Chương 258: 49. Mobilization 2

The moment I stepped back into the palace, my most modest — and yet somehow my single greatest — wish in life had distilled down to this: Find a chair. Sit in it. Let my legs survive the night. Which wasn't unreasonable, all things considered.

I had, quite recently, crawled out of a place where any random rock was probably older than my entire bloodline, personally witnessed the thought-forms of every Dragon King on record, had the Dragon Soul handed to me by Pangu like he was passing out snacks, and walked away with a complimentary gift package titled Your Life Is Now Permanently Set to Hard Mode. By any fair standard, someone who'd just survived a mythological event like that deserved at least half a day to sit quietly and recover.

There was no half day. Reality has never once softened its standards just because you'd recently met a god. The instant Ignicia stepped into the outer corridor of the main hall, she didn't even pause.

"I'm going to find Father," she said, and was gone — red hair cutting a clean, unreasonably decisive arc beneath the wartime palace lamps. I watched her go and silently lit a candle in my heart for the Dragon King about to receive her. Technically, the man wasn't the type to be rattled by his daughter's expression. The problem was that today's Ignicia had gone well past "difficult to approach."

This was firmly in whoever gets in my way is about to learn that draconic princesses can incinerate you with a look, no fire required territory. As for me — I'd planned to find some unremarkable corner, lean against a pillar, catch my breath, and quietly consider whether I now qualified as a dragonrider, an acting officer, a political bargaining chip, or simply the unluckiest piece fate had ever thrown across a table with no particular plan in mind.

I'd just turned around when I saw a figure striding toward me with unmistakable purpose — a sight familiar enough to make my stomach tighten on reflex. Vice-Commander Hans. I closed my eyes. … Wonderful. Whenever that man walked toward me with that particular stride, it usually meant one of three things. First: an urgent dispatch. Second: bad news. Third: the first and second were usually the same thing.

"My lord." Hans stopped in front of me, not even winded, and drew a wax-sealed letter from his coat, offering it with both hands.

"An urgent dispatch from His Majesty." There it is. Called it. I took it. The royal seal pressed into the wax carried a weight that did nothing for my mood. Hans said nothing further, just stood to the side and waited. I sent up a silent prayer that the contents wouldn't read Dear son, the situation is dire, so please figure something out yourself — then broke the seal and pulled out the letter. I read it top to bottom, carefully. Then read it again.

Finally, I pressed my tongue against my back teeth and let out a low, quiet click.

"... What is it, my lord?" Hans had clearly read my expression; his own tone dropped to match. I didn't answer right away. I folded the letter and pressed it back into his hands.

"Hans. His Majesty wants your group to head back first."

"Head back first?" He blinked, took the letter on reflex, and looked down at it. I used the pause to run through the shape of things the letter had just dropped on me. Right. Of course it was this. I had to stay bound to the Dragon Kingdom's movements here in the capital, but Cliffhold couldn't be left without someone to steady it — not with the eastern front fully ablaze and the regional lords still sitting on the fence.

One slow step now, and "critical" would upgrade itself directly to "start drafting funeral rites." I looked up.

"You'll take Mr. Mimi, Julian, the diplomatic delegation, and the escort force. Head back to Cliffhold." Hans had been reading. His head snapped up.

"My lord—""Let me finish." I raised a hand.

"Oh — and have Matthews go with you."

"Matthews?"

"Yes." I nodded.

"I'll write a letter before you go. Have him carry it to Olivia." Hans's expression shifted. Not simple surprise — more the look of someone who'd already half-deciphered the letter's real meaning and was hoping, reluctantly, that I'd be the one to say it out loud. He glanced down at the letter again, throat working.

"... My lord, this says..."

"I know exactly what it says." I smiled, though I doubt there was much warmth in it.

"When you get back, tell the King I'll meet Olivia at Three Rivers Fortress."

"..." Hans went quiet. In that instant, the footsteps, the clink of armor, the murmur of voices threading through the corridor all seemed to pull back half a step. The war was still ahead of us. The orders had already nailed everyone into position. He looked at me, voice low.

"... My lord, that means the Eisenberg house—""Will move," I finished for him, flat.

"Or rather — has to." The Eisenberg house. The genuine old-blood power of the northeastern front — short of nothing, troops, grain, land, or fortified cities. In ordinary times they sat on the border like an ancient boulder, wearing the permanent expression of the main branch has its own calculations — right up until something was actually on fire. But the letter's meaning was clear enough. The King wasn't simply calling for a retreat. He was formally dragging the regional lords into full mobilization.

Put plainly: we'd moved past the stage where royal decrees alone could hold the line. What mattered now wasn't just who had troops — it was who was willing to put them on the table first. Hans clearly understood, which was why his face had gone so grim.

"But if the Eisenberg house is still watching and waiting..."

