Shield of the Rose

Ever since the war began, the Military Department of the Varedin Empire had operated under constant tension and excitement. News from the front lines frequently prompted cheering among the officers stationed at headquarters.

For the Empire, the war had proceeded with remarkable smoothness.

Today, however, was different. At two in the morning, an urgent report arrived from the front. The officer who received it gasped in shock, nearly leaping from his chair. When he handed the report to his superior, the commander’s face turned pale as well. Without hesitation, he rushed straight into the office of Supreme Commander Korsak.

At two-fifteen in the morning, Korsak was awakened by his adjutant. Fifteen minutes later, he ordered all military commanders to assemble.

Countless officers were roused from deep sleep, traveling to headquarters under the starlight preceding dawn.

Korsak himself was far from relaxed. A short officer was currently shouting at him—a sight that would leave any Varedin soldier in utter disbelief.

“I warned you! You should have taken Polmo at all costs and with maximum speed!”

The short man poked his finger repeatedly at the map, as if trying to gouge out that specific region.

Korsak suppressed the rising anger in his chest. He was not afraid of the dwarf before him, but rather feared the Franca Empire he represented.

Although the member nations of the Norman Alliance were equal in name, everyone knew the Franca Empire was the undisputed leader, while Varedin ranked lower even among the subordinate nations.

Though this dwarf held only the rank of liaison officer, his true authority rivaled an overseer dispatched by the Franca Empire. Korsak despised him, for the man sought only to squeeze Varedin’s combat strength to the limit, even wishing to drag Varedin police officers to the front lines.

Even an idiot could see the man harbored ill intent; one could easily imagine the calculations of the Franca Empire behind him.

“The terrain of Polmo is a nightmare for most magitech armors, including the ‘Cube’. The Cubes deployed there simply couldn’t overcome the enemy’s new armor models.”

Korsak shifted the blame. The ‘Cube’ was the creation of Poronov, a native of Franca. By pointing this out, Korsak effectively returned the responsibility for combat failure back to Franca.

“The ‘Cube’ is the finest armor available! It was your men who failed to utilize it properly!” The short liaison officer pointed a finger directly at Korsak’s nose.

“Why don’t your people go up there and try it yourselves?” Korsak sneered, glaring at the dwarf. “Besides, in the beginning, I could have easily taken Polmo. During the initial phase of the assault, the defenders in Polmo hadn’t reacted yet—they hadn’t destroyed the roads, set up their defensive lines, or brought in reinforcements to cause us trouble. But back then, your people wanted to test the performance of two new armor models. You wanted to verify whether the previous defeat of the Cubes was caused by other factors. As a result, you granted Polmo’s defenders the most precious time!”

“That is not my fault! You should have deployed more troops immediately!” The short man refused to admit any error.

Korsak was equally unwilling to back down. “You gave me a total of only fifteen final-model Cubes, and I had already lost seven earlier! I requested at least one additional squad back then…”

“That would have been a complete waste! Your knights don’t even know how to pilot the Cube! Two Honorary Knights and six Ace Knights actually lost to an ordinary squad!”

The short man grew increasingly furious as he spoke. When they first received the intelligence report from their insider, they could hardly believe it was true.

This time, Korsak had nothing to say. The incident was indeed humiliating; high-ranking Alliance officials who knew of it treated Varedin’s knights as a laughingstock.

Because of such embarrassment, Korsak had avoided attending Alliance meetings for a time. Yet he couldn’t vent his frustration, for the insider’s report contained actual footage of that battle.

Two Honorary Knights: one was slain by Trisli, the acclaimed ‘Genius Maiden’, which was understandable. But the other Honorary Knight had been killed by someone bearing registration number 2325748. According to the recording, the two had fought in near-total blind combat. What made it most humiliating was that checking the registry revealed number 2325748 was merely an apprentice knight—an late-awakened apprentice who served as a handyman in his squad.

Every time someone mentioned the incident, Korsak wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

Just as Korsak and the dwarf stood at a tense standstill, a knock sounded at the door.

“Enter.” Korsak instantly resumed his composure. Before his subordinates, he was always the cold, lofty, and composed commander.

Korsak’s adjutant pushed the door open, carrying a stack of documents under his arm.

“The General Staff has completed the tactical simulation,” the adjutant reported.

