Lanser Castle felt emptier than usual. Perhaps it was because the servants moved faster, quieter, as if afraid of disturbing something. Or perhaps it was because Alena hadn't truly slept in three days.
The letter arrived just as the sun began to set.
Alena was sitting in her reading room—a small chamber she once used for studying geography and history, now serving as her refuge from cousins who constantly watched and an aunt who always had something to say. In her hands, a book about medicinal plants that she had already read three times.
A knock at the door. Lena, the young maid—a fourteen-year-old girl with round eyes and perpetually trembling hands—entered carrying an envelope.
"For you, My Lady." Her voice quivered as usual. "From... from the front lines."
Alena didn't move for three seconds. Three seconds that felt like three hours.
"Place it on the table."
Lena set the envelope down, then quickly retreated. Perhaps she sensed the tension in the air. Or perhaps she simply wanted to escape the young lady whose eyes had recently looked like those of someone expecting bad news at every moment.
Alena stared at the envelope.
Green wax seal—the color of Götthain. The tree emblem—that family's crest. Her hand reached out, stopped a few inches above the envelope, then withdrew.
She wasn't afraid to read the letter. She was afraid the letter would never come.
Two months since Albert had departed, and only now was there news. Throughout that time, she had only heard whispers from passing messengers—news of battles at the border, of casualties steadily mounting, of young nobles' names beginning to appear in death reports. Names she didn't recognize. But every time a new name surfaced, her heart would stop for a moment.
Now, this envelope lay before her. It could be good news. It could be bad news. She had no way of knowing.
She picked it up, breaking the seal with the small knife that always sat on her desk. Her hand trembled slightly—she noticed it, but couldn't stop.
The paper inside was thin, written in handwriting she recognized. Albert's.
Alena,
Sorry for not writing sooner. Couriers are scarce, time even scarcer. But I'm still alive. Perhaps that's what you most want to hear.
Alena let out a long breath. Air escaped from her lungs as if she'd been holding it for weeks.
We've been through our first battle. It wasn't easy. Twelve men dead—names I must memorize, faces I must describe to their families when I return. Sir Varin was wounded, but survived. Gerit says he'll recover, but it'll take time.
Luise—do you remember Luise, Sir Gregor's granddaughter?—she fought well. I wouldn't have survived without her. Perhaps you'll meet her someday. She's strange, but good-hearted.
One thing you might find amusing. The soldiers have started calling me the "Black Sword Demon." Either because my sword is black or because I don't talk much during battle. Or maybe because I killed the enemy commander single-handedly in the middle of their ranks. I don't know. Whatever the reason, the nickname has spread. Lord Harald even included it in the official report.
Alena, I'm doing well. Though I have some wounds, they're minor, nothing serious. I can still write this letter with my own hand, so you needn't worry.
But I want you to know: out here, in the midst of all this, I often think of you. Of the Götthain garden in winter. Of the way you laugh when I say I'll find you a way out. Of the feltwort you allowed me to plant.
Take care of yourself. Don't let your cousins drive you insane. If they bother you too much, remind them that your fiancé is the "Black Sword Demon" who supposedly enjoys killing people.
Sorry this letter is short. The courier is waiting. I'll write again when I have time.
I'm sending you something separately. Another courier will deliver it. Don't be angry if it looks strange.
-Albert
Alena read the letter twice. Then three times. Then she carefully folded it and placed it inside a small drawer in her desk—a drawer that had been empty until now, but would soon hold whatever letters followed, hopefully many.
She smiled. The first small smile in weeks.
"The Black Sword Demon," she whispered. "Sounds terrifying."
But her eyes glistened.
Two hours later, another knock at her door. Lena again, carrying a small package.
"From... from the front lines again, My Lady."
Alena took it, unwrapping the packaging.
Inside lay a small wooden box. She opened it—something soft wrapped in cloth. She unfolded the cloth.
A tiny doll. Sewn from coarse fabric, simply shaped—vaguely human-like, but with a head too large, a body too small, and in its hand, a small wooden sword painted black.
Alena stared at the doll. Then she laughed.
A laugh that came from deep within—not a noble's polite titter, but a genuine, hearty laugh that startled Lena at the door. She laughed until her eyes were truly wet, until her stomach hurt, until she had to sit down in her chair.
"That," she hissed between laughs. "That bastard..."
Typical Albert, making such an ugly doll just to be mischievous.
Lena at the door could only stare, utterly confused about what was so funny about that ugly little doll.
***
The next morning, Alena was summoned to the council chamber.
Lanser Castle's council chamber—not as grand as a throne room, but large enough for important meetings. A long table of black oak, high-backed chairs with carved armrests, walls adorned with maps and portraits of ancestors.
Earl Richard was already seated in his main chair, a woolen blanket over his lap. Beside him, Lord Cedric with his sweet smile. Across from them, Lady Margot with her hard jaw and sharp gaze. Several other advisors—faces Alena had known since childhood.
"Ah, Alena." Cedric greeted her with his falsely warm voice. "Sit down. There's interesting news from the front lines."
Alena took the seat provided—right beside her father, a position that signaled her status as heir. Her hands clenched the edge of her skirt beneath the table.
