Kalad, born of humble origins, exhausted every ounce of his intellect to repay his lord’s grace. He did not crave wealth; the titles and generous rewards bestowed by the Earl had already afforded him a life of opulence and dignity. To him, however, the greatest reward was the unwavering trust and the profound respect with which his master treated him. Though Kalad credited every success to his lord’s brilliance, it was clear to all that these sagacious decisions were born of Kalad’s own wisdom.

　　Inevitably, the accolades showered upon the courtier reached Laria’s ears, yet they stirred not a single seed of suspicion in the Earl’s heart; in his eyes, the glory of his subordinate was but an extension of his own honor. Many subjects flourished under Kalad’s strategies, offering their loyalty, their labor, and even their blood as a debt of gratitude to the Lord of Colibia.

　　When Laria learned of the severity of Kalad’s illness from the physicians, he flew into such a towering rage that he nearly executed two of them for their helplessness in the face of the disease. This was the only tyrannical impulse of Laria’s reign—a desperate lash of grief that became the final straw breaking his own health. Kalad’s death struck Laria with the force of a father’s passing. Sorrow became his constant shadow, relentlessly tormenting a body only recently recovered from its own ailments.

　　Ultimately, Laria was forced to pass the heavy mantle of responsibility to his son, Webus. Bolstered by Laria’s prestige and the aura of his legacy, Webus received public acclaim from the very moment of his ascension. By this time, internal enemies of Colibia had ceased to exist, and the lords of Scoro looked upon Colibia with reverence, or followed its lead as their undisputed head.

　　The successor did not fail his father’s trust or the people’s expectations. Webus was magnanimous yet just, cautious yet decisive. He upheld the norms of his predecessor, managing family affairs with fraternal affection and treating vassal lords with fairness. Though he never wavered in punishing the lawless, his adjudications were so impartial that even onlookers were moved by their integrity.

　　Sibis, the teacher of the late Earl and a titan of the previous administration, remained spirited despite his advanced years. His unwavering loyalty and vast political experience ensured his continued place in the high halls of Colibia, where the new lord treated him with the utmost deference.

　　The Lord himself lived by a strict code of virtue, inviting high priests and men of wisdom as honored guests who could freely enter his manor. Unlike his father, Webus possessed a fervent passion for knowledge; his diligence and pensive nature endowed him with profound erudition. Having cultivated the virtue of humility during his studies, he was willing to condescend and show genuine sincerity to attract talent. In turn, those respected by him were eager to contribute their intellect and toil, ensuring that Colibia’s stability and prosperity endured from the era of Laria into the new age.

　　Thus, in the time of Webus, the lords of Scoro admired Colibia’s virtue as a paragon and relied on its strength as an arbiter. The decline of the Frontier Alliance served only to further illuminate Colibia’s growing might.

　　Glader, the Count of the Frontier Alliance, spent the majority of his time and energy in Delone during his tenure. Though he resided in the luxurious palaces of the capital—venturing no further than the hunting grounds on its outskirts—he possessed a keen eye for talent and appointed capable officials. Through the Earl's open-mindedness and the wisdom of these men, beneficial and enlightened decisions were forged.

　　However, the Count committed a grave error of overconfidence and rashness during the confrontation at Longedis. The members of the Alliance had been swayed by his rhetoric, believing that Longedis would surrender its resistance swiftly. But as the war ground into a stalemate, they were forced to reassess the situation. Consequently, the Alliance halted its military operations at Longedis. After establishing defenses at Pard, they pivoted to mass their armies in Sibilis, striking a posture of southward expansion while simultaneously declaring their intent to hold peace talks with Sirleid.

　　But the Alliance's posturing only served to kindle the fires of resistance in Sirleid. The envoys dispatched by the Marquis reminded the eastern lords that they slept soundly only because of Sirleid’s defiance; should the defense crumble, the Frontier army would pour through their borders—a crossroads of the world—and strike at will in any direction.

