Part 1
James swallowed hard, feeling as though the entire world was watching him—even though only Bisera and Velika stood before him. "Yes, precisely," he managed, his voice betraying a slight tremor. "Pure intentions. Always."
Velika's lips curved into a sly smile. Leaning in, she whispered conspiratorially, "So, when you personally tended to Bisera's wounds, was that purely to enhance the divine blessings with your... personal touch?"
James felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple. "Well," he began, grasping for the right words, "Seraphina didn't mention that I could purchase treatments directly, so I had to attend to it myself using the tools she provided." Seraphina... a little help here? he thought. But there was no reply.
Bisera's cheeks flushed a delicate pink. "Of course," she murmured, her eyes meeting his briefly before darting away. "I'm grateful for your... swift action."
"Yes, swift action indeed," Velika echoed, her grin widening. "And such... thoroughness."
Desperate to escape the conversation, James's gaze shifted to the soldiers scattered across the battlefield. "Ah, look over there!" he exclaimed. "The soldiers are... um... what exactly are they up to?"
Bisera turned to observe. "They're collecting valuables and equipment from the fallen enemies," she explained. "It's customary to reclaim useful items after a battle."
James blinked. "They're looting?"
Velika chuckled. "Such a harsh word. Think of it as... resource management."
"Right," James said slowly. "Efficient."
Bisera nodded. "Weapons and armor are valuable. It would be wasteful to leave them. Our soldiers need some incentives, especially during these difficult times."
"I suppose that makes sense," he conceded, still feeling a bit uneasy. "These are medieval times, after all."
Velika nudged him gently. "You seem uneasy, Lord James. Not used to seeing such... hands-on activities?"
He gave a nervous laugh. "Well, back home, we have... protocols for this sort of thing."
"Oh, so you reserve your personal touch for tending to Bisera?" Velika teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
James felt like he'd walked into a trap. "No! I mean, yes—I mean, no!"
Bisera chuckled. "Velika, perhaps we should let James be."
"Am I embarrassing you, Lord James?" Velika asked, feigning concern.
"Embarrassed? No, of course not," he lied, his face betraying him with a deepening shade of red.
James's face was aflame, and he desperately sought an escape from Velika's teasing. Just then, as if answering his silent plea, a soldier approached them, his expression serious.
"General Bisera!" the soldier called out, stopping a respectful distance away.
Bisera turned to face him. "Yes, what is it?"
The soldier saluted. "General, during the collection of equipment, we found several Gillyrian soldiers still alive among the fallen."
Bisera's eyes narrowed slightly. "How many have you found?"
"Around half a dozen, General. Some are wounded badly, others are stable."
James felt a strange tingling at the back of his mind. Suddenly, Seraphina's voice echoed softly in his thoughts. "Your first official task begins now, James."
He blinked in surprise. "Seraphina? What do you mean by task?" he thought.
"Remember, you agreed to be my knight? By agreeing to it, you accepted the mission from me to sow peace between the rival nations of Vakeria and Gillyria."
"What? I didn't know what I was agreeing to. Isn't this lack of informed consent?"
"Well, you didn't inquire, being rather captivated by my radiance. It's unfortunate; I did attempt to minimize it for your sake. Alas, perfection is difficult to conceal."
James was speechless... Seraphina was certainly confident about her image, but he couldn't even remember what she looked like other than those eight flaming wings.
"These Gillyrian soldiers are your opportunity. Save them, and do it in a way that leaves a deep impression and sows the seeds of compassion. Begin to mend the rift between the Vakerians and Gillyrians. Remember, true change starts with small acts of kindness," Seraphina told James.
James swallowed hard. "But how am I supposed to do that?"
"By showing that mercy transcends enmity. Your actions here will ripple outward. Remember that time when Bisera showed mercy with the bandits."
Bisera was already issuing orders. "Have them treated. Ensure they're disarmed and guarded, but treat their wounds."
The soldier hesitated. "But General, I do not think we have the capacity to carry these people with us; they will slow us down, and time is of the essence."
Bisera met his gaze steadily. "They may be our enemies, but they are our brothers in faith. We should not kill them outside of battles. Leave them here after treating their wounds."
James took a deep breath. "Let me see if I can help with the healings. If I can speed up the process, maybe our troops can get moving faster."
Bisera looked at him appreciatively. "Your assistance would be most welcome."
As they made their way to where the wounded Gillyrian soldiers were being gathered, James's mind raced. "Seraphina, if you want me to help bring about peace, couldn't you have given me more resources? Weapons that could end this conflict swiftly?"
"Peace achieved through domination is no peace at all," Seraphina replied gently. "Balance must be maintained. Your path is one of guidance, not force. In time, you will understand."
"Are you... the archangel Bisera spoke of?" he asked hesitantly.
