William took a step back into the deeper shadows of the room, separating himself for a moment from the tragicomedy between grandfather and grandson.

  His eyes fixed upon the old, yellowing wall calendar.

  November 12th.

  His tactical mind spun rapidly, counting down the sands of an invisible hourglass.

  The day after tomorrow...

  November 14th. The moment the moon reached the nadir of its cycle. The Gate of Darkness would open. The Shade Walker gas would be vomited into the Carta sky.

  William turned back toward the two of them.

  Rajendra Sagara, an old man still panting from a mix of exertion and embarrassment. And Arka, the reckless youth currently busy inhaling the scent of frozen raw meat with a face of pure bliss.

  William's blood ran cold.

  House Sagara held one of the Three Great Flames. A crucial Anchor Point. If this single fire were to be extinguished, the entire shield of the Thousand Constellation Array—his father's absolute pride—would collapse. That absolute defense would be ruptured by a third.

  And who was guarding this final bastion?

  Only the two of them.

  No battalions. No war mages. No stone walls five meters thick. Just rotting wood, an old man, and a lunatic boy.

  William clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms. His frustration peaked, directed not at the enemy, but at his own bloodline.

  Damn it, he cursed inwardly, his jaw hardening.

  What kind of Royal House allowed its vital allies to die alone like this? Sacrificing them under the guise of 'wisdom' and 'secrecy'?

  "Ironseat is truly insolent," William hissed bitterly.

  The curse had barely echoed in William's mind when the earth beneath the woven pandan mat trembled violently.

  VROOOMMM... BOOM...

  It wasn't an earthquake. It was a massive mechanical vibration. The roar of diesel engines boasting thousands of horsepower howled in unison, shattering the night's silence on the mountain slope. The rumble was so dense that fine dust rained down from the temple's wooden ceiling.

  William sprang up instantly, his combat instincts igniting. He vaulted over the tea table, snatched the front door handle, and slid it open roughly.

  SCREEECH!

  A fierce gale immediately slapped his face, carrying thick dust and the pungent stench of aviation fuel.

  William narrowed his eyes, struggling to adjust to the blinding glare. The temple's front yard, which had been dark and desolate moments ago, was now illuminated as bright as day.

  Dozens of searchlights from armored combat vehicles dissected the darkness, all converging on a single point: The Sagara Temple.

  Behind William, Rajendra walked out calmly, standing tall on the wooden veranda. His white robes fluttered in the downwash of a heavy transport helicopter that had just taken off, leaving the makeshift landing zone in the meadow and whipping up a wild dust storm.

  The sight before them was both magnificent and intimidating.

  Thousands of tactical soldiers in dark blue-gray combat uniforms marched in a pristine modern phalanx formation. Magical assault rifles hung across their chests, their faces concealed by full-face combat helmets.

  On the left and right flanks, hundreds of Battle Mages stood in tactical combat robes, their staffs and wands at the ready, the tips glowing with volatile mana prepared to detonate.

  And at the vanguard of that sea of armed humanity stood a woman.

  She wore a high-ranking officer's uniform, her metal breastplate gleaming under the harsh lights. Her hair was cut into a sharp, practical bob. Her face was hard, beautiful, and cold as the surface of a frozen river.

  Lenn Dyora.

  The Legendary Captain of Fort Rivermarsh. The trusted right hand of Marquis Montezar.

  The woman strode forward, her boots stomping the rocky earth with an authoritative rhythm. She stopped exactly ten paces from the temple veranda steps.

  With a perfectly crisp, rigid motion, she raised her hand. A military salute.

  "Reporting!" her voice boomed, piercing the roar of wind and engines, crystal clear without the need for amplification.

  "I am Captain Lenn Dyora of the Great Seine River Defense Division. Dispatched directly by Marquis Montezar!"

  Her eyes stared straight at Rajendra, completely ignoring the presence of Crown Prince William for a moment due to mission protocol.

  "Our mission is Fortress Fortification," she shouted firmly. "From this second onward, the Sagara Temple is under the absolute protection of the Fort Rivermarsh Alliance. Not a single fly shall pass without our authorization!"

