“What do you think about the current situation, if you wouldn’t mind?” she asked Cale, treating him with respect.
As Cale stood quietly without an immediate response, the old viscount scoffed. “Lady Uvar, Lord Cale is young. It isn’t as if he can protect the entire northeastern region with a single Ancient Power. The ignorant citizens may call him Lord Silverlight, but what would a youngster like him know?” He then motioned toward Cale with a humble flourish, as though to make up for his critiques. “Lord Cale has a bright future ahead of him, of course. I truly believe he is an amazing young man, but this is something for seasoned folks like us to contend with.”
“I agree.”
The nobles of the southeastern and central factions nodded, and a chuckle escaped Cale’s lips.
“…Are you laughing right now?”
Those who’d been bobbing their heads went stiff. Even if Cale was the son of a count, their factions had marquesses or dukes behind them—and unlike Cale, they had official titles. What they didn’t know was that Cale had the crown’s support.
He took a silver plaque out of his chest pocket and chucked it onto the table, treating it like junk. Not that it meant much more than that to Cale.
Clang!
The plaque struck the surface and spun in circles, coming to rest at the center of the table. Everybody stared at the silver plaque and the royal family’s crest emblazoned upon it. The item’s significance was basic knowledge for the nobles present: A silver plaque represented military control.
Why does he have this? they wondered. None of the factions’ leaders possess one, so why is it here?
The nobles’ faces fell. While they gaped wordlessly at the silver plaque, Cale cut in, “When a sword goes up against a shield, which do you think will win?”
His demeanor had changed, as had the look in his eyes; any semblance of respect had vanished, and all that remained was a cold, scornful gaze.
He then answered for the silent group: “It will always be the shield.” It had to be that way. “From now on, the shield will win every time.”
Cale planned to use his embarrassing “Shield Lord” nickname to his full advantage. Showmanship was vital in times of war, and survival came down to a battle of wills. Cale needed to boost morale and instill a strong willpower in the hearts of Rowoon’s citizens.
He’d decided to kickstart his plan in the northeastern region and create heroes for Rowoon along the way. And that doesn’t include me, obviously. After the war, Rowoon would be so full of new heroes that everyone would forget all about the Shield Lord. There was no other way.
“Without question, the shield must win.”
The shield had to win no matter what. Right when he thought that, his heart hammered wildly in his chest. Boom! Boom!
What’s going on?
It was an Ancient Power. One of the abilities within him was stirring.
“You are exactly right. The shield always wins.”
The voice belonged to the owner of the Unbreakable Shield: the gluttonous priestess. It had been a while since Cale last heard her speak; this marked the first time since he earned the power.
“I lost back then, but I’ll win this time. It’s possible.”
What is she talking about?
Cale hid his surprise at this unexpected development, but the shield tattoo over his heart heated up.
“But I sure am hungry,” the gluttonous priestess declared. “More. I need to eat more!”
Again? Cale thought, unruffled. Does she want more bread?
“I want to eat other people’s talents!”
…What?
His heart rioted against his ribs. Boom! Boom! Although there was no visible reaction, Cale sensed movement from the Unbreakable Shield.
‹Why did you suddenly get stronger, human?›
What’s happening to me? Despite Cale’s confusion, he maintained his outward composure. Without another look at the nobles, he turned toward the open door, activating the Dominating Aura at its maximum capacity.
“Vice-Captain.”
As soon as Cale called for him, Vice-Captain Hilsmann brought over a mage.
“What in the world…?” one of the nobles said, and others frowned. The aristocrats tied to the southwestern and northwestern regions, on the other hand, watched Cale with pale faces.
Naturally, Cale ignored the noble who was trying to speak to him. “Connect the communication sphere.”
“Where shall I connect you to?”
“The palace.”
The nobles quailed at that. But before the mage could even place the call, the device glowed red—an emergency communication.
Beeeeeep.
It was from the palace, intended for all of Rowoon’s nobility.
The mage projected the video onto one of the banquet hall’s walls. The call was being transmitted from the capital’s plaza for everyone to hear. Rowoon’s current king, Jed Crossman, stood on the platform.
