Larin walked out onto the dirt road, in the refugees' path. He wanted them to see him before panic could set in. These were people running from war, displaced from their homes, clutching what little they had left. Sacks slung over weary shoulders, some children cradled in arms, others gripping old weapons with hands that had seen too much hardship.
Two soldiers of Xiaxo escorted the group, both bearing the mark of the battle they had survived. The first was a giant of a man, carrying an enormous Totem with runes that barely flickered, holding stored power. He seemed to have gone through hell, but he stood firm, his presence alone steadying the refugees. The second one was much smaller, a younger figure, even almost the age of Larin himself, had sharp eyes, and twin glaives hung behind her; scratches and bruises all over the body testified how tense the battles they have gone through.
The soldiers instinctively reached for their weapons when they saw Larin. The moment was fleeting, gone as soon as it had come. The attire he wore identified him as one of them, but more than that, his face was familiar. Larin had traveled with Zakop often, visiting Xiaxo's cities, speaking with the people. They knew him.
"It must be tough," Larin said, flashing them a warm smile. "Any news for me?"
The Totem said to the man, "We are taking these people to Pamchai. We were able to rescue most of them. However, the fight continues."
Larin looked at him twice, and his face erupted in recognition. "You are Thanpau, right? I know you from before. You are different."
Thanpau let out a short chuckle, shifting the weight of his Totem on his back. "Oh, you remember me. War changes people, I guess."
The people behind them had slowed, watching the conversation unfold. The girl with the glaives turned and, with a firm voice, addressed them. "Please, go ahead. We will catch up soon." It wasn't a suggestion. Despite the word "please," it was a command.
Larin turned to her. She met his gaze with a nod. "Minao. Nice to meet you, young lord."
"I am no lord," Larin corrected. "Call me Larin. Everyone does."
With formalities out of the way, he pressed them for more details. "What's the situation in the Border Fort?"
"The Fort is under siege," Thanpau replied. "But not completely. We still have supply lines open, and we're expecting to break their siege soon. The Guardian Beasts are holding the line, making it easier. But the Kirats are relentless. And Commander Mualza is wary—it's suspicious that we haven't seen any warships yet. No Mana Striders. No Spellbreak Cannons."
Larin frowned. That was troubling. The Kirat Empire never attacked without overwhelming force, and if they were holding back, that meant they were planning something worse.
"I see," he murmured. "I'll head there first."
And with that, the conversation ended. Larin took a deep breath, then sprang into motion, leaping up into the trees. His body moved effortlessly between branches, [Gliding Step] allowing him to soar from one point to another. Below, Minao watched him go.
"The young lord—Larin—is growing to be quite diligent," she observed.
Thanpau let out a tired sigh. "We better not waste time either. We need every man we can get out there."
They turned and resumed their march.
As Larin approached the Border Fort, he searched the sky for the Guardian Beasts. The Firevein Hydra and the Stormhorn Seraph were nowhere to be seen. His stomach churned. Were they hiding, or had something happened?
Every now and then, a bombardment struck the Fort's invisible shield, causing the protective barrier to shimmer before fading again. The attack pattern was predictable, like the Kirats were testing the defenses rather than truly trying to break through.
Larin hurried forward.
The moment he stepped through the gates, he was met with a familiar face.
"Pyro," Larin greeted.
"Larin!" the soldier grinned, face etched into exhaustion, relief in the line of his shoulders. "Thank Sinlung, man, you look like you have been through more than a few sieges already."
"I wish I hadn't," he returned.
Quick small talk filled in the blanks until Larin could excuse himself to head for the Command Tent; he wanted a word with the officers.
Inside, Mualza, Vanchiau, Professor Belvarius, and Harlan were deep in discussion over a worn-out map, the candlelight making the ink shimmer. They looked up as Larin entered, eyes widening in surprise.
Mualza spoke first, his gravelly voice carrying authority. "Does your father know you're here?"
Larin shook his head. "No."
That set them off. The officers murmured among themselves, arguing in hushed tones. The Chief's son, here without approval, in the middle of a siege. It was a risk.
"We can't keep him here," Belvarius said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Zakop would have our heads."
"He's already here," Harlan pointed out. "And he's fought more battles than most of the recruits we've trained."
That silenced them with a single sentence. "I'm not here to sit behind walls."
They turned to him.
"I'm going beyond the border," he continued. "Alone."
Vanchiau's brow furrowed. "That's suicide."
Larin crossed his arms. "A team would be easier to track, especially with the Auquans helping the Kirats. I can move undetected. Hit their supply lines, take out key targets, weaken them before they even get here."
The officers looked at each other. It was a reckless idea. But it wasn't new.
"That's what Zakop, Pupi, and Hwehwe are already doing inside the Kirat Empire," Mualza admitted. "They've separated their forces, launching strikes to disrupt their logistics."
"Our forces here are holding the line," Vanchiau added. "But the Kirats send wave after wave of expendable battalions. They're bleeding us out slowly."
Larin's jaw clenched. This war wasn't about strategy or tactics—it was about endurance. The Kirat Empire had the numbers, and they were willing to throw bodies into the fire until Xiaxo collapsed from sheer exhaustion.
"Then I'll make sure they have fewer bodies to throw."
There was silence in the tent. Then, finally, Mualza sighed. "Do what you must. But don't die."
Larin nodded, turned on his heel, and left.
He moved through the Border Fort, taking in its facilities. The forges glowed red-hot, workers crafting weapons as fast as they could. He passed by the infirmary, where healers worked tirelessly to keep the wounded alive. Soldiers sharpened their blades, eyes hollow but filled with determination.
This place was holding. But for how long?
Larin curled his fingers. His new bow, his dao, and his gourd of Sinlung mix were all secure on his hip.
The war wasn't waiting for him.