---

[Chapter 30 - Unreachable]

"Hah... Hah... Hah..."

That was the only thing he could muster. He's breathing hard, his fists were bruised, but still gripping his brass knucles tightly. In front of him, one of the Iron Thorned Knights that breached the rampart, his red tabard over plate armor gleaming in the afternoon light.

"Die!"

When will this ends? Asep thought, quickly dodged the pikeman's thrust before striking a heavy blow to the man's throat, bent the  gorget out of shape and crushing his windpipe. The man gagged under the crushing weight. Immediately after, Asep kicked the man away off the rampart, plummeting into the moat below.

"Argh!" The sound of clash and shoutings resounded all across the rampart of the small fort. Asep couldn't tell who's screaming, Ardenian or Albion. Probably both. This fort, The Black River Hold, was a small stone bastion constructed to watch over the western Ardan river, a crossing leading towards Merlesia. It was meant to hold the line against raiders, not an army.

Another Knight with a halberd  jumped onto the wall, swinging his weapon downwards. Asep dodged left, rolling beneath the arc of the swing, and grabbed the shaft. Using his momentum, he planted his foot on the pole and kicked the man's face, a loud crack of metal against nose echoed, but the knight staggered.

"Bastard! Disgusting! Lack of Chivalry!"  The Knight screamed under his bucket helm.

Asep scoffed, "Yeah right, you honorless piece of shit! Your Chivalry and  virtue my ass!"

The air changed, and Asep could tell this guy is no joke.  The Knight's aura changed as he draw his arming sword.  A swift, heavy strikes forced Asep to take a step back, but even then, the wind from the blade slashing a shallow cut across his nose.

This was a fast paced fight. No fancy footwork, just to kill the enemy with bare minimum effort, else, they will die from exhaustion. Asep takes a deep breath as he dodged, rolling to the side as the blade chipped down at the stone floor. The knight didn't give him quarter, turning the swing around, and managed to graze Asep's shoulder.

He hissed due to pain, but didn't stop to counterattack, delivering a heavy blow with his brass knuckle into the Knight's helmet, effectively knocking him out, before finishing with a blow on the Knight's sternum with his Tenaga Dalam,  crushing his breastplate and vital organs.

"Haah... Haaahhh... Damn it!" Asep  hissed as he held the bloody wound on his hand. This pain, this blood... his adrenaline pumping but he is tired.

This feels like my first day in prison, but with swords, Asep thought, wiping his brow. There were corpses surrounding him, blood splattering the cold stone, and the distant sound of clashing metal, men dying, and horses neighing echoed across the courtyard.

How long until the daytime siege ends, damn it! Why thirty minutes feel so long?

At this rate, the blockade will break them. There were too many, and his body is already screaming. Overusing Tenaga Dalam had his body overclocked beyond its limit. He had been using his internal power for every strike he made since they arrived three days ago, and it made him worried.

No... I still have enough energy to fight.

He took a breather. He glanced toward the East, a thin line of smoke drifting from the distant keep tower where his company, Karl and Stark were with  the rest of the mercenaries at the other side, fighting  against the massive, overwhelming force of the Iron Thorn Knights.

Still, I need another way to fight. Overusing my own internal power would literally cut off my life span. Maybe I should start picking up and maximize medium-range fighting style with my modified hand-crossbow and short sword. My Brass Knucle and Internal Power should be reserved for special opponent.

Suddenly,  he could heard a horn, and slowly, the Knights began retreating  from the rampart. Asep watched them jump back down to their ladders, or simply slide into the moat. They were regrouping for tomorrow siege.

But the night won't simply made them stop either. Although the daytime active siege had mostly ceased, night  raids were a constant threat, not to mention the sentries that need to be constantly rotated.

"Look, the sun is setting!" One of the surviving defenders yelled with relieved tone while panting heavily.

