Show Me Your Stats!

Grace Period

Solar Estate's knights and soldiers numbered around 1,500 in total.

Among them, roughly 500 were usually engaged in their daily livelihoods. In other words, unless a conscription order was issued, only about 1,000 soldiers were readily available for active duty. And even that force was poorly supplied due to the estate’s dire circumstances—they weren’t fed well, nor were they properly clothed for the harsh conditions. Worse still, they had recently fought off a horde of magical beasts, leaving them physically exhausted.

Unlike the weary soldiers of Solar Estate, the enemy forces camped beyond the castle walls numbered 2,000. Their morale was sky-high, and their soldiers, well-fed and gleaming with health, held polished swords and shields that sparkled in the sunlight.

Observing the enemy from the watchtower, Ayra gritted her teeth. Their side was already at a numerical disadvantage, but to make matters worse, the castle walls had collapsed, nullifying any defensive advantage they might have had.

No, it’s not just bad luck. They must have rushed here the moment they heard about the collapsed wall.

A small, impoverished territory with a crumbling castle wall—it must have looked like the perfect prey. If a king existed in this world, perhaps Ayra could have appealed for justice and mediation. But there was no king here. In this world, lords were nothing more than rulers who devoured and were devoured in turn.

The weak didn’t even have the right to plead their grievances before being swallowed whole.

As Ayra descended from the watchtower to the walls, Bloom came charging in from the opposite direction. Stopping his horse, he agilely leapt onto the battlements despite his enormous frame. Kneeling before Ayra, the knight’s green eyes glowed from within his helmet.

"This place is too dangerous. Please, retreat to the lord’s castle."

"Forget it. What’s the point of hiding in the lord’s castle in a situation like this?"

Ayra peered through the arrow slits (the openings in the walls designed for long-range attacks), examining Bolni’s army lined up outside. Their formations were tight, disciplined, and within them, blood-red banners billowed in the wind.

"You are the last heir of the Solar family, my lord. Your safety is the most valuable thing in this land."

Perhaps because this was the first crisis of such magnitude in Solar’s history, Bloom’s tone was grave and solemn.

However, Ayra had no intention of retreating to the lord’s castle.

Bolni’s army had set up camp and remained still—they hadn’t shown any clear signs of launching an attack. That meant they were willing to negotiate first.

Ignoring Bloom’s increasingly desperate pleas to return to safety, Ayra stood atop the wall, surveying the soldiers. Their fear and exhaustion were obvious. Their morale was already sinking—if battle broke out now, the outcome was painfully predictable.

Sure enough, after a brief wait, a figure on horseback galloped toward them from the enemy camp, a red flag fluttering in the wind. The messenger’s voice rang out loud and clear:

"The Lord of Solar! Open these gates and come forth! Lord Nilma Argan has words for you!"

Bloom’s eyes flashed coldly at the arrogance of a mere messenger ordering a lord to come out. Ayra, on the other hand, was too preoccupied assessing the situation to be particularly offended. Bloom, however, was furious.

"How dare that insolent—! I shall sever that man’s head and send it back immediately!"

"Huh? Do you have a death wish? If you’re just venting, then let’s not act on it, okay?"

Beheading the enemy messenger in this situation would be akin to throwing down a white glove, a direct challenge to war. Forget waiting for the right moment—Solar Estate would be doomed immediately. Yet, judging by Bloom’s murderous glare, he wasn’t joking.

Then again, this insult wasn’t just directed at Ayra alone—it was a blatant show of contempt for all of Solar Estate.

But Ayra knew all too well—when the weak are faced with power, their only choices are submission or destruction.

And right now, if they chose destruction, countless lives would be lost. In other words—war. That was the one scenario Ayra absolutely wanted to avoid.

"Sir Bloom, just in case, I want you to start preparing the citizens for evacuation alongside the steward."

With a heavy sigh, Ayra pulled the hood down tightly and gave the order. The wind felt especially chilly from atop the walls. As the fabric of the robe fluttered in the breeze, Ayra turned to leave, and Bloom immediately shot up, hurrying to follow.

"My lord! Are you really going to comply with their demands?"

"And if I don’t? What exactly can we do against an army like that?"

"They may intend to harm you!"

"Like I told you before—I can protect myself."

"But...! If that’s the case, then...!"

Bloom hesitated. Seeing him struggle, Ayra suddenly spun around, cutting him off before he could continue.

