Chapter 202: Converging Steps
Messengers who had departed the Storm Forest scattered across every corner of the continent. The words Calix had left behind crossed borders and seas, reaching the very hearts of each kingdom.
The Elvra Holy Empire.
Immediately after the dawn prayers, Sier Lagrin faced a messenger before the marble altar. At first, he thought it was a report carrying news from the south. But the moment he saw the words written on the letter, the tightly sealed line of his lips trembled violently.
—To my teacher.
It was Ella's handwriting.
She asked after her teacher's wellbeing in a plain tone before quickly coming to the point. Those brief sentences shattered all at once every emotion Sier had suppressed over the past month.
—Calix is one who raises us up.
The hand holding the letter shook faintly.
"To see Sier with such an expression……"
"He's been too emotional ever since the Sacred Ground fell."
"Can't blame him, really."
Sier raised his head.
The moment his gaze shifted, the surrounding air settled with a cold stillness. Quietly, yet with unmistakable resolve, he released his divine power. The priests who had been moving their mouths froze in unison.
"Everyone, mind your words."
He let the warning fall and sank into thought.
Ella had never once asked anything of Sier. And yet, her single words weighed heavier than any doctrine.
Sier recalled the young man's face.
Calix.
Once a mercenary, one who had written miracles alongside a handful of companions, and above all—a man who had grasped the lingering resonance of Divinity that the Elvra had lost.
That man now needed the power of the Order.
"Zion."
"Yes, Doctrinal Chancellor."
"Summon the moderates. And…… The representative of the conservatives as well."
Since Ella had departed south, the Order had split once again into two factions within that short span of time. But Sier paid it no mind.
As his footsteps carried him out of the altar hall—
Faint but unmistakable light rippled beneath the hem of his mantle. The light was stirring.
* * *
Northern Military Camp of the Niboria Empire.
Amid the summer heat that shimmered in wavering haze, Marquis Ashapel quietly unfolded the letter inside his tent.
He read on with a composed expression for a while. Then, at one moment, his eyes trembled faintly. Because of a single sentence.
—I intend to go forth to the final battle.
Marquis Ashapel murmured low.
"With the Emperor absent…… The nobles will choose silence. They won't move for this much. You've made a mistake, Calix."
But his words did not reach their end.
Thoom—
From across the camp, the sound of a drum rang out.
Marquis Ashapel's head snapped up sharply.
The drumbeat did not stop at once. It spread to dozens of places, cascading in succession. The news from the central region had passed through the mouths of messengers.
"He is calling the warriors!"
The words spread—whose voice it was, no one could tell.
Men who sprinted out hauling their armor over their shoulders, standard-bearers who raised banners and cried out, and knights who belatedly listened to what the soldiers were saying.
Those who answered were many. Those who tried to stop them—none.
A veteran soldier of the Silver Shield Legion beat the drum and roared.
"Even without orders, honor moves!!"
The nobles were watching one another's reactions, but the soldiers had already chosen their direction.
Of course, Calix's letter was not an order. That was precisely why it was stronger than anything. In Niboria, there was only one thing stronger than an order.
Honor.
Among the bewildered nobles, only Marquis Ashapel perceived the turn of events and let out a low sigh.
"……The warriors have already given their answer."
* * *
Northwestern continent, the Viale Mountain Alliance.
A deep forest surrounding the mountain range. That forest was a vast living organism. The energy of nature circulated, carrying magical power across the entire mountain range.
Yet now, it was dying.
In the depths of the forest, The Enveloping One, Minebris, let out a faint breath. Before her lay two letters. One was Felderwin's message, and the other had been sent by Calix.
—Do not be devoured by the darkness.
At Felderwin's words, laced with warning and concern, Minebris curved a bitter smile. As he had said, what was contaminating the Viale was none other than herself.
It was not that she was being pushed back by the dark energy—she was being corroded whole.
That was surely the reason the representatives of the Viale had come to find her. The woman swept her gaze across the dwarf and elf in turn.
On the dwarf's side, Ulrick Snob, chieftain of the Snowbrack Tribe, had come in person. On the elf's side, Vailen Renb of the Renb Tribe had come directly. Both were renowned for their stubborn will.
"Guardian of the Viale, what would you have us do?"
"We wish to hear your counsel."
Minebris fell silent for a moment, then slowly parted her parched lips.
"I……remember his words."
The representatives of the Viale drew a sharp breath.
"You, too, made a promise to stand with him."
"But our remaining forces are not great."
"I know."
For that reason, she had prepared the greatest fighting strength the Viale possessed. From between the shadows of the undergrowth, another figure suddenly stepped forward.
It was Serin Abra, an elf called the Lion of the Forest. He had his long hair tied back and two daggers at his waist.
Ulrick Snob furrowed his brow, then recognized the figure's identity and gaped in blank astonishment. The elf Vailen Renb exhaled in dismay and cried out.
"Master! We searched everywhere and couldn't find you…… Where on earth have you been all this time!"
The reply that returned was remarkably short.
"Is that what matters."
"……"
"I will go."
Those few words settled everything.
Before long, the gates of the mountain range opened. Far ahead, the road facing east came into view. The Viale's elite numbered a mere sixty. Yet they carried within them their sharpest claws.
* * *
The capital of the Latia Republic was facing a defeat called 'isolation' even before a battle had been fought.