Asep glanced towards the horizon, bathed in orange rays, casting long shadows. But, he only slumped against the stone and pulled out a pouch from his belt. His hands were trembling, but not with fear. He opened it, revealing not gold nor silver.

"Finally," he whispered hoarsely, "A smoke, at last."

He pulled out a rolled paper of tobacco, putting it between his bruised lips. His shaking fingers struggled to light the match against the rough stone wall.

---

With the siege temporarily abated, the defenders of Black River Hold retreated to the central keep and its surrounding courtyards, transforming the fortified space into a makeshift field hospital. The groans of the wounded  mingled with the sharp orders of medics and officers, creating a discordant symphony of survival. Royal Army Light Conjurers, easily identifiable by their  red-trimmed brown robes, moved from one wounded soldier to another, their hands glowing with the soft, soothing luminescence of low-tier healing magic. Beside them, the mercenary healers, focused on setting broken bones, stitching deep lacerations, and administering pain-numbing concoctions.

Asep, however, remained mostly alone near the eastern rampart, a little ways from the main cluster of the injured. He sat on an empty wooden crate, his back resting against the cold stone wall, his posture slouched in utter exhaustion. His dark eyes, devoid of their usual lazy glint, stared blankly into the distance while continuously smoking the tobacco he had.

Even though he know this might be the last pouch of it due to Albion's tightening their blockades to get not only tobacco, but also many essential  goods up and down to Ardenia, right now it is better to savor it while it lasts. He took a long drag of the smoke, let out a ragged breath, and blew it outwards, straight up to the dark sky. The stars above barely twinkling.

He could feel his own heartbeat thrumming loudly against his chest. It’s getting faster… the adrenaline hasn’t worn off. The overuse of his Tenaga Dalam was making itself known. The strain on his meridians was severe; a dull ache pulsed in the core of his stomach, radiating outward to his limbs. Every movement felt sluggish, every breath strained.

Soon, he noticed someone approaching. It belonged to a young woman, a Royal Army’s Light Conjurer, identifiable by the red accents and emblem on her attire. Her short, ash-blonde hair slightly disheveled. She wore a long, dark brown robe with a high slit, a practical red cloak resting on her shoulder, and dark boots over red socks. A golden-headed staff with a blue gem of Lumite rested loosely in her left hand.

"Excuse me, sir," she began, her voice soft but  firm. "I am Sophie, a Light Conjurer of the Royal Army. Please, let me tend to those wounds. You appear severely injured."

Her gaze lingered on his bruised, battered knuckles. They were swollen, the skin broken and inflamed.

Asep blinked twice, bringing his focus back to the present. He let out a smoke, looking over at Sophie. Her calm, neutral face reminded him of nurses from a hospital ward back in Bandung. The nostalgia, fleeting as it was, made him chuckle softly.

"Thanks for the offer, Miss Sophie," Asep replied, his voice raspy. He tapped the ash from his cigarette against his boot. "But I'm fine. Just a few scrapes and bruises. You should focus on those guys over there," he pointed with his chin toward the main courtyard where moans of pain still echoed. "They need it more than I do."

Sophie frowned slightly as she stepped closer. "With all due respect, sir, you have several lacerations on your arms, and those hands require immediate attention. Infection sets in quickly here. Allow me."

Without waiting for further protest, she raised her staff. The blue gem embedded within the golden flower bud at its tip began to glow with a warm, gentle light. She directed the end of the staff toward Asep’s bruised hand, initiating a basic [Healing] spell.

The light enveloped his hand. Sophie poured her magical energy into the spell, willing the bruised tissue to knit and the swelling to subside.

But nothing happened.

The light bathed his skin, but the bruises remained dark and tender. The small cuts on his arm showed no sign of closing.

Sophie furrowed her brows in sudden confusion. What...? She increased her output, the light growing brighter. Still, the wounds remained stubbornly unchanged. It was as if her magic was simply flowing around him, failing to interact with his physical form.