“Focus on the key points. I have no time to read full reports,” Korsak waved his hand, partly out of consideration for the dwarf nearby.

“The simulation concludes that the 22nd Corps must be withdrawn to Isbal within forty-eight hours. Otherwise, the worst-case scenario entails the complete annihilation of the 22nd Corps, triggering the collapse of the 29th Corps.”

Had it been possible, the adjutant would have preferred not to read the report aloud.

As expected, the dwarf glared at him with murderous intensity, while his commander turned as cold as ice.

“How could this happen? When formulating the plan, didn’t the General Staff consider the possibility of enemy reinforcements?” Korsak radiated heavy killing intent.

The adjutant swallowed hard. Having served his commander for some time, he had never seen such terrifying pressure from him. He knew that a single misstep right now could cost many people their heads.

He certainly didn’t want to be the first.

“In the General Staff’s original plan, Polmo’s communications with the outside world should have been completely severed. However, the simulation indicates this was not achieved. Therefore, when enemy reinforcements strike, if Polmo’s defenders launch a full-scale counterattack at the critical moment and position, they can instantly sever communications between the 22nd and 29th Corps, coordinated perfectly with the advancing enemy reinforcements…”

Before the adjutant could finish, Korsak gestured, and the simulation document flew into his hand.

Reading it himself was far better than listening to a summary. Earlier, Korsak lacked time and wanted only an overview; now everything had changed, and he needed every detail.

He knew where to look—the analysis was always at the end.

After scanning the text, Korsak slammed the document onto the table before the dwarf.

“It seems your people were responsible for severing communications between Polmo and Peines,” Korsak’s voice was icy. He was furious; back then, the Francans had insisted on taking over communication interception to capture valuable intelligence, specifically data on new magitech armor models. Thus, they forbade Varedin, which contributed the most to this war, from meddling.

Nothing could be more tyrannical.

Unfortunately, Korsak had been forced to accept it silently. The leader of the Alliance was not someone a subordinate nation could provoke. Following Franca allowed Varedin to gather crumbs; opposing Franca meant instant ruin.

Now that an opportunity to vent presented itself, he naturally wouldn’t let it pass.

The short man’s expression soured as he grabbed the report and flipped through it. After scanning the pages, he was left speechless. Educated at a top military academy, he recognized the simulation was airtight; even if he submitted it to Franca’s General Staff, their findings would be identical.

Though inwardly shaken, his tone remained fierce. Bulging his eyes, the dwarf shouted, “Impossible! This is absolutely impossible! Polmo’s communications were definitely severed! Otherwise, why did the enemy reinforcements hesitate earlier without even confirming their attack vector? Their formation clearly indicated a slow, cautious advance!”

Suddenly, as if discovering a breakthrough, the dwarf pointed at the report and yelled, “Aha! I found the issue! On the twenty-fifth, Polmo’s transmission attempts abruptly ceased!”

He shouted almost hysterically, “The twenty-fifth… the twenty-fifth… Something must have happened on that day!”

“Go investigate!” The dwarf glared at the adjutant.

The adjutant flinched, surprised by the sudden outburst directed at him.

“Go check it out,” Korsak nodded. Having gained the upper hand, he didn’t want to push the dwarf into a corner. “Have Intelligence submit all suspicious events from the twenty-fifth.”

“I want the reports from the twenty-fourth and twenty-sixth as well! Have them prepare those immediately, then gather the records for the twenty-third and twenty-seventh—I might need them too!” The short man gestured bossily.

Korsak nodded in assent.

Military efficiency was swift. Half an hour later, a stack of files a foot high was compiled, detailing enemy activity collected on the twenty-fifth.

At present, nearly five hundred thousand troops and over two hundred corps were engaged in combat. Daily troop movements alone overwhelmed intelligence analysts, to say nothing of other reports. These were merely pre-filtered files; far more reports deemed unrelated to Polmo had been excluded.

Expecting the dwarf to review such a mountain of material alone was impossible. He brought his own staff—as an overseer, he commanded a team of military observers.

In the headquarters briefing room, the emergency-assembled observers sat around the conference table, stacks of files laid before each man.

They read rapidly, tossing reviewed pages aside, filling the room with the rustle of turning paper.

Korsak sat at the head of the table in a rigid posture, hands folded on the surface with fingers intertwined. A subtle smile hovered at the corner of his mouth as his eyes tracked the pacing dwarf.

