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The solemn mood shattered in an instant.
Even if she was going to die, Aethlyn had wanted to meet her end with dignity. But the thick-headed werewolf wouldn’t even allow her that.
Still, there wasn’t time to complain.
The sergeant spoke with unwavering confidence.
“If you give the order, I’ll secure our escape route.”
Gennadi repeated himself in the same calm tone.
“I’ll open the way. Just cover me from behind for five seconds at a time.”
Within the pitch-black trench, their eyes met once more.
Without saying a word, Aethlyn held his gaze.
There wasn’t a trace of deception or empty bravado in those eyes.
Only the quiet composure of someone who had survived countless moments like this.
Without realizing it, Aethlyn bit down on the inside of her mouth so hard that she tasted fresh blood over the wound that had already split.
Meeting the sergeant’s eerily composed gaze, her own heart gradually settled.
It was almost as if she’d caught his calm by contagion.
Then, a crazy thought crossed her mind.
‘We might survive.’
That possibility slowly transformed into an unfounded certainty.
No.
We will survive.
We are going to make it.
No matter what…
We’ll survive this hell.
Having finally steeled her resolve, Aethlyn gave a firm nod.
“…All right.”
She slowly raised her hand.
With trembling fingers, she grabbed the collar of Gennadi’s uniform while he was still lying over her.
Clenching her teeth, she gave the order.
“We’re retreating. Rally at Etal Pass, southwest of our current position.”
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
The moment the words left Aethlyn’s mouth, the sergeant sprang to his feet.
He extended a hand toward her, where she still lay sprawled on the ground.
As Aethlyn reached out with a trembling hand, he seized it.
With overwhelming strength, he pulled her upright as effortlessly as if he were yanking a radish from the soil.
Standing on unsteady legs, Aethlyn muttered,
“Don’t think I’m just going to let this slide. Once we get back to headquarters, I’m dragging you before a military tribunal for assaulting a superior officer.”
It was a threat with no menace behind it.
For the first time, a hint of a smile appeared on the sergeant’s face, which had remained rigid until now.
It was a smile that almost looked shy.
“…Yes.”
He understood exactly what she meant.
It meant…
They were both going to survive this.
Aethlyn gave the order once more.
“Go. I’ll cover you from behind.”
Gennadi took one last look at Aethlyn.
For a brief moment, he stared at her as though engraving her image into his very eyes.
Then, at last, he turned his back.
Not long afterward…
Aethlyn witnessed a sight she could scarcely believe.
A gigantic black wolf howled toward the ashen sky.
Its savage cry tore through No Man’s Land.
Long, long ago, an evil dragon lived in the distant north.
The violent dragon had no friends.
There were magical beasts and wild men around it, but none of them could truly be called companions.
Slaves, perhaps.
Compared to the noble dragon, they were all lowly creatures.
And humans?
The very idea was laughable.
Humans weren’t even useful enough to be slaves.
They lacked both the monstrous fertility of magical beasts and the overwhelming strength of the wild men.
A handful of them could use magic…
But compared to a dragon’s magic, it was little more than a child’s game.
To the dragon, humans were nothing more than insignificant insects—even less useful than slaves.
And therein lay the problem.
Those insects irritated the dragon immensely.
{Annoying.}
For that reason alone, the dragon ordered its slaves to torment humanity.
They drove humans from fertile lands.
They stole everything they owned.
They oppressed them.
Again and again.
Savoring their cries of agony as though drinking the sweetest wine.
Humans begged.
They resisted.
They surrendered.
But none of it mattered before the savage dragon.
Those who resisted were killed.
Those who surrendered were worked so mercilessly that death would have been kinder.
At last, when humanity could endure no more…
Two nations rose in defiance.
The Republic of Esta in the west.
And the Kingdom of Barbaros in the east.
Though they differed in government, language, and culture…
They shared one thing in common.
Both were nations ruled by mages.
Joining forces, the two countries resolved to slay the dragon.
Gathering other like-minded nations, they formed the Morning Star Alliance.
Thus began the war that would decide the fate of humanity against the evil dragon.
A war that later generations would come to call…
The Great Twilight War.
The capital of the Republic of Esta—
Estaria.
The grand ballroom of the Wintercrown Estate.
A magnificent celebration was underway.
Or rather…
A party so lavish it was dazzling enough to blind anyone who looked upon it.
The centerpiece of the banquet was, without question, the magical chandelier suspended from the ceiling.
Made up of thousands of floating spirit lights, the chandelier constantly shifted forms.
One moment it shone in the shape of the Estan national flag.
The next, it transformed into a dragon.
Its ever-changing display delighted every guest in attendance.
The guests themselves were no less colorful than the chandelier.
Most were mages.
Each wore garments imbued with the signature magic of their own noble house.