Asep watched the glowing light with a tired expression. He sighed, taking another drag of his cigarette. He knew exactly why the spell wasn’t working. His body, devoid of native Lumite, simply didn’t respond to conventional healing magic in the same way the locals did. It's the same case when Castillo trying to mind-control him during the final battle in Roake back then.

"I told you, don't bother," Asep said quietly, pulling his hand away from the staff's light. "Your magic won't work on me. It's a... congenital condition. A waste of your mana."

"That is impossible," Sophie whispered, her eyes widening slightly as she lowered her staff. "My spells are sound. The flow was perfect. Why didn't it take hold?"

"Like I said, waste of time," Asep reiterated, leaning his head back against the stone wall. "I heal the old-fashioned way. Rest and time. You have a lot of people to save, Miss Sophie. Don't waste your energy on a stubborn bastard who can't be fixed by magic."

Sophie just stared at him, her mind struggling to rationalized the failure of her spell. Her gaze shifted from his unresponsive wounds to his face. Beneath the dirt, sweat, and casual demeanor, she saw the tightly drawn lines of pain around his mouth and the weary shadow in his eyes. He was hurting, perhaps more severely than he let on, yet he held himself together with a stubborn, silent resolve.

She wanted to insist, to try a different spell, a different approach maybe. But the sounds from the courtyard—the urgent calls for a healer, reminded her of her duty. Every drop of magical energy she spent fruitlessly here was a drop denied to a soldier bleeding out on the cobblestones.

"I... I understand," Sophie said softly, a heavy heart clearly visible in her expression. She grip her staff tighter. The realization that she couldn't alleviate his suffering unsettled her. "If... if you require bandages or pain-relief salves, please ask the quartermaster. Do not neglect those wounds entirely."

"Will do," Asep nodded, giving her a reassuring smile. "Appreciate the thought. Now go. You've got lives to save."

Sophie hesitated for a fraction of a second before turning away. As she hurried back towards the main cluster of wounded, she couldn't shake the image of the solitary mercenary. He’s in immense pain, she thought, his body pushed to the brink. Yet he sits there, smoking in the dark, bearing it all alone. Who is he?

After his pain numbed and tended his wounds, Asep found Karl and Stark sat at the fire not that far from where he sat. He stood up, slowly, his legs shaky and wincing. He sat on an empty log near the bonfire. It is the time for a shift change, they have their rest for tonight as the fresh reinforcements take their places on the walls, replacing the exhausted ones.

"Hey, nice timing, mate," Karl said, taking a bite from a chunk of bread as he grinned. His bandana was stained with dirt and blood of a knight he probably slain earlier. "Are you fine?"

"Kinda... Heard Kolgrim from Corgan's contingen got critically wounded, how's he now?"  Asep replied, stretching his legs before pulling his final drag. He'd never see this battle ended so fast if only all of them has assault rifles, or maybe shotguns, dropping dead enemies from hundreds of meter away.

"He's being healed," Stark stated calmly, throwing a piece of firewood to the fire. "That was close... That guy is lucky that our squad and Corgan's squad still stick together."

"This place is an absolute mess..." Asep commented absentmindedly.

"Anyway, new reinforcements and supplies should be arrived soon. I want to go home and tell my wife I'm doing fine." Karl  laughed warmly. Asep just chuckled dryly at Karl's usual upbeat attitude. I wish I could do the same.

Asep lay on his back near the bonfire, his tired eyes slowly closing. His consciousness drifting back to his world, remembering the soft, gentle rain of Bandung, the bustling streets full of angkot, the comforting scent of fried food at a street vendor, and the warm smiles of his departed friends. He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep amidst the stench of death around him, waiting for the dawn to break.

---

The darkness of the night  was absolute, save for the dull glow of torches carried by the mercenary escort. Zachary Valente rode at the front of the supply convoy, his hand resting on the hilt of his sheathed sword. Behind him, wagons heavily laden with essential supplies for the besieged Black River Hold lumbered along the rutted road, their wooden wheels groaning in protest.