Time trickled by. As the file stacks thinned, the atmosphere grew increasingly tense. Korsak alone remained relaxed; he had already issued orders for the 22nd Corps to retreat. Though the plan to capture Polmo had failed, it didn’t hinder the broader campaign against Monstoke—in fact, it brought distinct advantages.

He had never favored pushing two elite corps, the 22nd and 29th, so far forward; it was far too risky strategically and tactically. The assault on Polmo had been a concession forced by external pressure.

With the plan collapsed, he could pull those elite corps back to reinforce the left flank. Once Monstoke’s second defensive line was shattered, Polmo would fall naturally into their hands.

Of course, he knew Polmo might lack its current value by then, as the new armor models would no longer be there.

As Korsak planned his next moves, an observer called out loudly, “I think I found something!”

The dwarf darted over with astonishing speed, shouting, “Tell me! What did you find?”

“This report states that the mysterious squad harassing the occupied zone vanished on the twenty-fifth and hasn’t appeared since,” the observer pointed to a document.

“‘Mysterious squad’?”

Korsak and the dwarf frowned simultaneously, neither having any memory of such a unit.

As top commanders handling endless high-level affairs daily, minor incidents like a few supply trucks or warehouses being blown up were handled below without troubling them.

Yet now, the sudden emergence of this ‘mysterious squad’ demanded immediate attention.

“Fetch all related files!”

Korsak lost his initial composure; the words ‘mysterious squad’ struck a sensitive nerve.

The unit that had humiliated him was also a mysterious squad. While that squad was currently trapped in Polmo, another had emerged—who knew what kind of force this new one was? It might prove even more dangerous than the first.

The files arrived quickly. Though High Command hadn’t been alerted initially, the military had formed a special task force to deal with this disruptive unit.

With a single order from Korsak, both the files and the task force members were brought in.

After scanning just two pages, the dwarf slammed the file onto the table.

“It must be them!” the short man stated with absolute certainty.

Korsak didn’t answer, but his instincts aligned with the dwarf’s.

The Alliance had researched deep-penetration tactics for over a decade and knew how difficult a raider unit behind enemy lines was to counter.

No one could predict what such a unit would target next.

The only question was: how had this squad bypassed the blockade?

“Could the Alliance have developed a method to neutralize the scanning grid?” the dwarf muttered to himself, too preoccupied to hurl insults as usual.

“Unlikely. If they possessed such technology, they wouldn’t be on the defensive like this,” Korsak said calmly.

Possessing such capability would mean Allied assassins could slip into any facility and eliminate any target at will, while Allied armies could capture any stronghold effortlessly.

“Did they find a way around the scanning grid?” The dwarf considered the possibility.

“Did they dig a tunnel?” Korsak surprisingly followed the dwarf’s logic, recalling past precedents. But he quickly dismissed it. “Digging a forty-kilometer tunnel in such a short time while evading Recon Knights’ acoustic sensors is practically impossible, unless…”

He suddenly remembered Polmo’s complex geography. “Unless there happened to be an underground river, a limestone cavern system, or an old escape tunnel. Polmo is a resort for high-ranking Monstoke officials—it very likely contains such features.”

“That sounds like your responsibility,” the dwarf sneered. Regardless of the reason, if the mysterious squad had slipped into Polmo, the blame lay with the Varedin Empire. “Locking the barn door after the horse has bolted might still work. Polmo’s garrison hasn’t linked up with their reinforcements yet. Order the 29th Corps to advance immediately—you should still be able to intercept them.”

Korsak stood up abruptly, a sudden urge to strangle the dwarf washing over him.

Pushing the 29th Corps forward now would be sending both elite corps to their deaths.

The short man showed no fear of Korsak’s imposing presence; knight spirit-suppression held no effect on him, even from a Heavenly-stage knight like Korsak.

“What good will pushing the 29th Corps forward do? The front lines are full of gaps right now! The enemy’s new armor model is ideally suited for flanking maneuvers—if they want to retreat, no one can stop them!” Korsak roared.

“Even if we can’t stop them, we must try! How do you know it’s impossible without trying? With a hesitant supreme commander like you, it’s no wonder Varedin has become the laughingstock of the Alliance!”

