Chapter 17

Translator: Lizz

 

Two days after Lance brought the shocking news, the mages’ encampment was in turmoil over the same information. The uproar was a mix of screams, grief-stricken wails, and defiant roars.

 

Everyone was genuinely stunned by Lord Lambert’s death, mourning his loss, and over time, their grief turned into a directionless rage. …No, there was a direction. But for a long time, the mages had pretended not to see it.

 

The knights who received the same news were struck by a different kind of shock. Unable to keep up with the rapidly unfolding events, they were in no position to proceed with the Maha recapture operation. The same was true for the mages, as Company and Platoon Commanders continued to hold fruitless meetings without finding answers.

 

The Iron Fortress merely conveyed the facts and said nothing about their mission. That meant the mission was still ongoing, and as long as it continued, the mages serving in the army remained under the knights’ command. However, at this moment, they were in no condition to follow orders. In fact, even among the mages themselves, unity was impossible.

 

In an atmosphere where grief and agitation had yet to settle, tinged with an air of unease, the mages gathered under the Company Commanders’ orders showed no sign of calming down. Amidst them, a young man appeared, dressed without the mage corps’ emblematic shoulder cape, fastening a crimson mantle on his left shoulder, and carrying at his waist a long sword adorned with ornate decorations that seemed far from practical. At once, the murmuring began to fade, as if a fire were being snuffed out.

 

At first glance, the young man’s attire made him resemble a noble’s son serving as a knight apprentice. However, the privilege of wearing a mantle dyed in solid crimson was restricted to only a select few, and the crest engraved on the hilt of his sword made his identity immediately clear. Many were astonished by the discrepancy between his presumed rank and the familiar face they knew, while a handful observed him with knowing expressions.

 

Standing alongside his platoon members, Zechs silently watched his friend’s face. Behind him, his attendant remained alert, ready to fulfill his duty should the need arise. Even that attendant, rather than disguising himself today, was clad in proper knightly attire.

 

Zechs already knew what his friend intended to do.

 

“Some of you may have realized this before.”

 

Before the assembled mages, who had fallen into a stunned silence, the familiar voice rang out – not as they had always known it, but with unwavering confidence, clear and resounding beneath the open sky.

 

“I am Astoria Verba Cornote, the Third Prince of King Odyssin of Lavarta.”

 

A murmur spread among those listening, some expressing admiration, others disdain. Those who had known the truth before simply nodded in confirmation, while those who had been unaware bristled, demanding to know why a member of the royal family had come among them.

 

“I sincerely apologize for keeping this hidden until now. However, before I am a prince, I am a mage. And I am also someone who deeply admired the late Supreme Commander Georgius Lambert. I cannot conceal my own anger over his death. So I ask you all – who is responsible for driving Lord Lambert to his death?”

 

A hush fell over the gathering, the very air thick with held breath.

 

“Can you, as mages, forgive those who sent Lord Lambert to his grave?”

 

This was a question that had, until now, remained unspoken; an unapproachable taboo. No one had set such a rule. Yet instinctively, they had all understood that to pursue the answer would be akin to wading into a bottomless mire.

 

“The one responsible for driving him to his death is this very nation itself – its deeply ingrained prejudice against mages. And I will never forgive it.”

 

Aster’s voice grew firm, drawing forth a sound – part gasp, part agreement – from the gathered crowd.

 

“Each and every one of you here has been treated unfairly. Simply for being a mage. Simply for being born with a guiding vein within you, you have faced baseless discrimination, even from your own family. Isn’t that right? And what have we done in response? We endured in silence, using this cursed power to protect the very people who revile us. And despite our service, we have been met with scorn!”

 

Someone shouted, ‘That’s right!’ in a powerful voice. Elsewhere, the sound of quiet sobbing could be heard.

 

“We mages have done nothing shameful! On the contrary, we have labored relentlessly, risking our lives for the merciless and cold-hearted people of Lavarta. And the result is the unjust death of our great leader. There is no way we can simply accept this!”

 

Little by little, voices of agreement swelled. Before long, the mages were watching Aster intently, fists raised, captivated by his words.

 

Zechs felt a sudden tug on his sleeve and turned to see Danya beside him. Overwhelmed by the swelling fervor in the crowd, she grasped his sleeve with an anxious expression. Yet even as uncertainty clouded her face, Zechs did not miss the glimmer of expectation within her gaze.

