Chapter 201

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Chapter 201: Speaking the Path

A ‍‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‍brief silence had settled over the outpost bordering the Storm Forest.

NovelFire reader preview #17460e73af70 (issued 2026-07-20).

The clang of metal on metal was no longer heard. In place of war cries and screams, only stillness remained. Calix swept his gaze across the interior of the tent.

The vision that had painted itself before his eyes just moments ago had vanished—yet in his mind, the scene conjured by Felderwin's magic continued to play out.

The fall of the Gardia Kingdom. The trembling Viale Mountain range. The port of Latia, swallowed by black sea fog.

"……If we continue like this, we'll be torn apart from the middle."

Royce murmured quietly. He too was revisiting the scenes the magic had shown them.

"The Corrupted Lord advances from the south, and the central defense line barely holds on. We've retaken the north, yes—but it's nothing more than a momentary peace."

Calix said nothing in response. Instead, he looked down at the table.

A crudely drawn map lay spread across it, marked with troop positions and strategic points. Felderwin placed his fingers on it and quietly added his explanations. The regional names were unfamiliar, but their locations—those, he knew precisely.

The southern grain belt of the Astria Kingdom.

"The south cannot hold out much longer. Years of war have broken their spirit. Those of high birth will flee at the first opportunity, and there are no more fighting men left to take up arms."

Those amber eyes radiated a cold light.

"It is different from the north. These are people who move not from pride, but from fear. Driven to the edge, only the worst of them remain."

On the map, the small flag placed over the southern Astria region toppled—thud.

Then his hand moved toward Viale.

"Viale fares no better. The forests of the mountain range have already undergone their third corruption. The Enveloping One, Minebris, is doing her part simply by not falling to the darkness herself. Above all else, the remaining forces there appear to be few in number."

"That means practical support is out of the question," Belmar responded in a low voice.

"Indeed. But they understand this crisis more clearly than anyone—what De Generitum truly is. That much will surely be of use."

Then Felderwin's finger shifted to point at the southern sea.

"Latia, the kingdom of the sea. Their ships can no longer connect island to island. The sea fog and hordes of monstrous birds have sealed off the routes. They will soon starve—and rather than war, it is famine they will face."

Volga, who had been listening in silence, clicked his tongue and cut in.

"So even though everyone knows they're each being strangled one by one, none of them have the breathing room to extend a hand to the others."

"……You've said it rightly."

Belmar gave a short nod.

"No one wants to pull their forces away. Each of them believes their own gate is the most urgent."

At that, Hadiya nudged the person standing beside her. A dark-complexioned face—Ranakk, a man from the Kalahim desert. Even after hearing news of his father, Great Chief Yoman's death in battle, he had not wavered once.

Only in this moment did he show his true feelings.

"Kalahim is no different."

He opened his mouth carefully.

"The desert tribes distrust one another. Until now, the Great Chief Yoman held them together—but that was only a temporary measure. Left to themselves, internal strife will erupt before any war does."

"That is why we are here."

Volga spoke again.

"Cutting down enemies is well and good, but if it comes to it, I won't shy away from grabbing our allies by the scruff of their necks either. I have no desire to watch us crumble one by one without doing a thing. Aren't we all the same?"

His words were rough, but their meaning was something everyone could agree with.

Calix closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them.

The desperate scene Felderwin had shown them was enough for one viewing. But without sharing this despair, no one would move.

"There is only one thing that is certain."

When Calix spoke, every gaze in the room turned to him.

"This is not a war belonging to any single nation. If everyone simply guards their own gate, in the end—the castles, the forests, the sea, the desert……all of it will be lost."

At his words, Felderwin rose from his seat and leaned over the map once more. Before he continued, a long silence passed.

"What you say is truly right. What we are about to discuss from this point forward is no simple game."

The mage's voice resonated with weight.

"This is the moment we determine the direction of how we fight—and how we survive."

Belmar smiled faintly.