"This road should be safe, it remains under the Royal Army's control,  but stay alert. If enemies attack, protect the convoy at all cost." Zachary ordered, his voice low but carrying clearly to his men. "The enemy knows we're coming."

They had crossed the Ardan river a few hours prior, the water cold and sluggish beneath the pale moonlight. Since then, the journey had been a tense descent into hostile territory. The thick forest flanking the road felt oppressive, entirely devoid of the usual nocturnal symphony of insects and wildlife.

Suddenly, a crude volley of arrows erupted from the treeline, thudding into the sides of the wagons and the wooden shields of the mercenaries. Panic briefly flared among the draft horses as they whines.

"Enemies ahead!" Zachary  shouted, drawing his elegant longsword in a fluid motion. The steel caught the glint of torchlight, a beacon of authority amidst the chaos. "Castalia, defend the convoy!"

From the thickets, a band of figures burst forth. Bandits by the looks of them, wearing a chaotic mix of stolen leathers and rusty mail. "Looks like we're lucky, boys!" one  of the bandits roared, raising a notched battleaxe. "The  Albion pay well for these supplies!"

"Sylvanne!" Zachary called over the clamor, parrying a strike from a spear-wielding bandit. He effortlessly stepped inside the man's guard and drove his sword home. "Break their vanguard!"

"With pleasure!"

Sylvanne, her massive greatsword drawn, was already in motion. She hurled herself into the largest cluster of bandits with a ferocious battle cry. The sheer weight of her weapon, combined with her monstrous strength, sent men flying like ragdolls. The clash of steel resonated loudly over the shouts of men and the neighing of terrified horses. The bandits, expecting easy prey, quickly found themselves completely outmatched by the disciplined and hardened Castalia mercenaries. Within minutes, the remaining bandits broke line, scrambling back into the forest from whence they came.

Zachary wiped his blade clean, his breath steady. The skirmish was a minor distraction, a nuisance more than a real threat, but it confirmed his suspicions—the Albion Empire was paying local cutthroats to disrupt Ardenia's supply lines, further strangling the Royal Army. While it is true that bandits didn't give two shits whether who ruled the land, Zachary still couldn't stomach the thought of Ardenians fighting Ardenians over the coin of their invaders.

Maybe Gawain uses the same strategy we used during liberation of Roake? Zachary thought, trying to think from Gawain's perspective. It wouldn't be completely identical, considering the scale of the war, yet it might be possible... The  Albion didn't use  mercenaries or bandits out of necessity, but to soften the Royal Army before delivering a fatal blow to the heart of the kingdom.

Zachary's gaze returned to the road ahead. Through the trees, he could see the silhouette of a wooden watchtower. The Royal Army's supply depot, the final waypoint before the grueling trek  to the besieged Black River Hold.

"Hmph! Filthy scumbags, selling out their own country," Sylvanne spat upon  the body of a bandit. "Mount up," Zachary ordered, sheathing his sword. "We need to get moving to the outpost ahead. Hopefully there won't be any interruptions on the way."

They continued their trek relatively safe, no major battle ensued. Once we reach the outpost...  Zachary thought. The outpost served as a relay from the capital to the entire western frontline, meaning fresh supplies from the deep south and Loriana would gather here first before distributed further.

However, as the vanguard rounded the final bend, the reassuring glow of the outpost's lanterns finally can be seen. However, a grim silence permeated in the air. Strange. There's no guards here.  The wooden gates of the outpost were open, and he could heard screams and the clang of steel from the inside.  The mercenary commander narrowed his eyes.

"Halt!  There is a struggle ahead." Zachary said to his men, motioning for his vanguard to halt. The convoy stopped behind him.  "Sylvanne, Sylvanne!" He called her.