　　Moved by the shared concern for their security and the silver tongues of the envoys, the people rallied behind Sirleid, assembling a new army within its borders. Even Levosir and Molessates, who had long remained silent, now hoisted the royal banners and placed themselves under Sirleid’s command, ready to march upon Sibilis.

　　The arrival of the "Royal Army" sent a surge of exhilaration through the people of Sibilis. Although they failed to repel the Alliance in the initial frontal clash, the soaring morale drove the Royal Army to push toward the vicinity of Morasa, where they threw up defensive fortifications in remarkably short order.

　　In the defensive battles that followed, the Alliance suffered heavy losses and was forced to halt its military operations amidst the triumphant cheers of their opponents. Yet, driven by the need to maintain contact with Ferafea and to harass the Royal Army’s supply lines, the Alliance continued to engage in a relentless series of skirmishes.

　　Meanwhile, in Ferafea, a disgruntled citizenry was plotting an uprising on the city’s fiefdom to oppose the tyrannical Hedamus and his pack of sycophants. Hedamus, the son of Gluner, had long used his father’s status and his title as heir—backed by Alliance steel—to extort and oppress the local populace. The news that the Royal Army was fast approaching the city gates acted as a powerful spark for the citizens’ courage.

　　The Lord of Feron dispatched a secret agent named Lundrat, who managed to infiltrate the heavily guarded Ferafea under the guise of an attendant to the Lord’s wife. Years ago, the Lady of Feron had used her tears to plead for her groveling brother, Gluner, saving him from the Lord’s wrath. When the aging Castellan, supported by his servants, joyfully moved to welcome this "attendant," the stoic envoy drew a dagger and slew both Gluner and his son on the spot.

　　Taking the severed heads of the father and son, the daring Lundrat rallied a mob of furious citizens and marched upon the city’s defense camp. He read the Lord’s command aloud, prompting the garrison—now granted amnesty—to throw open the gates and hoist the Lord’s banner over the walls. The Alliance troops stationed there huddled in terror within a corner of their camp, nearly perishing in the fires set by the enraged citizenry.

　　The tide seemed to be turning in favor of the Royal Army. The Alliance sent peace envoys to the Sirleid camp, but the Marquis’s courtiers remained skeptical. They argued that the Alliance would never truly cease its operations or withdraw its troops, as doing so would render their hard-won gains in Longedis and Sibilis utterly worthless. They urged the Marquis to strengthen communication with his allies for the next phase of the war and to flatly refuse any audience with the Alliance envoys.

　　Despite the rejection, the Alliance continued to wave the banner of peace, incessantly sending messengers to the Sirleid camp, often including high-ranking officials. The Marquis’s subordinates pleaded with him to stay his hand, even firing arrows to drive the envoys back, yet out of a misguided sense of protocol, the Marquis eventually agreed to receive one high-born noble.

　　The noble brought no real answer for peace, but the Frontier Alliance maintained a high-profile stance, broadcasting the illusion that an agreement was imminent. This inevitably sowed seeds of distrust among Sirleid’s allies. Subsequently, the Alliance feigned a retreat. Once again, the Marquis ignored the warnings of his men and ordered his army to give chase.

　　Wary and suspicious, the allies trailed slowly behind the Sirleid forces. It was only when Sirleid’s army was struck by a devastating counter-offensive and came fleeing back for help that the allies realized the trap. They deployed their lines to face the enemy, but the resulting losses forced a general retreat to avoid an even greater catastrophe.

　　The Frontier army quickly moved to restore its fortifications in Sibilis, temporarily setting Ferafea aside. During this period of regrouping, the Alliance members fell into bickering over their next move. Some argued they should abandon the campaign in Longedis and use their recent victory to strike south, forcing Sirleid into total submission.

　　Envoys from Sirleid appeared before the Alliance, claiming the Marquis was willing to surrender Longedis in exchange for peace. However, when the Alliance envoys appeared with their flags at Delunbisas in Longedis, the local governor responded with a hail of arrows. He then displayed the envoy’s corpse on the back of a donkey for all to see. Enraged by this insult, the Frontier Alliance resolved to resume its full-scale assault on Longedis.

