“But if we’re going to follow through with your plan, sister, there’s a condition.”
Andrei’s voice rang out, low and firm. His gaze locked with Elise’s, all warmth gone from his expression.
“Even if I craft the correct incantation, you’ll have to cast the spell on the battlefield yourself. Long-range offensive magic is far too complex—we can’t pull it off in our current state. That means you’ll have to face the barbarians at close range. Directly.” He paused, then added pointedly, “Can you do that?”
It wasn’t a question seeking truth—it was a verdict waiting to be confirmed. His eyes said what his words did not: You can’t.
Elise didn’t answer. She simply held his gaze, her silence taut and unreadable.
Andrei took that silence as consent to his assumption and exhaled quietly, as if the matter were settled.
“Then, for now,” he said, turning back to the map, “we’ll concentrate on reinforcing the barrier. We can afford to take time to determine how best to—”
“Seven are dead,” Elise said softly.
The room froze.
Her voice was quiet—almost gentle—but it sliced through his words like a blade. She stepped forward, her gaze unwavering.
“It’s not only seven, Andrei. It’s already seven.”
A long silence followed.
“We don’t have time to leisurely explore options,” she continued. “This isn’t the moment to argue about what’s too dangerous or what might go wrong. Seven becomes seventy. Then seven hundred. Then thousands. That’s how it starts. And we have nowhere left to retreat to.”
She looked around the room, voice growing firmer.
“If we want to stop the bleeding, we do what must be done. No half-measures.”
Her words struck with such clarity and logic that no one could argue. Even Andrei said nothing, his expression unreadable. In his place, Duke Bellator cleared his throat and stepped forward.
“Then… Your Highness proposes a surprise attack of our own,” he said cautiously. “What are the odds the magic will succeed?”
Elise didn’t hesitate. “There’s no way to know until we try. But I doubt anyone—barbarian or not—could survive a spell on the scale of a natural disaster.”
Without another word, she picked up a pen and moved to the side of the table. On a blank sheet of parchment, she began drawing a large circle, its shape wide and precise. Within it, she inscribed straight and curved lines, overlapping them with tightly clustered runes in an ancient, nearly forgotten language. As her mana poured into the page, the uneven lines glowed faintly, then settled into perfect symmetry.
Before long, the formation was complete—an intricate array of arcane geometry that shimmered with restrained power. It was the same spell she had obtained through her bargain with Sameshita in Norella—the one that had torn the ground apart and folded it like paper.
“This formation was devised by a dragon,” Elise said, her voice low. “I only had a brief look at it, so there may be flaws. Check it. Refine it.”
She handed the parchment to Andrei.
He took it, and for a long moment, said nothing. His eyes traced the circles and lines, absorbing the complexity before him. When he finally spoke, it was barely more than a whisper.
“This… this is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”
There was a note of awe in his voice—one Elise hadn’t heard in years.
The formation was far beyond anything in the royal crypt, more intricate and expansive than the spells of Gallian or Ignacio. It was not just a weapon. It was art—magic as creation, devastation, and design woven into one breathtaking form.
“You memorized all this?” Andrei asked, his voice tight with disbelief.
“I don’t have a magic circuit like you,” Elise replied evenly, without looking up. “So the only way for me to use magic is to draw it from memory. I went over it again and again on the way here so I wouldn’t forget.”
Her tone was light, almost dismissive—but Barnon stared at her, stunned.
She memorized that? He glanced down at the sprawling formation etched across the parchment, a web of dense runes and elaborate geometry. It was the kind of thing most mages would struggle to recreate even with tools and reference materials. And she had committed it to memory—while traveling?
He remembered how she had looked just days ago: bent over with nausea on the ship, her complexion ashen, breath shallow. Even on land, she’d struggled to stay upright, sometimes pausing mid-sentence just to suppress her dizziness. He’d seen her bow her head in silence, not from deference, but simply to stay conscious.
Just standing must’ve been a battle, Barnon thought grimly. And yet… she memorized this?
And now, barely two days after arriving in Riosa, she was saying she would go to the battlefield herself.
He clenched his fists at his sides. Her calm expression—lashes lowered, face serene—only made his concern deepen.