"Then let us start by sorting out our numbers. Mountain Rabbits, Astria, Viale, Kalahim—and the Wandering One as well. At the very least, everyone in this room needs to be looking at the same picture."

Calix listened one final time to the howls the Storm Forest released. The cries of monsters rang out in a steady rhythm, as though reminding them that they would not be forgotten for even a moment.

‘There is no thought of running.’

He turned his gaze back to the table.

It began with fighting through words.

***

A gathering without Yelayen or the nobles of Niboria. The Mountain Rabbits and the commanders of the Eastern Alliance forces sat together in one place.

The weight of everyone's breathing filled the tent. As Calix pulled his chair forward, Belmar gave a brief nod and spoke.

"Then let us begin. We must put every method we have on the table."

It was Royce who spoke first. True to his nature as a man who had lived on the battlefield, his words were blunt.

"We must concentrate the forces of each nation at a single point. Scattered, there is no answer. The war has already dragged on far too long—we need to see it through in a short span of time. Only by moving together will we create an opportunity to go head-to-head with De Generitum."

It was the correct answer that anyone could arrive at—yet one that could not be carelessly executed.

Belmar immediately shook his head.

"Drawing out additional forces is no easy matter. The troop replenishment of each nation has reached its limit. Above all, the kings and nobles are turning a blind eye to reality."

The atmosphere in the room dropped sharply.

His rebuttal was everyone's shared struggle.

At that, Marik rapped on the table and said,

"What if we offered them a seat in the allied command? There will be those who covet the honor. If it helps at all, we must make use of whatever we can—"

"Even if we offer command positions."

Belmar cut him off.

"Would they truly send those they keep to protect themselves?"

It was a dry truth.

Those of noble birth seek to secure their own safety first. It was something worthy of condemnation—yet this was not a matter of sentiment. Simply put, it was a question of whether one accepted reality or not.

"Then, truly—is there no strategy to draw out their support?"

Discussion carried on for some time, but no clear conclusion emerged.

"……Damn cowards."

Basim muttered, scrunching up his face in frustration.

It was a paradox. The world revered the Mountain Rabbits—but the very reason they were respected was that no one else could make the choices they made.

It was then that Ranakk, who had been listening in silence all this while, raised his head.

"Kalahim may be possible. There are troops, and supplies should still remain."

He paused briefly, then added with a bitter expression,

"But……before that, the divisions among the tribes must first be resolved. The desert tribes do not trust one another. A single letter will not move anyone."

Ranakk's voice was composed, but the weight it carried was heavier than anyone else's.

Volga shrugged and muttered his agreement.

He was right.

Calix drew in a slow breath.

He ran through every possible move in his mind, but no clear solution surfaced. Each nation was consumed with its own survival. Those who would respond to his call with certainty would amount to Niboria, Elvra, and Viale.

‘Latia and Kalahim—I have to bring them in somehow.’

Time slipped by, offering nothing.

He hoped someone—anyone—would open their mouth. But no one spoke. In that silence, everyone was arriving at the same conclusion.

With a straightforward approach, they would never reach the end.

And it was precisely then.

"Why not just tell them they're all dead?"

"……I beg your pardon?"

The old man who had lost his memories—Gregor—dropped a bombshell.

Since parting from the Silver Shield Legion in the north, the old man had grown terribly bored. Calix had kept him supplied with small fruits to snack on, but there were limits to how long peeling skins could hold him over.

That was probably why.

"Just tell them they're all dead."

The veteran Mountain Rabbits shook their heads as if to say ‘here he goes again’—but Calix alone did not let his words drift past him.

"Gregor, could you explain a little more?"

At the quiet question, the old man scratched his beard and turned it back with a question of his own.

"Cook Comrade—do you know the difference between a bug and a beast?"

"I wouldn't say I do."

"A bug doesn't even realize it's in the place where it'll die before it crumbles to dust. But a beast is different. When death comes knocking, it scrambles out of its burrow in a panic."