"I've received a report from Lord Harald," Earl Richard said, his voice hoarse but clear. "About the battle at Grimwald Valley. About the performance of our forces there."
He slid a document to the center of the table. Alena could see the writing on it—Albert's name clearly visible.
"The main Valeran forces—the ones sent with Rodric—were decimated." Earl Richard's eyes flicked to Cedric briefly. "Rodric himself was sent home due to 'health issues.' But the Dornenholz forces sent to the front lines also lost their commander."
Lady Margot snorted. "A disaster. Two major families lose their commanders in the same battle."
"However," Earl Richard continued, "here's where it gets interesting. The remnants of those forces—the survivors—weren't left leaderless. Lord Harald ordered them to merge with the Götthain forces. Under the command of Albert vin Götterbaum."
Silence. Cedric stopped smiling. Lady Margot furrowed her brow.
"Albert?" Cedric finally said. "That boy—pardon me, that Young Lord—is leading Valeran and Dornenholz troops?"
"Yes." Earl Richard looked at his daughter. "And according to this report, he succeeded. That combined force—Götthain, Valeran, Dornenholz—fought well on the left flank. In fact, Albert personally killed the enemy's left-flank commander."
Lady Margot's lips curved into a thin smirk. "The left-flank commander? The one rumored to be surrounded by elite guards?"
"The very same."
The room fell silent. Alena felt her chest swell—a mixture of pride and fear and disbelief.
Cedric finally spoke, his voice forced into lightness, "So... that Young Lord from Götthain is now commanding Valeran and Dornenholz's finest soldiers?"
"Temporarily." Earl Richard shrugged. "Until a new commander is appointed, or until the war ends. But this report makes one thing clear: he's competent... More than competent."
Lady Margot leaned forward. "And what does Earl Valeran have to say about this? His son sent home in disgrace, while the Götthain heir—who happens to be engaged to our daughter—receives praise?"
Earl Richard smiled thinly. "William Valeran isn't happy. But there's little he can do. Rodric was indeed sent home for health reasons—whatever those may be. And Albert proved himself on the battlefield."
Alena heard all of this, but her mind was half elsewhere. Albert. At the front lines. Killing an enemy commander. Leading soldiers from other families. Black Sword Demon.
"One more thing." Earl Richard looked at Alena. "In this report, Albert is referred to by a new nickname. 'The Black Sword Demon.' Our own soldiers at the front have started calling him that as well. So do captured enemy soldiers."
Cedric laughed—a laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "A terrifying nickname for someone his age."
"A useful nickname." Earl Richard ignored Cedric's insinuation. "Reputation matters. And now, the enemy knows that on the left flank of Helvetia's forces, there's someone they call a 'demon.'"
He looked at Alena again. "Did you know about this?"
Alena nodded. "I received a letter from him last night, Father."
Lady Margot raised an eyebrow. "A letter? What did it say?"
"Rather personal, Aunt." Alena smiled politely. "But he said he's doing well. Minor wounds. And he sent me something."
Cedric tried to probe. "What?"
"A doll." Alena's smile widened. "An ugly doll with a black sword."
Lady Margot sniffed. "A doll? In the middle of a war, he sends a doll?"
"Yes." Alena met her aunt's gaze. "That's Albert for you. Unconventional."
Earl Richard laughed—that rare, hoarse laugh. "Enough. The point is, your fiancé is making a name for himself at the front. That's good for us, good for Lancaster." He pointed at Alena. "You should reply to his letter. Convey our pride, but don't be too sweet—we don't want his head swelling."
Alena nodded, hiding her smile.
The meeting continued—discussions about logistics, supplies, the possible prolongation of the war. But Alena only half-listened. In her head, she was already composing her reply.
Albert,
Your doll is absolutely hideous.
But I keep it by my bedside.
***
Several weeks later, Alena read a second letter.
This one was longer, more detailed. Albert wrote about his new troops—about Hilda, the Dornenholz archer commander who wasn't afraid of him, about the Valeran men-at-arms who were initially suspicious but gradually began to trust him, about Luise who watched him like a hawk.
Luise says I smoke too much feltwort. She grabbed my cigarette and stubbed it out on the ground. Can you believe it?
But she's right. Probably.
I've started cutting back. One cigarette a day, sometimes two. But no more.
My active forces now number 231. A strange mix—Götthain peasants, Valeran professional soldiers, Dornenholz archers. But they're starting to gel. We train together every morning. I train alongside them—it helps. They see me sweating too, getting hurt too, being exhausted too. Trust is building.
But Alena, the enemy numbers...
I don't know exactly how many. But from atop the hill, in the morning sun, I can see them. Like a blue ocean stretching to the horizon. Their banners—I haven't memorized all the emblems yet—flutter above their ranks. Tens of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands. Impossible to count.
Tomorrow, or the day after, or next week, they'll come again.
I don't know if we can hold. But I'll try.
Take care of yourself.
-Albert
Alena read that letter in her reading room, by the dim light of a candle. Her hands trembled slightly—not from fear, but from something else. Something she couldn't quite name.
She looked at the ugly doll beside her bed. The doll with the black sword and the too-large head.
"You have to come home," she whispered. "You have to..."
Outside, the mountain winds howled, carrying news from the edge of the world.