Fili set down her comb, running a hand through her soft, flowing hair with a sigh.
She had been here for months now.
She remembered fleeing the capital of Orlut at the end of summer, and now… winter was fast approaching.
The young girl pressed her hands to her chest, feeling the sorrow and pain that welled up there. Yet there was nothing she could do to ease it.
Ever since Blake's departure, Twilight Castle had been under a complete lockdown, no outsiders allowed within its walls. And for this reason, the imprisoned Princess of Orlut had finally been granted a modicum of freedom, her movements no longer confined to her bedroom but extended to the entire castle.
For Princess Fili, this was an extraordinary measure of leniency. Even in Orlut, she had never known such freedom—able to wander the castle grounds without a care, to step into the garden without seeking permission or waiting for approval. This was the greatest freedom she could have ever imagined.
Of course, the princess was not truly free. Two ghostly maids attended her every step, faithfully following Charlotte's orders to monitor her every move and report back at all times. But Fili did not notice, and in truth, she did not care. In the Kingdom of Orlut, she had always been surrounded by maids, ladies-in-waiting, and handmaidens, their watchful eyes never far. Compared to them, these two maids were infinitely more tolerant—they attended only to her daily needs, barely ever stopping her from doing anything she wished.
When would Mr. Blake return?
Tearing her gaze from the full-length mirror to the window beside it, Fili stared dazedly at the forest outside. Twilight Forest was now in the late days of autumn, its once-vivid green hues blushed with red and gold, dotted with the occasional evergreen, painting a beautiful and unique scene.
It made her think of Orlut again—her homeland, the place she had called home for nineteen years. But now… everything there was gone, and the people she loved were no more.
"Father… Mother…"
Fili clutched her chest tightly, closing her eyes and whispering their names through her grief. She had heard the news of Orlut's fate from the maids, that her parents would never stand by her side again. She had feared this even before fleeing the capital, but the reality of their death still weighed heavy on her heart, a sorrow she could not shake off.
Unlike Ophelia and Lindilot, Fili was, at her core, the very embodiment of a "fragile princess." When pain struck, she could not suppress her emotions with reason as Ophelia did, nor did she possess Lindilot's unyielding resolve. In this moment, she ached for someone to lean on. But the only person who could fill that void was a thousand miles away, unable to offer her any comfort. All Fili could do was endure and wait.
Dabbing away the tears at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief, Fili stood up, straightening her dress carefully before stepping out of her room. Outside the door, two maids in uniform stood waiting silently.
"Your Highness Fili, morning tea is ready."
Like all nobles, Fili led a highly regimented life. She knew she was a guest here, and did not dare ask for more than she was given. So the princess spent her days reading in the castle's sitting room between meals, and praying for Blake and the others on the front lines. To her, the gentle, courteous young lord was now her only anchor. Then…
Fili's thoughts drifted back to the words her mother had entrusted to her before she fled the capital.
"You are a good child, Fili. Your father and I have always wished for you to live a happy life, but now, we have lost the power to make that happen. My child… though I do not wish to meddle in your fate, as members of the royal family, we can never choose our destiny. Your brother will make his choice, and so will you. Your father and I have no grand demands of you, Fili. There is only one thing we ask: that the royal bloodline continues. As long as the blood of the royal family flows unbroken, your father and I can die in peace. Remember, my child—*never let the royal bloodline end*."
The royal bloodline…
Fili's hand drifted unconsciously to her stomach. Was this her duty, then? What was she to do…
But her reverie was short-lived. As she entered the great hall, she was surprised to see several maids hurrying in, whispering among themselves. They noticed her presence a moment later, bowing slightly in greeting. Though master and servant, Fili was only a guest here, so the maids did not treat her with excessive deference. Fili did not mind; she found this far more warm and genuine than the convoluted etiquette of the royal palace.
"Is something the matter, ladies?"