In that instant, Adrian's eyes lit up. He had only just grasped the meaning behind Gregor's words.

"They only move when their feet catch fire. That is an absolute truth that will never change. Then it's simple—pour molten iron onto those feet."

"Now hold on, old man—"

Romance tried to step in and shut it down, but Adrian raised a hand to stop him.

"It isn't wrong."

Calix thought the same.

What Gregor was saying, put plainly—

"Ugh, just—! Tell them all, right now, that they're in a situation where they'll die in spectacular fashion—that's what I'm saying!"

Yes. That was it.

Silence fell over the tent once more. This time, however, it was because each person was busy organizing their thoughts. Only Gregor wore an untroubled expression, muttering to himself. His hands kept up their work without pause, peeling skin after skin off the small fruits.

"In my eyes, Kalahim is no different."

"Kalahim as well? Forgive me, but they……are not the sort to be taken in by a well-meaning lie."

"Who said anything about lying?"

"……What? But just now—"

At that moment, Gregor clicked his tongue and scolded the other man.

"What have you been listening to all this time! If you're the son, you must claim your rightful inheritance!"

"……"

Ranakk stood frozen with his jaw hanging open.

"They say the desert's Great Chief fell in battle? I heard as much. But even now, you haven't really……you know. The right? Whatever that's called. You haven't put that forward."

"……You mean my rights as the heir. But the tribal chiefs would not accept me for that reason alone—"

"You really are a complete mess!"

Gregor sprang to his feet and jabbed Ranakk in the forehead with his finger.

"Did I not say it. Pour molten iron onto their feet. The tribal chiefs of the desert and whatever else—the truth does not change."

As fortune or misfortune would have it, Ranakk understood the old man's meaning at once. He too had crossed the threshold of death multiple times in battle against the army commander.

He was a Mountain Rabbit.

"That means they……haven't been hit hard enough yet."

"Now you're finally listening! Why do you keep trying to talk your way through things? Hitting is so much simpler!"

Master Belmar stroked the bridge of his nose in bewilderment, but Ranakk sank into thought with a serious expression. In that moment, the voice of Great Chief Yoman drifted past his ears.

'A man of the desert does not flee from the sandstorm.'

A moment later, resolve settled in his eyes.

"I must move personally."

Calix, quietly in awe of Gregor's insight, opened his mouth.

"Ultimately, what the desert tribes respond to is justification. Ranakk, if you take the lead, the time needed to bring the chaos under control will shrink as well."

He did not ask whether it was possible. He simply trusted and entrusted it to the Mountain Rabbit who had declared it his own.

And he, too, had his own part to carry out.

"We'll need to change our approach for each nation. As for Astria—since they're right up against the front line, a calm and measured appeal should be sufficient, rather than making demands of them."

Calix wove his own experiences into the plan.

For the Elvra Holy Empire, Ella's cooperation would be enough. For the Viale Mountain Alliance, asking for help plainly and directly was the better approach. For Niboria, however, the letters sent to them needed to include the phrase 'the final battle' to stir the honor-hunger of their warriors.

"As for Latia, though—someone whose words carry genuine weight must go in person."

With those words, he fell silent, and Kailo Felderwin stepped forward. He was a being capable of overcoming the constraints of distance—and at the same time, a mage who carried a unique authority.

"I'll handle it. I'll show them just how fierce the winds sweeping this continent truly are."

Belmar nodded and rose from his seat.

"We must prepare the counteroffensive. We need to buy time for the forces to gather."

Ranakk, too, bowed deeply from the waist.

"I will bring the desert warriors back without fail."

The reply belonged to Gregor.

"Now that's something worthy of a Mountain Rabbit!"

A fleeting burst of laughter spread through the tent. For the first time, facing a towering enemy, something stirred—the will to believe that ‘something could be done’.

And before long—

The continent trembled in every direction.

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