The Northern Frontier showed a rare touch of gentleness in early summer.
On the window ledges high in the castle, the last layer of snow was quietly melting. Droplets trickled down the stone walls, catching faint glimmers of sunlight.
A warm breeze drifted through the half-open tall windows, carrying the scent of damp earth awakening, almost making one forget that this had once been a bitter land where even one's breath froze.
Sunlight fell at an angle across the enormous oak table in the center of the study, bringing just the right amount of warmth.
Louis, however, had no mind to enjoy it.
He stood beside the wall with his back to the light, a pen in his hand, his gaze fixed on the enormous map hanging before him.
It was not a map of the Northern Frontier, but of the Southeast Province and several neighboring provinces-or, rather, the Holy Eastern Empire.
His pen moved across the map with a faint scratching sound.
The major ports had been circled, the coastal grain distribution centers marked with heavy lines, and several main rivers running through the interior annotated repeatedly.
Beside key locations, he left symbols no outsider could decipher: marching routes, supply transfer points, and alternatives in case the situation spiraled out of control.
The study's heavy wooden door suddenly swung open.
The pen in Louis's hand stopped in midair.
Bradley entered with his usual steady stride, though his expression was graver than normal.
Behind him came a man wrapped entirely in a dusty gray cloak, his hood pulled so low it covered almost his whole face. He looked like a refugee driven to desperation on the wasteland.
Louis merely glanced up, easily seeing through the aura the man had deliberately suppressed.
A high-rank transcendent knight.
And one who had suffered