Having spent time with them, Fili had come to know the maids well. On the surface, they seemed little different from the ladies-in-waiting of the palace, save for their odd attire. But Fili had noticed a stark contrast: the ladies-in-waiting of Orlut spoke and acted with unwavering deference at all times, never daring to step a single inch out of line. The maids of this castle, however, were poised and polite, yet exuded a quiet, unshakable confidence—as if they knew exactly what they were doing, and never feared failure. It had left a deep impression on the princess. She still remembered how the ladies-in-waiting of the palace would tremble as they dressed her, terrified of making the slightest mistake…
To see these usually unflappable maids looking flustered was a rare sight indeed. Though she knew it might be impolite, curiosity got the better of Fili, and she asked the question.
"Oh, it is nothing of great importance, Your Highness Fili."
The lead maid replied quickly, adjusting the weapons slung across her body as if checking they were ready.
"We merely spotted a group of unfriendly figures attempting to enter the domain. We intend to scout the area and assess the situation. Rest assured, it is a trivial matter—nothing to concern yourself with."
"I see…"
Fili nodded gently. Ophelia would have doubted the words, but the young princess was far too trusting to question others, and she accepted the explanation without a second thought.
"Then please, be careful."
"Thank you for your concern, Your Highness Fili."
With that, the lead maid bowed again, turning to leave with the others. Fili watched their retreating figures before her gaze drifted back to the window.
Mr. Blake… when will you come home?
The young girl sighed, pressing her hands to her chest and closing her eyes to pray silently.
"Now, I believe you all understand our upcoming battle plan."
General Celt's expression was grave as he leaned his hands on the table, his eyes fixed on the map before him.
"That three of the Sith Empire's Four Horsemen have arrived is a turn of events none of us could have foreseen. Frankly, I expect this to be a brutal fight—but we cannot afford to surrender. Gifted Knights are powerful, but war is a battle of the many, and their strength has its limits."
Celt paused, his gaze sweeping slowly across the room.
"But we must consider the road ahead. Our foes are far stronger than we anticipated, and for that reason, we must prepare for the worst-case scenario…"
"Then by all means, start preparing now."
A voice cut through the room suddenly.
Everyone turned to look, their eyes falling on Blake, who sat lounging casually to one side.
It was two days after the duel before the camp, and Celt had gathered all his commanders to finalize the defenses against the Sith Empire—with Blake as the center of attention. For whether in single combat or all-out war, he and his retinue were the only ones capable of standing against the Sith's Four Horsemen. No one in the fortress could deny that.
"Mr. Blake, what do you mean by that?"
Celt's face darkened, and the other commanders' expressions soured as well.
But Blake did not answer immediately. Instead, he cast a lazy glance around the room before his eyes settled on Celt.
"General, I did not wish to speak of this, but I have no choice now… I have a question for you."
"Ask it, Mr. Blake."
"Regarding your country's fool of a king."
The words hung in the air like ice, and Celt felt a chill run down his spine. The other commanders bristled at the young man's blatant contempt for their monarch, but as Celt's trusted men, they knew a little of the unrest in the capital, and held their tongues.
"I hear he intends to lead his army into battle in person? Have you received this news, General Celt?"
"I…"
Celt's face flushed with embarrassment. He had received the report, but had chosen not to inform Blake. He knew the young man's temperament—this news would only stir up trouble. Of course, Celt had never hoped to hide it forever, only to delay the inevitable. But it seemed events were unfolding exactly as he had feared.
"I have indeed received such a report."
In the end, General Celt admitted the truth, unable to deny it.
"And according to intelligence, they are marching along the Golden Trade Route toward Crimson Fortress?"
Blake laced his fingers together, a cold, mocking smile playing on his lips.
"How curious. To travel from the capital to Crimson Fortress, your king has chosen to take the long way around via the Golden Trade Route? Why is that, General Celt?"
"I…"
"I do not need your explanations, General. They are meaningless to me. But I wish to issue a warning to everyone here."