"Olivia will give them a reason to stop." I said it, and couldn't quite hold back something close to a laugh. Not because anything was funny. Because I knew exactly what happened once that woman decided to knock on someone's door. It was never going to be something as modest as borrow a few troops.

She'd walk into their drawing room with the most gracious, impeccably polite smile imaginable, sip half a cup of tea, and within three sentences leave them realizing, privately, that they had exactly two options: commit forces now, or spend the rest of history as the textbook example of too slow and too stupid. Possibly faster than that. She might already have someone at the Eisenberg estate. The thought pulled a genuine, quiet laugh out of me.

"Olivia's sharp. She'll know exactly what to do." I spread my hands, more at my own expense than anyone else's.

"For all I know, she's already sent someone to demand troops." Hans stared at me for two seconds, then, apparently accepting there was no arguing with reality, drew a long breath and bowed his head.

"... Understood, my lord."

"Once you're back, stabilize Cliffhold first. Protect the people and the paperwork." I added, "Nothing can happen to Mr. Mimi or Julian, and the delegation absolutely cannot be intercepted en route. This looks like a retreat. What it actually does is shore up the rear framework before we need it."

"Yes, my lord."

"And—" I met his eyes.

"Don't let anyone think this is a rout." Hans's gaze sharpened instantly. He understood. That was the part that mattered most. If even a whisper reached the wrong ears — the prince's faction is fleeing back to the fortress — it would land on the eastern front's morale like a hammer. Everyone needed to understand: this wasn't flight. It was consolidation. A royal directive. Moving pieces back onto the board where they belonged before the game demanded them. Hans nodded, hard.

"Understood." I nodded back and said nothing more. Some things only need to be said once. Hans isn't slow — no one slow makes Vice-Commander. He had what he needed. He secured the letter, saluted properly, and turned to go. I stood there, watching his back vanish into the crossing corridors and lamplight, and had the odd sense that the palace floor had gotten slightly harder underfoot than it had been ten minutes ago.... They really don't intend to let anyone breathe. I looked down at my left hand.

The scale still glimmered faintly, quiet, as if nothing had changed — while quietly informing me that from now on, even wanting to complain about being tired was something I'd have to do in an empty room. Otherwise it would be embarrassing. I was seriously considering whether to just slide down the wall and collect my soul and my knees off the floor together, when a familiar staccato of heeled boots approached.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. I looked up. Ignicia was back. And I knew within one heartbeat — it hadn't gone well. Her expression wasn't ordinary displeasure. If the face she'd worn heading in to see the Dragon King had read don't bother me, this one had upgraded straight to ask me what's wrong and I will personally demonstrate what dragon fire feels like at point-blank range. I spoke before she reached me.

"I can tell just from that face," I said.

"Not good?" She stopped in front of me. Didn't answer right away — just took one long breath, as if holding down something that had no business igniting in a palace corridor.

"... Father will only give me two battalions." She paused, as if the number itself offended her ears.

"Roughly two thousand men." Two thousand. I ran the math. For a border fully on fire, involving a two-kingdom alliance and a coming campaign, that number wasn't much. But as an immediate vanguard — a force that could move now — it wasn't nothing. So I said, almost on reflex: "That's not bad, actually. Better than—""I didn't take them."

"—nothing... what?" The sentence died mid-air. I looked at her. She looked at me. The corridor held its breath for about a second. Then I confirmed I hadn't misheard.

"You... didn't take them?"

"Didn't take them." Clean. Crisp. With the exact calm of someone stating an obvious fact. That was the problem. She sounded like she was saying I skipped tea today — not I just turned down two thousand breathing, weapon-bearing adults. I pressed two fingers to my temple.

"Wait. Your Highness. When you say 'didn't take them' — do you mean you think there's room to negotiate, so you're holding out? Or do you mean it literally — you left those two battalions exactly where they were and came back empty-handed?" Ignicia crossed her arms, one brow arching cold and precise.

"I went to requisition troops. Not to beg."... There it is. The moment that landed, I knew this wasn't simple wounded pride. Someone like her, if it were pure stubbornness, wouldn't bother explaining. The fact that she engaged meant she'd already calculated the exact value — and uselessness — of those two thousand men. Sure enough, her next line strangled the aren't you being unreasonable thought before it finished forming.

"Two battalions, and not even a complete standing formation." Her voice stayed cold and precise.

"Half pulled by force from the capital garrison, the other half stitched together from inner-ring outposts. The banners say two battalions, the headcount might even be there — but the chain of command is fractured, the equipment's mismatched, and the supply lines would have to rebuild themselves behind me the whole way." I blinked. She wasn't finished.

"Troops like that aren't enough for me to hold a proper front. What they would give me is two thousand extra mouths, two thousand mismatched rhythms, and two thousand sets of orders slowing down every march I make." The corner of her mouth pulled into something cold.

