Richie slung Paro over his shoulder and followed a burly, armored Knight out of the border town.
It was this very Knight who had stood between him and the reserve soldiers, and who had quietly ordered him to stop his execution of the survivors.
From a distance, Richie spotted the massive Magitech Transport and the gold-and-white clad Commander leaning lazily against its cabin.
Stepping forward, Richie delivered a crisp military salute. He reported his unit’s designation and his own rank, before dropping the emaciated Paro Silva onto the wet grass like a sack of potatoes.
"I've captured the fugitive," Richie reported.
"It wasn't me! Please believe me, I didn't draft that catastrophic plan!" Paro wept, clutching his knees as tears and snot ran down his dirty face.
"Shut your mouth," the Commander muttered, his tone sleepy but carrying a sudden, immense wave of invisible spiritual pressure.
The raw mental force slammed into Paro, pinning him flat against the grass, leaving him unable to move or utter another sound.
Richie felt the weight of the pressure as well. However, during his first days in Squad 105, his initiation had been surviving Calli’s brutal mental training. Back then, he was merely a newly awakened Apprentice Knight, barely stronger than a commoner, yet he had endured Dana’s savage mental storms. Now that his strength had surged, this lazy Commander's pressure felt like nothing more than a passing breeze. He stood perfectly relaxed.
The Commander was undoubtedly an Ace Knight. Richie had met several Ace Knights by now, so the rank no longer intimidated him.
"I am Hagert," the Commander said, his tone casual. "Since we belong to different divisions, let's drop the formal protocols. Call me Hagert."
He possessed no noble airs.
Richie wasn't surprised. While many Knights craved vanity and status, they were usually mediocre combatants. Those who achieved the legendary Ace rank had generally discarded such superficial desires. The enemy Honor Knight he had faced had similarly lacked any arrogance.
"You're a late-awakening Knight?" Hagert asked.
Richie nodded. Knights generally congregated only with their own kind. Seeing Richie surrounded by commoners made his background obvious.
"Yes," Richie confirmed.
"Your family? It’s curious—I can't sense a single drop of Knightly blood in their veins. However, a few of those girls seem to possess the rare talent to become Psions."
Richie’s expression shifted. Only someone who knew his secrets or had observed his group with extreme care could make such an assessment. Yet, he couldn't recall ever meeting this Commander.
"Remember? Near Morena, you felt a gaze?" Hagert smiled, patting the transport’s hull. "I had stepped out for some fresh air and felt someone spying on me. I assumed an enemy scout had bypassed our lines."
Richie understood. The phantom sensation of being watched hadn't been a hallucination; a master had indeed been shadowing him. His own senses had simply been too weak to locate him.
"You're a Recon Knight?" Richie asked, surprised. "But I've never heard of a Recon Knight breaking through to the Ace rank."
"An outsider might say that, but you shouldn't," Hagert drawled. "Aren't you also dual-cultivating the Recon Scout disciplines?"
Hagert swept his mental senses across Richie, his eyes widening in sudden astonishment. "The Recon path trains the Six Senses. Most only cultivate sight, hearing, and intuition—perhaps touch, if they are thorough. But you've cultivated your smell and taste as well."
Richie was stunned. Nora’s training sessions had been entirely silent, her Aura directly guiding his own along the paths. He had assumed he was learning a simplified utility manual.
"Who advised you to dual-cultivate the Recon path?" Hagert asked, his interest thoroughly piqued. He had only embarked on this grueling, dual-cultivation path after discovering a rare, ancient secret.
Richie felt the Commander was probing for a hidden truth. To avoid complications, he raised his favorite shield: "Lina, a Knight in my squad, told me to."
"Lina?" Hagert muttered, searching his memory. There were dozens of female Knights with that name, but with Richie's unit designation, it would be easy to check.
"Weren't you terrified of facing a military court when you executed those thugs?" Hagert asked, shifting the topic.
"It was self-defense," Richie said honestly. "I only struck once I perceived their clear intent to kill us." He didn't use the fugitive warrant as an excuse; a Recon master like Hagert had undoubtedly seen and heard everything. Lying to a man who knew the truth and had just saved his life was foolish.
"Done well," Hagert chuckled. "I like your style. You've got brains and resolve. What do you say to joining my division as my adjutant?"