He rode forward with  her and few of his most trusted men, the rhythmic trotting of his warhorse echoing ominously on the beaten path. Discarded weapons and the unmistakable stench of freshly spilled blood guided them toward the open gates. They found the bodies of the Royal Army guards, brutally slain in their positions. Their chainmail rent open, limbs severed by powerful, deliberate strikes, far too clean and precise for the ragged bandits they had fought earlier.

"What is this..." Sylvanne murmured, gripping the hilt of her massive sword.

Zachary quickly dismounted, pulling his elegant longsword, analyzing the scene.  "The cuts... it's a very skilled knight." His gaze moved towards the central barracks building. "Castalia Vanguard! Formation, now!" He barked.

At the deeper part of the outpost, a few Royal Armies were struggled against the vicious attack of the Knights. There's at least 20 Knights here, completely overpowering the remaining Royal Army's guards.

"Die!" shout the axeman of Iron Thorned Knight, cleaving the Royal Army's archer in half.

"Are we really assigned to raid supply lines? Such unchivalrous tasks from Gawain!" An older Knight wearing a blue tabard over his silver armor muttered as he wiped the blood off his longsword. It's clear that this is a former Avalon Knight from their tabard color and insignia, likely a knight loyal directly to  the 'King of Judgment'.

"What a disgrace to Knighthood." Another  younger  knight scoffed, leaning his spear on his armored shoulder. "First, our holy order's name is dragged through the mud because of William's treason. Now, Gawain ordered us to become glorified bandits. It's preposterous."

The axeman from Iron Thorned Knights laughed  boisterously. "Look at these 'righteous' holy knights! Even your holy king order you to stain your holy hands by raiding supply line. Chivalrous? This is war! Gawain know we Iron Thorns  is far more efficient, far more ruthless!"

Zachary remained composed, observing the enemy ranks from the shadows near the entrance of the outpost. These weren't irregulars. A mix of Iron Thorned Knights known for their brutal, unrelenting tactics and Gawain’s loyalist within Avalon Knights, a formidable vanguard force  tasked to disrupt Ardenian supply lines.

"Is this the extent of Albion's chivalry?" Zachary’s voice sliced through the banter of the Knights. He stepped forward the light, his presence commanding immediate attention. The mercenaries of Castalia mirrored his movement, spreading out to encircle the Albion forces.

"The Castalia!" one of the younger Avalon's screamed in disbelief.

"Well well well, The mercenaries are here to play heroes," the Iron Thorns Axeman sneered, hefting his bloody weapon over his shoulder. "Looks like tonight brings some special prize!"

"Archers!" The cry cut through the tension just before the first volley of arrows arched over the stockade walls, raining down upon the assembled Albion knights. The dull clatter of iron-tipped shafts striking plate armor resounded across the courtyard, as ineffective as pebbles against a fortress. Yet, the sudden assault achieved its intended purpose: distraction.

A lithe figure, adorned in the vibrant, flowing silks of the Renjiran Dancing Troupe, landed gracefully. Naraya, her short sword glinting in the moonlight. Around the perimeter of the outpost, more of her kin emerged from the shadows, their bows drawn, readying a second volley.

"Is that... the legendary Renjiran beastfolk?" One of the Knights looking in awe at the arrival of  the dancers. Most  people in the Rodinian continent knew about their existence through stories and rumors, but seeing their ethereal beauty in person was entirely different. Still, they are the enemy right now.

"Hmp! Puny arrows," The Iron Thorn axeman chuckled, swatting away a shaft that bounced harmlessly off his pauldron. His eyes then fixed on Naraya. "Focus on those acrobats! Half of you, go hunt down the archers in the woods. Leave the Castalia here and that  dancer girl  for us to crush."

The commands were followed instantly. Several heavily armored knights broke formation, charging towards the perimeter walls where the Renjiran archers were positioned, while the remaining ones squared off against Zachary, Sylvanne, Naraya, and some other mercenaries.

"Leader, this is our chance!" Naraya  shouted to Zachary.

