Shield of the Rose

With a noisy clatter, an entire crate of magitech armor parts was tipped out onto the ground.

Richie squatted beside the pile, shifting through the metal components.

He was far too familiar with these parts. Back when they were in Crete, they had captured a whole warehouse of similar pieces.

The parts dumped on the ground represented only a small fraction. This time, they hadn’t just salvaged spare parts—they had recovered a full two hundred fully assembled units of the “Cube” magitech armor.

In the distance, a group of quartermasters was frantically recalibrating the captured Cubes. The Alliance’s new standardized magitech armor possessed superior performance compared to most suits in the Republic. Even specialized armor like the “Warlord” models used by high-ranking commanders like Haigert and Mosalai were only half a step superior to these units.

Since they had captured so many excellent suits and had more than enough spare parts, it would be downright foolish not to equip their own troops with them.

Integrating two hundred Cubes into this pieced-together “Legion” effectively boosted their overall combat capacity by a massive margin.

Yet, alongside the joy came a brooding anxiety. Everyone understood all too well what the presence of so many Cubes here signified.

“The Alliance has already begun re-equipping their frontline troops,” Claude said, squatting next to a Cube while inspecting its serial number. Experimental models began with an ‘H’, while testing models started with a ‘Y’.

The serial number on this batch began with a ‘T’—the mark of full-scale mass production.

Claude’s men had been using the few dozen Cubes captured in Crete all along, so hardly anyone understood the formidable strength of this armor better than he did.

Without full re-equipment, the Republic was already at a disadvantage. Once the enemy completed their mass transition to these suits, the strength gap would widen even further.

“As far as I know, this suit comes in two variants. Which model is this?”

The question came from a woman.

She wore a Corps Commander’s uniform, holding a rank equal to Mosalai’s.

No one around her answered immediately. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on Richie.

Richie was picking up a compass-like object from the pile of parts. It was surrounded by fine gear teeth, with two constantly spinning needles on the front and intricate runes etched densely across the back.

Flipping it over and examining it from every angle for a good while, Richie felt his heart sink inch by inch. “It’s the newest model, only lacking the instantaneous burst acceleration module.”

He tapped his finger twice against a chest casing component. The metallic thud sounded somewhat dull. “The plating is ordinary cast bronze; this is a simplified version. The official production version ought to use high-tenacity refined forged steel.”

“So the Alliance held back a secret card against the Varedin people?” Claude laughed.

“Everyone does the same,” the female Corps Commander remarked coldly.

No one picked up the topic. Both Claude and Mosalai remained silent, acting as though they hadn’t heard her comment at all.

This woman was a well-known troublemaker within the Junior Army. Her name was Silvia, belonging to a more radical faction inside the Junior Army. The Junior Army was an aggressive organization, but it contained various sub-factions. Mosalai leaned toward conservatism, while Haigert belonged to a radical wing—though Haigert’s faction differed from Silvia’s. Just as the crowd fell into silence, Mosalai’s communications officer ran over, clutching a piece of paper covered in writing.

“Rodneyburg has fallen,” the officer gasped out, his face pale as death.

Hearing this news, everyone froze. Many wore expressions of utter disbelief.

Rodneyburg was the central stronghold garrisoned by the Third Legion of the former Second Theater Command. Mosalai, Silvia, and Haigert had all belonged to this legion in the past.

“What about General Levi? What about the troops?”

Women were, after all, more emotional than men. Hearing this grim news, Silvia immediately cried out in alarm.

The communications officer didn’t answer verbally, instead handing over the paper in his hand.

Silvia snatched it, glanced at it once, and instantly clapped her hand over her mouth as tears welled up and spilled over her eyelids. The others stood by without a word; a dead silence swallowed the area.

Richie remained squatted on the ground. At that moment, he felt almost like an outsider.

In truth, he was an outsider. He didn’t belong to this theater command, let alone the Third Legion, and he had never met General Levi. He had only heard from Haigert that Levi was a good-natured man—a stubborn, highly principled, good-natured officer.

“Why did this happen?” Silvia suddenly shouted. “Rodneyburg was holding out fine all this time! How could it fall all of a sudden?”

Tears dripped onto the snowy ground. This female Corps Commander, usually so cold and unapproachable, finally broke down into heavy sobs.

Inside the temporary command post, everyone gathered in a circle.

“What do we do next?” Claude asked.

Traces of tears remained on Silvia’s face, while the others wore expressions of deep grief.

