Sensational and harrowing reports reached the people of the Great Highlands. In Nigaled, it was said that no distinction was made between human dwellings and the sanctuaries of the gods; all were reduced to a landscape of rubble. Men and women, young and old alike, were entombed within the ruins, while thick, acrid smoke gathered over the city, lingering long enough to blot out the sun. Though these accounts contained a measure of exaggeration, the pillaging of Nigaled served as a brutal wake-up call to those who had remained in a state of slumber.

　　Sperill had been a courtier during the era of Karinosas. Possessing a soul that loathed usurpation and grieved for the corruption of the Sovereign, he found himself marginalized by both the commander Wilamo and King Karinosas. Forced to flee Hedlim, his fief was first seized by Wilamo under the pretext of aiding rebels, and later bestowed by the decadent King upon another sycophant. Sperill was left with nothing but a single farm, barely enough to maintain a life of meager sustenance.

　　Yet, while his heart overflowed with compassion for the suffering populace, his aged body could no longer endure the rigors of mental deliberation or physical toil. Thus, his son Crisa took up his father’s mantle to plead for the people. Crisa’s personal sympathies, however, leaned toward Vidalim of Feriatino.

　　Leading a delegation composed of citizens and monks, Crisa traveled to Willyn, Kabisaris, and Lavodel. At that time, Kabisaris was reeling from two military defeats against Sirleid, his wealth utterly exhausted. The passing of Count Lawol had left Willyn fractured by internal strife. As for the weak and self-serving Lavodel, he offered the delegation nothing but a warm reception and a small sum for travel expenses before sending them on their way.

　　Finally, escorted by a baron, the delegation arrived at Merdes, the capital of Binehes, hoping that this lord of royal descent might extend a helping hand to the Great Highlands. In Merdes, they were greeted with hospitality, but they soon learned from the receiving officials that their lord was busily raising funds and men, expanding his army and forging alliances with other lords to withstand the newly emerging hegemon of the steppes.

　　That very baron was representing the local people in the east, negotiating the terms of a grand coalition. Days later, word arrived from a Feriatino envoy that Binehes and several other lords would rendezvous at Luns with the army led by Vidalim.

　　The external threat finally forced the Limidians to temporarily set aside their internal feuds. These barbarian hordes had lost none of their ancestral ferocity or boldness. Their "Great King," despite having received a Limidian education and claiming to be a vassal of the Willem Dynasty, harbored an ultimate and chilling ambition: to transform the very lands where Limidians lived and farmed into a private hunting ground for the nomadic nobility.

　　Ballerh, who succeeded Hadris, was but one of the many offspring sired by his predecessor's numerous wives and concubines. He had managed to stand out among his many brothers thanks to his mother’s status as a daughter of a high-born tribe, and his own resolute vow to lead the barbarian hordes toward a "Great Cause."

　　In the past, this barbarian had veiled his inner designs behind a mask of humility. But once his father passed and he became the head of the tribe and the Great King of the barbarians, Ballerh was free to wield the whip of power according to his own will. He had accepted a Limidian education, yet he utterly despised their refinement and etiquette. The moment he left the southern lands and returned to his own kin, he joyfully immersed himself once more in the licentious and unrestrained life of a barbarian.

　　Since the end of the rebellion in the Pilater Highlands, the helpless populace, seeking only survival, had crouched trembling behind ruined battlements. This left the gateway wide open for the barbarians to cross the frontier walls with ease, as if they were marching through an empty land.

　　The disintegration of the Willem Kingdom handed these barbarians a golden opportunity to breach and dismantle the defensive lines of the frontier lords. Yet Hadris had no desire to make enemies of all Limidians; instead, he sought to win the support of some to facilitate his grand design of conquest. To this end, Hadris often employed various means to temper the wild nature of his tribesmen, fearing their brutality would drive the Limidians into a unified front against him. Ballerh, however, claimed he had found the fatal weakness of the southern peoples, and he was single-mindedly intent on the total annihilation of their population and their cities.

　　Vidalim and his coalition defeated a marauding barbarian host in a village near Sadile. The liberated populace, led by their local magistrate, ignored the standing orders of their lords and joined Vidalim’s ranks to drive out the invaders. A drunken chieftain, caught in a stupor, was captured by the Limidians, becoming the ultimate trophy to proclaim their triumph. In the pitched battle that followed, the Limidians executed the captive chieftain in front of the assembled armies—a deliberate provocation intended to incite the volatile barbarians to rage.

