“We… lost?”

Harold’s face turned crimson as he heard the report. His lip twitched uncontrollably. Rage boiled up inside him, so intense that he couldn’t even speak for a moment. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

“Huuuuu…”

He exhaled deeply, trying to calm his rapid breathing.

In front of him were knights and soldiers, all sitting with severe burns and injuries—looking like they might collapse at any moment.

After receiving the summary report from his tacticians, Harold couldn’t believe it, so he summoned the survivors directly.

A defeat? The army of Desmond, which prided itself on being the strongest in the north, defeated? And by Ferdium’s forces, who they had outnumbered overwhelmingly?

“How could you possibly lose?! Fire magic? A trap? Who in this kingdom could wield magic capable of burning thousands of soldiers?!”

Harold's voice rose in fury.

The knights remained silent. Even those who had experienced the battle firsthand could barely understand what had happened, so how could those who had stayed behind possibly comprehend it?

Seeing their tightly shut mouths, Harold’s rage exploded.

“You fools! You return here after losing that many troops, and you don’t even know what you were defeated by? What about Victor?! What happened to Victor?!”

The cowards who had fled the battlefield early had no idea what had happened to Victor.

Bang!

In the face of continued silence, Harold slammed his fist down onto the desk, shattering it.

Victor, his prized warrior, was now missing. In war, "missing" often meant captured or worse—dead. And a man like Victor, who held such high value, wouldn’t have been left alive by the enemy. The chances were that he was dead.

Losing the engineering corps, which took years to train, was already a significant blow, but losing dozens of knights—men far superior to mere soldiers—was devastating.

But the most painful loss was Victor, an irreplaceable talent.

“Who on earth…?!”

Before the war, Harold had carefully analyzed Ferdium’s military strength, intending to crush them thoroughly. He had sent an overwhelming army, even supporting them with a mage.

According to the survivors’ reports, Ferdium’s forces hadn’t changed significantly from what he had anticipated before the war. The amount of supplies also matched their predictions.

Which meant there had been a deadly variable that exceeded all expectations.

Harold opened the report again.

“It’s them, isn’t it?”

The report detailed the actions of a group called the "Black Unit."

As Harold visualized the battlefield based on the report, he realized that the "Black Unit" had operated with such unpredictable, bold movements that even he, as the commander, would have been caught off guard. Their approach had been like that of wild beasts, impossible to anticipate.

‘It was a fluke, a fluke… There’s no way Ferdium has someone that capable.’

He repeated these words to himself, but deep down, Harold knew that the "Black Unit’s" success wasn’t mere coincidence.

The final trap, which had been devastatingly effective, was far too deliberate to be random.

‘But how did they manage such magic...?’

Even the kingdom’s two 7th-circle mages couldn’t cast magic on such a massive scale.

Harold clenched his teeth, unable to suppress his frustration. His mind, clouded by anger, made it difficult to think clearly.

His expression grew colder and more impassive as time went on, and seeing this, the knights and retainers of Desmond slowly backed away from him.

Harold was known for being meticulous and cold-hearted. He rarely lost his temper, but when his subordinates failed, he had no hesitation in killing them.

Seeing him lose his temper for the first time was terrifying, but now, with his growing coldness, they feared he might hold them all accountable for the loss in battle.

“Huu… Now is not the time for this,” Harold said, finally breaking his silence and glaring fiercely at his retainers.

Instead of thinking about how to recover from their failure, they looked as if they were ready to run away.

‘The man I killed last time was better than these cowards.’

Suppressing his irritation, Harold gave his orders.

“We must prepare for Rayfold’s next move.”

While it might not happen immediately, Count Rayfold would soon learn of the situation. Rayfold, who had been waiting for a chance to conquer the north, wouldn’t miss this opportunity.

Though Desmond was one of the most powerful northern territories, their current losses made it difficult to contend with Rayfold.

“We’ll advance the timeline for Amelia’s rebellion. Put everything else on hold and prioritize that.”

“Understood.”

Seeing Harold’s bloodshot eyes, the tacticians bowed their heads in silence. They knew that speaking a single word of protest would likely result in their heads rolling.