"No, thank you," Richie declined instantly. "I'm happy with my squad."
Hagert was surprised, but he respected the refusal. A Knight who ignored easy promotions and wealth was a rare, formidable breed.
"I won't force you," Hagert smiled, though a spark of reluctance lingered in his eyes. "But you must join a certain circle. It's filled with Knights like us; you'll love the atmosphere."
"What circle?" Richie asked.
"The Junior Army. Surely you've heard of us?"
Richie almost laughed. This was the second invitation he had received in a month.
Hagert watched his face. Usually, young Knights reacted with either burning enthusiasm or deep concern, while old, traditional Knights viewed the Junior Army as a dangerous threat.
But Richie's face showed none of these.
"Someone else already invited me," Richie said honestly.
Hagert’s brow raised. The Junior Army was highly selective, rejecting thousands of eager applicants. He had only offered because he admired Richie’s cold efficiency and his dual-cultivation.
"Did you accept?"
"The enemy launched their offensive before I could ask his name. By the time the battle ended, I had completely forgotten about it," Richie shrugged.
Hagert guessed the first invitation had come from the relief forces at Glasslovar.
"Tell me, what do you think of the Junior Army?"
"I don't know much," Richie admitted. "I only heard of the group two weeks ago. Aside from you, I've only met one member, who seemed decent enough. My only other reference is Lina, and her review was... less than stellar."
Hagert chuckled, finding the young Knight’s honesty refreshing. "What did she say?"
"She called the Junior Army a 'disorganized rabble,' and said the guy who invited me had 'more hot blood than brains.' She also told me the name is highly useful if I ever want to intimidate someone."
Hagert’s mind whirled. A female Knight named Lina, fiercely independent, with a razor-sharp, toxic cravat.
Suddenly, a legendary figure clicked in his mind.
"Is there also a Knight named Robin and another named Dana in your unit?" Hagert asked, his lazy demeanor vanishing.
"Dana is my master, and Nice recently changed her name to Robin," Richie said.
"Damn," Hagert laughed, slapping his leg. "I knew it! She really is the 'Juicer'!" His expression turned remarkably complex.
***
The group set out once more, but the grueling march was replaced by a comfortable ride.
Richie discovered that Hagert was just as adept at inventing excuses as he was. The Commander had requisitioned a massive Magitech Transport from a nearby garrison, claiming he required a secure, armored cell to transport the high-treason fugitive, Paro Silva.
Naturally, a Commander of the Elite Guards couldn't be expected to ride in the same cabin as a filthy prisoner.
The transport easily accommodated the entire group of nineteen, their belongings, and Emily's custom cart. While the cabin was tight, it was infinitely more comfortable than their open, three-wheeled vehicle.
More importantly, a military transport was permitted to travel down the center of the main road, bypassing the sea of refugees with ease.
Richie didn't ride with his family; he sat in the main cabin with Hagert. The two of them spent the three-day journey in endless conversation, and Richie learned a great deal about the inner workings of the Junior Army.
He found himself agreeing with their core principles.
Since the war began, the high-ranking officers of the military had disgusted him. They were either foolishly cowardly or obsessed with political maneuvering, placing their own wealth and interests above the nation's survival.
He had also noticed a disturbing trend: the Republic's ruling class seemed remarkably indifferent to the progress of the war. Even when the outer defenses were crushed and four provinces fell to the enemy, the high nobles remained perfectly calm, as though they possessed an absolute, secret guarantee of victory.
Instead, they focused their energies on keeping a tight leash on the Knights. The military regulations governing Knights were incredibly restrictive, and the Military Justice Department maintained a massive division solely to investigate Knightly disputes.
Richie had initially understood these measures. A Knight’s combat power was terrifying, and an unregulated army of armored demigods could easily destabilize the nation.
But as he saw more of the world, the hypocrisy became glaring. While the standard infantry divisions were rife with corruption and embezzlement, no one cared. Yet, the Knights—who bore the brunt of the fighting and suffered the highest casualties—were monitored with absolute, cold paranoia.
One side was allowed to rot, while the other was choked by rules.
Though Richie sympathized with the Junior Army's goals, he chose not to join. With Lina’s massive family influence shielding him, he had no need for a political faction.
Hagert, too, learned much from their chats.
