Minerva walked straight toward her tent, her pace steady, measured, as if nothing unusual had happened minutes ago.
Shuward followed a step behind, silent and precise, his gaze sweeping the area out of habit.
They stopped at the entrance.
Minerva didn't look at him immediately. Her eyes scanned the surroundings first—the shadows between tents, the passing figures, the distance between ears.
Only then—
"Did you hear what the soldier said?" she asked.
Shuward inclined his head. "I did, Your Highness."
Minerva's gaze lingered a moment longer on the camp before settling.
"Ensure that conversation remains between us," she said. "I find it unlikely anyone else was close enough to hear… but I prefer certainty."
Shuward allowed himself a faint, controlled smile. "Indeed, Your Highness. From an outsider's perspective, the scene appeared… misinterpreted."
A slight pause.
"Most would assume it was a romantic misfortune rather than a confidential exchange."
Minerva's brow twitched—barely.
"…Did I handle it too lightly?" she asked.
Shuward considered for a second, then answered plainly.
"On the contrary, Your Highness. I believe your response was… decisive."
Another pause.
"If I may be blunt—the man's lineage is likely no longer a concern. At present, he is probably reevaluating every decision that led him here."
Minerva blinked once.
"…I see."
Then she turned slightly, dismissing the matter.
"Then it was sufficient. You may rest, Mr. Shuward. I will manage from here."
Shuward bowed. "As you command."
He stepped away, posture still straight, though his pace relaxed once he merged with the flow of the camp.
Minerva entered her tent.
The moment the flap closed behind her—
She exhaled.
Her shoulders dropped just slightly, the tension she carried outside slipping for a brief second. Her hand moved to her chest, fingers pressing lightly as she felt her heartbeat beneath her thin armor—faster than she preferred.
She frowned.
Then, without hesitation—
Slap.
Slap.
"Focus," she muttered to herself.
The composure returned just as quickly as it left.
She moved to her table, pulled a report closer, and began reading. Ink, numbers, casualty lists—things she could control.
Minutes passed.
Then—
A shriek tore through the air. Sharp and unnatural.
Minerva's head snapped up. Her hand was already on her sword before the sound finished echoing.
She stepped outside.
Above the camp, the multi-limbed winged Trods were retreating—pulling back in uneven formations. Not fleeing. Not panicked.
Withdrawing.
"…What are you planning?" she murmured.
A roar answered from above.
Then the horn followed.
Aeltharion circled once before descending toward the command area.
Moments later, Shuward reappeared.
"Your Highness," he said, "Lord Aeltharion requests your presence."
"I am on my way."
—
Inside the command tent, the air was heavier.
Leaders gathered around the central table. Torches flickered, casting shifting shadows across their faces.
Minerva took her seat without a word.
At the head, Aeltharion Thal'Vaeris sat composed, fingers resting lightly against the wood.
"The Trods have retreated," he began, voice calm but firm. "For the first time in over three years."
Silence followed.
"I called this meeting so we may examine the cause."
Jawhead leaned forward, resting his weight on his arms.
"Maybe they're tired," he said. "Even beasts rest."
Olga snorted, arms crossed tight. "Those things don't even know what rest is."
Mephyst leaned back, his expression already amused.
"I agree with Miss Olga," he said, voice smooth, almost pleased.
"There is no exhaustion in their ranks. I sense no weakening of mana."
He smiled wider, "If my assessment is correct—which, I assure you, it usually is—this is not a retreat."
A pause. "It is preparation."
Olga rolled her eyes.
"Of course it is. And let me guess—you already have the perfect answer?"
Mephyst spread his hands slightly. "I always do."
The Goblin King growled, speaking in his harsh native tongue.
Aeltharion listened, then translated. "He suggests an immediate offensive. Strike before they regroup."
His gaze shifted. "Your thoughts, Princess?"
Minerva didn't answer immediately.
Her eyes were on Mephyst.
Watching.
Before she could speak—
"I suspect the Princess is more interested in me than strategy," Mephyst said lightly. "A flattering development."
Olga scoffed. "With that body? I doubt it."
Minerva finally spoke, calm as ever.
"I am evaluating your reasoning, Lord Mephyst. While your conclusion may hold merit, an uncalculated advance carries significant risk."
Olga leaned forward. "So? Got something better?"
Minerva shook her head slightly. "Perhaps Lord Mephyst does."
Mephyst grinned as he waves his hands, "I am delighted you asked."
Shadows spread across the table, forming a map.
"The Deathsow Valley," he said, tapping a dark hollow in the illusion. "If we push them back to their gate… we can seal them."
Aeltharion's eyes narrowed. "A temporary solution."
"A necessary one," Mephyst replied. "The Dragonsky Range will contain them. They lack the capacity to cross it."
Minerva remained still.
"…It is plausible," she said. "The barrier?"
"Ozbull is more suited for such work," Mephyst added.
Minerva turned. "How long will it hold?"
Ozbull answered without hesitation. "One hundred years. At most."
Aeltharion nodded. "With our current strength… annihilation is unlikely."
A pause.
"But pushing them back… is possible. I agree with lord Mephyst's plan."
Minerva spoke next. "Then I support the plan."
Olga nodded. "Same."
Jawhead grunted. "We push."
Agreement spread across the table.
Chairs shifted as leaders began to rise—
Except Aeltharion.
Minerva noticed. "Is there a concern, Lord Aeltharion?"
He looked at Mephyst.
"…Are we placing our trust in a demon?"
The tent stilled.
A demon behind Mephyst stepped forward, snarling—
"How dare—"
Mephyst raised a single hand.
"You need not trust me," Mephyst said, almost amused. "Your circumstances simply render alternatives… insufficient."
Aeltharion studied him.
Then nodded once.
"…Then we proceed."
Minerva stood.
"Tomorrow," she said. Her eyes kept towards Mephyst as the seed of doubt lingered beneath her heart.