Chapter 490: Appointment

In the Golden Feather Palace, King Bruno was convening several royal ministers and special envoys—representatives of great noble houses who remained in the capital—to discuss the matter of unilaterally tearing up the ceasefire agreement and launching an offensive against the Kingdom of Trisia.

After all, peace accords were easy to break, but if circumstances turned unfavorable, reestablishing them would not be so simple as a single command.

Though intelligence reports indicated that the Moltenfire Duchy, after a period of turmoil, had returned to Trisia’s fold—thus calming internal unrest within the enemy kingdom—Bruno remained confident about reclaiming Misthaven.

On one hand, he had spent nearly a year preparing. On the other, and more crucially, Ronin’s army had already reached the border.

With the Radiant Knight and his dragon at their side, the scales of victory had already tipped in their favor.

Under Bruno’s firm advocacy, few voices rose in opposition; instead, the discussion centered on preparations prior to breaking the truce.

Once war began, coordination would be needed not only along the Misthaven front, but also with Faelon’s Brown Forest line and Vela’s Crimson Front.

Thus, before any movement at Misthaven, communication with these two duchies was essential—lest they launch their assault only to find their allies unaware and unprepared.

Beyond this, another issue arose: the appointment of the supreme commander. Here, disagreement emerged.

Some advocated for the Crown Prince to retain overall command; others pushed for Count Gushan, whose experience was unmatched; and still others even suggested Ronin.

Ronin’s inclusion stemmed largely from the overwhelming impression he had made at the wedding—an aura so potent it had drawn fervent admirers, young nobles enamored with strength above all.

Several days later, the broad outlines of the plan were settled. The noble envoys departed Golden Feather City, each bearing the royal mobilization decree to their respective domains.

Meanwhile, Bruno sat composing a personal letter to Redpine Fortress.

The final decision: Garrett would serve as supreme commander, Count Gushan as deputy, and Ronin as military advisor.

But before the ink could dry, Meir entered his study, carrying a letter from Gushan.

Bruno read it in silence, his expression growing grave. After a long pause, he sighed deeply. “Garrett… how foolish you are.”

He knew his son’s temperament well. In recent weeks, he had repeatedly counseled Garrett, urging him to mend his hostility toward Ronin.

For the Kingdom of Auduin, Ronin was a blade—sharp, powerful, and meant to be wielded wisely.

Even minor conflicts, Bruno believed, should be endured for the greater good.

Yet he had not expected Garrett’s pride to run so deep—so defiant that, rather than heed his father’s words, he had gone so far as to provoke Ronin directly at the front lines.

His eyes moved to the latter half of Gushan’s letter, where the count detailed the strength of Rideral.

This knight, previously unknown, was also a Radiant!

Two Radiants now stood upon the frontier.

True, Ronin’s rising power posed a latent threat to the crown—but for now, their common enemy lay beyond the border: the Kingdom of Trisia.

At this moment, both Ronin and Rideral were blades that served Auduin well.

After a long silence, Bruno lifted his pen and struck through the words he had written.

He took out a fresh sheet and began anew.

This time, Count Gushan would be supreme commander. Ronin would serve as deputy, under the pretext of “learning and adaptation.” And his son Garrett—he would be recalled to the Golden Feather Palace under the pretense of “urgent matters requiring consultation.”

As the ink dried upon the page, complex emotions flickered in Bruno’s gaze.

He understood well that this decision bore not only on the outcome of war, but on the stability of the realm and the future of the dynasty.

Placing Gushan in command was a choice for the greater good. Appointing Ronin as deputy was both an act of observation and an attempt to harness his strength.

And recalling Garrett? That was protection—shielding him from his own recklessness, from mistakes that could not be undone.

Fortunately, Garrett had always obeyed his commands.

Bruno reflected quietly.

This recall was not merely to instruct his son in statecraft, but to teach him how to stand beside the strong—to understand that true kingship was not conquest by force alone, but wisdom, restraint, and the breadth of heart.

He sealed the letter and handed it to Meir. “Send it with Matt to Redpine Fortress. Have it read aloud to Garrett.”

While the council convened in Golden Feather Palace, Carlos had spent several consecutive days circling Watchtower Keep.

His massive shadow loomed like a storm cloud, ever-present over the fortress below.

Vicecount Placido, clad in black armor, had scarcely slept these past nights. He felt as though a sword hung perpetually above his head—should he falter for even a moment, it would strike him dead.

“Damn it!”

He strode onto the battlements, glaring up at the dark shape in the sky.

“Dear sister, how is your preparation coming? Do we stand any chance against this dragon?”

Mélis, dressed in ornate blue mage robes, looked weary. “Everything prepared has been prepared—magic-laced arrows and spears, arcane cannons, spell scrolls—all ready.”

She spread her hands, helpless. “But brother, you know as well as I do: the initiative lies with them. We can only defend. And truthfully, I don’t believe the reinforcements and weapons the kingdom sent us are enough to withstand this dragon—or that young Radiant Knight from Westwind Hill.”

“Aye, but we must hold regardless!”

Placido’s voice was resolute. “Our family’s holdings are here. If we fall, we are ruined.”

“With all due respect,” came a quiet voice, “we should consider relocating our assets sooner rather than later.”

Just then, a low horn blast echoed across the walls, sending a shiver through both siblings.

Placido instinctively glanced upward—the dragon showed no sign of attack.

He snarled, “Who dares sound the horn? Do they wish to die?”

“My lord, there’s movement!”

A guard rushed down from the ramparts. “People from Westwind Hill—they’re approaching!”

Placido stiffened. “They’ve attacked?”

He had received no warning—surely, there should have been intelligence from within.

“No, my lord. Only six of them.”

Placido blinked, then strode quickly up the wall to see for himself.

Indeed, at the foot of the slope before Watchtower Keep, six figures rode slowly forward on horseback.

“Who are they? What do they want?”

He frowned, bewildered.

“Shall we loose arrows, my lord?” a guard asked.

“Not yet! They’ve come with only six—this isn’t an assault.”

Placido raised a hand, halting the order. “But prepare the defenses. No rash actions!”

Even so, the dragon still circled above.

In moments, the entire fortress stirred into tense readiness.

Arcane cannons were wheeled into position. Mid- and high-tier wind knights took up their longbows, nocks fitted with magic-charged arrows.

Squadrons of mages emerged, clutching spell scrolls.

By the time they were poised, Ronin, Rideral, and their companions had reached the base of the keep.

Placido opened his mouth to demand their purpose—when suddenly, a folded letter fluttered into the air, drifting gently toward the battlements, until it hovered silently before his face.

“This!”

Plácido's eyes widened in shock.

His sister Meris gasped, "One of them is a sorcerer!" (End of chapter)