When he discovered Richie had only awakened his Aura a year ago, his interest deepened. But when Richie described his *Mirror Reflection* technique, Hagert’s sleepy expression vanished completely.
"Let’s make a trade," Hagert suggested. "My secret for your *Mirror Reflection* manual."
"It was an accident," Richie warned. "I'm worried you won't be able to reproduce it."
Hagert dismissed the concern. Most advanced techniques began as accidents before being refined into systems. "No matter. The secret I'm offering was also discovered by accident."
Richie agreed. A manual was useless unless passed down to his descendants, and if he had children, he would rather teach them his *Mutual Refinement* arts anyway.
He copied the details of the *Mirror Reflection* onto a sheet of paper, explaining the exact physical and mental sensations of his first successful defense.
Hagert studied the notes, asking incredibly sharp, precise questions.
His deep understanding of martial theory allowed him to analyze the technique from angles Richie had never considered. Under Hagert's guidance, Richie realized his seemingly simple defensive trick possessed vast room for development.
By the time they finished, the notebook was completely filled.
Thrilled with the exchange, Hagert kept his promise, sharing his secret.
"The Recon Scout disciplines are slow and offer no direct combat benefits, which is why most Knights ignore them. But once you break through to the Honor Knight rank, the strength of your physical Aura matters far less than the strength of your spiritual power."
Richie listened, though the Honor Knight rank felt like a distant fairy tale.
"Wouldn't it be easier to learn those disciplines *after* becoming an Honor Knight?" Richie pointed out.
"Many do exactly that," Hagert smiled. "But I learned of this secret from an ancient master before I became an Ace Knight. I decided to cultivate the Recon disciplines early, hoping it would provide the spark to breach the Ace bottleneck."
He let out a self-deprecating laugh. "It was a painful decision. It delayed my advancement by two full years. The Recon disciplines are incredibly slow to cultivate."
"But the reward was worth it?" Richie asked.
Hagert nodded. "It took me two years to raise my sight and hearing to the first level: *Acute*. But the moment I broke through to the Ace rank, those two senses..." Richie raised three fingers. Under Nora's guidance, his solid loop had immediately secured the second level: *Far-reaching*. And during his recent battlefield breakthrough, he had advanced to the third level.
Hagert stared at the three fingers, his jaw tight. Despite his boast, he felt thoroughly humiliated.
He fell silent, refusing to utter another word for the next thirty minutes.
***
"It wasn't me... the plan... I was set up..." Paro Silva mumbled in his sleep, his limbs twitching against the ropes.
Richie sighed. "If his dreams are this noisy, can we plug his mouth?"
"Be my guest," Hagert said, sprawling across the seat.
"Do you believe him?" Richie asked, looking at the sleeping prisoner.
"Of course," Hagert drawled. "Morena was a slaughter; the High Command needed a scapegoat. The plan was drafted by two men, and he was one of them. But their strategy was solid; the actual disaster was caused by the commander, Baudry."
Richie shot Hagert a sharp look. "I heard the Junior Army was planning to assassinate Baudry to avenge the dead of Morena. I guess that was just talk."
Hagert sat up, his eyes sharpening. "Oh, I'd gladly string Baudry up myself. Many in the Junior Army want him dead. But the High Command is shielding him, hiding him in a secure stronghold."
"And the other planner?"
"Dead," Hagert said coldly. "Most likely killed by Baudry’s assassins to silence him."
"I know where the proof is," a raspy voice croaked.
Paro Silva had sat up, his eyes wide. He had been faking sleep to gauge their intentions.
"Kaz and I were forced to draft that plan," Paro gasped. "We knew it was risky, so we drafted several contingencies, but Baudry rejected them all. I knew we were being set up, so I made plans to flee. Kaz wanted to hold onto the evidence as leverage. He managed to steal several incriminating letters between Baudry and various high nobles. Those letters could send half the Senate to the gallows."
Paro paused, keeping his final card close to his chest.
As a high-ranking staff officer, he was incredibly cunning. He had successfully escaped the purge that claimed Kaz, and before he fled, he had stolen the most critical letters from Kaz's stash.
Those letters were his shield.
"Help me, General Hagert," Paro pleaded. "If you guarantee my safety, I will serve the Junior Army. You are all formidable Knights, but you lack strategic planners. I know exactly how to defeat the men you hate."