  William stood transfixed in the doorway.

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  He watched the line of arachnid-tanks in the distance begin driving their steel legs into the earth, shifting into stationary defense turret modes. The mages began chanting barrier spells, conjuring transparent domes of energy that draped over the entire hill area.

  William swallowed hard.

  He was wrong.

  House Sagara had not been abandoned. His father's chessboard was far more intricate than he had anticipated. Marquis Montezar—one of the most powerful nobles commanding the waterways—was a secret ally tasked with guarding this flame.

  "Damn," William whispered, this time with a trembling tone of awe. "This isn't mere friendship... this is a full-scale war mobilization."

  The sky above the southern slopes of the Iron Mountains no longer had any gaps for the stars to breathe.

  Just as the dust from the arrival of the Fort Rivermarsh forces began to settle, a new, far more deafening roar tore through the heavens from the north. Thousands of pairs of Fort Rivermarsh eyes looked up simultaneously, hands reflexively tightening their grips on their weapons.

  Hundreds of pitch-black assault helicopters, bearing the faint emblem of the Coiled Serpent, filled the horizon like a swarm of giant iron locusts. They did not land. They commanded the air.

  Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

  Black ropes were dropped in unison.

  Like a rain of shadows, thousands of soldiers descended with lethal fast-roping techniques. Their feet touched the earth almost soundlessly—a stark contrast to the heavy stomping of the Fort Rivermarsh troops. These were assassination squads, not regular infantry.

  In the center of that formation, a single golden rope descended slowly.

  A figure slid down with unnatural grace, landing with a slight bend of the knees before standing tall.

  Prince Wang.

  The firstborn son and blood heir of Mistress Cheng, the Sovereign of Black Keep.

  His build was slender yet radiated a sharp aura of danger. He wore a mesmerizing blend of ancient aesthetic and cutting-edge combat technology. His body was clad in a Tactical Changshan—a matte black mandarin-style long robe woven from bulletproof ballistic fibers.

  Over his chest and shoulders rested modern Lamellar armor—black composite plates arranged to resemble dragon scales, protecting vital organs while permitting lightning-fast movement.

  At his waist hung a Jian—a straight Chinese sword—with a green jade hilt that glowed faintly, thrumming with channeled mana. His long black hair was tied high in a neat ponytail, accentuating his sharp cheekbones and narrowed eyes, as lethal as his mother's.

  Prince Wang did not spare a glance at the Fort Rivermarsh forces. His eyes locked immediately onto the old figure on the veranda.

  He stepped forward, brought his hands together before his chest, and bowed respectfully with a motion as fluid as water.

  "This junior pays his respects to Elder Sagara," his voice was smooth and polite, yet carried the cold echo of authority.

  Wang raised his face, a thin, meaningful smile curving his lips.

  "Mother sends her regards," he said softly. "The Black Serpent never forgets its second nest."

  On the other side of the courtyard, Captain Lenn Dyora stood rigid.

  Her jaw clenched so hard her teeth ground together. Her ice-cold eyes now glinted with open hostility. Her right hand, encased in a leather glove, drifted down slowly, gripping the hilt of the rapier at her waist with white-knuckled force.

  "Tch," Lenn hissed coarsely, spitting upon the ground.

  She glared at Prince Wang as if looking at a pest contaminating her dinner plate. The arrival of Black Keep was an insult to the jurisdiction of Fort Rivermarsh.

  "Northern rats..." Lenn grumbled quietly, yet loud enough for her lieutenant to hear. "Always arriving uninvited to someone else's feast."

  The courtyard of the Sagara Temple was now split in two. On one side, the blue steel wall of the Fort Rivermarsh forces. On the other, a sea of black shadows from the Black Keep assassins. And in the center, Rajendra Sagara stood bewildered, suddenly becoming the most highly contested grandfather on the entire continent of Carta.

  The atmosphere in the front yard was no longer merely tense. The air felt dense and electrically charged.