"Yeah. Thanks Naraya, you've been a huge help. Let's break through this outpost!"  Zachary ordered. Following his lead,  the Castalia vanguard rushed forward to engage the Knights. Naraya weaved around the Knight spearmen, dodging gracefuly around them while attacking at the same time, her movement flowed like dancing. Sylvanne , however, didn't bother using such footwork, meeting the Iron Thorn Axeman in an explosion of sparks and raw power.

Their weapons collided.

The sheer shockwave forced the Knight backward, his expression morphed from cocky arrogance to shock as the immense pressure from the greatsword pushed him further.

"Die you wench! Iron-Thorned Creed: Ignite!"  the Axeman roared, his giant axe  glowing red with heat, seemingly channeled a Fire Lumite embedded on its hilt.

Sylvanne smirked viciously. "Oh, shiny, but practically useless! Look carefully, this is my new toy from our friend in Roake!"

Instead of using any wind magic derived sword art,  she pressed a hidden toggle on the hilt of her  huge greatsword. Immediately, steam hissed from a hidden chamber, connected to a miniaturized Fire Lumite propulsion mechanism within the blade’s core, a prototype designed by Treste. The sudden thrust of energy violently amplified Sylvanne's swing, the increased force shattering the glowing axe in two and cleaving through the knight's chest plate with horrifying ease. The Axeman fell backward, gasping heavily from the wound on his chest. He died without finishing his sentence.

The raw display of power horrified the remaining Knights, especially the Avalon loyalists.

Meanwhile, Zachary was moving fluidly from enemy to enemy, deflecting heavy thrusts from polearms and swords, exploiting small openings in the enemies' defenses, killing them with precise strikes. His movements were calm and calculated, honed through years of warfare.

Slowly but surely, the numerical advantage initially held by the Albion forces diminished significantly. Even heavily armored Knights couldn't compete with the agile and unpredictable combat styles that the Castalia vanguards possessed, a chaotic mix of techniques adopted from the various factions of the Coalition.

After several agonizing minutes of metal clashing and pained shouts, the battle subsided. The courtyard, once a staging ground for an ambush, was now littered with the bodies of fallen knights. The returning Renjiran dancers, having successfully lured and dispatched the pursuers in the unfamiliar woods, confirmed the area was secure.

Zachary wiped the blood from his longsword before sheathing it quietly. "Status?"

"Minor casualties, mostly just scratches." Sylvanne reported while stretching her back. "Well, that was a good warm-up."

"The outpost is ours again, Commander." Naraya approached Zachary, sheathing her short sword. "The supplies the Royal Army kept here haven't been burned yet."

Zachary nodded. "Good. We need every last grain of flour. We can't afford to rest yet, the Black River Hold needs this immediately. Have the men check the wagons, take out everything usable and load it on our convoy. We move out in ten."

The rest of the journey beneath the waning moon proved blessedly uneventful. The tense anticipation of another ambush slowly bled out of the caravan as they drew closer to the Black River Hold, the road largely abandoned save for the distant, booming echoes of the ongoing siege further north. When the imposing silhouette of the fortress finally emerged from the gloom, its battered walls illuminated by hundreds of torches, a collective sigh of relief seemed to pass through the ranks.

The gates groaned open to receive them. The arrival of fresh supplies—crates of hardtack, barrels of salted meat, medical provisions, and, crucially, bundles of arrows and bolts—ignited a desperate cheer among the exhausted defenders. The Keep’s quartermasters swarmed the wagons like starving men at a banquet, barking orders to begin inventory immediately.

Zachary didn't linger near the unloading zone. He wove through the crowded courtyard, his eyes scanning the weary troops huddled around small cookfires. He found Stark first, the spearman just stared at the bonfire. Karl was a few paces away, snoring loudly against a wooden post with Asep beside him.  Both looked as though they had been dragged behind a horse for a mile.

"Leader," Stark said, rising smoothly to his feet and offering a crisp salute. The weariness in his eyes was profound, but his posture remained rigid.

