“I still must protest against the notion. This is a poor idea, my Lady.”

  Within the main hall of Castle Elathion, several figures were assembled around a massive map.

  The map was detailed with the most up-to-date news on the Western oceanic warfront. It was clear from a single glance alone that what was once a bitter stalemate for both factions had developed into a one-sided battle with the Kaldreach Coalition on the losing side.

  Outnumbered, outmanoeuvred, and outmatched on every front, the noose was tightening around the fragmented forces of the Coalition.

  No… Perhaps it was more accurate to say the noose has already tightened.

  It was clear from the map that the scattered Coalition was doomed for eradication.

  “The situation has changed greatly, but our reasoning for not heading to the Slaver Isles throughout these past four years remains sound,” Captain Lauren continued. “In every aspect — manpower, political weight, or even just logistics — we utterly lack the means to sway the war in any appreciable way. This remains unchanged even now that the Coalition is losing.”

  “Not losing. Lost,” Deyara chuckled darkly. The elf was smiling mockingly. “Considering even this ‘up-to-date’ information is months behind the actual front, it might be likely they are all dead already. Or worse, captured.”

  “You’re just a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” Bori murmured. He then sighed. “Still… Can’t say she’s wrong. And neither is Captain Kill-Joy over there. We can’t do anything. It’s way too late.”

  “Maybe if we haven’t sat on our asses these last four years, we won’t be too late!” Julie angrily said.

  “Let’s not delude ourselves. Being too late implies there was a chance we could have changed anything,” Alvine calmly pointed out. “In the first place, this is a conflict waged between tens of thousands of Chosens. Those in charge are firmly within the middle Jewelled-Ranks — Sapphire, Emerald, even Amethyst. Any contribution we can make is laughable, even if we had entered the front years ago.”

  “Can’t be much worse than doing nothing,” Raharim muttered. “Look at this mess: the mercenary companies fleeing, the Imperial Army besieged, the Church forces in chaos, the noble families dead or taken hostage! This is a bloody disaster!”

  “Do not speculate,” Dulcina said calmly. “The news regarding the Coalition's latest defeat is still shrouded in uncertainty.”

  “Neither should we blind ourselves to the truth,” Joarris chided lightly. “The ambush that destroyed the Kaldreach command ship is undeniable. As are the facts that most of the people on that ship — Lord Draevan, Lord Horatio, even Master Aldred, the leader of the Coalition — have since gone missing.”

  “I have combed every reputable rumour mill in the city, and even beyond, but there is little news of Lord Draevan or Lord Horatio’s fate,” Peythra said apologetically. “At the very least, I do not believe they are dead or captured. The Duskcrowns would have displayed their bodies publicly if they truly had them in their grasp.”

  “That’s reassuring… in a morbid kind of way,” Bori offered uneasily. “Doesn’t change the fact that we definitely shouldn’t go there.”

  “House Elathion will go alone if it has to,” Dulcina said neutrally.

  “Be reasonable. You and Joarris are the last scions of your noble houses, as are the rest of us. Most of the rest of us,” Alvine corrected tiredly when Julie perked up. “If we die, that will truly be the end of our Saint’s bloodlines. We cannot afford to be this reckless. There’s a good reason why we have stayed behind all these years, beyond our own powerlessness to effect changes in the West.”

  “Neither can we do nothing when the Coalition faces imminent destruction,” Dulcina countered. “Almost everyone else has given up on the expedition’s survival. Even the three Great Houses have decided to cut their losses, save for House Korvalis.”

  No surprise there. House Korvalis had contributed their most precious heir and weapon to the Coalition — Young Master Aldred and the legendary lance, the First Virtue — and were thus desperate to get them back, no matter the cost.

  “We are the only ones in a position to move to the Coalition’s aid,” Dulcina continued. “At the very least, we must secure the Lords of our Houses back.”

  “Except that we are in no position to do such a thing, my Lady!” Captain Lauren stressed. “I will freely admit that you are exceptionally strong for your age. That you have achieved a Silver Core in record time is proof of that. The same goes for the rest of Young Master Joarris’s group.”

  The rest of Joarris’s group shuffled uncomfortably. Within them, shiny-bright Silver Cores radiated fresh mana. For Chosens of their age, it was nothing short of a miracle that all of them had manifested their Silver Cores barely four years after obtaining their Bronze Cores. Save for Saints reborn, even the talented would require five whole years to ascend from Bronze to Silver.

