Capital City — Flerith, Kingdom of Ceirth,
Outer region, Blackwood Pub
Early Summer, Fue'oi, 1402 Year Cycle

"One more glass, please," the man said as he threw the empty wine glass onto the wooden floor. The glass shattered, causing those in the pub to look towards the sound's origin. Though after seeing who it was, they quickly turned away their faces in fright.

'Damn cowards, the lot of them…' the man disappointingly muttered under his breath as though he had expected this unusual reaction. He hoped that one of them was courageous to come looking for trouble with him, so that he could vent out all the bottled up resentment inside him, but alas, it does not seem possible.

"So…did she defeat you again, Master Geve?" The bartender inquired, unperturbed by the man's rude behavior, as he placed another glass of Mistborn wine on the table. He wore a dark tunic with complimenting black leggings. His appearance and body language radiated an air of good upbringing.

Picking up the glass placed in front of him, Geve brought it close to his face, staring at it as if searching for answers to comfort himself. The bartender remained silent at the side, letting the man be.

"More like she beat the shit out of me. Aahhh, what a miserable life I have," the man despondently answered, breaking the long awkward silence.

"Surely, you jest, milord. Many people would want to bang their heads into walls after hearing you, one of the Twin Knights, say that," The bartender said with a wry smile on his face.

The Twin Knights, the mere mention of this duo would invoke feelings of reverence, fear and admiration in the hearts of public. They were recognized as the strongest force of the Kingdom of Ceirth, employeed by the King as the two Highest-General of the Royal Knights. It was because of their reputation as rank-five knights that the King and the royal family was able to maintain their position. Not to mention, they also served as a deterrence to the surrounding states that might otherwise harbor wicked plans.

—Yet, here was one of the Twin Knights, Geve the Guardian, sulking in defeat.

"Ugh…what Twin Knights? It should be more like the Single Knight...or maybe The Knight…wait, but that doesn't sound nice. Ughhh, I don't give a fuck anymore!!" Geve drank all glass empty in one fell swoop. Just thinking about her smug smile when she pointed her sword against his throat—during their last duel—infuriated him to no bounds.

"Forgive me for not knowing my place, General Geve, but why don't you give up on trying to defeat General Adelena? It is not like both of you are enemies, anyway," the bartender inquired, his voice coated in curiosity.

"It's because of my pride as a man, Edelor! How could you even not know of something as important as this?! Wait, don't tell me you're a eunuch?! Hmm, no wonder your voice sounds a bit feminine!" Geve nodded to himself, seemingly proud of himself as though he had unravelled a great mystery.

"T-that's not the case…hah, nevermind," Edelor gave up after seeing Geve lost in his reverie. It was a well-known fact that General Geve was not himself when he got drunk.

Suddenly, the door to pub creaked open and a young boy entered. His skin was pale, to the point where it seemed as if the boy the never seen the light of day. Wearing a bright blue robe, he griped a small staff in his hand. His emerald eyes glistened in the darknesss of the pub.

With an arrogant glide, he made his way towards where Geve was sitting."Geve, why are you loitering in a place like this? I have been searching for you everywhere!" The boy yelled.

"When will you start calling me General Geve, you brat?!" Geve directed a sharp glare his way.

"When you stop calling me a brat," the boy sneered.

"Oh, if it isn't young lord Silvar."

"Hello, Mister Edelor. Sorry to disturb you while you are at work," the boy named Silvar bowed his head in response to the bartender's greeting.

"Hohoho, don't worry, young lord. As you can see, I am just accompanying Master Geve in his drinking bout," Edelor said with a generous wave of his hand, dismissing the boy's apology.

"I see," Silvar flashed a happy smile in response.

"By the way, brat, how did that master of yours allow you to come outside of the palace?" Geve asked, sounding interested. Spellmaster Malus, the court magician, was known for being strict towards his disciples, never letting them go out of the palace.

So seeing one of his disciples—a brilliant one at that—rooming outside like this was not a sight one got to see everyday.