　　In the aftermath of the war, the lords could feel only a hollow sense of loss. The fruits of their campaign were nothing but open plains and piles of rubble; their veteran soldiers, tempered by years of battle, had been decimated. This loss was not offset by the occupation of Longedis, nor had their original grand designs been realized. They had set out to force Sirleid’s vassalage or to sever Longedis from its grasp.

　　Instead, their campaign in Longedis had destroyed their opponent only at the cost of their own ruin. After the war, Glader looked around to find the once-mighty Frontier Alliance weakened and isolated. Meanwhile, Colibia in the east had reaped a bountiful harvest from the conflict, watching with smug satisfaction as its western rivals bled themselves dry.

　　The Lord of Delone, however, blamed the failure of the campaign on the incompetence of his commanders and the perceived laziness of his soldiers—a clear reflection of his own inner frailty. Was it not these valiant troops who had merely executed the reckless orders born of their ruler's own negligence, paying a staggering price in blood for a pittance of gain? Worse still, the Count went so far as to punish the very lords who had risked everything for Delone, casting a chilling shadow of silence over the court. Such actions did more than tarnish the sovereign’s character; they stripped the luster from every accomplishment he had ever achieved.

　　Among the victims was Kaikoli, a minor lord of nomadic origin. He had once led his kinsmen and retainers to join the banners of Ferna, receiving the Count's grace and becoming a subject and lord of Limidia. During the war, many able-bodied youths from his fief had answered the call to arms, only to be decimated in the meat-grinder of Longedis.

　　Is it not profoundly human for a wife to weep at the sight of her husband’s remains, or for a mother to be consumed by grief beside her son’s casket? And was it not forgivable for Kaikoli, both a lord and a father, to murmur a few words of bitter frustration at the funeral of his son and nephew? Yet, a man of malicious intent reported these grievances to Glader.

　　Ultimately, this lord was stripped of his rank and stipend, reduced to a commoner. He accepted the judgment of the Limidian sovereign with quiet dignity, leading his family away to find a living elsewhere. Meanwhile, the shameless informant was rewarded by Count Glader for his "loyalty."

　　The house of Glader and the domain of Delone soon fell prey to the very toxic atmosphere the Count had fostered. Glader looked upon his three sons with a mixture of pride and trepidation, believing in his heart that any of them possessed the mettle to shoulder the weight of the domain and the Alliance.

　　The public and the courtiers, however, held the humble and courteous Demno in high regard while harboring a deep loathing for the arrogant Karsain. During his time as a commander, Karsain had frequently issued tyrannical orders, treating the lives of his soldiers as if they were chaff in the wind. As for the youngest, Bird, the learned men of the court considered his intellect and ability to be mediocre at best—the constant praise he received was merely the hollow flattery of sycophants seeking favor.

　　Had Glader been able to set aside his identity as a father and his personal biases—had he observed his offspring from the periphery or tested them with varying responsibilities—his judgment might have been sharpened. Instead, the Count blurred the line between father and ruler. His hesitation between public duty and domestic harmony created a vacuum of leadership that ambitious opportunists were all too eager to exploit.

　　Karsain carried himself with an air of superiority rooted in his military service, yet his actual talent was unremarkable. He relied on a draconian discipline that made his men fear him more than the enemy across the field; he was a stranger to the art of maneuvers and knew nothing of how to inspire a soldier’s heart. Driven by a hollow obsession with military life and self-aggrandizement, he wore his uniform at all times, cinched by a broad commander’s sash as a constant reminder of his rank.

　　Demno and Bird were hailed as the "shining stars" of the capital’s academy—the former due to his genuine diligence, the latter largely riding the coattails of the family name. Compared to Demno’s scholarly depth and thoughtful nature, Bird preferred the theater of empty debate. Lacking sufficient knowledge or true insight, his speech was often little more than stubborn, tangled sophistry.