Still, Harold’s frown remained etched on his face.

‘It’s all a mess.’

He had planned to move Amelia’s rebellion forward eventually, but he hadn’t expected it to become so urgent.

The defeat in the war had accelerated everything, and now his plans were unraveling, one after the other. The more he thought about it, the more unsettled he became.

“The Duke won’t let this slide either.”

The assassination attempt had always carried the risk of escalating into a full-scale territorial conflict, but even if it failed, there were other alternatives. That had been acceptable.

But losing the territorial war to Ferdium and suffering such heavy losses in troops cast serious doubt on Harold’s capabilities.

While he was too valuable to be executed for a single mistake, his position was undoubtedly more precarious now.

The Duke of Delphine was merciless—brutally so.

And then there were those mysterious individuals who often appeared to assist the Duke.

‘The Duke is a problem, but those people…’

The plan to overthrow the kingdom had begun after their involvement. If this failure affected them, they would likely hold him accountable.

‘No, no, I can’t die here.’

He had done too much to rise to the rank of high lord; he couldn’t fall now. He needed to persuade them, make them understand that Rayfold was still in play and that success was within reach.

‘If we had won the war, we could have expanded our power even further. If only Victor were still here…’

Harold pressed his aching head and staggered out of his office.

“Nyaa.”

Amelia sat in a carriage, dangling a tuft of dog’s tail grass for Bastet to play with. The cat pounced, trying to catch the grass, while Amelia watched with a gentle smile. Eventually, she let out a small yawn.

“This is getting boring.”

There had been no more messengers from Ferdium, as if they had given up trying to contact her. Still, with the war ongoing, Amelia continued to block the roads leading to Ferdium.

She had been absent for a while, but no one would suspect anything. After all, she frequently attended social gatherings and spent more time outside the castle than inside. The carefree image she had cultivated for years was now paying off.

“Why is it taking so long?”

She stopped waving the grass and sat up straight. With that many troops, the outcome should have been clear by now. The lack of news for over a week was strange.

“Something must have happened.”

The moment she had been sure it was Ghislain who had attacked the Digald supply line, she had sent her spies to observe the battlefield.

She needed to know what that madman was up to.

Just then, Bernarf knocked on the carriage door.

“Milady, the spies have returned.”

A group of bedraggled individuals hesitantly approached behind Bernarf. They handed over a dirty, hastily written report. The handwriting was so poor it was almost illegible.

Amelia preferred to receive clean, organized documents, but given the circumstances, she accepted the messy report without complaint and began reading.

Several times, she paused, her hand hovering over the page.

Then she raised her head and asked, “Explain in detail.”

The spies immediately began to recount the events of the battle, gesturing wildly to describe the scenes they had witnessed.

Bernarf quietly took a step back.

‘She’s still beautiful, even when she’s angry… but I’d rather not be on the receiving end of that.’

Ever since Ghislain had extorted money from her, Amelia had been quick to anger whenever his name came up. This time would likely be no different.

Even Bastet sensed the tension and slunk off to a corner of the carriage.

“Hm… I see.”

Contrary to Bernarf’s expectations, Amelia simply nodded her head in understanding. She thought for a moment, then asked, “How could they have set such a trap? Magic capable of engulfing thousands of soldiers… Is there a mage in Ferdium capable of that? Could they even afford something like that?”

“Even a 7th-circle mage would struggle with that. If Ferdium had such a mage, Duke Delphine would have overturned the kingdom as soon as they secured one. You’d need at least an 8th-circle mage to wield such power.”

“Exactly. The royal mages couldn’t pull off something like this. So who could?”

“The only individuals capable of such feats… would be the ‘Guardian of the World Tree’ or the ‘Master of the Undead.’”

Amelia chuckled and shook her head.

“…That’s not possible.”

Indeed, those figures could pull off such a miracle on their own, but they would have no reason to assist Ferdium. Those individuals lived independently of any political power. Why would they show up in such a remote territory?

Suddenly, a satisfied smile spread across Amelia’s lips.