  Their inexplicable rise to power was both a source of pride and unease.

  “If you are aware of our strength, then why do you move to stop us from heading to the Slaver Isles?” Dulcina asked calmly.

  “Because that strength is all the more reason you have to remain here!” Lauren almost yelled, such was his distress. “My Lady, you will be a prime target for every slaver and pirate who lays eyes on you! House Elathion cannot afford to lose such talent, especially in these darkest days! This noble family needs you if it is to survive. Your father would not want you to waste your life away trying to save him!”

  The man then turned to Joarris. “Young Master Joarris, I believe the same sentiment lies with your father. You have always acted with rationality. You must already understand the sheer folly of pursuing this venture. If you care for my Lady, then please persuade her off this path!”

  “I am quite aware of the risks involved. Every practical tells me that to go West would be a poor gamble on our part,” Joarris nodded. He then smiled apologetically at Lauren. “That being said, I would be a poor son if I did not try to save my father.”

  “It is suicide,” Lauren tried once more. “Be reasonable.”

  “Be at ease. I have not made my decision yet. After all…” Joarris turned. “The main fulcrum deciding the success of this ‘suicide mission’ has yet to speak.”

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  Everyone knew who he was talking about.

  At once, every single head studying the map turned to Eri.

  The childish, innocent-looking boy that they had all once known was gone. In his place was a young man with a tousled crown of white hair and dark purple eyes. Where he once barely reached any of their shoulder, he now stood tall and lean-muscled, honed by years of training and a well-deserved growth spurt.

  The soft features of his boyish face were gone, sharpened into angles — cutting cheekbones, firm jaw, and a youthful maturity that was striking in its contrast to the innocent roundness he once possessed.

  Not that he had been innocent then… Dulcina remembered the night of blood and fire when they first met, and Joarris’s group recalled the nine-year-old who wordlessly butchered demon imps with nary a change in expression.

  If anything, he now carried a far more sinister aura. The scent of medicinal alcohol, blood, and smoke clung to him like a perpetual scent. Daggers and strange little grenades gleamed from the straps across his cloak and under-chainmail, along with the ever-present spatial pouch hanging from his waist.

  There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the youth named Eri was the most dangerous person in the room, even when considering the Ruby-Cores present.

  However, he was also undoubtedly the most competent — a Chosen with mysterious powers unexplained even now; a Chosen with the ability to pull off miracles.

  And it was why everyone — even Lauren — was waiting for his opinion, for it was Eri who ultimately decided whether their mission into the Slaver Isles was truly one of suicidal folly or hopeful success.

  Eri shifted in place. Everyone was watching with bated breath. The youth opened his mouth…

  … And then yawned quietly, utterly oblivious to everyone watching him. He rubbed his shadowed eyes almost innocently.

  “I knew I should have got more sleep,” he grumbled under his breath. “Curse Kalisa for making me stay up all night to watch the new toxic virus cultures… At least the flesheater grenades are ready. Just have to tune the blast radius and have cure ampoules prepared in case of friendly fire— Ow!”

  Julie smacked Eri in the head. “Stop saying creepy things and focus on the meeting already!”

  “I-I was paying attention, I promise!” Eri protested. He rubbed his eyes again. “Um, but just to check, has everyone come to a decision yet? Or are we still in the debating phase?”

  “You know, you could be a little more invested in the future of your noble House,” Julie scolded. “And I’m saying that as a proud peasant, so you know the situation is bad!”

  “I already understand the situation,” Eri groaned. “I’ve been following the Coalition’s every step with Peythra for the past two years. Heck, I was the one who drafted this map with her!”

  “Then I trust you have a solution to our conundrum, little brother?” Dulcina asked.

  “Several. Plans atop of plans; failsafes next to contingencies,” Eri hummed. “I had hoped for more time, but we will make do with what I have prepared.”

  “Young Master, please, this is foolhardy,” Lauren tried. “In the first place, we don’t even have a ship ready! It will take us months to travel to the Northwestern coast, and even more months just to secure a war vessel!”

  “And what if I told you I have already prepared a fully armed, fully built dwarven-armed Dreadnought-Class warship ready to set sail under House Elathion’s command, waiting for us right at the mouth of the Slaver Isles?” Eri said mildly.

  Nearly everyone stared at him, wide-eyed in disbelief. The only people who didn’t look utterly stunned were Peythra and Deyara — though in the latter’s case, it was because she had already left the table and was lounging on a couch nearby with a bottle of wine in hand and a plate of cheesesticks Eri had already prepared for her in advance.

