National Preceptor

Russoff's central army camp.

"Report! Your Grace, a letter from the King."

Inside the command tent, Russoff was using a knife and fork to carve up a freshly roasted steak.

Hearing his subordinate's report, his hand trembled. He then lifted the meat on his fork for a look before tossing it onto the ground.

"The time has already passed."

The next moment, a muffled groan sounded from outside the tent. Then Russoff's confidant walked in carrying a bloodstained letter.

"Your Grace, His Majesty the King's messenger encountered a Magic Beast attack on the road. This is the letter he brought."

Yet the bloodstains on the envelope had not even dried.

Russoff merely glanced at him.

The confidant immediately saw through the flaw. With a flick of his wrist, he shook off the excess blood from the envelope, and the remaining stains quickly dried as well.

Only then did Russoff take the envelope from his hand.

"Remember, be more meticulous in the future. Don't be so slapdash."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Russoff tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter. After reading its contents, his expression changed at once.

With a slap, Russoff smashed the letter heavily onto the table.

"Brat, you have gone too far!"

In the letter, the King of Fildor harshly rebuked Russoff for mobilizing troops out of his own territory without permission. Not only did he curse him bloody, but he also warned him not to go too far, or the Kingdom's army would not mind wiping him out first as a warm-up.

Seeing Russoff so enraged, the confidant was too frightened to say a word.

He did not need to read the letter to guess what it said. It was nothing more than the matter of Russoff moving troops out of his territory without authorization.

Just as