight years without pause."
Arthur remained still.
"The Empire is stable now. The western border will hold."
A short pause followed.
"You will take leave."
The words moved through the hall quietly.
Arthur lifted his head slightly.
"My leave?"
"Yes," the Emperor said. "You will rest."
Arthur did not feel tired.
But he did not argue.
"The Imperial University begins its term soon," the Emperor added. "You will enroll."
A faint shift moved among the nobles.
Arthur's expression did not change.
"I did not attend," he said simply.
"I am aware," the Emperor replied. "You were occupied."
A small silence passed between them.
"You will join directly in fourth year," the Emperor continued. "According to your age."
Arthur considered it.
Lecture halls.
Students.
Books.
Normal days.
It felt unfamiliar.
"As you command," he said.
The Emperor's voice softened.
"This is not an order, Arthur."
For a moment, the formal atmosphere thinned.
"It is a chance."
Arthur bowed again.
"Understood."
The audience ended shortly after.
As Arthur turned to leave, nobles stepped aside automatically.
Some bowed slightly.
Some avoided his gaze.
He walked out without speaking to any of them.
Outside, the evening air was calm.
The soldiers had dispersed, but a few remained near the gates.
They saluted quietly as he passed.
He returned it once.
A carriage waited.
Instead of entering immediately, Arthur looked up at the sky.
The capital's air was cleaner than the western plains.
No smoke from siege engines.
No scent of metal.
Just calm.
He adjusted his sunglasses slightly.
For eight years, every morning began with reports of movement along the border.
Every night ended with patrol routes and risk assessments.
Now there was nothing waiting.
No immediate threat.
No orders to give.
His hand rested lightly against the hilt of his sword.
It was still there.
That felt normal.
Everything else did not.
The Archdukal estate stood at the northern edge of the capital.
Tall gates.
Stone walls.
Simple but imposing design.
The crest of the Frankenstein family marked the entrance.
When Arthur stepped down from the carriage this time, there were no soldiers lined up.
Only family.
His grandfather stood straight despite his age.
His father remained composed.
His mother watched him carefully.
His younger siblings waited slightly behind.
No one spoke at first.
Arthur removed his sunglasses.
Hazel green eyes met theirs.
His mother stepped forward first.
She did not speak about war.
She did not speak about victory.
She simply reached out and touched his face lightly.
"You are thinner," she said.
"I am not," Arthur replied.
His grandfather gave a short nod.
"You returned."
"Yes."
His father stepped closer.
"The border?"
"Stable."
That was enough.
His younger sister suddenly moved forward and hugged him tightly.
"You took too long," she said quietly.
Arthur hesitated for half a second.
Then he rested a hand gently on her head.
"I was busy."
His younger brother stood nearby, trying to look serious.
Arthur looked at him.
"You have grown."
The boy straightened immediately.
"I train every day."
"Good."
It was simple.
No dramatic reunion.
No tears.
But the tension in the air slowly faded.
They had worried.
They would continue to worry.
But he was home.
Later that night, Arthur stood alone on the balcony outside his room.
The city lights were calm.
Somewhere in the distance, the towers of the Imperial University were visible.
He had passed the entrance examination years ago.
He never went.
At fifteen, he chose the battlefield instead.
He did not regret that choice.
But he understood now what it had cost.
He had no memories of academy festivals.
No dormitory arguments.
No careless afternoons with classmates.
He had reports.
Strategies.
Losses.
Victories.
He adjusted his sword slightly at his waist.
He would attend the University now.
Not as a commander.
Not as a symbol.
Just as a student.
Most of them would not know who he truly was.
That was fine.
He did not intend to tell them.
For the first time in years, the night was quiet.
No scouts to dispatch.
No formations to review.
Only the sound of wind against stone.
Arthur looked toward the distant university towers once more.
Then he turned and went inside.
His leave had begun.
And with it, a different kind of battle.
Not against enemies.
But against a life he had never learned to live.