 

“I ask you one more thing. Do you condemn the Guild mages, who disobeyed the knights who treated us as if we were their slaves or shields, who attacked them and took their fortress?”

 

A unified cry of ‘No!’ erupted from the crowd. No one had led the chant, yet the voices instinctively converged into a single, resounding answer.

 

“That’s right – they should not be condemned. They did nothing more than raise a rightful protest against the unjust circumstances they were forced into. And they acted upon it. Their courageous deeds deserve praise, not a single ounce of reproach!”

 

“That’s right!”

 

“Lavarta seeks to suppress them, our fellow mages, just as it has always done, using the knights and even us as mere tools in its oppression. How can we allow this?”

 

“And!”, before the crowd could shout, the prince swiftly continued.

 

“Can we stand idly by while our brethren rise up, staking their very lives in battle? No, I would never forgive myself if I do nothing.”

 

His voice, cold and unwavering as if he were the absolute keeper of the law, carried the weight of unshakable conviction.

 

“From this moment forward, I renounce Lavarta.”

 

For an instant, the air was frozen in silence.

 

“I believe that a nation should be one where mages, no, all beings, are treated with fairness and respect, free from unjust discrimination. Lavarta is far from that ideal. Therefore, I renounce Lavarta and set my sights on Cadenza. The people of Cadenza bow to no ruler, choosing instead to forge their own path as comrades in pursuit of their beliefs. Together, we will drive Lavarta’s threat from their land. And I, Astoria Verba Cornote, vow here and now to create a nation where mages can live free of fear, where their abilities are recognized and valued as they truly deserve.”

 

His passionate voice fell silent. After a brief pause, a roar of cheers erupted, one that Zechs would never forget for the rest of his life.

 

If one were to think rationally, the likelihood of Aster’s plan succeeding was incredibly slim. But that was never the issue at hand.

 

For decades, perhaps even centuries, mages had believed they had no choice but to turn away from the smoldering anger and frustration in their hearts. But now, it was none other than a member of the royal family who had given them an outlet, granting them the permission to unleash those emotions. More than that, he had shown them a path forward, a way to fight together.

 

Having endured oppression for so long, there was no way they wouldn’t grasp at the sudden arrival of their savior.

 

Before dawn, every mage had made their decision about the path they would walk.

 

Aster said nothing, neither urging others to follow him, nor questioning those who chose a different path. And yet, in reality, around six hundred mages had gathered under him. That was more than seventy percent of the mages who had served in the military.

 

“Even if we say we’ll join up with the rebel army, will they really accept us so easily?”

 

The assembled mages now had a vibrant gleam in their eyes, a stark contrast to the day before. Even those who were seriously injured. Watching them, Zechs turned to look back at his friend, eyes equally free of doubt.

 

“A messenger has already been sent. With a defection this large, they won’t fear it’s a trap. They’re probably desperate for manpower. And by the way, they’re not a rebel army, Zechs.”

 

Aster said this with a fearless smile.

 

“We are merely asserting our rightful claims against unjust oppression. Perhaps ‘Liberation Army’ is the better name for us.”

 

Zechs didn’t understand the complicated things. But when Aster had told him about the plan beforehand, he answered without hesitation that he would go too. He believed there was no other path.

 

Zechs had always wanted to become a mage whose status and power everyone would recognize. He believed that if he could achieve that, he would no longer be persecuted. He had long since realized that it was a childish dream. Still, he vaguely hoped that if he could reach the peak of the Iron Fortress, something might change. But the death of Lord Lambert had taught him that even reaching that pinnacle wouldn’t change anything.

 

Zechs believed Aster’s decision was Just. His ideals were undoubtedly right. Then all that remained was to walk beside him.

 

“Shall we get going?”

 

As Aster spoke, his intent was immediately conveyed to those around him. The gathered mages began to leave the encampment, with Aster at the lead.

 

With such a large number defecting, the small-unit structure had mostly remained intact, and the mages began moving in their respective platoons.

 

The Evan platoon, stationed in the rear, had to wait a while for the vanguard to advance.

 

“Zechs.”

 

While waiting with the others, Rigitte called his name in a more formal tone than usual.

 

“Take care of Danya, okay?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“That girl has talent and guts. But she’s still just a seventeen-year-old girl. And she’s surrounded by men… Please look out for her.”

 

As Rigitte said this, she gazed at Danya, who stood a short distance away, with eyes filled with a maternal kind of tenderness.

 

“Rigitte, what do you mean? Are you saying…”

 

“I’m not going.”