"Are you disobeying my command?"

As expected of a knight, the word ‘disobedience’ was particularly effective. Bloom paled instantly, then dropped to his knees with a loud thud.

"N-No, my lord. I shall obey your command."

Back when the landslide incident occurred, Ayra had protected not only Janus but even the horses, ultimately passing out from exhaustion. But if Ayra had only focused on self-preservation, passing out wouldn’t have even been an issue. No matter how strong Bloom was, in the worst-case scenario, arrows could rain down at any moment—having him along would only be a burden.

Even after accepting the order, Bloom still looked restless and followed closely behind. When Ayra headed not down the wall but toward the watchtower above the gate, Bloom furrowed his brows.

"My lord? The way down is over there."

"I know. But there’s no need to open the gate, is there?"

With morale already at an all-time low, a little dramatic performance wouldn’t hurt.

So, Ayra jumped.

Gasps erupted among the soldiers on the walls, and Bloom let out a startled shout.

However, contrary to their expectations, Ayra did not plummet.

Instead, the robe billowed gracefully, and Ayra drifted down like a feather, descending elegantly from the watchtower.

With a soft tap, boots landed on the ground. Startled, the enemy messenger instinctively recoiled.

"W-Who are you?!"

"I heard that Lord Nilma Argan has something to say to me."

From beneath the deep shadow of the hood, Ayra’s gray eyes gleamed.

At that moment, Ayra finally understood why the ancient mages of labyrinthine towers always chose to appear from high places, swirling their robes dramatically.

The look of awe on people's faces... it was a little thrilling.

The enemy messenger’s gaze wavered. It seemed he hadn’t been informed that Solar Estate’s lord was a mage.

Still, he soon steadied his voice and raised it once more.

"That’s right! Lord Argan is waiting, so the Lord of Solar should move quickly. This way."

However, Ayra did not obediently follow the messenger. Instead, standing tall, she muttered icily:

"...That’s right? This way? Are you giving me orders right now?"

Under Ayra’s piercing gaze, the messenger gulped nervously, though he still held his head high.

The mage stared down at him as if contemplating something unpleasant, fingers lazily twitching in the air. Suddenly, the ground beneath the messenger’s feet rippled and warped. Startled, he leapt backward in sheer panic.

Ayra had barely done anything. Yet, the moment she simply lifted a finger to point, the messenger instantly bowed his head and stammered in a desperate voice.

"N-No! Of course not, my lord! I—I shall personally escort the esteemed Lord of Solar to Lord Argan!"

This was a different kind of fear—not the vague wariness that people unfamiliar with mages displayed, but the genuine fear of someone who had actually witnessed what mages could do.

Even before becoming a lord, when Ayra had merely been a labyrinth mage dispatched on assignments, she had never been treated with this level of disrespect. Feeling irritated, she sealed the messenger’s lips shut.

"Mmph! Mmm!"

The messenger flailed in terror, his lips unmoving despite his desperate attempts to speak. After letting him struggle for a few seconds, Ayra released the magic, then frowned in annoyance.

"You’d best watch your mouth when speaking to a labyrinth mage."

"Y-Yes, absolutely! I’ll be careful!"

This time, without needing ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) any more magic, the messenger’s legs trembled violently as he turned to lead the way.

Still, Ayra had been somewhat lenient. After all, the messenger was just an ordinary person.

As Ayra followed, she recalled what she knew about Bolni’s lord.

Nilma Argan.

In a kingless world, lords had taken to self-proclaimed titles of Duke or Marquis. Generally, those with considerable power called themselves Dukes, while weaker lords took the title of Marquis. Those with even less power, like Ayra, were simply lords.

Nilma Argan was the lord of Bolni and had chosen to call himself a Duke. In other words, Bolni was a formidable force—strong enough to march 2,000 troops here as if on a casual stroll.

The messenger bowed repeatedly as he guided Ayra to the largest command tent in the camp. On the way, heavily armed knights glared at Ayra from all sides, their watchful eyes following every step. Ignoring their hostility, Ayra stepped inside.

And immediately frowned.

That’s not Nilma Argan.

"You are the Lord of Solar?"

The young man before Ayra was well-armed, just like the knights outside. However, unlike their armor—scratched and worn from battle—his armor and sword gleamed obnoxiously, polished to perfection.

Who the hell is this guy?

Before Ayra could even voice the question, the Stat Window automatically popped up.

<Nilma Argan>