Daniel refused to negotiate.
Not a word was offered beyond courtesy, not a single concession hinted at, until House Elvaren itself came to him.
The royal envoys had returned empty-handed twice, their polished armor dulled by the unspoken humiliation of rejection. Each time they brought back the same answer—calm, unwavering, absolute.
Send the Elvarens. Or send no one.
When the banners of House Elvaren finally appeared at the edge of Daniel's encampment, the wind itself seemed to still.
The camp stood near the kingdom's borderlands, where scorched earth met stubborn grass and the scent of war never fully faded. Rows of disciplined tents formed precise lines, crimson standards marked with a simple sigil—two crossed blades beneath a rising flag—fluttering in silent authority.
Daniel stood at the center.
He wore dark armor traced with thin crimson channels that faintly pulsed with mana. It was not ceremonial armor. It bore scratches, dents, stains that no servant would dare polish away.
Behind him stood the Red Flags Battalion.
True warriors who had met his expectation.
Demonic Beast Killers.
Survivors, yet some so young and determined.
When Titus Elvaren dismounted and stepped forward, flanked by retainers and guards, Daniel did not bow.
He did not incline his head.
He simply spoke.
"I am Daniel Bellhem," he said, voice steady and carrying without effort. "General of the Red Flags Battalion."
The title struck like a hammer.
Several Elvaren retainers stiffened. A few exchanged glances, unsure whether to challenge or accept the declaration. Titus, however, showed no outward reaction—only narrowed eyes, sharp with calculation.
Then Daniel's gaze shifted.
Mimi stood slightly behind Titus, dressed in noble travel attire, posture immaculate. The moment their eyes met, something subtle changed.
Her polite composure wavered.
Just for an instant.
Daniel felt his heartbeat stumble, then quicken, a warmth spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with mana or battle. It surprised him—how easily she cut through the hardened layers he wore like armor.
He smiled.
Not the smile of a commander.
But of a man.
Mimi returned it—small, restrained, yet unmistakably real.
Daniel turned back to Titus.
"I know your situation," he said calmly. "I know how close House Elvaren is to being erased—not because of incompetence, but because the kingdom finds it convenient to let you bleed."
The words landed with surgical precision.
Titus's fingers tightened.
Daniel continued. "I will not offer vague promises. These are my demands to the king."
The air thickened.
"First," Daniel said, raising a finger, "House Elvaren will be declared the financial authority of the kingdom. Full oversight of treasury, logistics, and war funding. No interference from other noble houses."
Gasps followed.
"Second," he said, unmoved, "I will be appointed War General—with unrestricted command authority over all border forces, suppression units, and demonic response operations."
Murmurs grew louder, sharp with disbelief.
"And third," Daniel finished, eyes cold as forged steel, "I will be granted a fortress-castle near the warzone borders—one capable of housing my battalion and responding to threats without bureaucratic delay."
Silence fell like a blade.
Then laughter—thin, brittle.
"A self-proclaimed war general?" one noble envoy scoffed, his tone laced with disdain. "Without royal decree or lineage?"
Another sneered, "Youthful arrogance wins tavern tales—not wars."
Daniel did not look at them.
Not once.
Titus Elvaren raised his hand slowly.
The noise died instantly.
"I will bring your words to the royal court," Titus said after a long pause. "Every demand. Exactly as spoken."
Daniel inclined his head—just barely.
—
That night, the camp remained alert.
Torches burned low. Patrols moved with silent precision.
Daniel introduced Mimi formally to his knights the following evening. Hardened soldiers—men and women who had faced death countless times—bowed without hesitation. They did not bow to her title alone.
They bowed because she stood beside Daniel.
Mimi accepted their respect with grace, speaking kindly, asking about their wounds, their homes, their campaigns. Her presence soothed even the roughest among them.
Eseren watched from the edge of the gathering.
Her hands clenched.
She liked him too.
She had never spoken it aloud, never allowed herself to dwell on it—but seeing them together made the truth impossible to ignore.
Mimi Elvaren was born noble.
Refined. Educated. Politically powerful.
Eseren was a village girl who had learned to draw a bow to protect her people from beasts and hunger.
Their worlds were not equal.
Her chest tightened—but she swallowed the ache.
I am the assistant war general, she reminded herself.And maybe one day… I'll change my village's fate.
She straightened, masking emotion behind discipline.
—
Two days later, Titus returned.
"The king wishes to meet you in person," he said. "The court has agreed."
Daniel nodded once.
The king was no fool.
He understood power when it appeared—and knew resisting it outright would only hasten collapse.
—
The following morning, Daniel marched.
Silver wolves emerged from rippling light, massive and imposing, their fur shimmering like moonlit steel. They carried the Red Flags Battalion upon their backs—rows of armored warriors sitting with perfect balance and silence on wolf mounts with Daniel in the front as the leaders.
As they entered the capital with their majestic black armour, the streets froze.
Merchants dropped goods.
Children stared, wide-eyed.
Veterans paled.
"Is that… real?"
"Those are demonic wolf mounts—no, spirit beasts!"
"By the heavens, what monster has the strength to make proud demonic beasts their mounts…"
Whispers exploded into shouts.
"That's him! Daniel Bellhem!"
"The one who killed seven high-ranked demonic beasts with just his sword!"
"I heard he fought alone!"
"No—look! The young woman beside him—that's Eseren! The vice commander!"
"And the noble lady—Lady Mimi Elvaren—why is she walking so close?"
"Are they allies… or lovers?"
Faces flushed. Eyes widened.
Eseren heard it all.
Her lips curved upward.
She lifted her chin, pride shining through her composure.
Daniel noticed.
He laughed softly under his breath.
She's probably imagining herself riding Dragon Zenn, he thought, firing arrows from the sky like a the god of war.
As they reached the palace gates, mana rippled outward.
The wolves dissolved into silver light—vanishing instantly back into Daniel's domain.
The crowd gasped.
Silence fell.
The massive gates creaked open.
And the kingdom stood on the edge of transformation—face to face with a man who did not seek permission to change its fate.