Shield of the Rose

Espol remained completely silent in the carriage. He had set out for the villa with high expectations, only to return with a trace of disappointment. The only saving grace was that he had discovered two exceptionally talented girls.

Richie, on the other hand, was delighted. He had never expected Espol to hold the girls in such high regard.

From now on, the girls would no longer have to worry about their livelihood or safety.

He was busy contemplating how to help the girls strengthen their connection with Espol when he felt the carriage slow down.

Richie poked his head out of the window and saw the road packed with carriages.

Every vehicle was crawling forward.

This struck him as highly unusual. The roads had been clear when they set out, and they had only spent a few hours at the villa. How could the traffic have become this congested?

He glanced at the other occupants in the carriage.

The internal security guards looked equally suspicious.

As they entered the Third Ring Avenue, the traffic ground to a complete halt. Looking out the window, a long line of carriages stretched as far as the eye could see in both directions. Some drivers were already turning around, attempting to find a detour.

Although their carriage possessed official privileges, those privileges were useless now, forcing them to crawl along with the flow. The guards responsible for protecting the craftsman grew visibly tense.

Espol and Yiluo had been sitting by the windows, which were the most comfortable seats, but they were now moved to the middle. Espol in particular was placed in the center of the front row. It was the least comfortable seat—dark and stuffy, facing away from the direction of travel—but it was also the safest, positioned directly behind the driver, who was also an internal security guard.

“Go ahead and see what is happening. And bring two more men back with you,” the lead guard ordered one of his subordinates.

The guard who had dealt with the refugees nodded and departed. He practiced a wind-attribute art, specializing in agility and leaping. He moved like a falling leaf, bounding from one carriage roof to another, easily clearing four or five carriages with a single leap.

An hour later, the guard returned, accompanied by four more internal security guards. Their movements were less agile, and Richie recognized two of them as heavy defenders.

The four newcomers did not enter the carriage. Two positioned themselves on the roof, while the other two clung to the back, ensuring the carriage was protected from all angles.

“There is a demonstration ahead. All the main avenues are blocked,” the returning guard reported.

“How did we not receive word of this beforehand?” the lead guard muttered in annoyance. Had he known, he would have advised against the trip.

He did not believe other departments had withheld the information deliberately. In normal times, inter-departmental friction was common, but with foreign envoys in the city, any slip-up would be disastrous. Any department head caught playing games would face severe consequences from the high command.

The guards grumbled under their breath, knowing this was the most dangerous time for an incident to occur. If anything went wrong, they would be held responsible.

Richie, who had no official duties, asked casually, “Why are they demonstrating?”

He was not interested in politics, merely curious.

The guards ignored him. Espol was lost in thought, leaving Yiluo to offer a soft chuckle. “You don’t seem to care much about your own country’s affairs. Even I, a foreigner, can guess the reason.”

Richie felt a brief pang of embarrassment, but he remained defensive. “I haven’t had any free time lately.”

Yiluo believed him, knowing Richie had indeed been busy.

“You still haven’t told me. What is the demonstration about?” Richie pressed.

Yiluo hesitated, finding the subject somewhat shameful.

Just then, Richie saw a group of seven or eight women weaving through the stationary carriages. They wore identical long skirts and carried thick stacks of paper.

They were handing the papers to the occupants of every carriage. A short-haired woman approached their carriage and knocked on the window.

The guards pretended not to see her, and Espol and Yiluo ignored her as well. Their status was too sensitive, and any involvement could trigger a diplomatic incident.

Seeing no response, the woman did not give up, sliding a sheet of paper through the gap in the window.

No one touched the paper until Richie reached out and snatched it.

It was a mimeographed leaflet, the ink still wet enough to smudge his fingers.

Upon reading it, Richie’s questions were answered.

The leaflet stated that three days ago, the Republic had signed a new agreement. Under the mediation of other Dante Alliance members, a request for arbitration had been submitted to the Norman Alliance.