"Take them, and it looks like I gained an army. In reality, I'd just have gained a burden."... Understood. This had nothing to do with pride at all. What she'd seen at the Dragon King's end was a textbook court compromise: I've given you troops. I've nominally supported you. But I am not handing you the Dragon Kingdom's most capable, most deployable main force. What arrived instead was a unit that looked fine on paper and would be nearly useless as a spearhead. I exhaled.

"... Alright. Put that way, turning them down actually makes sense." She gave a short, acknowledging hum. I thought it over, still not quite ready to let it go.

"Still — two thousand people. Better than noth—""I already said it." She looked at me.

"Dragging a half-assembled unit to the front isn't having more soldiers. It's having more problems. What I need this time are people who can charge with me, keep my pace, and take my orders the instant they land. Not people who need three days before we even leave just to figure out who they report to." That one was sharper. And accurate in ways that hurt. I had nothing left to argue. Because she was right.

The most dangerous thing in wartime was never too few soldiers — it was an army that looked substantial but fractured at the seams. The moment you needed a forced march, a flanking strike, orders changed on the fly, a patchwork force like that wasn't a weapon. It was an explosive charge strapped to your own leg. I pressed a palm to my forehead.

"Very inspiring. Truly." I said.

"But if we have no army, how exactly are we supposed to fight?" Ignicia's expression didn't change.

"I still have my Guard." I stared at her for two seconds. Then, with complete sincerity, pointed out the obvious.

"That's your personal guard. Not frontline soldiers." Her eyebrows shot up.

"Ridiculous." Hands on her hips, even her red hair seeming to bristle.

"Do I look like someone who needs protecting?"... That was, uncomfortably, a very convincing point. No — that wasn't the actual issue.

"I'm not questioning whether you need protection," I said, drawing a breath, determined to finish the thought properly.

"I'm saying — a personal guard exists to protect the command structure, keep you safe, handle escort and emergencies. I don't doubt they're elite. But elite and frontline main force are two different things." Ignicia didn't argue right away. She just watched me. Then she stepped forward, half a pace, and dropped her voice.

"So you still think my Guard is just decoration — two rows of spears flanking the palace gate, whose secondary job is opening my doors?" I choked.... Right. That expression meant I'd stepped on something with the second half of that sentence. She went on, cool and even.

"My Guard isn't ceremonial. They aren't painted wooden dolls for the capital's nobility to admire. That unit was hand-picked, personally trained, and personally led by me. High-mobility elite." She raised one finger.

"Small in number. They can't hold an extended front line — I'll admit that." A second finger.

"But for forced marches, insertion, escorting key personnel, seizing bridges, decapitation strikes, tearing a gap along the edge of a main engagement for the larger force to pour through — they're worth infinitely more than those two cobbled-together battalions." A third finger.

"I need a blade. Not a wall." The corridor held its silence a long moment after that. I looked at her, quiet. Only one thought remained.... My sincere apologies, Your Highness. I was operating under a serious misapprehension. What you have isn't a guard unit. It's a collection of extremely lethal individuals wearing the administrative label of "personal escort" as a courtesy. I cleared my throat and adopted the wisest possible position.

"Understood — I retract that." I said, honestly.

"Put that way, I'm starting to feel real sympathy for whoever runs into your Guard." The corner of Ignicia's mouth lifted, faint, gone almost as soon as it arrived — but at least it wasn't the deciding what to set on fire expression from before.

"They should save the sympathy for themselves."... Good. There it is. That was the Ignicia I knew. Whatever hadn't gone her way, however much fire she was holding down, bring the conversation back to tactics and initiative and that sharp, proud edge found its way home on its own. I relaxed, marginally.

"What about your officers? Any generals?" Her expression paused.

"For now, just Lei Lian." I went quiet. A genuinely thoughtful quiet, lasting about a second. Then I offered Lei Lian a silent moment of condolence. Lei Lian, buddy. Whatever you did in a past life, being singled out by this particular princess with a "for now, just you" tone doesn't strike me as cause for fireworks. Picture the formation: one draconic princess fully prepared to use herself as the spearhead and drag the entire army in behind her. One high-mobility elite guard. One general.

And one man who'd just received the Dragon Soul, who by rights should be resting for two days, already being slotted into an expeditionary roster.... However you looked at it, this was the kind of operation future military historians would sum up with: This plan succeeded primarily because every participant's mental fortitude was, frankly, alarming. I covered my face with one hand and exhaled.

"I'm starting to develop a headache on Lei Lian's behalf."

"He doesn't need your headache," Ignicia said, cool.

"He just needs to get his men in order."

"Fair." I dropped my hand, managing a tired smile.

"If anyone should have the headache first, it's probably me." She glanced at me.

