Chapter 392
Silence settled over the land, bathed in the glow of the setting sun.

The bodies of those who hadn’t survived lay strewn everywhere, leaving no room to step. Broken spears, arrows, and swords stood upright, like grim markers.

Above them, a flock of crows descended. They circled the empty air a few times, then, sensing the land’s stillness, settled down slowly.

Before the barrier, the earth was filled only with the stench of blood and the cawing of crows. The once fertile soil and fresh grass had been trampled and torn apart, losing all trace of their former life.

From atop the barrier, Clifford, a soldier, let out a heavy sigh as he surveyed the scene. Even if the war ended now, what would they do with all these corpses? Among them were foreigners with no known ties, and abominations that defied nature’s order. Either way, Clifford’s quarters would soon be sullied with filthy, impure runoff.

“Any movement?”

“Ah, Your Highness.”

Prince Noah approached slowly, lifting his telescope. Directly ahead lay the Burgos camp, and to the right, the Luswena camp.

If only it were winter—there’d be no worries about crops, and Clifford’s biting cold winds would have already claimed the lives of those enemies. But with summer approaching, even the night breeze carried a damp chill.

“What about contact between Burgos and Luswena?”

“None detected yet on this side, but reconnaissance continues.”

“The kings will surely meet under cover of night. Whatever they discuss will be put into action by morning. Prepare the special forces. Night is when they hunker down, but for us, it’s an opportunity.”

Though a truce was in place, fighting would resume at dawn. Who struck first would determine the tide of battle.

Clifford, familiar with the terrain, was best positioned to block contact between the two nations and prevent the second wave of fighting. The mages and magic swordsmen, the backbone of their forces, were another matter entirely.

Noah patted the soldier’s shoulder and descended from the barrier.

Creak.

As the door opened, all eyes of the mages and magic swordsmen turned to Noah. Yet no one greeted him. They had neither the strength nor the will.

“Where is Sir Ian?”

“He’s still asleep.”

Ian lay straight-backed, breathing heavily in his slumber.

Beric remained by his side, lying prone, while the mages sighed and changed their own bandages.

“It hurts. Take it easy.”

“Have all the others returned?”

“No. Five have not come back. Their fate is unknown. We rescued all visible magic swordsmen, so they must have slipped through or be buried under those bodies.”

Jaret exhaled a thin plume of cigarette smoke.

Five missing. Honestly, they thought the mission was complete—they had brought back everyone they could find amid the chaos.

But counting heads revealed five missing, a sign that the magic division’s personnel count was still uncertain. Jaret stubbed out his cigarette and said,

“There’s faint magic sensed beyond the barrier, so some must still be alive.”

“Could it be Luswena mages?”

“We can tell precisely. Just as we can guess each other’s origins when we meet face to face.”

Behind Jaret, Maxim Tweller appeared, wiping his face with a wet towel. The bloodstains caked in his wrinkles refused to fade.

“The Bariel magic division’s incapacitation gives them an opening. They’ll act with the dawn. Sir Ian is too weak to command. That… Captain Hale, was it?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Hale, who had been channeling magic into Ian, half-raised his body.

“If Ian doesn’t wake before then, you’ll take over command of the magic division. We need a leader to coordinate.”

The Empire’s Defense Department, the Imperial Guard, and the magic division’s key figures had all gathered.

Maxim downed a warm drink in one gulp, then looked bitterly at the mages.

“So, how many mages will be ready to fight tomorrow?”

“We need more time to assess. All injuries were caused by Idgal weapons, and recovery varies by severity. Captain Akorella is also working on new enhancers. Please wait a little longer.”

“Captain Jaret, can the Imperial Guard send more support?”

“No. The Guard’s duty is to protect and serve His Majesty the Emperor. The Crown Prince specially authorized this deployment, but this is the limit. Two of the three commanders cannot leave the palace.”

Jaret said this, glancing at Barsabe, who was sweating profusely and pressing a bandage to his side. Their eyes met briefly; Barsabe forced a smile, but the pain was clear.

“Then the arrival of Bariel reinforcements is our best hope. It’d be ideal if they come from Luswena’s rear. I think we should focus more on the mages than the synthetic monsters. Cutting off Luswena first seems wise.”

Ssshh.

Maxim murmured, lighting a cigarette.

“Besides, isn’t Luswena farther from the homeland than Burgos? If supply lines are cut, Luswena will suffer the most.”

Swish.

At that moment, General Samobo of Clifford’s forces raised his hand.

“Minister, your opinion is valid, but I must disagree. Longer supply lines mean longer campaign times, so Luswena isn’t an immediate threat. We should deal with Burgos first. I’m also concerned about the influx of synthetic monsters and other creatures.”

“Ah, tell me more about that. I heard there’s a rift within Clifford’s ranks? Is the palace investigating, Your Highness?”

“That’s true, but the magic traces have long since vanished. Geology experts at the palace are studying it, but no significant findings yet.”

Maxim closed his eyes briefly, deep in thought.

Even those living on the mainland were unaware of the rift’s existence. Experts had begun investigations, but results were slow to come.