  On the left, the blue aura of Fort Rivermarsh surged like a tidal wave ready to smash against the cliffs. On the right, the pitch-black aura of Black Keep swirled like a dust storm ready to swallow the light.

  Lenn Dyora had already drawn her rapier half a span from its scabbard. Prince Wang had shifted his stance, hand poised to unsheathe his jade Jian.

  One wrong move, one minor provocation, and the courtyard of this sacred temple would devolve into a slaughterhouse of Carta brethren.

  William held his breath in the doorway, his hands gripping the wooden frame until it splintered. He knew perfectly well that a civil war in the face of the true enemy was the most fatal form of stupidity.

  Yet, at the epicenter of that boiling point, a soft chuckle echoed.

  "Hohoho..."

  The sound was crisp, light, and entirely out of place.

  Rajendra Sagara casually descended the wooden veranda steps. The clatter of his old wooden sandals—clack, clack, clack—rang out clearly amidst the deadly silence. He carried no weapons. He radiated no killing intent. He simply brought his frail body right between the two apex predators.

  He walked until he stood exactly on the imaginary line dividing Lenn Dyora and Prince Wang.

  Rajendra looked at Lenn on his left, then at Wang on his right. A serene smile still adorned his wrinkled face.

  "Well, well..." Rajendra said gently, his voice as calm as the surface of a lake. "This grandfather's front yard is quite cramped. If the two of you unleash auras that massive, all my jasmine flowers will wither."

  The sentence was simple, but its effect was magical. He had just shrunk the egos of two colossal armies into nothing more than rude guests in an old man's garden.

  Lenn Dyora frowned, but her grip on her sword loosened slightly. Prince Wang straightened his posture, lowering the intensity of his glare.

  Rajendra looked at Lenn Dyora, gazing at her with the eyes of a father looking at a daughter venturing far from home.

  "Thank you, Captain Lenn," he said sincerely. "The Great Seine River has sent its roaring currents to serve as a wall of water for this old house. Marquis Montezar's decisiveness is an honor to us."

  Lenn was stunned. The praise was genuine, devoid of sarcasm. She felt acknowledged. Slowly, she sheathed her rapier completely. "It is our duty, Elder."

  Then Rajendra turned to Prince Wang. His gaze turned mischievous, like looking at a naughty grandson.

  "And Prince Wang..." Rajendra chuckled softly. "Tell your mother, that Black Serpent... thank you for not forgetting her old hiding hole. The night cloaks you brought will warm these old bones."

  Prince Wang, usually cold and haughty, bowed his head respectfully. His face softened slightly. "Mother always said, Sagara was the place where she learned the meaning of tranquility."

  Rajendra nodded in satisfaction. He then spread his thin arms wide, as if wanting to embrace both rival armies at once.

  "Tonight, our enemies are not those standing to your left or your right," Rajendra's voice suddenly grew heavy, commanding. "Our enemy lies in the sky that will rip open the day after tomorrow."

  He met the eyes of both commanders in turn.

  "In the house of Sagara, guests do not draw swords against one another. Here, we share tea, not blood."

  Rajendra turned around, facing back toward the open temple doors.

  "Captain Lenn, Prince Wang... and of course, Prince William who is peeking from the doorway..." Rajendra waved his hand.

  "Come inside. The tea within is still warm. Arka just finished slicing some expensive beef. Let us have dinner together like a sane family."

  He glanced slightly back over his shoulder, issuing a final instruction to the thousands of soldiers outside.

  "And as for your troops... let them stand guard outside the perimeter fence. Fort Rivermarsh secures the western flank, Black Keep secures the eastern flank. Don't go making eyes at each other, or you might fall in love."

  With that, Rajendra Sagara strolled casually back into his temple.

  William exhaled a long breath he had been holding. His legs felt weak.

  He watched Lenn Dyora and Prince Wang exchange one last fierce glare, snort, and then simultaneously signal their respective troops to stand down.

  William shook his head in amazement. Without magic, without shouting, the old man had just tamed two dragons with a cup of tea and good manners.

  "Truly a terrifying old man," William muttered in awe.