As morning light bathed the skies of Vanima in soft gold, the city began to stir with the quiet rhythm of a new day. But Crimson Aegis had not known rest.
He didn't need to.
At his level, sleep and hunger had long ceased to be necessities. They were now choices, luxuries of comfort, not survival. And Crimson, ever the relentless competitor, had chosen neither.
After the quiet dinner in the Moonlight Hall and bidding Princess Elaria good night, he had left the palace walls behind. With the cloak of dark over the land, he slipped beyond the city's edge, vanishing into the dense forests that skirted Vanima.
There, under the silent watch of the moon and stars, Crimson hunted.
Monsters that lurked in the deep woods, creatures too dangerous for ordinary adventurers, fell one by one to his blade. The clash of steel, bursts of magic, and flashes of power lit the night as he carved through packs of beasts with deadly precision. Every swing, every step, every movement calculated and purposeful.
He wasn't just passing time.
He was grinding.
A part of him, honed by years of competition and obsession, still burned with the hunger for progress. It didn't matter how far ahead he already was, Crimson always wanted more. More strength. More mastery. More edge. While others rested, he sharpened himself. While others dreamed, he made progress real.
He was, after all, a gamer to his core.
And for players like Crimson Aegis, the grind never truly ended.
Dawn broke gently over the Moonveil Palace, its soft light spilling across marble archways and silver-capped towers. The palace grounds stirred with growing energy. Royal guards moved with purpose through the courtyards, securing equipment, checking supplies, and tightening saddles. The hum of preparation filled the air, an escort detail like no other, meant for none other than the two princesses of Alariel and the man who now watched in silence.
Crimson Aegis walked slowly beneath the flowering moonshade trees that lined the palace courtyard. His crimson cloak rustled faintly in the early breeze, his eyes scanning the flurry of activity around him. Rows of armored knights lined up with military precision, their armor gleaming in the pale morning light. Wagons and supply carts were being readied, and high elven mages whispered incantations to bind protective wards to the convoy.
He had seen countless armies in motion, but this one, this one felt different. It was not a campaign for conquest, but to protect. And still, it weighed heavily on him.
He paused at a stone bench near a small fountain, settling down with a quiet exhale. For now, he is waiting for the princesses to complete their preparations. Elaria and Arwen would be ready soon. He had no doubt. Still, something about this morning left him uneasy.
His thoughts were interrupted by soft, hurried footsteps. A young elven servant approached him cautiously, bowing respectfully before offering a scroll sealed with the royal crest.
"A message from Her Majesty and His Majesty, Lord Crimson," she said gently, lowering her eyes.
He took the scroll and broke the seal with a practiced motion, eyes scanning the contents. As he read, his expression shifted from calm curiosity to stunned disbelief.
Then came the sigh.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning back slightly on the bench as he muttered under his breath, "Of course she would…"
According to the queen's report, his elder sister Catherine Alexandria Luxembourg y Habsburg Přemyslid was already en route to the western border. And she wasn't coming alone, she was bringing 3,000 elite members of the Heartless Guild's Knight Order with her.
His hand dropped slowly from his face as he stared up at the dawning sky.
"A full elite battalion…" he murmured. "She's going to turn the border into a fortress."
He waved his head slowly and exhaled in frustration. "If too many troops gather on the western front… the Holy Remia Empire will see it as a threat. This could spark a war."
For a long moment, he sat there in silence, the weight of politics, loyalty, and family pressing heavily on his shoulders. The sun had barely risen, and already the day had begun with complication.
He looked toward the palace entrance, waiting for Elaria and Arwen to emerge.
They would be traveling together.
And now… the stakes had just risen even higher.
Crimson remained still for a moment longer, the scroll resting lightly in his hand, the wind rustling the trees around him. Then, with a slow breath, he rose from the bench and turned to the servant who had brought the message.
"Thank you," he said, his voice calm but firm. "I need you to deliver a reply to Her Majesty and His Majesty immediately."
