The existence of the Imperial Guard was uniquely special—so much so that they were often seen as the Emperor's direct embodiment. After all, no one besides the Emperor himself could command them. Even their leader, General Budo, wouldn't mobilize the Imperial Guard without explicit orders. It was precisely due to this unwavering discipline that generation after generation of emperors placed absolute trust in the Guard.
Consequently, the Imperial Guard occupied a lofty, mysterious place in the hearts of the Capital's citizens. Every departure of their forces drew massive crowds. This time was no exception, though something had notably changed. Unlike the lively farewells of the past, today's ceremony was oddly somber, the cause being the man riding at the forefront of the procession.
His once-familiar dark crimson bone armor had been destroyed in the last battle, replaced now by a sleek black combat suit dotted with scattered armor pieces. Yet what drew eyes even more was the blood-red cloak fluttering in the wind behind him, and the sinister bone lance hanging at his waist—its bestial fangs exuded an aura of raw, untamed savagery.
"Looks like the rumors are true. Look, his cloak is as red as blood!"
"I heard his weapon is made from the bones of enemies... terrifying!"
Whispers like these filled the air, but Lancer's expression remained utterly unchanged. He'd heard these words enough times recently that they'd become little more than background noise. His mind instead drifted to his farewell with Leone.
Unnoticed even by himself, a faint smile curled his lips—but, predictably, this only gave rise to even stranger rumors…
...
Beyond the Northern Fortress stretched a snow-blanketed expanse. Standing atop the battlements, Najenda stared silently out at the stark white landscape, arms crossed in contemplation. Her thoughts were interrupted by hurried footsteps approaching from behind.
"General Najenda!"
"What now? Another problem?"
Normally, the Border Army could hold their own against the northern tribes—but that assumed normal conditions.
Though not related to the western barbarians, the northern tribes shared similar traits: fragmented into numerous small factions rather than unified under a single leader. Usually, their raids on the Northern Fortress were sporadic, small-scale affairs aimed at plunder. But lately, something had changed.
The various tribes had begun launching coordinated assaults across multiple sectors. While each attack was eventually repelled, the constant harassment had severely sapped the fortress's morale. With no rest or adequate food, it was a miracle anyone retained their fighting spirit.
Najenda's reinforcements had initially eased the manpower shortage, but soldiers unused to the harsh northern climate soon became an added logistical burden. Every day saw troops evacuated due to illness; non-combat attrition now surpassed battle casualties.
Fortunately, after half a month's acclimation, the soldiers' condition was improving. Yet just as morale was recovering, the enemy switched tactics again, mounting a large-scale engagement. Caught off-guard, two of the fortress's mobile units had been wiped out, leaving Najenda scrambling to fill the gaps. Thus, when she saw her subordinate rushing over, her first instinct was dread.
"No, General! Reinforcements have arrived from the Capital!"
"The Capital?"
To be honest, Najenda had been completely bewildered when she'd first been appointed acting commander of the Northern Fortress. Even temporarily, the role seemed too heavy for someone as new as her. But since the orders came directly from the Emperor, she had no choice but to tough it out.
Reinforcements now—does this mean they're relieving me?
She felt a complicated blend of relief and anxiety.
"Who's leading the reinforcements?"
"General Lancer!"
"Lancer?"
Najenda froze momentarily upon hearing that name. It seemed incredible at first—but, on reflection, perhaps it made perfect sense.
Lancer's reputation throughout the Empire was thoroughly infamous, even demonized. Yet beneath the rumors and scandalous stories, few questioned his combat prowess.
Whether it was his grim nickname "Bloodstained Executioner" earned on the western frontier, his ruthless trials and execution of countless nobles in the Capital, or the overnight destruction of the once-powerful Imperial Fist Temple—each feat alone was enough to fuel gossip for years. Yet Lancer had done all three. People could call him violent, heartless, or insane, but no one dared call him weak.
Sending such a formidable general to salvage her deteriorating frontline wasn't strange at all.
Yet despite the logic, Najenda couldn't help feeling downcast.
"I'll go greet him immediately…"
Expecting to be dismissed, maybe even demoted, Najenda's voice was drained of energy. As she descended from the battlements, however, she encountered another familiar figure.
"General Liver."
"General Najenda."
Clad in military uniform, beard impeccably groomed, the meticulous middle-aged Liver greeted Najenda respectfully with a subordinate's salute. Najenda returned the gesture politely, though she felt somewhat awkward.
The awkwardness didn't stem from personal animosity; rather, it was Liver's deferential attitude that threw her off balance. Liver was a veteran whose fame had spread at least ten years before hers. In both strength and reputation, he was her equal—perhaps even her superior. Yet he was serving as her deputy, leaving Najenda feeling distinctly uncomfortable.
Liver's personality might have been rigid, but he was no fool—he knew precisely how awkward his formality made her feel. Nevertheless, in his mind, such courtesy was simply proper. Having performed his duties, he wouldn't impose unnecessary strain on her further.
"General Najenda, shall we welcome General Lancer together?"
"Yes."
They walked side by side, the silence becoming increasingly awkward until Najenda finally broke it with some small talk.
"I heard you previously served alongside General Lancer. I interacted briefly with him in the Capital, but never closely. Do you have any advice on dealing with him?"
"Dealing with Lancer? It's quite simple. Just act naturally, exactly as you are now."
"?"
"Lancer is an uncomplicated warrior. If someone treats him well, he returns the favor. General Najenda, you only need to continue being yourself."
A rare hint of nostalgia softened Liver's usually stern features.
Lancer had been in this world for a year and a half. For nearly a year, he had served with the Western Border Army, making Liver one of his longest acquaintances. Liver's missions had always been the most dangerous, his comrades changing frequently—either promoted, retired, or killed. Lancer was among the few who remained by his side long enough to matter, leaving Liver with an unmistakable sense of wistfulness.
Najenda merely nodded, offering no further comment.
---
T/N: shes a general now too :sob:
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