Hagert stroked his chin, clearly intrigued.
The Junior Army was comprised entirely of Knights. They were exceptional tacticians on the field, but they lacked the strategic vision required for large-scale campaigns.
Such talent was trained exclusively in the Military Academy and controlled by the General Staff, far beyond the Junior Army's reach.
"A single planner... against the entire General Staff?" Hagert murmured.
"I can bring others!" Paro urged. "Planning a campaign is grueling work, yet nine out of ten plans are rejected by the Command for absurd political reasons. When a battle is lost, the planners are always thrown to the wolves. The General Staff is rotting, and many are desperate for a way out."
Richie felt a surge of gratitude for his Knightly status. Compared to the corrupt regular army, the Knightly divisions were relatively pure. A Knight's standing was determined by their absolute rank, which could not be faked or bought with family influence.
The high-ranking Knights were generally fair and honorable, as a corrupt, narrow mind could never breach the spiritual bottlenecks.
This was exactly why the Junior Army wanted the Knights to assume control of the military courts and the police.
***
In three days and two nights of rapid travel, the transport reached the capital, Peines.
Richie had never seen the capital, and his eyes filled with wonder as the massive city came into view.
Even miles from the city center, the roads were lined with grand villas and bustling markets—a stark contrast to the wild hills surrounding Glasslovar.
"Did Lina arrange a place for you?" Hagert asked as they crept through the dense traffic.
"Yes. 1275 Phenice Road, Rose District," Richie recalled.
"Ah, you should have said so earlier," Hagert smiled, tapping the partition. "Change course. Rose District."
Lina had mentioned the villa was in the suburbs, which Richie now realized meant roughly forty kilometers from the city center.
The property was a stunning, two-story country villa of white stone, surrounded by a manicured garden. It was undoubtedly an estate owned by Lina’s high noble family.
"A beautiful house," Hagert remarked, scanning the grounds. "Though it's a bit isolated."
"We have the cart," Richie smiled.
Having delivered them safely, Hagert prepared to leave. "I'll visit you in a few days," he promised, before the transport roared away.
Richie waved until the truck vanished, then led his family and his harem toward the villa.
An elderly woman in a colorful apron stood by the door, holding a set of brass keys. "I am the caretaker," she said with a warm smile.
"Lina sent us," Richie said.
"Ah, yes! Her letter arrived yesterday," the old woman nodded, ushering them inside.
The front door opened directly into a massive, sunlit living room with a stone fireplace. "The first floor holds this salon and a fully equipped kitchen. Upstairs are five bedrooms and a spacious bathroom," she explained, handing Richie the keys.
The old woman spoke with friendly warmth, but the travelers were far too exhausted to listen. Seeing their fatigue, she wrapped her small bag and bid them a polite farewell, eager to return to her home in the city.
Richie and his father escorted her to the main road, securing a carriage for her before returning.
When they stepped back inside, a heavy silence had fallen over the villa, punctuated by soft, rhythmic snoring.
His father had collapsed onto the sofa in the living room, fully dressed. Their luggage and the muddy cart were scattered across the stone floor, turning the elegant salon into a messy encampment.
The women had been too tired to unpack, heading straight upstairs to claim the rooms.
The bedroom distribution was highly logical:
His mother, Aunt Ling, and his cousin took the first spacious, south-facing bedroom.
The three mothers—Christina, Shaya, and Teti—took the second south-facing room.
Isabella and her four siblings occupied the third south-facing room.
Ginny, Sophie, Melissa, and Caroline settled onto the four plush sofas in the north-facing parlor.
Ingrid and Emily took the library, which would serve as Emily's workshop and laboratory for her *Refining* research.
His mother and Aunt Ling had accepted the arrangements without a single complaint. The slap his mother had received on the road had thoroughly shattered her vanity. Surrounded by women who had lost everything, she realized how incredibly fortunate she was to have a capable husband and a formidable son.
Richie looked at his father’s sleeping form. His heart felt a profound peace.
The capital was the safest place in the nation. The war would be long and brutal, but here, his loved ones would survive.
A wave of intense exhaustion washed over him.
He walked to the fireplace, sank into a plush rocking chair, and closed his eyes. The slow, gentle rocking brought a deep sense of security.
Within minutes, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.