Just like Richie, Claude felt like an outsider as well. His position was even more awkward than Richie’s. Richie’s status was detached to begin with, allowing him to watch coolly from the sidelines. But Claude couldn’t do that. Nearly half of his troops were former members of the Second Corps. Learning that General Levi had died in battle, those soldiers had erupted in anger; demands to avenge Levi were nearly deafening his ears.

“Why didn’t you move to rescue Rodneyburg’s forces first?” Silvia glared at Claude, Mosalai, and the other corps commanders. Once a woman became emotional, she easily acted on impulse, and she had clearly lost her composure.

Her words cut deep. Fortunately, except for Claude and Richie, everyone present was a member of the Third Corps and understood Silvia’s current state of mind.

Richie looked toward Claude, curious to see how he intended to explain.

The main reason for not rescuing Rodneyburg was the fear of sustaining devastating casualties. The forces besieging Rodneyburg consisted of an elite Varedin corps, supported by two second-line corps on the flanks. They were like three iron spikes driven firmly around Rodneyburg, refusing to budge a single inch no matter how much their side tried to lure them away.

At the very beginning, with only Claude’s and Mosalai’s two corps, trying to break through such a tight defensive perimeter would have resulted in nothing short of total annihilation.

However, after rescuing Silvia, Valen, Jason, and Grolm—adding four more corps to their numbers—their combined forces were finally sufficient to punch a breach through that encirclement and pull the defenders out.

Richie didn’t believe Claude was entirely devoid of selfish motives.

Given how deeply General Levi was beloved, once he was rescued, all these corps commanders would likely flock back under his banner.

Richie wasn’t sure what role Haigert played in this matter, only knowing that Claude had deliberately stalled, avoiding any clash with the ring surrounding Rodneyburg.

Therefore, the female Corps Commander’s outburst wasn’t an unprovoked emotional release; she had almost certainly proposed a rescue mission for Rodneyburg earlier.

“Now the worst-case scenario has occurred. The enemy has brought up an entire fresh legion as reinforcement,” Mosalai said, striving to maintain his composure. At a time like this, recriminations and blame were utterly useless.

Knowing Claude as he did, Mosalai naturally knew Claude had his own agenda. Claude had most likely wanted to rescue the other corps first before turning around to relieve Rodneyburg.

That bit of calculation was actually quite ironic. Haigert was a rising star cultivated heavily by the Junior Army’s elite. Now that he had a chance to become a full Legion Commander, the top brass of the Junior Army would surely back him wholeheartedly. Thus, even if General Levi had been rescued, troops would still have been split off to allow Haigert to form his own legion.

Back then, to avoid creating rifts over this issue, a few of them had secretly discussed bringing up the matter with Claude only after all seven corps had been rescued. They hadn’t anticipated the enemy acting so swiftly.

This blow struck precisely at their vulnerability. This army was pieced together from various units, commanded by an outsider like Claude, while their nominal highest officer, Haigert, was originally just a corps commander of the same rank as them. Silvia, Valen, and Jason were all somewhat dissatisfied in private. Right now, Mosalai had to do everything possible to prevent this force from falling apart.

To achieve this, before the meeting started, he had already instructed the communications officer to contact Junior Army headquarters, begging the two leaders for a clear directive.

The Third Legion wasn’t entirely composed of Junior Army members, but the proportion was very high. Among the leaders present, except for Grolm, everyone else belonged to the Junior Army. If the two supreme leaders issued a firm order, even major disagreements would be forcibly suppressed.

“I suggest we move toward Rodneyburg. We might still be able to rescue survivors,” Silvia said through gritted teeth.

“The situation is unclear right now. We should gather information before making a move,” Grolm counseled. Like Mosalai, Grolm was a cautious man. Furthermore, since he wasn’t a member of the Junior Army, he always felt slightly alienated in an army where the Junior Army held immense sway. Consequently, he was the most indifferent toward this affair. Besides, his unit remained relatively intact, having lost only about one-eighth of its personnel, unlike Silvia’s and Jason’s corps, which had lost nearly half their strength. Naturally, he wanted to avoid a large-scale battle at all costs.

Richie couldn’t help but frown. Scouting out the situation was his responsibility, but he was here as a volunteer helper. Yet that fellow Grolm was obviously pushing him to take risks. What annoyed him even more was that he could sense a cold, suspicious glare directed at him.

Richie looked up and met Silvia’s gaze. In her frigid eyes, he saw clear suspicion and a trace of hostility.

Richie understood in an instant. This female Corps Commander was venting her anger toward Claude onto him simply because neither he nor Claude belonged to the Second Corps.

He glared right back at her. As a minor, venting a little temper was completely natural. Just as no one criticized Silvia when she broke down in tears earlier, no one would hold his reaction against him.

