E-Rantel stood at the eastern edge of the Re-Estize Kingdom, its position carved by geography and war alike.
Two great mountain ranges converged here, forming a natural choke point where the territories of the Kingdom, the Empire, and the Slane Theocracy brushed against one another. As long as E-Rantel remained standing, a large-scale invasion into the Kingdom was impossible.
For that reason, the city was not merely a settlement—it was a fortress.
Three massive walls formed concentric rings around it.
The outer ring housed barracks and training grounds for tens of thousands of soldiers.
The middle ring contained residences, markets, and institutions such as the Adventurers' Guild and the Mages' Guild.
The innermost ring served as the administrative core, storing military supplies and guarded with uncompromising severity.
Within that inner district, the door to the mayor's office was knocked.
"Enter."
An official in a pressed uniform stepped inside and placed a document upon the desk. "Mayor Panasolei, this report requires your immediate attention."
The man seated behind the desk was corpulent to the point of excess. His thick neck merged into his chin, and his bloated frame filled the chair like dough spilling from a mold.
This was Panasolei Gurljey Di Ritenmeier, the highest administrative authority of E-Rantel—and a trusted confidant of Ramposa III.
Though his appearance invited mockery, Panasolei was neither dull nor careless. Only someone capable could be entrusted with a city of this importance.
He read the document carefully.
The dispatch of the Kingdom's Warrior Captain did not surprise him. Border unrest had escalated beyond tolerance.
But another name appeared.
Lock Kote Albert.
Son of a noble aligned with the aristocratic faction. Unlike his sister—the famed Starlight Witch—this Baron was scarcely mentioned in political circles. What little Panasolei knew painted him as a quiet lord, well-regarded by his people, unremarkable among nobles.
And yet—
Dispatching a Knight Order to assist the Warrior Captain?
Panasolei's eyes narrowed.
Was this genuine cooperation… or an attempt to exploit the chaos? If the noble faction sought to remove Gazef Stronoff under the guise of assistance, E-Rantel would be the perfect stage.
He exhaled slowly.
"Prepare quarters and provisions for three hundred men," he ordered. "Have the barracks ready."
"Yes, sir."
When the official departed, Panasolei glanced again at the name on the report.
"Lock Kote Albert…"
Ten kilometers from E-Rantel, a column advanced across the plains.
At its head rode the Kingdom's direct forces—veterans hardened by years of conflict, their equipment mismatched but familiar.
Behind them came something else.
"Captain…" Gazef's deputy muttered under his breath. "This doesn't feel right."
"Steady," Gazef Stronoff replied quietly, though his own eyes had already shifted backward.
The Knight Order following them moved with unsettling discipline.
Silver-white full plate armor reflected the daylight in muted brilliance. Upon each breastplate was engraved the crest of Baron Lock—a horned serpent, coiled and watchful. Their formation was immaculate. Their weapons were clearly divided by role: shield-bearing swordsmen, long-speared shock troops, and archers positioned for layered fire.
But it was their mounts that unsettled even Gazef.
Massive tigers, etched with natural magic patterns, padded forward with predatory grace. These were not beasts of burden. Adventurers had encountered such creatures deep within the Tob Forest, and few survived the experience.
The soldiers of the direct unit grew pale. Horses snorted nervously. Some men tightened their grips on their reins.
Gazef understood why.
If even a handful of those tiger-mounted knights were unleashed, the result would not be battle—it would be slaughter.
At the center of the formation floated an enormous carriage.
It bore no wheels.
Suspended above the ground, it glided forward in silence, drawn by four black-scaled dragon-horses. Their presence alone forced the tigers to keep their distance, unease radiating from predators that recognized something higher on the food chain.
Gazef's jaw tightened.
So this is the strength he hides.
Within the carriage, the atmosphere could not have been more different.
Lock reclined comfortably, eyes closed, while Vier's hands worked calmly at his shoulders. Before them hovered a polished mirror, displaying the entire procession from above.
"It seems the Warrior Captain is… overwhelmed," Vier said softly, amusement threading her voice.
Lock smiled faintly but did not open his eyes.
Had he wished to intimidate openly, this display was restrained. His true mount remained unseen. Compared to that existence, these beasts were decorations.
The tigers and dragon-horses had been taken from the forest and broken to his will. They were symbols—nothing more.
Symbols mattered.
He remembered well the day Nazarick's forces would parade before the world, cloaked in terrifying splendor. He had no intention of appearing lesser.
Still, appearances were all Gazef could grasp.
The true danger rode not in the beasts, but in the knights themselves—men whose discipline and lethality far exceeded what this world considered exceptional.
Gazef could sense something was wrong.
But he lacked the means to understand how deep the abyss truly was.
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