"Humph, glad you asked! I broke-through to rank-one arcane spellcaster a month ago. Master Malus praised me, saying that I was a rare prodigy to become a rank-one spellcaster at such a young age, so as a reward for my hardwork, he gave me permission to leave the palace once in every six days, " Silvar answered heatedly, his voice loud enough to reach every corner of the pub.

Shocked gasps and sighs of admiration resounded throughout the place, which further stroked Silvar's ego.

"So what of it? It's not like you became a rank-one spellmaster like him," Geve harrumphed in annoyance.

"Y-you…do you even know how difficult it is to became a rank-one spellcaster, much less a rank-one spellmaster?!" Silvar retorted in fury. It felt like someone had poured cold water on his newfound thunder.

"Humph," Geve turned his face away. He indeed knew the difficulty of becoming a spellmaster, but due to his irritant mood, he wasn't willing to admit it out loud.

"Y-you…!" Silvar stomped his feet in anger.

"If don't mind, young lord Silvar, could please enlighten this old man about the mysteries of magic?" Edelor inquired.

"Of course, Mister Edelor. What you do want to know?"

"Anything. For example, like how many tiers are there?"

"Oh, from what I have heard from my master, magic spells are divided into eleven-tiers. Though their existence is still up for debate, as no one has witnessed a tier-eight spell, to say nothing of an eleven-tier spell. The highest spell a spellcaster can cast is a three-tier spell. And hence, they are called rank-three spellcaster due to each realm being divided into a total of three ranks. This is the highest level a normal human with magic potential is capable of achieving," saying that, Silvar looked at the bartender's pondering face and then continued, "after that come the spellmasters. After becoming a spellmaster, a human is able to surpass his limits and can summon winds and command oceans to a certain extent. Though this is only possible for rank-three spellmasters, those are able to use six-tier spells." Silvar now had a reverent look on this face. It was a dream of every spellcaster to have the honor of being able to glimpse at the peak of the magic, and Silvar was no exception.

"Oh? Entering into the ranks of legends, so to say?" Edelor asked, remembering those tales that he heard in his childhood.

"Indeed. It's said that after becoming a legend, one may be able to contend against those ancient beings who were under the command of deities and once ruled the whole world," Silvar replied fearfully, even he did not know much about those beings, except for what he had heard from his master. In fact, his master, the one he adored deeply, said that the likes of him weren't worthy to know about those beings. So it was impossible to know where the limits of their powers lay. Their tales were so absurd that he even suspected the validity of their existence.

"I see. Thank you for enlightening me, young lord Silvar," the bartender gratefully bowed towards him.

"You're welcome, Mister," Silvar nodded his head at the man's gesture.

"Hah…now why don't you tell me as to why you were searching for me?" Geve asked, intrigued.

"Ohh! Right, I almost forgot about it! His Majesty ordered me to summon you, Geve, saying that you are to come as soon as possible!" Remembering what he was here for, Silvar suddenly became flustered.

"Aahhh? Why didn't you tell me that earlier?!" Geve hurriedly stood up, striking his gauntleted hand against the table. The force behind the impact was so powerful that the table broke into two. His previous melancholic state was all but gone, replaced by an expression of solemnity.

"T-that's…that's because the conversation got derailed…" Even the previous arrogant Silvar was now fearful and had his head hung low. Others might not know, but he knew all too well what Geve was capable of when he got angry.

"Ugh…Blessed Mother! What shitty day this is! I will be going now, Edelor. And don't worry, I will send someone later to pay up for the drinks and that table. And you brat, play time's over, you are coming with me," Geve voice resounded in the pub after he made his exit while dragging an unwilling Silvar with him, leaving behind a wryly smiling bartender, and several stunned customers.

Geve now stood before double ironbound doors that lead to the throne hall. The doors reached a height of nine feet; tall and wide to the point that it seemed they would devour anyone that were to pass through. The walkaway was dimly lit, and he sensed humidity in the air as mositure settled on his exposed skin.

Two royal knights in glittering mail and an articulated breastplate wore on top of it stood to either side of the giant double doors. They regarded him respectfully with a royal salute from the side. Geve took a deep breath, remembering that it was a private summon this time, which meant that no one was going to listen in the conversation between him and the King.

It must be a pretty important matter.