The dwarf’s words were biting, leaving no room for compromise. “His Majesty is deeply disappointed by Varedin’s repeated blunders. Because of you, the enemy obtained the ‘Cube’, causing them to wake up and pour all their resources into developing new armor models. Now their new armor is complete, possessing performance capable of matching our final-model Cubes and even surpassing them in certain areas! The enemy knows our new armor inside and out, while we know nothing of theirs! As a knight, you should know best what that means!”

Suddenly, the dwarf let out a sinister chuckle, his tone softening, though his words turned even harsher.

“Varedin holds a seat in the Norman Alliance because every nation believed Varedin could contribute to our cause. If facts prove otherwise—that Varedin brings no contribution, only massive losses—I believe High Command will reconsider its decisions.”

With that, the dwarf turned and walked out, his faint humming echoing softly.

Korsak stared at the floor, his fists tightly clenched. At that moment, he felt a powerful impulse to make the man disappear from the world forever.

---

BOOM!

With a earth-shattering explosion, vast amounts of soil and rock were blasted dozens of meters into the air, filling the area with thick grey-black smoke.

After a long pause, countless stones and dirt rained down over a radius of several kilometers.

A small mound of earth shifted slightly. Fine dust trickled down, revealing a strange-looking suit of armor buried beneath.

With segmented armor plates, exposed synthetic sinews, a frame much smaller than standard suits, and a single horn protruding from the helmet, this unique armor could belong to no one else but Richie in his ‘Yaksha’.

“Miscalculated the explosive yield again,” Richie muttered sheepishly to himself. The blast had nearly buried him alive.

This wasn’t the first time. Yesterday, while blasting a cliffside road, he had nearly lost his life. Had it not been for his prior experience with high-altitude falls, allowing him to react instantly, he would be a pile of mangled flesh right now.

Similar dangers were endless, all because he operated exclusively at night. Landing in pitch darkness carried immense risk.

Climbing to his feet, Richie looked at the ruined road beneath the dim moonlight, feeling a chill in his heart. A hundred-meter crater replaced the former highway, appearing as a pit capable of swallowing anything.

Once he regained his composure, Richie connected to his newly installed transceiver—a specialized Recon Knight model that transmitted without detection over far greater distances.

“Target number twenty-seven destroyed. Give me the coordinates for the next target.”

Randy’s voice soon sounded through the channel: “Twelve kilometers north-northeast of your position lies a major bridge. Be careful—a squad of knights is stationed there.”

“How many? What’s their strength?”

Cold sweat beaded on Richie’s forehead. The women spared him no mercy, delegating every dangerous task to him.

Looking back, he realized he had received little special treatment in Squad 105. When going into battle, Calli had never held him back out of protection; he took part in every fight. After mastering ‘Mirror Reflection’, he and Merlin had served as primary defenders, making every battle a life-or-death struggle.

In contrast, within Squad Tribe, he had enjoyed full authority. If he didn’t want to charge the front lines, he could simply stay back. In that squad, others obeyed his orders, and no one commanded him around.

Yet he stubbornly preferred staying with Squad 105.

Richie felt he must truly be a glutton for punishment.

“Roughly one squad. Their strength is unclear—this was extracted under interrogation from yesterday’s captives. But with your skills, as long as you’re careful, it shouldn’t pose a problem.”

Richie couldn’t tell if Randy was offering encouragement or comfort.

With a bitter smile, he turned and headed into the distance, where his hang glider was hidden in a grove of trees.

Strapping on the glider once more, Richie used the dim moonlight to locate a gentle slope.

With two crisp clicks, two thin-walled metal cylinders deployed from the glider, securing around his calves.

Sprinting down the slope, the glider took flight within moments.

Two small wind vortices spiraled out behind his legs.

Constrained by the thin cylinders, these vortices rushed out with far greater velocity despite their small size. Thus, thrust increased slightly rather than diminishing, while energy consumption dropped significantly due to reduced drag losses.

Climbing to an altitude of five hundred meters, Richie leveled off. This height was perfectly safe, as most hills in the area were far lower.

Richie activated his navigation device.

He had asked Yiluo to craft this simple mechanism: it displayed only two glowing dots and a straight line. One moving dot represented himself, while the other marked his destination.

He simply needed to fly along the straight line; any deviation was instantly visible.