“I know what it was.”

“What do you mean?” Bernarf asked.

“How could Ferdium have used such powerful magic? There’s only one answer.”

“And that is… Oh, no. You don’t mean…”

“Yes. It was runestones. They must have used a massive amount. If fire erupted from the ground, they must have buried the runestones ahead of time.”

Bernarf’s face twisted in disbelief.

“That kind of explosion would have required an enormous quantity of runestones. That doesn’t make sense! That much would be worth Ferdium’s entire budget for decades. They used it all just for a trap?”

It was an absurd, reckless method. But wasn’t Ghislain the type to do something completely outside the bounds of reason?

“That lunatic would absolutely do something like that. Of course, to him, such a loss must be acceptable now, isn’t it?”

Amelia was confident that no one understood Ghislain better than she did. Dealing with him required thinking beyond the bounds of normal people’s logic.

As she reread the report, imagining the situation in her mind, a sinister smile spread across her face.

“To have trained his forces and moved them this quickly? So, even that scoundrel has this much ability. Or maybe he has a capable advisor helping him? I might have passed up a good man after all.”

Bernarf pursed his lips, but Amelia ignored him, lost in thought.

She couldn’t be entirely sure yet; there wasn’t enough information. She needed to gather more.

“Let’s go back. There’s no point in staying here any longer. Assemble the troops immediately.”

Bernarf blinked in confusion.

“Gather the troops? Why?”

“Desmond’s army has been crushed. Do you really think my father will sit idly by? That greedy, foolish old man?”

“…”

“The moment he gets the news, he’ll pounce on Desmond. ‘How dare they attack our allies in Ferdium! I may have learned about this late, but I won’t let it go unpunished!’ That’s what he’ll say.”

Bernarf scratched his head, still puzzled.

“And what does that have to do with gathering our troops?”

“Bernarf, haven’t I always told you to think? Desmond’s army is in ruins. A significant portion of it is gone. What do you think will happen if my father raises his forces now?”

As Bernarf stood dumbfounded, Amelia sighed and added, “Do you think Harold won’t realize this? He may be sly, but he’s not stupid. So what do you think he’ll do?”

“Ask the Duke for reinforcements?”

“No. The Duke is currently applying pressure on the royal family. If the Duke raises his army, the royal family won’t stay quiet. Things would escalate too much.”

“Then… what?”

“That’s right. He’ll accelerate my rebellion. They have no other option left. Thanks to this, I’ll only inherit a broken Rayfold.”

A hasty rebellion would undoubtedly damage the territory, meaning she wouldn’t inherit it in its entirety.

Amelia sighed, disappointed at the thought of inheriting a weakened Rayfold, though something else was troubling her even more.

“Ghislain… I thought you were finally going to die this time, but you survived again. At this point, I can’t just call it luck anymore. You’re disgusting.”

She had denied it for a long time out of pride, but now she had to admit it. Ghislain was no easy opponent.

Anger boiled within her, but the more furious she became, the more she forced herself to stay calm.

The stronger her opponent, the more composed she needed to be. This was the true side of Amelia that Ghislain feared.

“In the end, that bastard bought himself quite a bit of time. Desmond has lost its momentum, and the Duke is too preoccupied to move against him right away.”

“Do you think we should have attacked him before the war?”

“I don’t know…”

Amelia considered Bernarf’s question. She had been sure back then, but now she wasn’t so certain.

“For now, I’ll focus on taking Rayfold.”

“Why not just leave him alone? The Duke will likely deal with Ferdium eventually.”

Amelia sighed again.

As much as she wanted to kill Ghislain, she had more pressing matters to attend to. She couldn’t waste time on personal grudges.

“Fine, I’ll leave him be for now. He’s already on Harold and Duke Delphine’s radar, so he’ll die sooner or later. We’ll focus on our own objectives.”

The title of Count of Rayfold wasn’t her final goal. It was just the beginning. Amelia had far grander ambitions.

“But when the opportunity arises, I’ll make sure to crush him myself.”

As she spoke those final words, Amelia’s expression was colder than ever.