Seeing the two of them glaring at each other like loaded springs, Mosalai felt a massive headache coming on. Neither of them was someone he could easily command.

Silvia, as one of the few female corps commanders, was naturally aloof, proud, and obstinate. She was notoriously difficult to deal with, yet her gender gave her extraordinary charisma among the troops.

As for Richie, Mosalai had already learned plenty from Claude. Richie possessed the personal backing of two Great Craftsmen—Espol and Madame Shar. Let alone lower commanders like them, even the two supreme leaders of the Junior Army couldn’t command such prestige.

More importantly, Richie was different from Claude.

Richie had come along purely to lend a hand. Based on the reports sent by Haigert, the boy had zero ambition for power. According to Haigert, that seemed to be a shared trait among all members of Squad 105.

A powerful figure who asked for nothing, acted out of goodwill, and occupied a detached status—how could anyone afford to offend him?

Clearing his throat, Mosalai tapped Silvia’s arm gently to draw her attention before speaking: “I have already reported this situation to both Field Marshals. They gave no specific tactical orders, but they advised me to prioritize the bigger picture.”

Mosalai was lying, but no one present doubted his word. Members of the Second Corps were far too familiar with him.

Given Mosalai’s cautious nature, he would certainly contact headquarters upon learning of Rodneyburg’s fall. So when he claimed he had consulted the rear, everyone believed him.

Cautious people rarely lied because lying was a foolish, short-sighted gamble. The truth would eventually come to light, and the fallout of being caught lying invariably outweighed any transient benefit. Therefore, the more cautious a person was, the less likely they were to lie.

Had Haigert said these exact words, far fewer people would have believed him, for Haigert was the sort of man who would employ any tactic or trick available if a lie served his purpose.

Thus, Mosalai enjoyed exceptionally high credibility.

As for “prioritizing the bigger picture,” everyone present could easily guess what that implied.

At this point, even the most optimistic members of the Junior Army didn’t believe the Republic could hold out against the invasion.

When the first phase of the campaign ended, everyone had pinned their hopes on joining the Dante Alliance, expecting the Alliance to dispatch armies to aid the Republic. In hindsight, such hopes had been hopelessly naive.

The Alliance nations had indeed provided assistance—money, supplies, and equipment—but they had refused to send troops.

So while the citizens of the Republic celebrated the arrival of foreign aid with renewed confidence, those who truly understood the underlying reality were already making preparations for eventual defeat.

Since defeat was inevitable, preserving their core strength became the single most critical objective.

The grand war between the Alliance and the Norman Coalition was destined to be a long, drawn-out conflict. Who would ultimately emerge victorious remained uncertain. However, for the Republic, so long as they retained their people and their own military force, they could rebuild the nation once the Alliance eventually prevailed.

Otherwise, relying solely on Alliance troops might restore Monstoke on paper, but the newly established government would be nothing more than a puppet controlled by foreign masters.

“Retreat to the rear and rendezvous with Haigert,” Jason was the first Corps Commander to change his stance, which effectively signaled his decision to join Haigert’s legion.

Among them all, only Silvia remained stubborn in her silence. Unfortunately, she alone couldn’t turn the tide. In fact, she couldn’t even lead her own depleted troops on a solo rampage even if she wanted to. Her corps was halved in strength; while they had been united when surrounded, after being rescued and seeing that other corps hadn’t suffered such catastrophic losses, her surviving knights had begun developing their own ideas. If she insisted on driving them into a death trap now, her squad leaders would step forward to depose her.

Initially, Claude had possessed less than one full corps. Now, they commanded six fully organized corps, plus rescued remnants of various companies and battalions amounting to another two corps. The number of knights exceeded four thousand. The proportion of ordinary foot soldiers wasn’t as high as in Mosalai’s initial force. Most of the foot soldiers under Silvia and Jason had perished. The number of supply transports was limited, barely sufficient to carry the knights and their magitech armor, with hardly any room for spare parts—let alone seating for regular soldiers.

Most of the ordinary soldiers had to wrap themselves in blankets or heavy coats, crouching on the roofs of vehicles to endure the howling wind and driving snow. A portion sat inside the covered sleds towed behind the transports, which provided some shelter against the biting cold.

The road was exceedingly bumpy. To avoid detection, the column avoided main roads and traversed the wilderness. Though thick snow carpeted the ground and the bitter cold froze the earth as hard as iron—turning previously impassable terrain into smooth ground—the surface remained uneven.