"Patience, my dear James. As you complete more tasks, more shall be revealed," she responded enigmatically. "After all, what better motivation than an intriguing mystery?"
James sighed. That's just like Seraphina. Archangel or not, she is a troll.
"By the way," Seraphina added casually, "as you progress in your mission, I shall grant you the ability to traverse between this world and your own, and perhaps bring Bisera along when needed."
James felt a surge of excitement. "Truly?"
"Indeed. I'll provide you with a trial of this ability tonight," she replied.
Part 2
The palace of East Vaker loomed high above the sprawling city, a grand structure that still bore the markings of the nomadic past—tall tents alongside stone walls, the fusion of old and new. Inside, Saralta found herself surrounded by the familiar faces of her brothers, tribal elders, and military generals. Every time Saralta attended these meetings, she couldn't help but feel an impatience—a restlessness that the enclosed stone walls only made worse.
Her father, Prince Tugor, sat at the head of the gathering, his hulking frame draped in furs and gold-threaded silks. But Saralta's eyes didn't focus on him right away. Instead, they flickered to the figure perched on his lap—her mother, Yuying.
Yuying, even at 46, was the kind of woman who seemed to defy the passage of time. Her beauty, once delicate, had deepened into something so refined it was almost otherworldly. Her skin, still smooth and luminous, lacked the faintest trace of wrinkles, and her large, almond-shaped eyes gleamed beneath her long lashes, adding an air of innocence that only enhanced her allure. Unlike the other consorts, who wore their years with dignity but with visible signs of aging, Yuying's face seemed untouched by time. Her jet-black hair was braided into multiple intricate plaits, each woven with care and ornamented with small golden beads, cascading down her back like dark rivers glimmering in the torchlight. Draped in silken robes that clung gently to her lithe figure, she moved with a grace that made every motion appear effortless.
As Yuying leaned her head lightly against Tugor's broad shoulder, Saralta noticed how her mother's skin glowed in the firelight, her features so flawless that she could have passed for a woman half her age. Her lips curved into a soft smile, playing the role of the quiet, docile wife. But Saralta knew her mother too well—there was nothing passive about Yuying. The way she rested on Tugor's lap, with his hand resting possessively on her buttock, was part of the carefully crafted image she had perfected over the years: the frail beauty in need of protection.
The generals and warriors, however, were not entirely immune to Yuying's allure. Saralta noticed it immediately—how the eyes of the men in the room would linger on her mother, stealing furtive glances whenever they thought no one was watching. Even the older, battle-hardened generals couldn't seem to resist the magnetic pull of Yuying's presence. Her beauty was a constant source of fascination, an irresistible draw that made men risk even the slightest moment of admiration, though they knew the danger of being caught.
Saralta's lips twitched slightly. No man dared stare for too long, not with Tugor seated right there, his arm wrapped around Yuying with obvious pride. Her father, far from being angered by the stolen glances, seemed to relish them. He knew the effect his favorite consort had on the men, and it only bolstered his ego. Tugor, like the proud steppe horseman he was, took pleasure in displaying what he considered his prized possession. Yuying's allure reflected his power, his status, his ability to claim the most beautiful woman in the room.
Saralta's eyes shifted to the other consorts seated on either side of Tugor's throne. Though they sat with their heads held high, their faces carefully composed, she could see the strain in their expressions. The tension around their mouths, the faintly narrowed eyes, and the rigid postures betrayed their barely concealed jealousy. Each one had once held Tugor's attention in her own way, but now they were no more than ornamental relics beside Yuying's enduring beauty. They tried to mask their bitterness, but it was clear to anyone who knew them well—the aging lines on their faces stood in stark contrast to Yuying's youthful glow.
Saralta's gaze lingered on the fourth consort, a woman only a year older than her mother but now looking old enough to be Yuying's mother. The deep creases around her eyes, the thinning of her once-lustrous hair, and the visible toll of years had aged her beyond recognition, making her look frail and tired in comparison. The contrast between her and Yuying was jarring, almost unnatural.
Could it be her mana channeling? Saralta mused. It wouldn't surprise her in the least. She had long suspected that her mother's mastery of mana was far greater than Yuying had ever revealed. If Yuying had reached a level of proficiency in controlling her mana, it wasn't impossible that she had discovered a way to slow the aging process itself. It would explain how she remained untouched by the years, her beauty eternal, while the other consorts withered before her eyes.
Saralta's fingers tapped absently on the armrest of her chair as she watched her mother play her role to perfection. Yuying's power, unlike hers, was subtle, quiet, hidden beneath layers of softness and submission. But Saralta knew better. She had seen the true strength behind that serene facade—the power that had once felled a charging aurochs with a single movement. Her mother could easily crush her rivals if she wished, but instead, she chose to remain hidden, using her beauty and grace as a shield.