　　The rapidly advancing Limidians used a string of tactical victories to lure the Great King and his barbarian horde. They not only won honor and renown but also garnered such public support that their ranks swelled continuously. Even the rival Kabisaris decided to lead his forces against the barbarians. Though he did not officially join Vidalim’s formation, his timely appearance forced a powerful barbarian leader to cease his operations in the Borunbi area and withdraw toward the Great King’s main camp.

　　Vidalim sent friendly envoys to his rival, expressing his hope that they might cast aside their discord and cooperate with sincere devotion in the coming struggle. Marquis Kabisaris attended the subsequent council of war, accompanied by a high-ranking military general. The Great King of the Steppes, looking out over the Limidian camp with its forest of fluttering banners, spoke words of utter contempt. He grumbled that his father had been far too merciful, allowing these people to preserve the strength they now used to oppose him. Before the battle, Ballerh told his subordinates and the gathered chieftains that they should show no mercy to "the flock."

　　Yet, whether driven by sudden passion or a misunderstanding of the Great King’s words, a barbarian unit on the left flank broke formation and launched a premature assault as the engagement began. This forced Ballerh to signal a general advance. Thus, a furious and disorganized barbarian host—each warrior acting on his own whim—clashed with a disciplined Limidian force committed to loyal cooperation. In such a struggle, individual bravery and fearlessness seldom prevail against the strength of a unified and coordinated team.

　　The battle raged until dusk before both sides finally disengaged. By then, Ballerh had realized his situation was dire: over a dozen of his bravest chieftains lay dead on the field, and their tribesmen were beginning to murmur in discontent against the Great King. Had Ballerh remained on the battlefield any longer, the worst-case scenario was clear—he would be abandoned by the resentful tribes and subsequently crushed by the Limidians.

　　Vidalim exhorted his troops and allies, urging them that if they wished to truly break the barbarian host, they must pay no heed to their current exhaustion. Only by launching a relentless pursuit of the retreating enemy could they ensure that their fallen comrades had not died in vain. However, at this critical juncture, Marquis Kabisaris withdrew his forces and marched toward Trabinon. After securing supplies there, he entered the Hemira Corridor with the air of a conqueror, more concerned with his own prestige than the common cause.

　　The Marquis's self-serving calculations nearly plunged Vidalim and the coalition into a crisis. Fortunately, a certain lord led a light infantry unit to garrison Legrimos. By filling the heights with a forest of fluttering banners, he successfully deceived the barbarians who were contemplating a counter-attack, deterring them from making a rash move.

　　News of the victory in the pitched battle spread rapidly across the borderlands, igniting a fierce spirit of resistance among the local populace. Combined with the internal discord plaguing the barbarians, this forced the Great King to issue an order to withdraw and regroup for a longer-term strategy. In the wake of this triumph, the Limidians pushed their lines back to the frontiers of their golden age, restoring their prestige and cementing the renown of Vidalim and Feriatino.

　　Yet, the Pilater Highlands remained abandoned, cast aside like a worn-out shoe. The combined strength of Vidalim and his allies was not yet sufficient to strike deep into the steppes to seek out and engage the barbarians in a final, decisive conflict. Nevertheless, in a localized skirmish near the border, the coalition defeated another barbarian unit. When the enemy voluntarily laid down their arms to beg for mercy, the victors were filled with jubilation.

　　Among the captives was a man who hid a dagger inlaid with gold nuggets and gemstones within his tattered fur coat. He spoke the Lier language with refined fluency, proving that he was, at the very least, a high-born member of a noble tribe. He claimed to have mastered exquisite craftsmanship in the workshops of the Great Highlands, a revelation that drew a curious crowd of onlookers. Vidalim had the man brought to his tent, hoping to glean specific intelligence about his adversary through conversation.

　　Even in surrender, however, this steppe aristocrat maintained a defiant posture, questioning his captor before a single interrogation could begin. He expressed confusion and disdain for the Limidian habit of meticulously recording every event. With a mixture of anger and mockery, he asked the Count whether they wrote these things to flaunt their victories to posterity or to ensure that future generations would never forget their hatred. Vidalim answered him, his tone and manner resembling that of an elder imparting wisdom to a beloved grandchild.