  “I call complete and utter bullshit.” Bori was the first to speak out. “Dwarven dreadnoughts don’t just appear out of thin air! Next thing he’s going to tell us is that the mysterious sea-dragon that had been sinking pirate ships left and right over the past few years is secretly his pet dog, or something. Watch, he’s going to claim it’s all part of his masterplan!”

  Silence. Eri suddenly couldn’t meet everyone’s eyes. He turned away and coughed, looking sheepish.

  “A-anyway, to answer Lauren’s question, I do have a ship,” Eri pressed on. “Peythra and I have been working on a secret side project for the last two years. As you may know, in addition to the gold from the mining operation, House Elathion has been engaging in several lucrative trade deals involving my medicinal concoctions and weapon schematics, particularly those with Dwarven contracts.”

  “Young Master Eridane has made great leaps in dwarven medicine, to the extent that some of his remedies counteract the symptoms of the White Hunger Plague,” Peythra explained. “In addition, the weapon designs he has innovated have drawn much attention, given that their inspiration stems from irreproducible dwarven technology. Combined with my mercantile efforts, we have seen much profit in the sales of our products, as well as a renowned reputation earned among the dwarven enclaves around the world.”

  “And with Peythra’s aid, we have made connections to one of the last functioning dwarven shipyards in the Slaver Isles — the Throngdravi Shipworks,” Eri continued. “An entirely neutral and fortified warship construction yard, known for producing the finest combat vessels in the Western seas. They have agreed to secretly build for us one of the first dwarven-designed craft in centuries, provided we supply them with an annual supply of medicine.”

  “That’s… that’s incredible,” Lauren gasped. “But… Why were we not informed?”

  “Also, are we all just going to ignore how suspicious his reaction to the dragon was earlier?” Bori muttered, to no one’s attention.

  “The fewer people who knew, the better. Please understand, this was a project with a ridiculous amount of gold being invested in the span of two years,” Eri answered hesitantly. “The sheer scale of it necessitated great secrecy.”

  “I knew you were doing something behind the scenes with your sale of dwarven-targeted goods, but I could have never imagined you were doing something like this,” Dulcina laughed in awe. “You have become sneakier over the years, little brother.”

  “If what Eri is saying is true, then the equation has changed,” Joarris said, still slightly stunned. “A proper Dreadnought-class warship alone would put us on equal footing with most capital vessels sailing the Slaver Isles. A Dwarven-designed Dreadnought, crewed by dwarven engineers, would make us one of the most dangerous ships upon those waters.”

  “With this much firepower, we can safely cut our way through the pirates, even move to assist and link up the Coalition’s scattered forces in the West,” Raharim added. “If those weapons onboard are anything close to the destructive artillery of what Eri has cooked up over the last two years, I say we are as close to unsinkable as possible.”

  “Then it is settled,” Dulcina smiled. “We are going. Our group is small and mobile. If we leave immediately, we should reach the western coasts in less than two months.”

  “Don’t suppose we can put this to a vote?” Bori said uneasily. “This still reeks of a suicide mission to me.”

  “Man up, you wimp. We are going on an adventure!” Julie laughed.

  “It is still dangerous. The Slaver Isles are not a joke, even with a warship,” Alvine warned. “We need to be careful.”

  “We will. Trust in the preparations. I have left nothing to chance,” Eri assured her. “In a few months, we shall sail aboard the most advanced warship known to men, and with it, we shall cut our way through the Slaver Isles and save the Coalition!”

  ~~~

  Two months later…

  Eri stared blankly at the giant, burning wreck of the Throngdravi Shipworks. A dozen vessels waving pirate flags were surrounding the island forge, pounding it with endless rounds of incendiary artillery.

  There was no sign of a functioning ship docked anywhere within the complex industrial shipyard, only the giant burning corpse of dwarven naval machinery — each millennia old, priceless beyond words, and never to be reproduced again. Their loss was an irredeemable sin against progress and knowledge.

  Eri’s expedition group stared at the horrifying sight in silence.

  Key among this scene of devastation was the wrecked remains of a mighty dreadnought warship — his dreadnought warship — sundered in two, having never even made its maiden voyage.

  Rather than being greeted with the pride and hope of their journey, the group met with ruin before they even began.

  Eventually, Bori was the first to speak.

  “Whelp, we tried. Can we go home now?”