Saralta stifled a sigh, the weight of the realization pressing on her. Her mother's ability to remain youthful, to manipulate the men around her, even her own father, was yet another testament to the dangerous potential of wielding power from the shadows. It was a lesson Yuying had drilled into her time and time again: true strength was not in showing one's hand, but in controlling everything from the background, unseen and unchallenged.
As the hall quieted once more, Saralta turned her attention back to the matter at hand. The messenger, still dust-covered from the road, stood waiting in the center of the gathering, and her father raised his hand to signal for him to speak.
"Speak," Tugor commanded in his booming voice, the authority in it brooking no delay.
The messenger bowed low before he began, his voice steady despite the weight of the news he carried. "The message I bear is from the imperial capital of the Vakerian Empire," he said. "It arrived at the kesik—the receiving platform for the homing pigeons—this morning. The expeditionary force sent against the Gillyrians has been crushed."
A stunned silence fell over the room. Saralta felt her muscles tense, her hand gripping the edge of the wooden armrest of her chair.
"The treachery came from within. The sentinel assigned to guard the Vakerian camp was a spy—one of the Gillyrians. They opened the gates to Emperor Alexander's forces in the dead of night. His army, thirty thousand strong, overwhelmed our troops. The capital now calls for immediate reinforcements to be sent to Podem, where the Emperor will stage his defense."
There was a long, dreadful pause as the weight of the situation settled over the room. Saralta saw the expressions of the elders darken, her brothers shifting uncomfortably in their seats. This was more than just an ordinary battle. It was a disaster.
Prince Tugor's voice broke the stillness. "And who leads this force?" he asked, though Saralta could already guess the answer.
"Emperor Alexander himself," the messenger confirmed. "He marches toward Podem as we speak."
The hall erupted into low murmurs. Saralta's stomach tightened at the news. Podem was the southernmost fortress of the empire, a keystone of Vakerian defense. If it fell, the Gillyrians would pour into the heartland.
"Rest now," Tugor told the messenger with a wave of his hand, "you have done well." As the man left, the gathered officials turned their attention to the prince.
Discussion swirled quickly, heated with conflicting opinions. How many troops should Rosagar send? Who would lead them? Saralta stayed silent, watching the faces around her as her brothers, the generals, and the tribal elders debated.
"Rosagar can field eight thousand cavalry," one of the generals reminded the assembly. "We are warriors of the steppe. Our strength is in our riders, but we lack foot soldiers."
Another nodded in agreement. "But we cannot send our full force. Raids from the western steppes have been increasing. We've seen signs that a new tribal power is rising. We must keep men here to defend the northeastern gateway into the empire."
More voices joined in, and Saralta could see the tension rising. In the end, a compromise was reached—one thousand cavalry would be sent to reinforce Podem. A force strong enough to support the Emperor, but not so large as to leave Rosagar vulnerable.
Then came the question of command. Her brothers glanced around the war council chamber, each bearing the same expression of reluctance. None were eager to leave East Vaker, where remaining close to the court was crucial for maneuvering through the intricate web of palace intrigues and bolstering their claims to the succession, which had yet to be decided. Most had families to consider, and the prospect of embarking on the long and perilous journey south meant bearing all the risks without the assurance of political reward. With the emperor personally overseeing the defense of Podem, any military victories would likely be credited solely to his leadership, leaving Saralta's brothers with all the danger and none of the glory.
The heavy silence that followed was laden with unspoken excuses. Additionally, their four sisters were all married, and sending them to Podem—far from home—would necessitate negotiations with their husbands, potentially indebting the principality of Rosagar to third-party favors. Moreover, none of Saralta's sisters possessed the necessary leadership experience. While a few were capable fighters, none had ever led an army or shown any interest in such a role.
It was Tugor who finally broke the silence. His eyes, hard and commanding, settled on Saralta. "You will lead the force, Saralta."
For a moment, all eyes in the hall were on her. Her brothers exchanged looks of relief, and even the generals seemed to approve of the choice. Saralta straightened in her seat, her chin lifting slightly. Of course, it would be her. As the only unmarried scion of Tugor with no familial ties to anchor her in East Vaker, she was perfectly positioned. Her unparalleled skills as a rider and warrior made her the most capable leader among them, free from the entanglements of the succession struggle. Deep down, Saralta had always yearned to lead, and now the opportunity was presented.
Moreover, with Tugor having yet to designate his heir apparent, the responsibility to lead the southern campaign naturally fell to Saralta. Her father's choice ensured that the line of succession remained open, allowing her brothers to continue vying for their claims while Saralta fulfill Rosagar's obligation to the Vakerian Empire.
She met her father's gaze steadily, the quiet weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders. "I accept," she replied, her voice clear and resolute
Part 3
The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a golden glow over the rugged landscape. Bisera rode at the front of the column, her horse's hooves clopping steadily against the dirt road. Velika rode beside her, ever vigilant. Behind them stretched a line of weary soldiers, their armor glinting faintly in the fading light.