The servant stood straighter, ready to receive his words.
"Tell them this: the movement of elite forces from the Heartless Guild will draw attention. If the Holy Remia Empire interprets this as an act of aggression, war may erupt before we even discover the truth."
He paused, his gaze sharpening.
"Tell them to quietly mobilize the full strength of the elven realm. Keep it discreet, but prepare for the worst. The borders must be reinforced, and all defensive lines put on alert."
The servant nodded quickly, memorizing each word.
"And one more thing," Crimson added. "Send a message to the capital of the Republic. Let them know the situation could escalate rapidly. All army command structures should be ready to move. I want every Heartless Knight Order from the capital on alert, and every response team standing by."
The servant bowed deeply. "At once, Lord Crimson."
As she turned and hurried off toward the palace interior, Crimson looked once more toward the west. The dawn light had brightened, casting golden rays across the mountain peaks in the distance.
But his mind saw no sunrise only shadows gathering.
He whispered to himself, "If war is coming, then let them find us ready."
And with that, he turned back toward the palace steps, waiting for the daughters of the realm to join him on the road that might lead to peace or plunge them all into fire.
After giving his final orders to the servant, Crimson turned back to the quiet courtyard, the early morning wind brushing against his cloak. He closed his eyes briefly, then whispered a single word under his breath.
"Lightning."
The word was soft almost inaudible but the effect was immediate.
Two shadows flickered at his back, as if they had materialized from the very air itself. In the next heartbeat, they fully emerged: two figures clad in sleek, dark armor with deep hoods and cloaks—European-style assassins, the elite of the Heartless Guild's Intelligence divisions.
Each of them wore the insignia of the Heartless Guild faintly embroidered on their cloaks, barely visible except to trained eyes.
One knelt silently. "Master Crimson."
Crimson didn't turn to face them. A faint smirk touched the edge of his lips.
"As I thought… you've been following me since I left the capital."
Neither assassin responded.
He gave a slow nod. "Good. Shadow 2-1, Shadow 2-2 trail the royal escort. I want constant eyes on everything between here and the western frontier. Scan for hidden movements, scout ahead of our path, and remain unseen. If anything moves against us… I want to know before it breathes."
He paused, his tone deepening.
"And pass the order to every Shadow that came with you is to do the same. Split into rotations. One watches, one runs, one vanishes. Nothing gets close without my knowing."
"Yes, Master Crimson," they answered in perfect unison.
Then, as quietly as they had appeared, the two assassins vanished, melting into the morning mist like whispers in the wind.
Crimson exhaled slowly, tension coiling in his chest. Every move he made from this moment on could shape the outcome of what lay ahead. War was not just a possibility, it was now a looming reality.
And he had no room left for error.
After an hour, Crimson stood at the grand gates of Moonveil Palace, the morning sun casting a golden glow over the marble path. The scent of dew still clung to the air, and the banners of the elven realm fluttered gently above him.
Crimson's cloak stirred with the breeze as he moved among the gathered guards, giving them final instructions for the journey ahead. His voice was steady and clear, directing formations, detailing patrol shifts, and outlining what to expect along the roads. Every word he spoke carried weight; the guards listened intently, understanding that this mission was far more than a ceremonial escort.
"Double-check the supply carriages. Rotate scouts every five miles. And keep the formation loose we're not parading to the frontier," he said calmly, his eyes sweeping over the ranks. "We're heading into unknowns and move like it."
Just as he turned to review the map held by one of the officers, the sound of elegant footsteps echoed down the stone walkway behind him.
He looked up.
Princess Elaria and Princess Arwen had arrived.
Elaria walked with regal poise, her silver-white hair shimmering like moonlight, dressed in travel robes that still held the elegance of royalty. Beside her, Arwen radiated quiet confidence, her own attire practical yet finely tailored, a long elven blade strapped across her back.