---

At dawn, Richie flew lazily back toward base. As he approached, Randy’s warm voice echoed through the channel: “Welcome home, little bird.”

Richie felt inwardly annoyed. The women seemed unable to bear seeing him act grand, constantly undermining his image before Squad Tribe. He had chosen the cool codename ‘Eagle’, yet they insisted on calling him ‘Little Bird’.

“Is it safe down there?” Richie asked.

“Don’t worry, it’s completely safe right now.”

Hearing Randy’s confirmation, Richie immediately dropped his altitude to around fifty meters.

This height avoided tree branches while remaining safe; as for the tiny risk of hitting a mountain, Richie didn’t care in the slightest.

Skimming above the treetops, Richie saw people waving up at him—all evacuees from Polmo.

Not everyone had evacuated from Polmo; some remained behind, mostly civilians who couldn’t keep pace with the column. For safety, these civilians had left the peak to hide in the marshes, facing a long period of living in concealment.

The processing plant on the mountain had also been relocated to a hidden site, while essential machinery was sealed in oilcloth and oak crates before being submerged in the marsh.

Skimming over the canopy, Richie finally spotted the landing zone—a cleared patch of ground within a forested valley.

Richie lowered his altitude once more, landing on the clearing and taking several running steps to bleed off momentum before coming to a halt.

A group of people rushed over to help unstrap his glider and Yaksha armor. Most were members of Squad Tribe, alongside a few knights originally garrisoned at Polmo. The female knights of Squad 105 stood at the forest edge, watching with smiles.

“I’m completely exhausted,” Richie stepped out of the armor, ran into the woods, and collapsed onto the ground, refusing to get back up.

“You’ve worked hard,” Lina walked up to his head, looking down at him. “Right now, you’re the only one who can fly, so road-destruction duties fall entirely on you. No one else has your efficiency, nor can they escape as easily if spotted.”

“You’re all just jealous that I can fly!” Richie snapped.

His protest drew a chorus of giggles.

Keeping Richie busy was partly a joke, but Lina’s words held true. Take destroying that major bridge: anyone else would have been forced into a frontal assault against a guarded position surrounded by a ten-kilometer scanning grid spanning a five-meter-deep river. Only Richie could approach from the air, drop explosives under cover of night, and collapse the bridge in a single roar.

Richie wasn’t the only one kept busy. Squad 105, Squad Tribe, and other knights raided various targets. Squad 105 handled tough objectives, like heavily guarded warehouses, eliminating them without casualties thanks to their Ace Knight composition.

Squad Tribe and other knights performed engineering work like Richie—except instead of building bridges and roads, they specialized in destroying them.

“You’ll have to work harder tonight. High Command wants us to sever all roads leading to Zashal Province as well,” Miss Calli walked over, her face resuming its usual cold demeanor.

“High Command certainly has a big appetite,” Richie thought with contempt. Severing roads to Zashal Province was clearly aimed at trapping the two enemy corps besieging Polmo.

Yet the entire front line was currently in jeopardy. Even if they annihilated those two elite corps, it wouldn’t alter the broader picture. Severing those roads would only make it harder for their own retreating forces to escape pursuit.

“What about the people still in Polmo?” Richie looked at Calli. “Are they supposed to escape by sea? Alliance warships are patrolling out there like sharks—they’ll never make it.”

“I know you feel uncomfortable about it, but cutting those highways remains necessary. Merlin and I have analyzed the situation: we’ll only sever the roads closest to us, and we won’t cut them completely. Leaving a single gap will give the enemy a glimmer of hope, keeping them from acting out of desperation.”

Calli’s explanation was clear: she was employing the ‘encircle three sides, leave one open’ tactic, which also preserved an escape route for their own forces.

“The real question is: where do we go next?” Calli brought up the core issue.

Richie sensed an unusual atmosphere. He sat up against a tree. “What terrible idea has High Command come up with now?”

Having experienced so much, Richie harbored deep skepticism toward High Command.

“High Command ordered us to break through the gap between the 4th and 5th Theaters,” Calli gestured, sketching several names on the ground, headed by Yiluo and other key research personnel involved in testing the new armor.

Richie understood immediately. The so-called ‘us’ referred only to Squad 105 and a few key personnel; everyone else was deemed worthless by the higher-ups.

“Are we really going to follow orders?” Richie asked, feeling uneasy because he wasn’t sure what Miss Calli intended to do.