Suddenly, one transport jolted violently, sending all the soldiers crouching on its roof bouncing into the air. Fortunately, most gripped the handrails tightly. Only one unfortunate soldier was thrown two or three meters into the air, landing with a heavy thud in the snow beside the road.

“Gaudi! Gaudi! Someone fell off! Quick, save him!” another soldier on the roof yelled out.

Just then, a suit of magitech armor sprinted over. The knight inside barked harshly: “Shut your mouth! Do you want to draw the enemy right to us?”

As he spoke, the knight picked up the fallen soldier from the snow.

“He’s dead already. His body is stiff.”

The moment the knight lifted the man, he realized something was wrong.

It was just after New Year, the coldest period of the winter, and rations were scarce. Along the way, no small number of men had frozen or starved to death.

Scenery like this was hardly uncommon; many soldiers suddenly slipped off the roofs or sleds, already devoid of breath.

“Poor bastard. He didn’t die on the battlefield, but ended up dying here.”

The soldier who had shouted earlier looked heartbroken; the two of them had been close friends.

The knight said no more, tucking the corpse beneath his arm and striding toward the outer perimeter of the column. Stepping a few hundred meters away, he kicked the ground twice. The heavy, rigid iron foot of the magitech suit dug a deep trench into the frozen soil.

Placing the body into the trench, the knight kicked the loose earth over it until the corpse was completely covered, leaving no visible trace of a grave.

Dying for one’s country without even a proper headstone was undeniably a tragic fate.

Yet there was no alternative.

If they left marked graves behind, Alliance trackers could easily follow the trail to hunt them down. Not a single trace could be left behind.

Sighing heavily, the knight tossed a red maple seed onto the soil.

Next year, perhaps a maple tree would sprout here, serving as a natural monument. Though no one would come to sweep the grave or offer sacrifices to his soul, having a maple tree for company meant he wouldn’t be entirely alone.

One transport after another rumbled past. Every soldier silently removed his cap, an indescribable gloom rising in their hearts. Mourning for another today, it might be their turn tomorrow.

After an unknown stretch of time, the main body finally passed, leaving behind a company of light magitech suits.

Those suits wore no heavy armor plating, nor did they carry weapons; instead, they held long, wide brooms used for sweeping snow.

The passage of such a massive column had left obvious tracks—deep tire ruts and churned mud stood out starkly against the white landscape.

This squad of knights fanned out wide, backing away slowly while using their brooms to erase every footprint and rut. Though some subtle traces remained, a light snowfall would cover them completely.

Yet they weren’t the rearmost guard.

High above them in the cloud layer, a pair of vigilant eyes kept watch over the path they had traversed.

Richie was currently tasked with rearguard duty. As the column grew larger, any small enemy unit encountered along the way could be effortlessly swallowed up, so Richie no longer needed to fly far ahead to scout.

Their sole concern was the Alliance amassing a large army to track them down using residual signs, which was why Richie was posted at the very rear.

Up to this point, he hadn’t spotted a single pursuer.

Compared to wide-ranging reconnaissance, rearguard duty was far more relaxed. Most of the time, he glided lazily inside the cloud cover, expending virtually no Aura, allowing him to stay airborne for as long as he wished.

As the sun began to sink, the winter wind picked up sharply once past four in the afternoon. Richie turned around and flew back toward the camp.

The column had already halted for the night. Marching through a blizzard was nothing to knights, but for ordinary foot soldiers, it was lethal.

As usual, Richie didn’t land in the middle of the crowd. He circled once in the sky until he spotted a large red cloth laid out inside a snow ditch a few kilometers away from the main column—the designated landing marker.

He glided down swiftly.

Beside the landing point stood a supply transport covered in white camouflage netting, its doors wide open. Merlin, Rosa, and the others sat by the doorway.

Mosalai’s daughter was inside as well. Ever since she barged her way into their group, she had refused to leave, depriving Richie and Merlin of any chance to share an intimate moment, let alone make love.

The girl was roughly the same age as Richie. She had passed the exam to become a formal knight early that year and was considered a famous genius among her peers. That background had made the young girl arrogant beyond measure—until she ran into a monster like Richie, who instantly eclipsed her.

Kids at this age easily swung from one extreme to another. After suffering a blow to her pride, she had instead transformed into Richie’s most devoted admirer.

As usual, the moment Richie touched down, the girl rushed over to help him dismantle the glider from his back.

Merlin, Rosa, and Randy stood a short distance away, watching the scene with subtle smiles.

“Looking at this, Margaret might be in some serious trouble,” Rosa giggled.

