Prologue
It was a morning of exquisite beauty. A faint mist drifted lazily across the open fields, casting an air of serene leisure upon the land. Two early-rising larks chirped and fluttered their small wings, struggling a little as their plump bodies skimmed just above the tips of the grass. Far to the east, along the horizon, a streak of crimson light glimmered, and at its center, a golden hue was slowly swelling—soon, the drowsy sun would break free of its slumber and ascend into the sky.
“Thus recorded the historians of later generations:”
“In the Year 175,945 of the Divine Calendar, the Year 153,057 of Continental Peace, and the Year 3,750 of the Vantian Empire, the great Emperor Gruman encountered several of his future founding ministers upon the Breezewind Plains, winning their eternal allegiance. It was under the command of these illustrious generals that Emperor Gruman…”
The melodic chanting was rudely interrupted as a battered iron helmet came whistling through the air, striking the shouting soldier squarely on the back of his head. A coarse voice bellowed, “Damn you, Gruman! Daydreaming again, are you? Having a noble name doesn’t make you one! Go—tend to the horses. Take them to the river for water and grazing. And unless their hides gleam like mirrors by the time you’re done, don’t bother coming back!”
Wearing a gray tunic beneath a cheap leather cuirass, the soldier Gruman bowed and smiled obsequiously. “Yes, yes, my dear captain! I’ll see to it at once. Truly, I’ve done nothing wrong—you nearly knocked me senseless for no reason at all!”
The captain, clad in a sleek silver breastplate and wielding a broad longsword, stormed over, seized Gruman by the collar, and hissed, “Silence, you fool! Be content with your lot as a soldier. Always dreaming of founding empires—were you in the Imperial Capital, no, in any lord’s province, such words would be enough to see your entire family vanish. Enough, Gruman. I’ll not allow any more of those damned bards into my fortress!”
Gruman forced a grin. “Captain, I was merely composing a grand epic! I’ve no intention of being emperor, I only—”
He never finished his words. From atop the battlements, a sentry shouted, “Captain! A large caravan approaches! Looks like they’re from the Smart Empire—ha! So many wagons and men! This could meet our tax quota for the whole year!”
At once, the captain broke into a grin. Forgetting to set Gruman down, he carried him like a sack and dashed up the five-meter wall, peering southward. Soldiers and junior officers crowded around, pointing eagerly toward the distant horizon.
Far away, a long procession was slowly advancing—numerous wagons heavy with cargo, moving at a ceremonious pace. The guards walked on foot, as was customary when nearing a foreign border. The captain laughed heartily. “Excellent! Prepare the water, men! Our tax-paying friends have arrived! Gruman, here’s your chance—go wake the tax officer. The fool drank himself senseless last night, and without him we’ve no idea how much to charge per pound of goods!”
Gruman chuckled slyly. “Ah, captain, perhaps you’ll let me down first? If today’s haul is good, surely you’ll let us have some wine tonight. After all, we just signed that friendship treaty with the Smart Empire—no need to be too vigilant, eh?”
The captain stroked his bearded chin with mock dignity. “Perhaps you’re right. There’s bound to be fine wine among their goods. We’ll take twenty barrels as part of their tax, hahahaha!” The soldiers cheered and hurried off to prepare water and open the gates.
The caravan drew nearer, then halted abruptly just outside bowshot range. The captain frowned. “Idiots! Why stop out there? Wouldn’t it be better to rest inside the fortress?”
One soldier muttered, “Sir, maybe they wouldn’t fit anyway… their line’s enormous. Our fortress holds barely a thousand men—we’ve already got twelve hundred packed in tight.”
The captain turned, ready to bark a reprimand to show his authority—when a blinding bolt of lightning split the sky and struck him squarely on the head. The current coursed through his steel armor, hurling the nearby soldiers to the ground. As for the captain himself—he was charred to ash in an instant.
Those standing farther away froze in horror. Just as they opened their mouths to cry out, the caravan’s covers were flung aside. Warriors in heavy armor leapt from the wagons, mounting their horses in a flash, spears leveled toward the open gate. The supposed merchants on foot rose silently into the air, glowing spheres of power forming between their clasped hands.
When the first wave of heavy cavalry thundered through the gates, the first barrage of magic struck the fortress. Blinding explosions tore through the air—within moments, half the stronghold lay in ruins. The soldiers waiting to greet the caravan were impaled mid-scream, hoisted high upon enemy lances.
In the blink of an eye, the foremost frontier bastion of the Vantian Empire—responsible for defense, surveillance, law, and taxation—was annihilated without meaningful resistance.
A white dove fluttered skyward from the smoking ruins, but a pale, slender hand caught it midair and crushed it mercilessly into pulp.
On the ground below, Gruman stared upward in terror at the black-robed youth bearing the insignia of a High Magus. He tried to scream—but a dozen spears struck him from behind, tearing his body to shreds.
After swiftly reforming their ranks, the army of the Smart Empire—disguised no longer as merchants—advanced toward the second defensive line of the plains, where stood the Ironblood Fortress, famed as the second-strongest citadel on the continent.
Thus, under the guise of trade, the Smart Empire had dispatched three such “caravans” to pay a friendly visit to the Vantian Empire—with whom they had signed a peace treaty but half a year before.