Since it was mediation, the terms were unfavorable to the Republic.

Richie felt a surge of anger. The terms of the mediation acknowledged the current border lines, which meant the Republic was officially abandoning its occupied southern provinces.

For the citizens of Peines, the agreement was a humiliating insult. But for Richie, a native of Lavor Province, it meant he no longer had a homeland. He could not accept a city occupied by the enemy as his home.

It seemed unbelievable.

Like everyone else, he had hoped the Republic’s entry into the Dante Alliance would bring allies to help them reclaim their lost territory.

He had never expected this.

He crumpled the leaflet into a tight ball in his fist.

The guards in the carriage showed no reaction. In the Ministry of Internal Affairs, political neutrality was the first rule of survival. Anyone who violated it would be reassigned to the border outposts.

Only Yiluo showed some sympathy, whispering, “Don’t take it to heart. This is merely a tactic to buy time. Your country needs time, and the Alliance does as well. The enemy prepared far better than we did.”

“I don’t know when the preparations will be complete,” Richie said, his tone sharp with frustration. “My homeland is gone, sacrificed to buy three years of preparation. But if we are still not ready, what do we lose next? Landum Province? Or Takiwick Province?”

Yiluo chose not to reply.

He knew the Dante Alliance indeed intended to sacrifice the Monstoke Republic to deplete the Norman Alliance’s forces.

The Alliance nations were already executing this strategy.

Politics was a dirty business.

Just then, the silent Espol spoke. “The Dante Alliance will never abandon Monstoke. That is all you need to know.”

“Why?” Richie asked.

He did not think a man of Espol’s standing would lie, but he found it hard to believe.

If the Republic could abandon its own southern provinces, who could guarantee the Alliance would not abandon the Republic?

Espol offered a simple explanation: “Economy and population.”

Richie fell silent, beginning to understand.

His nation was wealthy but militarily weak because the civilian government suppressed the Knights. While its military was lacking, the Republic excelled in other areas.

Under its republican system, commerce and manufacturing flourished. The population was large, and due to compulsory education, illiteracy was practically non-existent. None of the empire states could match these conditions.

If the Norman Alliance absorbed such a wealthy nation, its strength would grow significantly, making it difficult for the Dante Alliance to contain them.

---

The carriage proceeded, and once they entered the Seventh District, the journey became smoother.

The Seventh District was the embassy quarter, housing the foreign envoys, and was heavily guarded to prevent demonstrators from entering.

Reaching the hotel, Richie had intended to leave, but Yiluo insisted on inviting him for lunch. Since it was midday, Richie joined him.

Espol returned to his room, having his meals delivered. Yiluo led Richie to a quiet table in the corner of the dining room.

By the window, they could see the street outside.

With no guards nearby, Yiluo relaxed. He ordered an iced coffee and, while the waiter was away, leaned closer to Richie, his voice barely audible. “There are some things I could not say earlier.”

He scanned the room before continuing. “This is not the end of it. The Norman Alliance will not be satisfied with the southern provinces. Their ambition is far greater. Within one to three years, an all-out war will erupt between the Norman Alliance and the Dante Alliance. It will be a conflict of total destruction, with no room for compromise.”

“A world war?” Richie was stunned, having never heard such a prediction. In Glasslovar, people assumed the conflict would remain limited to Monstoke and Varedin, like the minor border wars of the past centuries.

“Indeed. The largest world war in history,” Yiluo confirmed.

“It seems hard to imagine,” Richie muttered, shaken.

Yiluo smiled. “Many in the Alliance share your disbelief, trying to prevent the conflict by sacrificing Monstoke’s provinces. The peace faction in your government is doing the same.”

“What about the war faction? Why haven’t they opposed it?” Richie asked.

Yiluo smirked. “The war faction is waiting for the peace faction to fail. They know the Norman Alliance will eventually tear up the agreement. When that happens, the war faction will purge the peace faction.”