A dark blue sea mist blanketed the skies above the city. A flock of strange birds circled, gnawing at shattered masts, and half the harbor was already submerged.
Inside the council chamber.
The elders of the Latia Republic scowled at one another.
"So what are we to do then? The sea mist hasn't lifted—who would go out onto the water? Five ships have already disappeared!"
"Then are you saying we stay still? I've heard people are already starving to death in the Esarix Archipelago."
It was at that moment.
The darkness retreated, and the ceiling flushed a shade of orange. No one had opened the door, yet the wind reversed its flow. As everyone flinched, a mass of feathers drifted through the gaps between the pillars.
It was Kailo Felderwin.
"Latia…… Has not yet died."
Before his words even finished, the sea mist split in two. The strange birds scattered with screaming cries, and the city's citizens hurried to crane their necks out through the windows.
"A, a mage! A mage has come!"
"It's Lord Felderwin!"
He looked down at the ground below and waved his hand. As words were not his strength, he spread an illusion to show it directly. Rainwater and sea merged, and magical energies recreated the scene of a battlefield.
Dark forces surged endlessly forward. And standing to face them was Belmar—a Master hailing from Latia. People recognized him and unleashed a thunderclap of cheers.
"Sir Belmar is still fighting!"
"For the sake of people like us—people of the sea!"
After that, Felderwin did not utter another word. Not when he descended to the heart of the city, and not when the republic's elders hurled him a torrent of questions. Not even at words seeking his counsel, or words used to rationalize their own choices.
"Is there truly no way to reclaim the sea?"
"……"
"……Ah."
Sometimes, silence became the most powerful persuasion.
The ones who reached a decision were…… None other than the young captains. Those who in ordinary times plied the seas freely under the guise of trade while practicing piracy stepped forward.
"If we have no ships, we'll build new ones!"
"If the road is blocked, we'll sail around through the rough seas!"
No one had pressed them, yet they heated rusted navigation tools in the fire and prepared for departure. Some sharpened their blades, and some mended their sails.
The elders, belatedly hearing the news, came down to the harbor—but they could not turn back that great tide.
"Are even you going to leave? We have already lost so much."
As one of the elders murmured weakly, a young captain fired back bluntly.
"Then I'll take it back with my own hands."
The sea of Latia was not dead. What had grown rotten and crumbled was nothing but an old and shrunken heart.
* * *
Southeastern front of the Astria Kingdom.
Beyond the grain-producing lands, in a region where coast met continent, long fortress walls stretched in a line. The road leading to Gardia. But the border ramparts were cracked, as though they would never reclaim their original form.
"Hmm……"
The moment the fortress commander unfolded Calix's letter, a complicated expression swept across his face.
After the fall of Duke Saitz, the south still did not know how to fill that half-vacancy.
The remnant forces of the ducal house were wary of Calix, while the other nobles were interested only in pulling out the profits from the grain-producing lands behind closed doors. Not a single one was willing to shoulder any real responsibility.
He read through the letter's contents once more. The words were composed to a degree that almost felt excessive. Sentences without emotion. Not kind, but not threatening either.
The collapse of the front lines, The Corrupted forces on the verge of marching north, and the plain persuasion written at the end—seized his gaze.
—I cannot promise to protect the land you live on. But I can fight alongside you. Take up your spears and swords. Prove with your own hands that you have the right to defend that land."
Viscount Vogel—a middle-aged knight who was also the fortress commander—drew a breath.
"This is…… Not a threat."
The adjutant beside him responded.
"It is unexpected. If anything, had it been a threat, we might have ignored it."
Behind them, the lower commanders held their breath. At a glance, they all appeared to maintain their composure—but any trained warrior would know. In this very moment, what pressed upon their hearts was the cold reality.
The southern nobles had already fled, or were busy scheming their escape. Only the forces of this fortress were 'actually' fighting.
Viscount Vogel's expression darkened. His mouth stayed firmly shut, and the hand resting against his chin refused to move. Then the adjutant offered his opinion once more.
"If the end truly approaches as he says, should we not at least make a desperate stand?"
"……You mean to join him."
"At the very least, that man has never made enemies of us."
It was sound reasoning.
Viscount Vogel turned his gaze toward the outside of the ramparts. The southern plains glittered darkly from a distance. It was the season when grain should have been growing, but the wind carried nothing but the stench of rot.
There was no expectation that holding out longer would bring any improvement.
"I was ordered to defend this fortress."
He muttered as though speaking to himself.
"But at its smallest, that is to protect the south. At its greatest, it is for the sake of Astria."
"That would mean……"
"Muster the forces."
The adjutant's eyes went wide.
"Do you mean to say we will join him?"
Viscount Vogel gave a nod. In truth, he knew well that he was no hero. But if he did not move now, nothing would remain.
Several days later, the gates of the fortress opened, and the soldiers marched out in a line.
That procession was neither as majestic as Niboria's, nor as passionate as Latia's. It was simply the result of a choice made because it was necessary.
The sound of those advancing to survive.
And so, the last fighting force that had protected the southern grain-producing lands took its first steps.
***
Several weeks after that, across the eastern plains of Astria, different banners began to gather one by one.
Some arrived first, and some were a little delayed—but one thing was certain.
The armies of each nation were finally walking in the same direction.