Blake paused, his gaze sweeping across the room once more before he spoke, his voice cold and clear.
"The Doomsday Knights agreed to aid you in defending Crimson Fortress only as a repayment for your country's assistance in managing our domain. But this assistance is not unlimited. We will not stand by while others act like fools and jeopardize our efforts. So I will state this clearly—*if that idiot king dares to set a single foot in Twilight Forest, our alliance with your country is at an end*. We will withdraw from Crimson Fortress at once, and offer no further aid in your defense."
Blake's eyes roamed the room again, nodding politely to the men whose faces had turned ashen. He stood up slowly.
"General Celt, you know how to deliver this message. I do not wish to make things difficult for you. But as the leader of the Doomsday Knights, I must act in our best interests… so pray that this worst-case scenario never comes to pass."
"Wait a moment, Lord Blake! But if you leave, the Sith Empire—"
"That is no concern of mine."
Blake raised a hand, cutting General Celt off mid-sentence.
"Remember this: this war was yours from the start, a conflict between your country and the Sith Empire. It is your burden to bear, your responsibility to face. Do not make a habit of pinning your hopes on outsiders. It is a poor way to survive. Now…"
Blake bowed slightly, a perfect noble's gesture, to the stunned room.
"I have said all I came to say. I take my leave."
With that, he turned and walked out the door, closing it softly behind him.
Inside the room, the commanders' expressions were a mix of worry, helplessness, disdain, anger, and fear. Celt stared at his men helplessly, knowing full well why Blake had spoken out so publicly—it was punishment for hiding the news from him. And now, he was caught between a rock and a hard place…
"Then… let us begin preparing for the worst-case scenario."
No one replied. Only Celt's bitter voice echoed through the silent room.
The Golden Trade Route.
The once-bustling thoroughfare was now devoid of its usual bustle. As far as the eye could see, rows of soldiers stood in neat formation, resting and drilling in turn. Beside the road, in a perfectly ordered camp, Duke Barron sat in his tent with a dark expression, staring at a communication crystal. From it came Celt's hoarse, anxious voice.
"You must stop the king, old friend! This is a death wish!"
"But…"
"There are no buts! I tell you plainly—Crimson Fortress faces three Gifted Knights! And that young man is the only one who can stand against them! He just issued an ultimatum: if the king's army dares enter Twilight Forest, he will withdraw his forces at once! You were not there, old friend. You have no idea the state of things. Right now, the only hope for victory in the entire fortress rests with him and his knights. If they leave, it will be a disaster for the fortress! I know my pleas to the king fall on deaf ears—he will not listen. But you are different, old friend. This is a personal request: do whatever it takes to stop the king from leading his army into Twilight Forest!"
"Is it really that dire, old friend?"
Barron frowned, unconvinced.
"The king is determined this time. Even if I beg him to stop, it will make no difference. You know this, Celt. We all know what he intends to do. Do you think I did not try to dissuade him before we left? But it was useless. Our king is lost to reason—he will not listen to anyone now."
"If that is truly the case…"
Celt's heavy breathing came through the crystal, a ragged gasp before he spoke, his voice hard with resolve.
"Then Duke Barron—we have no choice but to stage a coup!"
"Are you mad?!"
Barron's face paled in shock at the words.
"Do you realize the consequences if anyone hears this? You would be—"
"I know exactly what I am saying, old friend. I know this is a terrible choice, and I know it puts you in danger. But remember—we are not just defending a king now. We are defending the people of Wester! Tens of thousands of lives! If we fail…"
"…I will think on it."
Barron's fingers tightened around the crystal, his heart torn. After a long silence, he finally spoke.
"May fortune be on your side, old friend. We do not have much time…"
Celt's voice faded, the crystal going silent. Barron stared at it for a moment, then gritted his teeth and stood up, striding out of his tent and toward the center of the camp—where King Wester V resided.
"Your Majesty."
"Oh? Barron? Come in."