“Not necessarily. Mosalai has only this one daughter, and his family is a mid-tier noble lineage after all. He won’t let his family line end just like that. Didn’t you notice? That girl cultivates the Torrential Wind Aura, the exact same art Mosalai himself practices,” Merlin replied with a serene smile.

“You mean Mosalai will definitely have his daughter take a matrilocal husband to carry on the family name?” Rosa realized suddenly. “Isn’t Richie quite suitable? The guy doesn’t have a family line of his own.”

“Stop joking. With Richie’s current reputation, he has more than enough clout to establish his own noble house. Nobody knows how far he will reach in the future—he might even become the first Sword Saint in the history of the Republic. Mosalai is no fool; he can certainly see that. Given his cautious nature, even if Richie offered to marry into his family, Mosalai probably wouldn’t dare accept.”

Merlin’s words sounded incredible, yet they were spot on. The world of knights operated by its own strict code.

Common knights, noble houses, and prestigious clans were divided by clear class boundaries. Anyone who dared breach those hierarchies would be met with unanimous disdain.

“Then why doesn’t he stop her? I don’t believe Mosalai is ignorant of his daughter’s actions,” Rosa asked, somewhat perplexed.

“To borrow a superior bloodline, of course. Taking in a matrilocal son-in-law is only to secure an heir. In that case, why not let his daughter bring back a top-tier bloodline from outside? It saves effort and worry.”

Rosa nodded in agreement. While such a concept sounded absurd in ordinary society, among knights, it was completely standard practice.

While Rosa and the others chatted about Richie, the girl had already removed the glider from his back.

Tossing the glider onto the snow, the two walked toward the supply transport.

Plunking himself down on the transport’s floorboards, Richie flipped open his visor and took a deep breath. Cold, crisp air rushed into his lungs. Wearing the visor felt stifling; the Yaksha was by no means a comfortable suit of armor.

Before Richie could take a second breath, a full tray of food was thrust in front of his face.

On the tray were stir-fried sheep liver and roasted potatoes.

Holding the tray, the girl smiled softly and asked, “Have you thought it over?”

“Thought over what?” Richie tried to recall if he had promised anything.

“Taking me as your apprentice!” Tidi’s eyes widened, filled with intense anticipation.

Richie scratched his head. He didn’t remember making any such commitment.

“You said you’d teach me how to fly in the sky!” Tidi pouted.

Richie nodded; that much he had indeed agreed to. Ever since becoming an Ace Knight, his “Wind-Control Art”—which he had previously thought complete—had revealed numerous areas for refinement. The circulation path had now expanded to twenty-seven nodes, making it a high-tier art in its own right.

“I agreed to teach you to fly, but I never agreed to be your master,” Richie said, nipping her attempts to curry favor in the bud. “I can teach you how to fly, but not for free. We exchange…”

“No way! My family’s arts cannot be disclosed to outsiders!” Tidi jumped up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

“Relax. I have no interest in your family’s core arts. They’re useless to me anyway.”

Richie knew what she was worried about. Possessing the dual-training secret technique, he didn’t care for ordinary core cultivation methods at all.

“You know my specialty is close-quarters combat. When I sparred with you the other day, I noticed you could alter your stance mid-attack, even executing multiple changes within a single strike.”

Richie stated his price.

Tidi blinked her large eyes, falling into deep thought.

While that technique wasn’t the core cultivation art itself, it was intimately connected to it—a specialized application of her family’s core art.

“You might not even be able to learn it,” she sighed softly. “The technique you want to learn is called ‘Nine Whispering Wind Transformations’. Besides that, my family possesses another technique called ‘Ten Continuous Rain Strikes’. To execute either technique, one must cultivate our family’s ‘Torrential Wind Aura’.”

Hearing this, Richie understood immediately. The techniques he had taken a liking to were just like Lina’s ‘Wave Piercer’ and his mentor Dana’s ‘Lightning Battle Techniques’—specialized combat moves designed to pair with specific types of Aura.

Richie fell silent. Thinking Richie was displeased, Tidi hurried to explain: “I really can’t help it. These techniques are tied directly to the cultivation method. My family’s Torrential Wind Aura isn’t particularly special in other aspects, but it possesses one unique trait: it can be divided into several smaller surges in advance. Each burst releases only one surge to generate a fresh force. ‘Nine Whispering Wind Transformations’ relies on this fresh force to alter direction mid-attack. ‘Ten Continuous Rain Strikes’ stacks new force onto existing momentum to multiply the striking power. When my father sparred with you, it was just a practice match, so he didn’t use lethal moves—that’s why you didn’t witness the full power of ‘Ten Continuous Rain Strikes’.”