“I, Jed Crossman, will entrust all duties to Crown Prince Albert Crossman and pass the throne to him next year.”
“Huh?”
“What the…?!”
Some of the nobles jumped to their feet with cries of shock. What in the world was going on? They looked over at the nobles of the southwestern and northwestern factions, who hadn’t said a word. Those nobles sat at the table in silence, their complexions ashen.
At that moment, the projection zoomed in on Albert Crossman, who still had the air of a gentle and virtuous sovereign. “Turn on the video,” he said.
A video?
Upon his request, a video appeared behind Albert, broadcast by magic.
“Roooooar!”
“Grrrrr…”
Monstrous roaring filled the banquet hall. The nobles stared raptly at the image of beasts flying through the air. Though the video shook, as if the informant had been in hiding when he filmed it, they could still count dozens of monsters soaring across the sky.
They were wyverns. And atop each wyvern sat a knight.
“It can’t be…” one noble uttered, lips trembling. He didn’t catch the quiver in his own voice.
“Skreeeee!”
A few nobles gasped as a wyvern swooped toward the informant. Abruptly, the video went black.
The wyvern knight brigade was an entity of legend. Now the nobles realized that the legend had become reality.
Most likely, the northern alliance knew their secret weapon had been revealed. Thanks to Rowoon, the entire Western Continent was now aware of the wyvern knight brigade. The crown prince had played that video in the plaza to make it so.
Albert peered into the communication sphere to continue his speech. He knew Cale would be listening somewhere. Though he’d been grappling with this decision for a while, Cale’s prior remark had convinced him how to proceed.
“Your Highness, everyone in this kingdom will become a hero.”
It was then that the crown prince and the rest of Rowoon found their resolve. If Faern wore a facade of fairness and justice, claiming to be a land of chivalry, Rowoon could do the same.
“It isn’t as if we’re doing anything immoral, Your Highness,” Cale had told him. “We’re simply pretending to be a kingdom built on equality and righteousness.”
Funny bastard.
Rowoon had made its decision: The kingdom would use its strength to fairly and openly suppress the Indomitable Alliance.
Albert resumed speaking, his voice echoing throughout the banquet hall where Cale was listening. “Rowoon has the longest history of any kingdom on the Western Continent.”
Though Rowoon might not have boasted any particular specialties, it had the greatest number of years under its belt. Of all the kingdoms, only Rowoon had kept mum since the Indomitable Alliance’s proclamation. It was the last to make its stance known to the rest.
“We will show them the strength of survivors.”
As the crown prince confidently addressed the entire Western Continent, the nobles in the banquet hall were silent—or rather, dumbstruck. They had only just comprehended the true danger they faced. They’d been complacent, letting the involvement of the Bear Tribe and the dwarves lead them to believe that the northern alliance would come from the sea. But wyverns? This was now a question of life and death.
Then someone’s voice reached them. “About those wyverns…” It was Cale. He gazed down at the nobles looking at him and declared with certainty, “The wyvern knight brigade will not get past Henituse territory. Not ever.”
He walked to the center of the table and picked up the silver plaque.
“As of today, I, Cale Henituse, will take command of the northeastern region’s military.” He spoke respectfully, but he left his audience no opening to object. “You shall all follow my orders from here on out.”
Cale looked around at the nobles of the southwestern and northwestern factions, who avoided his gaze, and at the ones belonging to the other factions, who were practically in shambles.
Those who sought power on the eve of war did not deserve to be heroes. Cale was using this day to determine who would become heroes and who would survive by leeching off of those stronger than they were. That information was essential for him to put them to good use.
“If it’s a mark of nobility to align oneself with the strong,” Cale said, smiling at the nobles, “then you will soon have to decide whom to align yourselves with to survive.”
Without the slightest hesitation, he turned on his heel and made for the door. Behind him, the chairs creaked and shuffled. Countess Uvar, Count Whilsman, and Lord Gilbert—here on behalf of his father—stood up and followed after him. Together, this group was responsible for Rowoon’s northeastern shores and the entrance to that part of the kingdom.
Creak. Bang!
Only after the door closed behind them did the rest of the nobles realize they had been left behind. That, and one more thing.
The wyverns were coming…and soon.