　　Vidalim remarked that only a savage and ignorant people would dismiss such a solemn undertaking as a vulgar obsession. Our predecessors recorded the events of their time so that posterity might distinguish right from wrong, weigh the consequences of war against the blessings of peace, and balance the gravity of public duty against private interest—all to avoid repeating the follies of the past. The Limidians extol the deeds of ancient sages, the legends of heroes, and the achievements of sovereigns because these figures delivered their compatriots from peril and humiliation, lighting the path for those who followed. Thus, their glory is inherently the glory of the people.

　　Without giving the barbarian chieftain a chance to speak, the Count continued: "The barbarians have ravaged our lands and trampled the people who dwell upon them. Do you truly expect the Limidians to forget? Though we have suffered defeat more than once, we have always triumphed in the end, rising reborn from the ashes of ruin. In truth, the adversaries who sought to measure themselves against the Limidians have come and gone, replaced one after another by the tides of history."

　　The current Great King of the Steppes, he added, was merely another in this long line of enemies. He was no different from the barbarians of old, driving his violent hordes through sheer force, deluded by the belief that steel and flame alone could subjugate a people. The Willem Sovereigns once believed the barbarian heart was immune to the softening influence of civilization; it seemed their assessment was correct.

　　The Limidians had engaged in both peace and war with countless nations, witnessing obscure peoples rise from insignificance only to see their splendor crumble into heaps of rubble. Some, failing to understand why their fortunes turned, foolishly believed their gods had lost their potency; they would then prostrate themselves before the deities of their conquerors, hoping for protection, unaware that in doing so, they ensured their own disappearance from history. When the descendants of such people pass the ruins left by their ancestors, they remain unmoved or even look upon them with disdain. It is a piteous sight.

　　Several members of the Great Highlands delegation attended this conversation as honored guests. Vidalim’s words left a profound impression on them, and Crisa’s persuasions filled them with hope. Yet, it seemed that neither fortune nor the gods favored the Count. Shortly thereafter, he succumbed to a sudden and malignant illness, departing this world in haste. His passing left not only a legacy of regret but also plunged his domain into turmoil.

　　Later generations would blame his death on excessive indulgence in wine and women. Even at critical moments on the front lines, the silhouettes of graceful maidens were often seen in the Count's tent. However, compared to Vidalim's towering reputation and his merit in shattering the barbarian hordes, these vices were considered almost negligible.

　　The Count’s charismatic stature drew a motley circle of the capable, the conspiratorial, and the base. From the capable, he drew the wisdom to achieve greatness, granting Feriatino the strength to lead others. From the conspirators, he acquired the cunning for political expediency, allowing him to seize private gains as the dynasty declined. And from the base, he sought the various pleasures of a private life.

　　Yet, clear-eyed observers could not help but harbor a faint, gnawing anxiety for the Count’s future. Vidalim had evidently failed to distinguish between flattery and fidelity. The flatterers would stop at nothing to achieve their ends, masters of clever disguise; the faithful, devoted to the public good, would often risk offending the sovereign’s majesty, only to be met with mockery or even resentment for their integrity.

　　In his pursuit of pleasure, the Count committed the grave error of entrusting the education of his two sons, Desiano and Ledes, to sycophants—effectively sowing the seeds of disaster for Feriatino. These tutors taught the noble youths poetry and rhetoric; while they spoke with refined elegance, their education offered nothing of value for the governance of society.

　　Those hangers-on who surrounded the Count had flourished under their patron’s generosity, enjoying the pinnacle of wealth and status. Yet, the moment they heard word of his death, these despicable men grew audacious, seeking to exploit the power he had granted them for their own ends. Gergad, the foremost among them, stood in a hall surrounded by fully armed guards and presented an exquisite wooden box, its wax seal bearing the signet of Count Vidalim.

　　The Master of Internal Affairs solemnly informed the gathered crowd that he was about to read the Count’s final instructions regarding his successor. He was instantly and sharply cut off by Raulbis, a military commander who possessed a refined temperament. The safety of the capital, Riscalo, and the Lord’s manor rested solely in his hands. He told the Master of Internal Affairs that an official of the inner court had no business meddling in the Count’s family affairs—especially in a matter concerning the security and public interest of Feriatino, which could never be entrusted to a mere domestic official.