The female knights exchanged glances, their eyes eventually focusing back on Calli.

“If possible, I want to bring everyone out safely,” Calli said, though she recognized how idealistic it sounded. After a pause, she added, “At the very least, we should evacuate the people currently with us to the rear.”

Evacuating the thousand-plus civilians remaining in Polmo—mostly ordinary soldiers, cooks, servants, and technicians—was nearly impossible.

Those civilians lacked physical strength and stamina; marching them through Polmo’s rugged mountains was a pipe dream.

Lina nudged Richie with her boot. “You always have clever ideas, and since you fly, you know the battlefield layout best. We want to hear your suggestion.”

Richie rolled his eyes; this felt like being forced onto a stage. He did have many ideas, but they depended on specific conditions.

Creating the new standardized armor had been possible thanks to those manuals—he had simply picked out a brilliant concept and integrated existing designs.

Crafting combat suits relied on Aunt Ling’s secret formula, with the design coming from Aunt Ling and his mother.

As for the flight armor, that was sheer luck.

Expecting him to devise a strategy that justified disobeying High Command while safely evacuating everyone was beyond his capabilities.

Richie’s mind raced, not thinking about tactical moves, but considering who could offer assistance.

His progress so far wasn’t due to overwhelming personal strength, but rather the guidance of influential mentors: first his master, then Lina, who introduced him to the veteran librarian, through whom he met Divine Craftsmen Espol and Lady Shar.

All of them had offered valuable guidance.

Suddenly, a name came to Richie’s mind.

“Can we contact the Second Theater?” Richie asked, addressing Randy.

Before Randy could speak, Lina reacted: “You plan to ask Haigert for help?”

Richie had nothing to hide from Lina. “The Youth Army formed their own strategic council; devising tactical plans is their specialty.”

“They’ll certainly calculate for their own interests too,” Lina remarked skeptically.

The female knights nodded. The Youth Army held a good reputation, but calling them purely selfless was a stretch—their ranks contained marginalized officers, opportunists, and radicals alike.

“We aren’t clueless children. If their plan disadvantages us, we can simply set it aside and find another way, right?”

Hearing Richie’s words, the female knights exchanged glances once more.

Calli read agreement in their eyes, nodded, and whispered a few instructions to Randy.

“Give me the comms ID for Haigert’s corps,” Randy held out her hand to Richie.

Richie froze briefly, never having asked for it, but reacted swiftly, remembering Harney was originally Haigert’s subordinate, as were many members of Squad Tribe.

“I’ll go ask,” he stood up.

---

The sun climbed higher. While daylight was generally unsuited for covert maneuvers, a knight corps was currently navigating the mountains in secret. To ensure absolute silence, all armor suits were fitted with double-layered dampening pads and draped in thick camouflage netting, though faint metallic clanks remained unavoidable during movement.

Fortunately, while this corps was small, its proportion of Recon Knights was astonishingly high—nearly one in four.

Polmo was a summer resort for high-ranking officials, drawing prominent figures every year. To ensure their safety, hidden sentry posts surrounding Polmo were all staffed by Recon Knights.

This provided a unique advantage; even Haigert, who sought to form a raider corps, couldn’t recruit so many Recon Knights.

Thanks to this density of Recon Knights, they encountered no danger along the way. Whenever enemies approached, outer sentries detected them over ten kilometers away, allowing the column to hide or eliminate the threat entirely.

Meanwhile, Richie was fast asleep, living like a nocturnal owl—operating at night and sleeping in a small wagon by day.

He didn’t sleep through the entire day, of course. While ordinary people needed eight hours of sleep, knights required far less—six hours restored full energy, and during wartime, four hours sufficed.

The wagon was shared by Richie, the chubby engineer Yiluo, and another researcher.

Over a hundred civilians accompanied this improvised corps, but fewer than thirty supply wagons were available. Some had been modified for Psions, while another carried Richie’s armor, forcing five or six people to cram into a single wagon and endure the bumpy journey.

Richie slept briefly, waking up like clockwork precisely four hours later.

“You’re finally awake. Calli checked on you twice, but didn’t have the heart to wake you,” Yiluo said immediately upon seeing Richie stir.

Richie guessed Calli’s purpose—Haigert had undoubtedly sent a reply.