Yiluo added quietly, “Politics is dirty. You should focus on protecting yourself and those important to you, so they don’t become casualties of their games.”

Richie stared at Yiluo. Though many held similar views, few would state them so bluntly.

After lunch, Richie departed. He felt conflicted, unsure of his next move.

He had just visited the villa and had no need to return, feeling confident in the girls’ safety.

He knew the Ministry of Internal Affairs’ methods.

Espol had witnessed the refugees, which was an embarrassment for the guards. Fearing the craftsman might return to the villa, they would likely relocate the refugee camp or restrict its residents.

Richie decided to visit his parents, concerned for their safety.

Yiluo’s advice to protect those close to him resonated.

He was fighting on the front lines not for the Republic or Knightly glory, but for his family.

With his thoughts aligned, the anger he felt upon reading the leaflet began to fade.

Leaving the Seventh District, he encountered the protest march.

He now knew the organizers were university students.

Glasslovar lacked a university, while Sava had one, serving as the sole institution in Lavor Province.

Attending university had once been Richie’s dream.

Seeing the students, Richie felt a twinge of envy. He had thought Glasslovar was comparable to the capital, but he now realized the difference in cultural depth.

The number of students on the streets was immense.

The crowd included various citizens, and Richie kept to the edges of the march to avoid the press.

As he walked, he felt eyes on him. He turned to look behind.

The crowd was too dense to identify anyone.

He realized his red apprentice Knight uniform made him highly conspicuous.

As he approached the city center, the crowd grew denser, blocking the path. His parents’ home lay near Hero Square, the focus of the demonstration.

Before reaching the square, he found the way blocked by a dense mass of people. The chanting from the square could be heard streets away.

Suddenly, paper leaflets fluttered down from above. Someone on a rooftop was tossing them into the crowd.

The speaker on the roof shouted, “Down with the appeasement government! Down with the traitors! Return our southern provinces!”

The crowd took up the chant, their voices echoing through the streets.

Richie had no interest in the slogans, but the person on the roof had given him an idea. If the streets were blocked, he could travel over the roofs.

He entered a seven-story building nearby.

The building was crowded, with residents gathered at every window to watch the protest below.

Reaching the top floor, he stepped onto an onlooker’s shoulder and pulled himself onto the roof.

Ignoring the curses from below, he climbed onto the sloped tiles.

Standing on the highest rooftop, he looked down at the sea of heads and red banners below.

He noticed other figures on the roofs. The person who had thrown the leaflets had already vanished.

Deciding to focus on his journey, Richie leaped toward the adjacent roof.

Traveling over the roofs was a new experience, but the thirty-degree slope posed no obstacle for his balance.

After crossing five blocks, he noticed the figures on the roofs did not look like students; they appeared to be plainclothes security officers.

Richie felt a premonition of trouble.

As he hesitated to retreat, the sound of police sirens echoed from all directions.

The crowd below scattered into alleys and buildings.

Richie noticed several plainclothes officers moving toward him.

Realizing they intended to arrest him, he prepared to defend himself.

The officers were all Knights.

Richie was not one to submit quietly, and having just left Espol, he could verify his innocence. The narrow space of the roof prevented him from being surrounded.

He prepared to fight.

The first officer, a young man under twenty, leaped at him like an eagle.

Richie stood on a brick chimney, the most stable part of the roof. Seeing his opponent leap, he felt a surge of confidence.

Leaping in the air left the attacker without leverage, a mistake indicating either inexperience or overconfidence.

Richie raised his hands, executing a parry with his left and a collapse strike with his right.

With two muffled thuds, Richie’s hands met the officer’s feet.

The parry redirected the force of the leap, throwing the officer off balance. Before he could recover, Richie’s collapse strike struck.

The officer tumbled backward off the roof.

Simultaneously, Richie felt a draft of wind from behind.