"You've finally developed some self-awareness?"

"I've always had plenty. The world just rarely gives me room to display it." That came out a little too honestly, because Ignicia let out a short, quiet sound — with actual sharpness in it this time, not just compressed anger. I took the opening and steered things back toward the ground.

"So your father only offered that much because the capital's stretched too thin to spare more?"

"Half of it." Ignicia's tone stayed even.

"The Dragon Kingdom's sea line is broken, San Juan's under pressure, and the capital and inner ring can't be left empty. The troops Father can actually move immediately were always limited."

"And the other half?" She looked at me.

"The other half is that he's still watching."

"Watching what?"

"How far I can go." I went still. Her tone was flat — flat enough to sound like she was discussing someone else. But underneath it I could hear something else. Not quite resentment. Not simple dissatisfaction. Something closer to the cold recognition of someone who'd always known it would be this way, and still found it unpleasant to arrive there. I stayed quiet a moment. The Dragon King hadn't refused.

He'd given exactly enough — enough that he could say he supported her, but not enough to actually place a meaningful share of the Dragon Kingdom's military power in his daughter's hands. That was a father. That was also a king. Cruel? A little. But inside the logic of a national war, an entirely ordinary kind of cruel. I exhaled.

"... Alright. At least now I know you didn't just come back from an argument to vent." Ignicia's brow arched.

"Is that what you thought?"

"For about one second," I admitted, entirely honest.

"The face you came back with really did look like someone had just smashed your favorite thing right in front of you." She narrowed her eyes.

"I looked that childish?"

"Not childish," I corrected immediately.

"Intimidating."

"Is there a difference?"

"Absolutely." I said this with total seriousness.

"Childish is throwing things yourself. Intimidating is making other people throw their own things — and then apologize to you for it." Ignicia stared at me for two full seconds. Then she actually smiled. Or — to be precise, the corner of her mouth lifted, like a flame flickering once in the wind before settling, gone fast enough you could almost convince yourself you'd imagined it. But I saw it. And I was wise enough not to mention it.

Hard experience had taught me that the single worst thing you can do when a draconic princess finally, almost smiles is announce it. That's how you get demoted from conversation partner to live target. She didn't linger on it. Her expression settled, and she said my name.

"Cedric."

"Yes?" She looked at me, crimson eyes still and bright under the palace lamps.

"Three days from now. Prepare to move out." The corridor's air shifted, faintly. Somewhere further off came the quick footsteps of a courier, the chime of armor on the move. The whole palace felt like some vast mechanism already beginning to turn, and she stood there delivering that sentence with the flat certainty of a fact that had never really been up for negotiation. Three days. My mind started running the numbers before I'd decided to.

Three days for her to get the Guard, gear, dragon equipment, rations, route, and attached personnel organized and moving. Three days for Matthews to ride ahead with my letter and give Olivia time to pry the first crack in Eisenberg's door. Three days from now, neither the Dragon Kingdom nor Eckhaus would give us any more room to hesitate. So this wasn't "get ready." This was a countdown. I was quiet a moment, then looked up at her.

"... Understood." She gave a short nod, as if she'd expected nothing else. I didn't say anything more, either. Because at this point, complaining about being tired, or resenting fate's apparent hobby of using me as a punching bag, had stopped having any practical value. Not that this stopped me from very politely cursing all of it, silently, in my head. —Three days to march out. Wonderful. All I'd wanted was a chair to rest my legs.

Instead, there was no chair, and the next three days were earmarked for tying my life back together before I even left the building. A future so bright it made me want to weep. Even so — watching Ignicia in front of me, the fire in her eyes settled now into something deliberate and decided — something in my own chest slowly settled too. Not relief. More like alignment. Like someone had finally gathered up the scattered pieces and set them back on the board, one at a time. I looked down at my left hand.

The scale still radiated a faint warmth, as if silently acknowledging the order to march.... Right, then. Having taken the Dragon Soul, it would be a little pathetic to use "my legs are sore" as an excuse not to march in three days. The thought pulled a wry smile out of me before I could stop it. Ignicia noticed. Her brow creased.

"What's that look for?"

"Nothing." I spread my hands.

"Just thinking that, starting today, there's something I need to learn that's harder than receiving the Dragon Soul." She held my gaze.

"What?" I looked her in the eye and said, with complete sincerity:"Keeping up with you." The air went still for a heartbeat. Then she made a short, quiet sound and turned away, her red hair cutting a sharp, bright arc through the lamplight.

"Then you'd better get used to it fast." She started forward, deeper into the main hall. I stood there a moment, watching her back, let out a silent breath, and finally stepped forward to follow. Three days until we march. Before that: letters to write, people to send off, routes to plan, troops to organize, a whole situation to take hold of. As for rest?... That particular luxury would have to wait until I next had a life to spend it in.