Looking at the girl’s proud expression, Richie believed her words were true, and his interest in ‘Ten Continuous Rain Strikes’ was instantly piqued. That move sounded practically like a simplified version of ‘Thousand Threads’!

In comparison, ‘Nine Whispering Wind Transformations’ merely allowed flexible stance shifts after striking, offering limited control over the attack—something any Ace Knight could manage with effort.

Had he not yet reached the Ace Knight realm, ‘Nine Whispering Wind Transformations’ would have been immensely useful. But right now, it was merely icing on the cake.

On the other hand, ‘Ten Continuous Rain Strikes’ possessed immense untapped potential.

He wasn’t interested in stacking brute physical force, nor did he intend to use it like ‘Thousand Threads’. What truly caught his attention was Tidi’s statement that ‘Ten Continuous Rain Strikes’ could unleash multiple distinct strikes in a single instant.

That was a match made in heaven for his ‘Half-Moon Cup’!

‘Ten Continuous Rain Strikes’ required splitting Aura into multiple portions. The less Aura used per portion, the weaker each individual strike would be, relying on subsequent hits to build momentum and inflict massive damage.

However, ‘Half-Moon Cup’ was fundamentally a vibrational shockwave attack. It required very little Aura, concentrated force into a single line, and dealt terrifying destructive damage.

If he learned ‘Ten Continuous Rain Strikes’ and used its execution method to fire off multiple ‘Half-Moon Cups’, it would be like upgrading from a musket to a mortar battery. The power wouldn’t just double—it would multiply by dozens or hundreds of times!

Thinking this through, Richie firmly resolved to get his hands on ‘Ten Continuous Rain Strikes’ no matter what.

“Learning to fly in the sky requires mastering ‘Wind-Control Art’ first. That isn’t just a combat technique—it’s a core art,” Richie added a bit of weight to his side of the bargain.

The girl knit her brows in frustration. Exchanging an Aura manipulation technique for a high-tier core art was an undeniably lucrative deal for her. However, the more core arts one cultivated, the slower one’s progress became. She was already practicing her family’s ‘Torrential Wind Aura’; if she took up this core art called ‘Wind-Control Art’ on top of that, she might never reach the Ace Knight realm in her lifetime.

With a conflicted mind and a head full of indecision, Tidi headed back to her corps’ encampment.

The moment she arrived, she rushed straight to the transport where her father was staying.

Relaying Richie’s proposed trade, she asked anxiously, “Dad, what do you think? Should we trade or not?”

Mosalai didn’t even need to think twice; in his heart, he was itching to make the deal immediately. He would willingly trade the cultivation method for ‘Torrential Wind Aura’ itself if he could.

Although ‘Torrential Wind Aura’ was a high-tier art, its ranking among high-tier arts was quite low. In contrast, even if ‘Wind-Control Art’ possessed no other special properties, the ability to fly through the skies alone was enough to grant its user an extraordinary status.

Mosalai began calculating how to squeeze even more benefits out of Richie.

“‘Wind-Control Art’ is a high-tier art. If you miss this chance, don’t come crying later,” Claude warned casually from the side. Having been friends for years, he knew Mosalai’s temperament inside out. The more cautious a man was, the deeper his calculations ran. “That boy doesn’t lack friends. While your family’s combat techniques are rare, they aren’t unique. Once he finds an alternative…”

Tidi felt a jolt of anxiety, though she remained stubborn: “Cultivating an extra core art doesn’t do us much good anyway…”

“Why wouldn’t it?” Claude leaned back comfortably, propping his feet up. “That kid cultivates roughly five or six core arts simultaneously, including arts used by Recon Knights. Have you seen him fail to master them?”

The girl’s eyes widened in sheer astonishment. “How on earth does he cultivate them?”

“Don’t ask me,” Claude actually knew the reason, but such secret matters were by no means appropriate for him to spill. “If you want to know, go ask him yourself.”

Mosalai instinctively wanted to stop her. Though he hadn’t spent much time around Richie, from the hints Claude occasionally dropped, he already understood how Richie achieved his unbelievable rate of advancement.

Yet the words stuck in his throat.

Unaware of her father’s inner thoughts, Tidi jumped off the transport. “I’ll go ask him! If he really has that capability, I’ll make the trade with him!”

As she spoke, she glanced toward her father.

To her delight, her father subtly tapped his right index finger—a secret signal of approval.

She broke into a bright smile and trotted off happily.

Watching his daughter walk away, Mosalai let out a heavy sigh.

“What? Worrying about your daughter?” Claude chuckled, then suddenly realized there were other soldiers on the transport. “Sitting inside a transport all day is boring. How about taking a walk outside?”