He leapt off the wagon and hurried forward.

“What did they say?” Richie asked the moment he found Calli.

Without answering right away, Calli operated her armor’s right hand to lift Richie onto her shoulder. Next, a mask-like attachment deployed from beneath the armor’s chin.

Richie put it on immediately; it connected to Squad 105’s internal comms channel.

The moment he connected, Randy’s voice sounded: “Haigert’s reply arrived. He wants us to join forces with them.”

“Is that even possible?!” Richie exclaimed, feeling Haigert’s proposal was unreasonable. This was the Fifth Theater, separated from the Second Theater by two full war zones—a distance of over a thousand kilometers at the closest point.

Their previous journey to Glasslovar was merely a hundred kilometers, undertaken by a dozen stealthy squad members without issue. But moving a massive column over a thousand kilometers seemed impossible.

Yet Randy’s next words suggested otherwise.

“Haigert had his staff draft a detailed plan. The few of us reviewed it and found it feasible.”

Hearing it was feasible, Richie felt relieved—at least his suggestion hadn’t led them astray.

“So why did you call me? Both plans are in your hands now. Do we break out according to High Command’s orders, or head to the Second Theater following Haigert’s plan?”

Richie shifted responsibility entirely away from himself. Deciding the fate of hundreds was a weight his young shoulders couldn’t bear.

“Look at you, acting so self-important. Did you think we called you to make the decision?”

Lina was notoriously sharp-tongued, offering mock without hesitation. “We decided on our route long ago. We called you for manual labor. Our warning radius is insufficient; to march a thousand kilometers undetected, our forward recon radius must expand to fifty kilometers. You’re the only one capable of that. From today on, you’ll spend day and night in the sky.”

Richie let out a dramatic groan. Though he loved flying, spending twenty hours a day in the air was anything but pleasant.

Laughter echoed through the comms channel. As Richie grew stronger, he rarely suffered setbacks as he once did under Dana or the three sisters’ harsh training; seeing him suffer a little brought the female knights unspoken satisfaction.

“Jokes aside, we truly need your help this time. Only your operational range is wide enough, and you don’t have to worry about obstacles or leaving tracks for the enemy to follow. It will be exhausting: under Haigert’s plan, you’ll handle recon by day and blast highways by night—especially those we must cross.”

Dana chimed in.

Richie held deep respect for his master. Since Dana had spoken and her reasoning was sound, he stopped protesting.

However, he knew how to play the needy child.

“Are you trying to work me to death? By your schedule, I won’t even have time to rest and recover Aura.”

The moment he spoke, Rosa giggled: “Isn’t Randy with you? Take her along—she can help you recover Aura and keep you connected with us at all times.”

“Why bring me into this all of a sudden?!” Randy’s embarrassed voice echoed through the channel, though her anger was more bashful than genuine.

Hearing the women’s explicit banter, Richie flinched. If High Command learned of such remarks, it would cause a scandal.

Yet on second thought, he realized the comms channel wasn’t connected to recording devices. Disobeying High Command and aligning secretly with Haigert were both absolute taboos. Randy had likely disconnected the recording device during communications with Haigert. As for Haigert’s side, it was dominated by the Youth Army, leaving little fear of High Command obtaining evidence.

“Rosa, stop messing around,” Calli chided. “Though Richie truly needs to bring Randy along. You’ll be operating far ahead of us, and transceivers max out at fifty kilometers. For greater distances, we must rely on Randy.”

“That still maxes out at under two hundred kilometers,” Richie reminded them.

The modified disc Yiluo made for Randy transmitted across a range of 140 to 170 kilometers, though receiving messages had no distance limit.

“Don’t worry about that. Master Yiluo helped us immensely: when he reported our situation to the rear, Master Boro of the Ormor Empire provided an existing design.”

Calli explained.

Richie knew Master Boro too. In his memory, that master was far less generous than Espol or Lady Shar; obtaining something from him undoubtedly involved a trade.

Yet that wasn’t his concern. Even if the trade involved his flight armor design, he didn’t care.

His goal wasn’t to become a respected armor designer; armor design served merely as a stepping stone to fame.

He already possessed a reputation among designers; had someone in High Command not interfered, he would already hold the title of Honorary Master.

The more widely his flight armor became known, the greater his fame and perceived value would grow.

That worked entirely to his advantage.

​