Trailing the procession was a large, olive-drab military transport truck, its engine humming smoothly—a stark contrast to the medieval setting. James sat behind the wheel, navigating carefully over the uneven terrain. Inside the truck, fifty wounded Vakerian soldiers rested as comfortably as the cramped space allowed. Among them were five Gillyrian soldiers, also wounded but treated, their hands bound and weapons confiscated. Captain Vesmir stood watch over them, his stern gaze ensuring the safety of all.
James glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of the soldiers. He couldn't help but marvel at the surreal turn his life had taken.
Earlier, James had asked Seraphina, "You know, technically I'm working for your mission. Any chance I could get a discount on these... purchases?"
Seraphina's melodious voice echoed in his mind. "Fairness is paramount, James. Just as energy must be conserved, so must balance be maintained."
He smirked. "So you're saying the first law of thermodynamics applies, but with a twist of cosmic fairness? That's the most roundabout way to deny a discount I've ever heard."
"Just a reminder, you can exchange items from this world to boost your bank account back home. The items will be converted at their equivalent value."
He pondered this. "Wait, so I can trade goods here for cash there?"
"Precisely."
Following Seraphina's guidance, James approached Bisera and explained that an offering of some of the captured equipment to Seraphina would grant them a divine means of transporting the wounded.
Bisera nodded thoughtfully. "If it aids our cause and honors Seraphina, then it shall be done."
The soldiers, upon hearing this, readily agreed. With great reverence, they gathered the looted weapons and armor into a sizable pile. James stood before it, the weight of their expectations heavy on his shoulders.
"Place your faith in Seraphina's blessing," James declared. James still couldn't believe an atheist such as himself was acting like some priest of old.
As he confirmed the conversion mentally, a brilliant light enveloped the pile. The soldiers gasped, shielding their eyes. When the light faded, the equipment was gone without a trace.
Whispers spread through the ranks. "He truly is blessed," one soldier murmured.
Even the Gillyrian prisoners exchanged awestruck glances. Though they did not share the Vakerians' beliefs, they couldn't deny the power they had witnessed.
Seraphina's voice chimed in James's mind. "Your account has been credited with $100,000."
He grinned inwardly. "Now that's more like it."
"Would you like to proceed with the purchase of the transport vehicle?" she prompted.
"Yes, let's do it."
Moments later, with a soft hum, a large military transport truck materialized before them. The soldiers stared in stunned silence before many dropped to their knees, heads bowed.
"Seraphina has heard our prayers!" an older warrior exclaimed.
Even among the Gillyrians, three of the five prisoners found themselves bowing instinctively, unable to suppress their awe.
James approached the vehicle, placing a hand on its side. "This will help us move the wounded swiftly and safely."
Bisera approached him, her eyes reflecting a mix of wonder and respect. "Your connection to Seraphina is truly extraordinary, James."
He offered a modest smile. "I'm just glad we can make use of these blessings."
As they prepared to set off, James considered his SUV parked nearby. "What should I do with my vehicle?" he asked Seraphina.
"You can purchase a driveaway service for $500. It will move as if a driver is operating it."
He chuckled softly. "The way services manifest here is both bizarre and fascinating." After having agreed to the service, he watched as the SUV started up, headlights flicking on. It pulled away smoothly, disappearing down the road.
Now, after a long, steady march, the column reached a defensible plateau overlooking a river—a strategic location with natural barriers on two sides and ample space for their numbers. Bisera ordered the troops to make camp, and soon tents dotted the landscape, campfires flickering to life as dusk settled into night.
After dinner, James found himself by one such fire, the warmth a welcome comfort against the cool evening air. Bisera and Velika joined him, the flames casting a soft glow on their faces.
"We'll need to arrange sleeping quarters," Bisera began. "Velika and I share a tent, but space is limited. Perhaps you will have to squeeze in with us?"
James said, "I appreciate the offer," though his voice carried a slight trace of excitement that he did not even detect himself.
Just then, Seraphina's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Inform Bisera that I will bring both of you to your hometown for the evening. You will return by morning."
His eyebrows shot up. "Wait, what? Now?"
"Yes," she confirmed.
Turning to Bisera and Velika, James cleared his throat. "It seems Seraphina wishes to... transport Bisera and me to my homeland for the night. We'll be back by morning."
Bisera blinked in surprise. "Your homeland?"
Velika's eyes widened. "That's incredible!"
"Indeed," Bisera agreed, regaining her composure. She turned to Velika. "You are in charge until we return. Keep the camp secure."
Velika nodded smartly. "You can count on me."
Before any more could be said, a soft light enveloped James and Bisera. The world around them dissolved into a blur of colors and sensations.