Mosalai said nothing, but with a leap, he cleared the side of the vehicle and landed lightly on the snow.

For masters of their caliber, walking across snow was child’s play. The two strolled leisurely, gradually putting distance between themselves and the column.

“I can guess what you’re planning. That’s probably the outcome Haigert wants to see most,” Claude sighed, feeling a pang of sorrow for the three of them. Back in their academy days, the three of them had been proud, ambitious, and fiercely idealistic, scorning the compromises and political schemes of the high command.

Yet over a decade later, they had transformed into the very people they once despised—and compared to those “predecessors,” their own calculations ran even deeper.

“I can guess that kid’s personality because I’ve stayed close to him and knew he was extraordinary from the start,” Claude said, stroking his stubbled chin. “While you managed to figure out what Haigert was thinking the moment he sent you that coded message.”

To put it plainly, Haigert wanted to use Mosalai’s daughter as bait to hook a fish with an infinitely bright future. Mosalai had been angry at first, but after calming down and reflecting, he understood Haigert’s predicament.

Haigert was doing this largely for Mosalai’s sake. Haigert himself was an acting Legion Commander; once the two forces merged, that “acting” title would almost certainly become permanent. Meanwhile, with Haigert’s help, Claude was doing quite well for himself, firmly entrenched as a Corps Commander. The assault corps under Claude’s command was no ordinary unit; having fought side-by-side for so long, Mosalai knew its terrifying combat power better than anyone.

With that assault corps in hand, Claude’s future was radiant.

Now, among the three of them, only Mosalai’s future remained uncertain. His position as Corps Commander was safe for the moment; even if high command reorganized their forces, they would only disband Silvia’s and Jason’s heavily depleted corps to merge them into other units. But even if he survived this round, there was no guarantee he would survive the next.

Haigert was hinting for him to use his daughter as bait to extract something valuable from the boy.

If Mosalai could build an airborne corps of his own, his position would be rock-solid.

Naturally, Mosalai understood that Haigert wasn’t entirely selfless either.

The three of them enjoyed deep personal friendships. In the Second Legion, he and Haigert had started as partners and later became allies.

Now, General Levi’s death had created an unbridgeable rift. If Haigert wanted to maintain absolute control over the legion, he needed staunch supporters. Winning over Claude and himself was essential to securing that absolute backing.

“I kind of despise myself too,” Mosalai chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. “Back in the academy, the people we looked down on most were those who climbed the ranks through nepotism and marriage ties. Who would have thought I’d become one of them?”

“I never said I despised you. You didn’t force your daughter into anything; you’re just turning a blind eye,” Claude explained quickly, patting Mosalai on the shoulder. “Besides, I know your dilemma. This outcome might actually be great for you. You won’t need to hunt for a matrilocal son-in-law anymore—just let your daughter bring back a ‘superior bloodline’ directly, and squeeze some high-tier arts out of him while you’re at it. Heh, once the war ends, your family might very well join the ranks of the prestigious noble houses.”

His words left Mosalai unsure whether to laugh or cry, though in his heart, he didn’t consider it a joke.

In this war, countless established noble houses would fall, while an equal number of new noble lineages would rise.

A so-called prestigious house was merely an elite circle whose member families had produced famous figures and possessed multiple high-tier cultivation arts, allowing their descendants to choose the arts best suited to their talents.

War was undeniably the grandest stage for making a name. Many who dominated the battlefield in the late stages of war had started out as nobodies. Likewise, war offered the easiest path to acquiring various cultivation arts—some captured as spoils, some awarded as prizes, and many released by desperate high commands sharing their secret treasuries with native knights before their nations fell.

Elevating his family into the ranks of the prestigious nobility… a faint smile touched the corners of Mosalai’s mouth.

That was indeed a splendid prospect.

“What is this?” Tidi fiddled with a vibrating sphere she had pulled from a charging socket on the supply transport.

Merlin and Randy flushed with intense embarrassment, instantly regretting not hiding those items away sooner.

Only Rosa didn’t mind in the least. Using the same line she had used to trick Richie in the past, she said, “That’s a training tool. Using it during cultivation multiplies your efficiency.”

“Don’t listen to her nonsense,” Merlin laughed, snatching the vibrating sphere out of Tidi’s hands.

Tidi’s physical skills were no match for Merlin’s, so she could only watch helplessly as the item was taken away. She blinked her large eyes, looking at Merlin with a touch of skepticism.

“Your name is quite interesting. It sounds like a boy’s name,” Randy interjected quickly to change the subject.