As Barron entered the king's tent, he found Wester V standing before a military map, deep in thought. The king nodded at him, his eyes returning to the map, and Barron said nothing, standing silently at his side—his heart a storm of conflicting emotions.
The kingdom's three great legion commanders held very different feelings for Wester V. Celt was a born soldier and noble, his father the previous legion commander, his position an inheritance. But Barron and Ash were different. They had begun as simple soldiers, with noble blood but nothing like Celt's illustrious lineage—their rise to power was owed entirely to Wester V's patronage. So Celt's loyalty lay with the royal family, not the king himself. But Barron and Ash were bound more closely to the king. Without him, they would be nothing.
This was why Celt could speak of a coup so casually, while the thought had never crossed Barron's mind. He owed his everything to the king; he could never raise a hand against him. So he would plead, he would beg—but if his words fell on deaf ears, Barron would have no choice but to follow his king, no matter where the road led.
"You have come at a good time, Barron."
After a moment, Wester V finally looked up from the map, a confident smile on his face.
"I was just about to send for you… in fact, I have a small revision to our plan. Look here—I think we should…"
"You intend to attack Twilight Forest, which lies along the Golden Trade Route, do you not, Your Majesty?"
Barron cut him off, his voice heavy with helplessness. Wester V blinked in surprise, then broke into a delighted grin.
"Exactly! Duke Barron, only you understand my intentions! Yes—I plan to march on Twilight Forest!"
Anyone with eyes could see your intentions, Barron thought with a silent sigh. He did not echo the king's excitement, only letting out a long, weary breath.
"Your Majesty… I beg you to abandon this plan."
"Oh?"
Wester V did not fly into a rage as Barron expected. Instead, his smile never faltered. This only confused Barron—this was not the king he knew…
"Let me guess. You received a report from the front, did you not? That insolent boy threatened to withdraw his forces if anything happens to Twilight Forest?"
"I did, Your Majesty."
Barron replied quickly, surprised by the king's sudden perceptiveness.
"So I beg you—think of the greater good… the kingdom is on the brink of ruin, and we cannot afford to fight among ourselves."
"The greater good? What greater good?!"
Wester V's face suddenly contorted with rage, his fist slamming down on the table so hard the map shook.
"General Barron! You are one of my three great legion commanders! Have you been so easily cowed by a mere boy's threats?! He is bluffing! And do we, the proud army of Wester, truly need a stranger's help to defeat the Sith Empire?!"
"But Your Majesty, according to General Celt's report—"
Barron tried to reason, his voice tight, but Wester V would not listen, his face red with anger.
"Enough! Sending Celt to defend the front was a mistake! But now, I have rectified it. By the day after tomorrow at the latest, Ash will arrive at Crimson Fortress with my royal edict and take command! Hmph! The Kingdom of Wester has no need for cowards!"
"Your Majesty, you cannot—"
"I said enough!"
Wester V waved a hand, cutting him off again.
"I will ask you once: tomorrow, when we attack Twilight Forest—will you command the army?"
"I…"
"Will you?! Or will you not?!"
"…I am sorry, Your Majesty. I cannot."
"Very well!"
Wester V's face darkened.
"Guards! Escort General Barron back to his tent to rest! He will take no part in tomorrow's battle!"
"Your Majesty, this is madness—"
Barron's eyes widened in shock, his mouth open to protest, but the royal guards had already stepped forward, obeying their king's order.
"I will command the battle myself tomorrow! I will show you all that I am not a coward! I will not cower before the Doomsday Knights! I will prove to you all that I am still the ruler of this country!"
Wester V's gaze locked on Barron, cold and furious.
"Now, General Barron. Surrender your sword. You are dismissed."
"As you command, Your Majesty."
Faced with the king's wrath, Barron fell silent. After a long moment, he let out a heavy sigh, unbuckling his sword and handing it over. He turned and followed the guards out of the tent, his heart heavy with despair.
In this moment, all hope was lost.