Behind them, High Queen Sylthana and King Thalorien followed at a respectful pace, their presence unmistakable. The royal couple wore expressions of both pride and concern, knowing well the weight that rested on this journey.
Crimson straightened as the princesses approached. For a moment, his gaze met Elaria's. No words passed between them, but her faint smile was enough.
The grand courtyard before Moonveil Palace was now alive with movement, energy, and solemn purpose.
Two thousand elite royal guards stood in perfect formation. Rows of shining armor gleamed beneath the morning sun, each soldier bearing the sigil of the Moonveil royal family, a silver crescent set against a field of deep blue. Their banners rose high, fluttering in the breeze like waves of moonlight across the sea of disciplined ranks. Mounted cavalry stood ready at the flanks, and scouts already fanned out to secure the early roads ahead.
The sound of hooves, clinking steel, and the deep breaths of warhorses filled the air. Yet even amidst such preparation, the atmosphere was reverent—marked by quiet determination and the unspoken knowledge that this was no ordinary mission.
At the center, near the gates, stood Queen Sylthana and King Thalorien. Their presence alone brought a hush over the gathered ranks. The Queen's long, silver hair flowed behind her like a silken banner, and the King's white cloak fluttered in the wind. Together, they stepped forward toward Crimson, Elaria, and Arwen.
The Queen's voice rang clear, though gentle, across the courtyard.
"Before you stands the pride of Alariel—its daughters, its champion, and its shield. May the light of the moon guard your path, and the wisdom of the stars guide every step."
King Thalorien added, his deep voice steady and resolute,
"We entrust you not only with lives—but with the fate of peace itself. The frontier waits. The truth hides in its shadow. May your blades remain swift… and your hearts unyielding."
Then, in a formal gesture rarely given, both monarchs raised their hands in blessing. A soft pulse of ethereal light shimmered across the gathered troops, a magical sign of royal protection and farewell.
Crimson bowed deeply. "You have our word, Your Majesties. We will see this through."
Elaria and Arwen mirrored the bow, their expressions solemn.
With a wave from the commanding officer, the gates of Moonveil Palace groaned open. The great company began to move, rows upon rows of elite guards marching in perfect synchronicity, the thunder of their boots like the beat of a single, unified heart.
Crimson led from the front, his dark cloak rippling behind him. Beside him, Elaria rode a white steed, while Arwen followed closely on a silver-grey mare. The royal guards flanked them on all sides, forming a protective wall of steel and resolve.
As they passed through the city, citizens of the elven capital gathered along the streets and rooftops. Flowers were tossed into the path of the procession, and quiet prayers were whispered into the wind. No cheers erupted, only reverent silence, for they all understood: this was not a parade. This was the march of protectors, possibly into war.
Past the city gates and onto the long western road, the company traveled. The high spires of Moonveil faded behind them, swallowed by morning light and distance.
And ahead, in the far horizon, the western frontier awaited, shrouded in uncertainty, shadow, and a rising storm.
As Crimson journeyed westward, flanked by two thousand elite royal guards and accompanied by the princesses of the elven realm, the sun shone brightly above them. The skies were clear, untouched by clouds, and the golden light spilled over the forest trails and open fields, casting long shadows as the caravan moved in steady formation.
The sound of hooves and marching boots echoed through the land, a steady rhythm of discipline and purpose, cutting across the peaceful morning air.
The western border still lay 617 kilometers away, a long uncertain stretch filled with unseen threats and unspoken tensions. Though the skies were calm now, the road ahead carried the weight of something darker.
Unbeknown to Crimson, every step forward brought him closer to a crossroads that would challenge more than just his power. It would test his judgment, his loyalty, and the very convictions that had carried him through war and silence alike.
The peace they had fought for was fragile.
Held together by treaties, old blood, and memories of a war barely healed, it now stood on the brink, pressured by forces hidden from sight, waiting for the right moment to strike.
There are enemies in disguise.
Truths buried beneath diplomacy.
And alliances ready to collapse… or rise anew.