The Marchioness had dealt with countless men in her long life.Kings, nobles, generals, merchants, priests. Some were arrogant, some cautious, some desperate enough to embarrass themselves at the mere sight of her. They all shared one thing in common. They were predictable.This boy was not.Barely past boyhood, she reminded herself. That was what he looked like at first glance. Young. Sharp-eyed, yes, but still young. Someone who should have been easy to guide, easy to pressure, or at the very least easy to distract.Yet from the moment she stepped into Gronva Fortress, everything had gone wrong.For centuries, beauty had been her most reliable weapon. She had wielded it with precision, never carelessly, never without intent. Most of the time she did not even need to speak. A glance held half a second too long. A smile softened just enough to feel personal. That alone had bent wills.Men folded quickly. Kings became generous. Generals hesitated at crucial moments. Even priests, men w

“Meibao is here?”The question left Ares Valen’s lips before he had time to think about it. It was not planned. It was not deliberate. It simply slipped out, quiet and startled, like a truth he had not meant to admit.He stood just outside the iron gate of Emias’s residence. His dark cloak stirred softly in the night wind, brushing against his boots. The street was silent. Not peaceful silence, but the kind that felt rehearsed, as if the city itself was holding its breath.Ares narrowed his eyes.He had lived long enough to know that silence could lie.Something was nearby. Something familiar. Something carefully hidden, wrapped in restraint and discipline.A divine presence.The God-Hidden One.Before he could focus further, a sound drifted out from within the house.Laughter.It was light, clear, almost carefree. It carried warmth, like sunlight on glass, bright enough to cut through the cold.Ares stopped walking.That voice.He did not need to hear it twice.Meibao.His feet carri

The sky overhead was pale and thin, almost bleached of color. It looked unfinished, like a blank page waiting for history to be written across it. There were no clouds worth mentioning, no birds in sight. Just quiet blue stretching endlessly above.At the Plaza of the God of War, nine thousand Roman soldiers stood in perfect formation.Their armor caught the early morning light and reflected it in dull flashes of steel and bronze. Rows upon rows of men stood shoulder to shoulder, shields aligned, spears upright. Not a single voice broke the silence. No one shifted their stance. No one coughed or cleared their throat. The stillness was not peaceful. It was heavy. Disciplined. Tight with anticipation.This was the kind of silence that existed only before bloodshed.At the very front of the formation stood Ares Valen.A fresh crimson cloak rested on his shoulders, its color sharp and vivid against the washed-out sky. It marked him clearly as the commander. The fabric moved gently with th

“Keep up.”Ares Valen pressed his heel gently into his horse’s flank. The animal responded at once, lengthening its stride as it carried him forward across the Yellow Sand Plains. Behind him, the Roman legion stretched far into the distance, a moving tide of iron, leather, and human will. Shields glinted under the sun. Spears bobbed with every step. Tall banners snapped and rustled in the dry wind, their colors dulled slightly by sand and dust.Most of the legion was made up of Rune freemen. These were not men who had grown up behind stone walls or trained on parade grounds. They were frontier folk, raised among harsh winds, poor soil, and unforgiving terrain. They knew the land the way a man knows an old wound. They understood where the ground was solid and where it would betray you without warning.To outsiders, the Yellow Sand Plains were a nightmare. Endless heat, shifting sands, hidden dangers that waited patiently for a careless step. To the Rune freemen, it was dangerous, yes,

“Selling weapons to the orcs is an incredibly foolish thing to do.”The words escaped before the Marchioness could stop them.Leticia realized it the very instant they left her mouth. Too quick. Too sharp. The kind of sentence that could never be pulled back once spoken.She had not planned to say anything. Not yet. Her intention had been simple. Listen first. Observe. Let the other side reveal their hand. She had always trusted patience more than impulse.But the moment Ares Valen mentioned weapons and orcs together, something old and raw stirred in her chest. It felt less like a thought and more like a reflex. A scar remembering pain.Ares Valen paused.Only for a heartbeat, but it was enough.“Oh?” He turned toward her, eyebrows lifting slightly. His tone carried mild curiosity, as though she had merely commented on the weather. “Is that so?”Leticia inhaled slowly. She straightened her back and forced her expression into calm neutrality. Hesitation now would make her appear weak,