 

She declared it clearly, then smiled.

 

To Zechs, it was completely unexpected. But when he glanced over, Fio gave him a knowing nod, suggesting that maybe the others already knew.

 

“Why…”

 

“I have a younger sister.”

 

He’d heard that before. That was probably why Rigitte had always looked after Danya so fondly.

 

“A little while ago, I brought my family to Rhiannon. This year’s harvest was bad, and my parents begged me in tears. They’d always treated me like a burden, and I swore I’d never forgive them. But then they implied that if I didn’t call them over, they’d have to sell my little sister. So now, my family lives in Rhiannon.”

 

At some point, Zechs had heard Aster say that the families of mages living in Rhiannon were essentially hostages. And that was when it hit him.

 

Most of those who hadn’t agreed to defect were Commanders. Zechs had scoffed inwardly, thinking maybe they were just more loyal to the nation because of their rank. But that wasn’t it. Their partners and children were likely being held in Rhiannon. Evan, who had no such ties, had decided to defect early on, and Zechs had failed to consider the burdens the other Commanders might be carrying.

 

Looking back on it now, everyone who had chosen to stay behind wore the same gloomy, despondent expressions. And not one of them went to report any of this to the knights. Perhaps, deep down, they all felt the same way.

 

“But staying here means…”

 

Rigitte shook her head, as if to say ‘Don’t say it.’

 

Staying here meant obeying the knights’ orders and fighting against Zechs and the others, the comrades they had once entrusted with their lives.

 

And yet, even knowing that, those who chose to stay must have had something they wanted to protect, something precious.

 

Zechs didn’t ask anything more.

 

“I’ll protect Danya.”

 

“Thank you. You be careful too.”

 

At last, it was time for Evan platoon to depart. Among the platoon, Rigitte was the only one who had chosen to stay behind. Some waved to her; others bowed with pained expressions as they said their farewells. Zechs gave a single nod and was about to turn on his heel when a long braid swept past in front of him like a trail.

 

Rigitte and Danya embraced tightly for a while, then slowly pulled apart. The platoon, accepting the returning girl without a word, proceeded as if nothing had happened. But Zechs saw the tears streaming down Danya’s cheeks. Without even wiping them away, she walked forward, eyes fixed straight ahead. That resolute gaze struck pain into his heart.

 

Why did comrades who trusted one another have to part like this? A flame of anger smoldered in his aching chest. And yet, at the same time, Zechs felt a quiet sense of relief.

 

Leon, the person most important to him, would never, under any circumstance, be summoned to the battlefield. Which meant Zechs didn’t have to worry about facing him as an enemy, or about him dying in the war.

 

He felt guilty for thinking something like that.

 

Zechs also didn’t look back. He simply followed the backs of his comrades, heading north.

 

In the first month of Crimson Blossom Season that year, a major incident occurred: most of the four mage companies stationed near Maha in the Andrews territory defected to the rebel army. The majority of those who defected were young, up-and-coming mages, and as a result, the mage corps composed of Iron Fortress mages suffered a severe loss in strength. And, following this, mages residing in Rhiannon and Guild mages from across the land began attempting to escape one after another. Some were captured mid-flight, while others were killed during their escape. Furthermore, resentment and fear toward mages, long simmering among the general populace, erupted into frequent incidents in which local residents lynched mages living nearby. Within just half a year after the first month of Crimson Blossom Season, public records alone report that over eight hundred mages were beaten or tortured to death. This series of events would later become known in history as ‘The Unending Dark Before Dawn’.

 

It came as a shock to many citizens that the mages who had defected were led by Prince Astoria Verba Cornote, the third son of King Odyssin of Lavarta, who had long remained out of the public eye – and that the Prince himself was a mage. Whispers of distrust toward the King and suspicion toward the royal bloodline began to circulate, but the King immediately issued an imperial decree aiming for the swift suppression of the rebel forces. He appointed the second prince, Kyrie Turha Cornote, as the Supreme Commander and declared the implementation of emergency wartime laws to the populace. Recruitment of soldiers and tax hikes began across the land, leaving people with no time to focus on anything other than survival. For the moment, distrust of the King was set aside.

 

In the villages and towns of the far north, the flames of war were already drawing near. As heavy taxation drove more people to become bandits, public order deteriorated rapidly.

 

This marked the beginning of the Northern Lavarta Civil War, an internal conflict that, with intermittent ceasefires, would continue for more than thirty years.