The Fourteen-Year-Old Bullshit Commander?

Inside the Inner Fortress of Blackpine Fief, in the lord's study.

Shien leaned back in his broad chair, unusually relaxed, idly twirling a pen.

Firelight warmed his short silver hair, softening the chill about him. For once, he looked something like a fourteen-year-old noble boy.

Ivan stood half a step behind him, hand on his sword hilt.

Across the long table sat Special Envoy Priest Emon and several of Blackpine Fief's senior officers.

A Sand Table of the Graymist Defense Zone stood in the middle of the table.

Several freshly unsealed parchment dossiers lay beside it, the Church's Sacred Flame crest still visible on their seals.

Emon sipped his black tea, then looked back at Shien.

He had been in Blackpine Fief for almost a month, and even he found it strange.

He had arrived on a mission from the Tear Knight Governor's Mansion, plainly sent to keep an eye on this young lord.

Yet over those thirty days, he had gradually found himself drawn into Blackpine Fief's affairs. Shien never shut him out. Instead, every few days, he handed Emon some thorny administrative matter or defense deployment to handle.

What left Emon most at a loss for words was that he had accepted every task and handled each one smoothly.

By now, his estimation of Shien had risen considerably.

So long as the boy did not die prematurely during the Blood Moon Season, he would surely have a place in the future order of the Eternal Night Wall.

In Emon's eyes, three things made Shien truly formidable.

First, he could do everything: administration, military engineering, troop training, logistics. Even when he happened across a page of classical poetry or a painting from an old school, he could offer a few insightful comments.

Second, he was clearheaded. Shien had neither