“My name was picked out before I was even born. My parents planned to name me Tina if I was a girl, and Tidi if I was a boy. Unfortunately, my mother suffered a difficult labor, and I had to be delivered via emergency surgery. The surgery had complications that damaged something, leaving my mother unable to bear any more children. She felt terribly guilty toward my father because he desperately wanted a son to inherit everything. So after discussing it, they gave me the name Tidi and raised me as if I were a boy.”

Tidi spoke with a hint of complaint.

“You don’t like it?” Randy found it both curious and amusing.

“Of course not! This tomboyish upbringing made it impossible for me to find friends. I didn’t feel it as a toddler, but after turning five or six, I realized I didn’t fit in with the girls, nor could I play with the boys. Things got a little better after graduating from the academy—in the corps, everyone gave way to me out of respect for my father.”

Tidi finally found an opportunity to pour out the frustration pent up in her heart.

“That’s strange. At the academy, you could have easily dressed as a girl. Could your parents still control you from afar?” Rosa couldn’t help asking.

“My mother’s name is Vilia. She wields a massive red greatsword. Does that sound familiar?” Tidi looked at Rosa.

“A massive red greatsword… Vilia… Whoa! Isn’t she the combat tactics instructor for the sixth-year students? She’s your mother? She’s way older than your father!” Rosa’s mouth hung open as a sudden realization struck her.

“A teacher-student romance is completely normal!” Tidi shrugged, not minding at all.

“Right! Completely normal! Extremely normal!” Randy nodded vigorously beside her—not out of a desire to save the girl from embarrassment, but because Squad 105 also harbored a teacher-student romance. In fact, looking at it from another angle, every member of Squad 105 had taught Richie something at one point or another. Richie’s foundational knowledge of magitech armor had been taught by Randy herself, so all of them could be considered his teachers, and their relationships naturally counted as teacher-student romances.

Randy stole a glance at the others; sure enough, even Merlin’s cheeks were flushed with a subtle blush.

“I heard your squad has a female knight around my age. Is she an Ace Knight too?” Tidi was full of curiosity about Richie, which naturally extended to Squad 105.

“Her name is Margaret. She isn’t an Ace Knight yet, but she’s close—she’s about to enter the bottleneck stage,” Randy answered.

“How many years has it been since she advanced to a formal knight?” Tidi pressed.

Randy found herself in a tight spot. Margaret had become a formal knight less than a year ago, and now she was already preparing to challenge the Ace Knight bottleneck—it sounded like nothing short of a miracle.

She shot a glance at Merlin.

Merlin knit her brows slightly, finding the question tricky as well.

However, after a moment’s thought, she decided to tell the truth. The girl’s mother was an instructor at the Knight Academy; checking Margaret’s advancement records would be child’s play for her. Even if they hid it now, it would be exposed later anyway.

“Roughly a year,” Merlin smiled and said.

“Ah?” Tidi froze, thinking she had misheard.

“Margaret broke through the apprentice knight bottleneck and became a formal knight early this year,” Merlin explained once more.

“That’s impossible!”

Tidi’s screech echoed inside the transport. At that moment, she looked utterly dazed and disoriented: “How is that possible? Only one year… just one year!”

Beside shock, intense jealousy surged within Tidi’s heart.

Like Lina in the past, she had been regarded as an undisputed genius at the academy. It was only her tomboy persona that kept her somewhat detached from the social scene. She had always been proud, and hardly any peers earned her respect. Hearing that a girl her age was vastly more talented than her hit her pride hard.

Suddenly, the name Margaret struck a familiar chord in her memory.

“Does that girl cultivate ‘Frost Aura’?” Tidi looked up at Merlin.

“Yes. Were you classmates?” Merlin wasn’t surprised. Margaret was a few months older than Richie, just turning seventeen, while Tidi was a month younger than Richie. They had likely been in the same year at the academy.

“We were in the same class,” Tidi didn’t sound particularly thrilled. She didn’t have many memories of Margaret. Both of them belonged to the solitary type—Tidi was ostracized by classmates, while Margaret was too cold to join any social circles.

The reason she remembered Margaret was that Tidi had always ranked first in class, while Margaret hovered between third and fifth. Considering Margaret cultivated a cold-attribute Aura, achieving such grades meant her talent was by no means inferior to Tidi’s.

Just thinking that someone who used to trail behind her had now surged ahead by such a massive margin made Tidi feel as though a hundred cats were scratching at her heart.

Richie looked toward the distant horizon, a dominant thought taking root in his mind: this woman belonged to him alone, and from this day forth, no other man would ever touch a single finger of hers.

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