The young lady of House Anfante, famed for its fire magic, wore a dress wreathed in flickering blue flames, while Count Elexias, renowned for lightning magic, donned a cloak crackling with sparks.
The ballroom looked less like a banquet hall and more like an aviary filled with birds of paradise.
With the cheerful chatter of the invited mages and the chamber orchestra performing in the background, it was a truly extravagant celebration.
“The election for the president of the Rune Magic Society is still being delayed?”
“When aren’t they behind schedule? It takes them ten years just to revise their bylaws. Imagine how long choosing a president will take.”
“I heard Count Elexias developed a new lightning spell. He’s giving a demonstration at the Assembly Hall next week, so I’m thinking of going.”
“I hear the Kingdom of Willem is refusing to pay any more toward the alliance’s contributions.”
“After everything we sacrificed in the Twilight War for them? The nerve!”
Leaning against the railing of the indoor balcony on the ballroom’s second floor, Aethlyn Wintercrown quietly looked down at the prosperous scene below.
‘What a golden age.’
Everything gleamed.
The luxurious décor.
The polished, elegant guests.
Someday, people would probably look back on this era as the golden age of the Republic of Esta.
A faint smile touched Aethlyn’s lips.
Unlike everyone else in the hall, she was dressed with remarkable simplicity.
She wore the Republic’s dark navy dress uniform for magic officers, completely free of magical embellishments.
Compared to the dazzling attire around her, it almost seemed too plain for such an occasion.
Yet she appeared more graceful than anyone else present.
It was simply the elegance and dignity she possessed by nature.
Her features were refined and delicately sculpted.
Her blue eyes shone with cool intelligence.
Her posture remained perfectly straight, without the slightest flaw.
With her chin raised ever so slightly as she calmly surveyed the ballroom below, anyone would have recognized her as the eldest daughter of Duke Wintercrown—
The future head of House Wintercrown.
‘The future head…’
…Though that hadn’t been officially decided.
At least…
Not yet.
Aethlyn’s composed gaze drifted toward the seat of honor in the main hall below.
There sat her parents, Duke Wintercrown and the Duchess, chatting amiably with their guests.
As always, Duke Wintercrown wore an easygoing smile as he effortlessly guided every conversation around him.
The Duchess, on the other hand, looked visibly anxious.
Clutching the folds of her mourning-black dress, she sat stiffly in silence, nervously biting her lip.
Seeing the unease written all over her face, Aethlyn curled her lips into a faint smirk.
“You look awfully nervous.”
Janet Wintercrown.
The Duchess of Wintercrown.
And Aethlyn’s stepmother.
Aethlyn knew all too well why she looked so uneasy.
After all, this wasn’t an ordinary banquet.
It was a celebration honoring Aethlyn’s commissioning as an officer in the Magic Army.
Appropriately enough, most of the conversations throughout the hall revolved around her.
“A magic officer, is she? She reminds me of the late former Duke Wintercrown. Wasn’t he a magic officer too?”
“He certainly was. A famous one, at that. He left a remarkable legacy in the Magic Army before retiring with great honor. It’s a shame his son never followed in his footsteps, but seeing his granddaughter take that path instead is wonderful.”
“I also heard she specifically requested Pharos as her first posting. That’s admirable. Unlike so many selfish youngsters these days.”
“Duke Wintercrown is truly blessed. His son is a genius of magic, and his daughter has turned out so upright.”
“Three generations of excellence. From the former duke to the current heirs.”
“The heirs? Well, everyone knows Aethlyn…”
“Watch your tongue. If the Duchess of Wintercrown hears you, there’ll be trouble.”
Listening quietly to their conversation, Aethlyn could understand why the Duchess looked so restless.
She wanted her own son, Arthur, to inherit House Wintercrown.
Instead, everyone’s attention was fixed on Aethlyn.
‘…Still, I didn’t think she’d make it so obvious.’
On paper, they were mother and daughter.
Aethlyn looked at the Duchess with a trace of bitterness before her gaze shifted to the far left end of the seat of honor.
A thin young man sat there, hunched over with a book.
Even at a glance, his thick glasses clearly carried an extremely strong prescription.
He stood out just as much as Aethlyn did.
The difference was that, in his case, it wasn’t for a good reason.
His shaggy hair stuck out in every direction as though a cow had licked it.
His clothes looked expensive, yet were hopelessly wrinkled.
On top of that, he had draped himself in a gloomy magical barrier as if it were some kind of fashion statement.
He looked completely out of place at such a grand banquet.
Perhaps because of that, no one approached him.
The guests merely stole curious glances from nearby.
If he simply looked up and took off his glasses, he would probably be fairly handsome.
But he seemed utterly uninterested in how other people saw him.
That gloomy young man was none other than Aethlyn’s beloved half-brother—
Arthur Wintercrown.
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