Rotating his body, he slipped along the edge of the draft.

The second attacker’s fist struck empty air. Recognizing his failure, the officer tried to recover, but Richie poked him under the ribs. The strike triggered a fit of uncontrollable laughter, the officer howling as he collapsed onto the tiles.

Richie leaped to another chimney and fled, having no desire to argue.

The remaining officers did not pursue, having seen their colleagues defeated in a single move. They wondered if the boy was an elite dwarf dressed as an apprentice.

Suddenly, Richie felt a powerful pressure in the air.

He realized a high-level Knight was approaching.

He could not understand why they would deploy an Ace Knight for a protest.

Maintaining his speed, he utilized the slipstream technique, rotating his body to slide through the air currents.

A large, bearded man passed him, showing surprising agility.

The man looked astonished to have missed his target. He rotated in mid-air and struck again.

The faster the man moved, the more turbulence he created, allowing Richie to dodge like seaweed in a current.

The two exchanged a dozen moves in rapid succession.

The commotion drew other officers, who began to encircle them.

Frustrated by his failure to secure an apprentice, the bearded man pressed his palms together, forming a beast-head shape, and unleashed a wave of Aura.

Prepared, Richie pressed his own palms together, channeling his Aura. He had first executed the “Reflective Mirror” with his bare hands, and he did so again.

A powerful shockwave erupted between them, collapsing the roof tiles.

Richie was thrown back, absorbing forty percent of the impact. The bearded man deflected the reflected force with his remaining Aura.

Before the man could strike again, a sharp wind blade sliced toward him.

“Vacuum Slash?” the man muttered, leaping aside.

As he dodged, another wind blade followed. Cursing, the man focused on dodging the barrage. Seizing the opportunity, Richie fled.

After running two hundred meters, he heard a roar behind him: “If I don’t catch you today, I’ll take your name!”

Footsteps followed close behind.

---

At the Knight Headquarters, the bearded man, Claude, marched inside, carrying Richie by the collar.

“I am innocent! I have nothing to do with the protest… You can check with the Ricard Hotel, the internal security guards can verify my alibi…” Richie protested.

Claude ignored him, dropping Richie in front of a female clerk at a desk piled with files.

“Verify this kid’s ID,” Claude said, tossing Richie’s credentials onto the desk.

The clerk looked at Richie in confusion. “You were sent to guard the square. Why did you bring back an apprentice? Did he damage property? Even so, that’s a job for the enforcement Knights, not you.”

Claude tapped the desk in frustration. “Just check the ID. There’s no way he’s a simple apprentice. An apprentice isn’t this hard to catch.”

The clerk noted Claude’s uniform was torn and dusty.

“How many moves did it take?” she asked.

“Thirty or forty,” Claude muttered. “That’s why I don’t believe he’s an apprentice.”

The clerk smiled, opening the credentials to read the serial number.

She walked to the archive room, returning with a file and a glass plate.

“Hold this,” she said, handing the plate to Richie.

Richie pressed his thumb and index finger against the glass, leaving two blue marks.

Claude fell silent. The blue marks confirmed the ID matched the file.

“The file shows his strength is already Knight-level,” the clerk said, tossing the file to Claude.

“Never mind,” Claude said, leaving the file on the desk. He had struggled against an apprentice, and the story would quickly spread.

“Can I go?” Richie asked.

Claude snapped his fingers, summoning a guard.

“Lock him up,” he ordered.

Richie glared at Claude, noting his face. He would remember this.

As Richie was led away, Claude slumped onto the desk.

“You’re injured,” the clerk noted, looking at the red mark on his chest. She laughed. “Claude, you’re getting rusty. You got hurt catching an apprentice, while the kid looks fine.”

“The kid knows Vacuum Slash, and his execution is faster than usual. I had to take a hit to secure him,” Claude grumbled. “He also has a reflection technique and is skilled in close combat. Killing him would be easy, but capturing him alive is difficult.”

