After the fall of the Orc King, the battlefield shifted.
The remaining Orcs fled—despite their commanders and champions howling orders at them.
Fear broke their discipline, and they ran.
Victory came stained in blood.
More than a thousand men died that day.
And the Duke…
He died, too.
I always wished I were more like him—kind, caring, honorable.
When we found his body, it was crushed beyond recognition.
I didn't have the courage to face his daughter.
To tell her that her father would never return,
that she was alone now.
At first, I refused the Duke's request to become her guardian.
But after that battle… I signed the papers in secret.
No one knew I had ever thrown them away before.
I did everything I could to ensure she lived happily.
Taught her how to rule,
how to stand her ground,
how to face her enemies—on the battlefield and beyond.
Maybe…
maybe I did all this because I wanted to be like the Duke.
I envied him—not his title, not the noble life.
I envied the man he was.
I was nothing like him.
I was an arrogant bastard, banished by my own father at fourteen—sent to a temple to become a monk.
But I refused to let others shape my fate.
I fled, joined the temple's training soldiers in Redin, and eventually became a holy knight.
But after two years, the kingdom fractured.
I had nowhere to go.
Until my childhood friend took me in, made me his garrison commander.
Even then… I envied him.
But now?
Now I admire him.
Regis opened his eyes.
The Duchess sat beside his bed, quietly embroidering a clean white cloth.
After a moment, she finally looked up, relief washing over her face.
"Uncle," she said, worry softening her voice, "you're finally awake. Are you alright? What happened?"
"Ah… my lady, I'm fine," Regis replied with a smile. "I simply fell from exhaustion. Forgive me for worrying you."
"Well, you must take better care of yourself," she scolded gently.
"Yes, little miss." He let out a small laugh and stood.
"Do not trouble yourself too much. In times like these, such things are normal. In fact, if they don't happen, that's when you should worry."
He fastened his cloak and walked toward the door.
Just before stepping out, he paused.
"You look pale, my lady. Please, eat something and rest. We cannot afford to have you fall ill."
Outside, snow was falling—earlier than expected.
But there was no helping it.
Tonight was the night of the assault,
and everything depended on Edward and his small infiltration group—
the ones who would enter the fortress, clear the path, and open the gate from within.
Regis walked through the snow toward the main tent, observing the camp.
Soldiers gathered around fires, talking, drinking, sharpening blades.
Others prepared equipment or prayed in silence.
Regis passed among them with a smile.
"Truly… I have changed," he whispered, before entering the tent.
Inside, the commanders and captains were reviewing the plan once more.
Jim drank while studying the map.
Lord Losh wore his usual disapproving expression.
Count Migo spoke sharply.
Edward sat in the corner, cleaning his sword.
Edward's longsword had a hilt wrapped in silver rings, carved from Mump Wood.
Beside the sheath sat a small bundle of potions, and a piece of ball wrapped in thin leather.
"I see you're with us, Regis. Are you alright?" Captain Riace asked.
Regis took a moment to settle into his seat, resting his chin on his hand.
"Yes, captain. Thank you. I'm fine now."
"Good. Then we continue as planned tonight."
Everyone nodded.
One by one, they left the tent—until only Edward, Regis, and Jim remained.
Silence filled the room for a while.
Then the Duchess entered.
She removed her coat, scarf, and gloves, and approached the map table.
"My lady," Jim said politely—slightly drunk, "would you share a drink with me?"
She smiled faintly. "I must decline. I prefer to be on my feet when the battle begins."
"A cup or two won't hurt," Edward said, breaking his long silence.
"In fact… I could use a drink myself. It's cold outside—and a little wine might warm us."
He sheathed his polished sword, walked to the pitcher, and poured three cups—handing one to Regis and one to the Duchess.
"So," Regis said, staring into his cup, "what shall we drink to?"
"Isn't it obvious, old man?" Jim grinned. "To victory."
"To victory," they echoed, and drank.
By the time they finished, the sun had sunk beyond the horizon.
Darkness crept over the camp.
The clock was ticking,
and with each passing moment,
the attack drew closer.