Then how did King Damon know? Starting a war suggests he was certain. What gave him that confidence?

“King Damon’s actions are suspicious.”

“Clearly, he’s not in his right mind.”

“Bariel’s involvement without retreat suggests he’s banking on his own chances. It’s strange. Very strange.”

Half a lifetime on the battlefield had taught Jaret that the most dangerous moments were like this—when only one side of the story was visible, like crocodiles lurking in a swamp.

You never knew what lay beneath, and experience said such times rarely passed without heavy losses.

“Captain Jaret, a moment.”

Barsabe nodded toward the captain, requesting a private word. The mages glanced briefly before returning to their treatments, while Maxim kept smoking.

“Though injured, how are you feeling?”

“I have something to report.”

“Go ahead.”

Barsabe, accompanied by mage guards, was also there to watch over Ian.

She clutched her aching side, scanning the area. Aside from the weary guards, no one unusual was around.

“Sir Ian’s behavior is somewhat odd.”

“In what way?”

Jaret’s gaze sharpened. Thanks to Jin, he knew of the Emperor’s stasis and the Crown Prince’s will, but regardless, the magic division was always a cause for caution.

Barsabe shook her head, signaling no hostility.

“No, not that kind of odd. I haven’t heard everything clearly, but I caught him acting as if he wanted to leave the palace several times.”

“Leave the palace?”

“Yes. Though vague, he often hinted at this to Hale and Akorella. Whether intentional or not, he conveyed the message clearly. I don’t know their response.”

“Anything else?”

“No. Sir Ian led the alliance talks between Clifford and Bariel and supported them fully. He acted exactly as Bariel’s representative should.”

Jaret sighed, stroking his beard. Barsabe’s report seemed credible.

Ian wants to leave the palace? Why?

Is it exhaustion? He recalled the boy who worked tirelessly day and night, but shook his head.

Ian had always been steady, fulfilling his role perfectly. The palace was his home, and he had blended in well. Leaving?

‘Could it be for the Crown Prince’s sake?’

As Jaret rifled through his pocket for a cigarette, a small commotion arose inside.

“Ian, can you wake up?”

Creak.

Ian’s eyes opened.

The doctor, startled, quickly examined him. Given the dosage of the sleeping medicine, he should have slept until late tomorrow, so waking so soon was puzzling.

The doctor snapped his fingers, checking Ian’s mental state.

“Can you hear me, Ian? Please respond. If speaking is difficult, just nod.”

Ian nodded dully, as if just roused from sleep, looking weak and dazed.

“How do you feel?”

“……”

“I’ve heard that the magic you used was of the mental type, so the side effects are showing up in that area. If you’re feeling uncomfortable, it would be best to get some more rest and stabilize yourself. Can you hear me?”

The doctor kept glancing at Ian as he took notes. Ian was alive, but it didn’t feel like he truly was. The doctor bit his lower lip lightly as he recorded the symptoms.

‘We gave him a strong dose of sleeping pills, yet he’s awake now… Even if we administer more, it’s unlikely to have much effect. Medically speaking, aside from the magic, this means he’s under such intense stress that he can’t easily fall asleep.’

“Iaaan!”

Beric pushed past the busy doctor and leaned in close to Ian’s face. Finally awake! His eyes sparkled brightly, and he smiled as if urging Ian to say something.

The other mages were the same. They all smiled awkwardly, waiting for Ian to say something.

They had all silently agreed to pretend they hadn’t seen Ian’s tears, to erase the memory of his suffering. But now, face to face with him, their smiles felt strange and unfamiliar.

“Ian?”

Slowly, Ian sat up and looked around.

Minister Maxim Tweller was watching him with interest, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Ian’s head moved ever so slightly—he was counting.

“…Five are missing.”

“Ah, that is…”

“Selena, Yen, Kanchi, Tommy, Zhang.”

Ian named them precisely. He sighed deeply, realizing which mages hadn’t returned.

“Ian, at dawn, the magic swordsmen will sweep the area in front of the barrier. We can still sense faint traces of magic, so it’s possible they’re being held prisoner by the enemy. They’re not dead. We know that.”

One of the mages added hurriedly, rambling nervously. It was hard to tell if he was trying to comfort or console.

But Ian just slumped back down at the edge of the bed, staring blankly into space. He didn’t cry anymore. He had already shed all the tears he could, and his eyes looked dry and hollow.

Honestly, that wasn’t a good sign to his comrades. Ian’s eyes were usually clear and bright, like precious gems.

“Ian, just rest a little longer. When the sun rises, we’ll go out again. They said we might get a message from the other side first, so we’re waiting. When we fight again, I’ll do better. I’ll really cut those bastards down. Okay?”

Beric grabbed Ian’s sleeve, restless, but Ian kept staring into the empty air before him. The boy sat there for a long while, lost in thought. Then Ian turned his gaze toward the door and gave an order.

“…Bring Prince Noah. We’re changing the plan.”

Changing the plan?

Maxim Tweller raised an eyebrow with interest, while Jarrett, watching the situation from outside, frowned with concern. This was not the Ian they knew.