"At ease, Stark," Zachary replied, his tone softer than usual. He glanced at the other two. "Looks like you boys have been earning your pay tenfold."

At the sound of Zachary's voice, Asep cracked an eye open, squinting through the gloom. "Boss? Didn't expect you to play delivery boy." He grunted as he shifted his weight, wincing slightly as a dozen bruises made themselves known. Beside him, Karl snorted and jerked awake, wiping drool from his chin.

"Commander!" Karl yelped, scrambling up.  "When did you get here? Did we miss the party?"

"Just dropped off the provisions," Zachary said. "The vanguard just arrived. Sylvanne and the fresh recruits will be taking over the rotation starting at dawn. Which means," he held up a hand to stall Karl’s inevitable cheer, "your squad is shifting to the rear guard. Temporarily."

Stark frowned slightly. "With respect, Leader, the walls need experienced men right now. We can still fight."

"You can barely stand, Stark," Zachary pointed. "And I need my veterans alive for the long haul, not dead from exhaustion because they refused a rotation. Besides, we have some... specific requests."

Zachary turned to Karl. "Karl, I received word from the refugee camp in Loriana. A woman named Cecilia came looking for you. Said she brought your daughter, Mimi, with her from Merlesia."

Karl physically stumbled back a step, the color draining from his face before rushing back in a flush of pure, undiluted joy. "Cecilia? Mimi? They made it? They’re really in Loriana?"

"They are safe at the Radiant Temple annex," Zachary confirmed with a slight smile. "I suggest you take the first transport back in the morning. A soldier with his mind completely focused on his family makes for a distracted sentry."

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!" Karl practically vibrated with excitement, already looking toward the southern gate.

Zachary then shifted his attention to Asep, who is slowly cleaning  his bruised knuckle with a piece of cloth.

"And you," Zachary said, his expression turning a shade more serious. "It's time to head back as well."

"Okay? Wait, why?  " Asep stopped wiping his knuckle, "Don't tell me I'm fired?"

"No, you aren't," Zachary sighed softly while shaking his head slightly. "It's Treste. She’s been threatening to blow up my office with an experimental mortar shell if I didn't send you back immediately. Apparently, she has hit a critical bottleneck with Project Highway.  I fear if I don't comply her demand, the Loriana  will be blasted into a huge crater before noon."

Asep snorted, a tired laugh escaping his lips. "Project Highway? Right, the new prototype chassis for the four-wheeled combustion buggy. Damn gremlin couldn't wait a few more weeks until I get back from the frontline." Let alone weeks, he just survived three days straight of bloody struggle. If there ever was a time he truly wanted some down time in the safety of Loriana's workshop, it's now. Not to mention, a fresh smoke wait for him back there. A proper, clean bed and a hot meal didn’t sound too bad either.

"Alright boss, but  can wait until the sun sets later? I wanted to see the first combat deployment of Vsevolod's men," Asep asked, "Besides, Sylvanne needs someone to brief the newly rotated troops on the deployment positions for today, maybe."

"Suit yourself. I’ll make sure there's a fresh horse ready." Zachary chuckled. “Just don't get yourself killed while trying to teach Sylvanne how to use the 'Mark-I Defensive Grenade.' The last thing I want is to collect pieces of you across the moat because you drop a live explosive while tired.”

"Noted, Boss." Asep grinned  before returning his attention to his bruised knuckles.

As Zachary walked away to coordinate the remaining tasks with the Royal Army officers, Karl suddenly clapped a heavy hand on Asep’s shoulder, making the latter wince.

"I can't believe it, man! My girls are safe!" Karl face looked brighter than the sun.

"Yeah, yeah. Good for you, Karl." Asep replied dryly, despite feeling genuinely happy for his chaotic friend. In this brutal war, survival of an innocent family member was nothing short of a miracle. "Just don't forget to pack some souvenir for the kid."

Stark shook his head with an exasperated sigh but couldn't hide the relief in his eyes either.