The knights' gauntleted hands rested easily on the pommels of unsheathed great swords, but they made no move to hinder Geve as he pushed the doors wide open, and walked right past the knights into the throne hall like a rising wind.

"General Geve of the Royal Guards greets His Majesty Wimarc Phie-lettron!" He kneeled before the throne.

"You may stand, my loyal General," a dignified voice rumbled through the hall, bearing witness to the passing of time.

Being granted the permission to look up, he finally laid eyes on his king, the man he had sworn fealty to. King Wimarc, a man in his fifties, had an appearance what people might call ordinary but regal. An ovular face that possessed a pair of deep brown eyes, eyebrows that only had a few black hairs left unlike his completely white-coloured beard that reached till his collarbone. Draped in a fine black robe, the King wore a few rings on fingers of both his hands. Geve had once heard the Royal Magician Malus say that the King had ordered Anzadel Oqiohr, the most famous smith in the capital, to forge these rings out of Lin Putride. So only the gods knew how expensive these rings actaully were.

"I apologise for coming so late, Your Majesty!" He once again kneeled, albeit the intentions behind it differed from before.

"There's no need to be so uptight, General Geve. Be at ease. It is not that urgent of an matter that We'd punish a loyal subject such as yourself over," the King replied with a laugh.

Feeling of gratitude welled up inside of him, once again reminding him of the generous nature of his King. It was because of this man's wisdom and vision that the Kingdom of Ceirth was able to prosper in such a short amount of time.

Therefore, it is worth it for me to serve this man with all my might.

Thinking this to himself, he renewed his conviction.

As if sensing his thoughts, the king smiled before replacing it with a grim expression: "Do you know why We have summoned here?"

"No, Your Majesty. I do not." Considering by the King's dignified countenance, it ought to be a grave matter. Did the Republic's adventurers started trespassing into the Kingdom's ancient ruins again? Or maybe a rebellion broke out in one of the two dukes' land?

"It has come to Our attention that our scouts stationed at the border of Linburn Plains were killed by demihumans, except for one who returned yesterday," Saying that, the King looked at Geve.

"Oh, if I may, Your Majesty, do you know how the said scout survived?" Geve asked with a puzzled look on his face.

"You want to know why he was left alive?" The king smiled, knowing the thoughts of his subject.

Geve nodded. It was certain that the enemy was capable of killing all of their scouts, so one of them returning with his life arosed nothing but suspicion. It was more like they intentionally let him keep his life.

"The scout says that the leader of the demihumans who attacked them happened to be a War Troll. The Troll didn't kill the scout because he wanted him to inform us that an army of their kind has already departed for the City of Bellmare. According to the troll, our kingdom only has three months before they invade us."

"WHAT?!" Geve shouted. Very few situations forced him to lose all his composure, and an invasion by demihumans was one of those situations. Although it was true that their relations with the demihumans had been strained for years, yet they haven't deteriorated to the point where the demihumans would wage war against them.

Unshaken by his shout, the King continued: "Although we don't know the motive behind this invasion of theirs, but there are indeed rumors of a large demihuman army raiding various villages outside of our Kingdom. It won't be long before they invade our Kingdom through Bellmare."

Hearing this, Geve's heart sank. They didn't have enough time to make preparations for such a large-scale war. Their soldiers were already busy defending the kingdom's borders, so asking them to fight off a demihumans invasion was the same as ordering them to leave their borders' undefended. Though Kingdom had a reserved force of 20,000 soldiers, yet it wasn't enough to fight a large-scale war with the demihumans.

"The only choice we have is to conscript peasants into the army," Geve groaned.

"Indeed. We have no other choice than to shed the blood of the poor, Our loyal General. Although this greatly pains Us, but I will have to order you and General Adelena to train and lead the military conscripts this time," the King said with a heavy heart. It seemed as if he had suddenly aged ten years after arriving to this decision.

"Don't worry, Your Majesty! We will definitely not let our people die in vain!" Geve solemnly said while kneeling.

"We have already informed General Adelana about the invasion. She has left to discuss the situation with the military commanders. Go now! We shall pray for your triumph return!"