　　Bird mocked Demno’s steady composure as mere pedantry, yet he openly admired Karsain’s martial bearing. Some whispered that his admiration was born of pure flattery, as their father had vested the entire military command of Delone in Karsain’s hands. However, a military operation led by Demno on the Huluhun Steppe proved beyond doubt that the eldest son possessed the true decisiveness and tactical brilliance of a commander.

　　With silver-tongued persuasion, Demno convinced Glader to issue a proclamation pardoning the lord Kaikoli and restoring his estates and titles—even though the Tartar and his family had long since vanished into the unknown. He further secured pensions for the families of fallen soldiers and rewards for the survivors; should a hero have perished, his widow or heirs would receive the bounty in his stead.

　　These measures did much to wash away the resentment and doubt festering among the people. By easing the tax burden, he allowed the subjects a desperate breath of relief, breathing life back into fallow fields and restarting silent workshops. It was an investment in the next generation. All this was achieved without tarnishing the Count’s prestige; instead, it snuffed out the simmering embers of popular unrest before they could catch fire.

　　For this, Demno earned both the Count’s praise and Karsain’s burning envy. He truly possessed the art of coordination and balance, a character defined by justice, a mind of meticulous caution, and a heart of benevolence—the very virtues and soul of a true ruler.

　　Before long, Karsain appeared before the Count with a face masked in feigned sorrow. With a voice that almost trembled, he told his father and sovereign that Demno was orchestrating a treacherous plot to seize the throne, presenting a collection of letters from across the realm as "proof."

　　These fabrications were the work of Karsain’s own henchmen, scattered throughout the domain to send these so-called secret missives upon their master’s command. Though shocked and blindsided, the Count had already resolved that his eldest son, Demno, would succeed him as lord.

　　The silver-tongued Bird fanned the flames from the sidelines, urging Glader to pass judgment. If even a father was not safe, he argued, how could brothers like himself and Karsain survive? Yet, the bond of fatherly love softened the sovereign’s suspicion. He could not bring himself to believe that Demno had any hand in such a sacrilege, and ultimately, he cast the letters into the brazier.

　　Nevertheless, Karsain managed to retain his grip on the command of the Delone army, as well as the vital responsibility of defending the capital and the palace guard. The private physicians could not prolong Glader’s life, but they spared him from a painful end, allowing him to settle his final affairs in peace.

　　On his deathbed, Glader exhorted his heirs to cooperate with absolute sincerity and share in each other's honor and shame, urging them to think twice before acting to avoid the tragedies of the past. He hoped his sons would move as one. Yet, the Lord’s final arrangements were not born of a concern for the public good. He named Demno as the lord, but left Karsain in control of the domain's military might. As for the idle and meritless Bird, he was granted vast lands and a title that set him apart from the common nobility.

　　This arrangement effectively gave Delone two masters. While Glader lived, his offspring maintained a veneer of fraternal affection; the moment the Count drew his last breath, they tore away the masks that had long since become a burden.

　　During the war in Longedis, Karsain’s actions had already exposed his stubbornness and cruelty. He not only increased the burden of military duties but also slashed soldiers' pay. Even rewards intended to bolster morale were reduced or canceled under various pretexts. Valiant and decisive commanders were reassigned to desk jobs simply because they dared to disagree with him. The new officers were men who blindly followed their master’s whims, earning nothing but the contempt and resentment of the rank-and-file.

　　It was easy to foresee that if Karsain ever became the sole lord of Delone, he would neither welcome wise counsel to distinguish truth from lies, nor apply himself to study to enrich his mind. Such a man now not only commanded the realm’s armies but sat watching the throne with a predator’s greed.

　　Though technically only the Commander-in-Chief, Karsain had already elevated himself to Demno’s level. He frequently paraded through the streets with the regalia and pomp of a sovereign, a display that stirred deep anxiety among the people and foretold coming disaster. The members of the Alliance respected Demno’s virtue, but they had no desire to follow Karsain into the fires of war.