The clerk patted his shoulder. “Poor Claude.”

“I don’t need your pity,” he muttered.

“I know,” she smiled. “You just want an excuse to rest.”

“Indeed,” he sighed, rubbing his chest. “I don’t know why the high command wants us guarding the square. Aren’t the police and guards enough?”

“There are too many foreign dignitaries in the city. Each requires guards. They need every Knight they can get,” she explained.

Just then, a man approached and kicked Claude’s chair out from under him.

Claude reacted instantly, executing a backward elbow strike, which the newcomer blocked with his knee.

“Still fighting like it’s a war,” the man said.

“And you’re still underhanded,” Claude muttered, standing up to deliver a light punch. “You’re a general now.”

The newcomer was Hegert, Claude’s former classmate. While Hegert had risen to general, Claude remained a common Knight.

“What brings you here?” Claude asked, pulling his chair back.

“To see you embarrass yourself,” Hegert said, pulling open Claude’s collar to reveal the red mark on his chest.

Claude slapped his hand away, embarrassed that he had taken a hit from an apprentice.

“I came for the kid you arrested,” Hegert said.

“What is his background? Why does a general care about him?” Claude asked.

“Go to the hospital and check for internal injuries,” Hegert advised seriously.

“It’s just a Vacuum Slash. The mark will fade in two days,” Claude replied.

Hegert smiled. “Are you sure it was Vacuum Slash?”

“A wind blade without Aura. What else could it be?”

“You’re lucky to be alive. You have something to boast about now,” Hegert teased. “Have you heard of the Lightwheel Cut? The kid hasn’t mastered it yet, but once he does, you won’t survive a hit.”

Claude stared, a cold sweat breaking out on his neck as he touched the mark on his chest.

---

Hero Square was covered in colorful leaflets and banners, left behind after the crowd scattered.

“I owe you another favor,” Richie said, scratching his head. Hegert had helped him before.

“I don’t expect you to join the Junior Army,” Hegert said, knowing Richie’s reluctance. The favor was minor, as Richie had other connections who would have bailed him out.

They entered a messy cafe near the square. The tables and chairs were overturned, and the staff were being questioned by police. Richie and Hegert set up a table and brewed some coffee.

The police did not disturb them, recognizing Hegert’s general uniform.

“I heard you are close to Espol,” Hegert said, getting to the point.

“And Madame Shar. I have a good relationship with both,” Richie boasted.

“Did they say why they came here?” Hegert asked.

“I don’t care about politics,” Richie shook his head.

“Espol and Madame Shar belong to a neutral organization of top experts,” Hegert explained. “The Norman Alliance’s aggression has pushed them to support us. Unlike the Dante Alliance, they cannot offer direct military aid, but they can provide indirect support: armor modifications, formulas, and tactics. However, our government officials will likely mishandle it. The Junior Army believes we must manage this ourselves.”

Hegert warned that the Norman Alliance was testing new armor and tactics, and the next conflict would be far more brutal.

Richie felt a chill, thinking about preparing an escape route for his parents and the girls.

If things went bad, they would have to flee abroad, and they would need status to survive as refugees.

He formulated a plan.

“I cannot introduce you to Espol directly. They are already in discussions with Lina’s father,” Richie said.

Hegert nodded, aware of the contact.

“But I can help you secure their assistance indirectly,” Richie offered.

Hegert looked at him, evaluating the offer. “Tell me your plan.”

“I want to establish a research laboratory. I have four friends with Psion talent, and Espol is willing to guide them. But I lack the land, equipment, and funds.”

Hegert nodded, intrigued. “Land, equipment, and funds are easy to secure. But how do you guarantee Espol’s cooperation?”

“If they came to help us resist the invasion, they won’t care who they work with,” Richie replied.

He decided not to rely solely on the Junior Army. He would also seek support from Lina’s father to maintain a balance, preventing either faction from seizing control of the lab.

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