The 'meteor' across the sky blazed brightly before fading into nothingness, still lingering in Caesar's vision. He had seen countless meteors in his life—brilliant, dazzling, multicolored—but never one quite as peculiar as this. After all, since when did meteors fly upward? Beyond the visual anomaly, there was also a suffocating pressure in the air, a sensation Caesar was all too familiar with. Whether it was during the massive fleet battles, the brutal bloodshed of the Gordon Highlands, the struggle for Felmer Grand Canyon, or the recent siege of Phalanx City, this oppressive feeling had always been present. Magic?!
Caesar wasn't the only one who noticed. The surrounding squad captains also sensed the disturbance, their expressions darkening. Unlike Caesar, they hadn't seen the 'meteor,' but as seasoned knights accustomed to walking the razor's edge of life and death, they could feel the faint ripples in the atmosphere—ripples that only rare and mysterious magic could cause.
"Where is it?" asked Chris, Captain of the Third Squadron.
"Not sure, but it can't be far; otherwise, we wouldn't have felt it," replied Dal, the Third Squadron's Vice-Captain, his voice heavy with caution.
"The fluctuation is weak. The magic level shouldn't be high," added old Karl, nodding thoughtfully.
Though these squad captains had rarely seen their side's mages up close during past wars, their survival through countless battles meant they were no strangers to enemy mages. Every one of them could swear they'd narrowly escaped some form of magical attack at least once.
Young Master Soren looked curiously at his subordinates. Though Soren himself was a peak-entry-level squire, most of his strength came from rare potions, herbs, and a carefully managed diet. In noble circles, he was considered relatively diligent, but compared to the squad captains—men who lived and breathed battle—he lacked their honed survival instincts.
"There!" Caesar suddenly tossed aside his roasted chicken and pointed towards the mountain slopes to the northwest.
The squad captains exchanged uneasy glances. Should they go? Something had clearly happened in that direction; otherwise, there wouldn't be magical traces. But magic often meant danger. While they'd all faced death many times, willingly walking into an unknown magical disturbance was another matter entirely.
"What is it?" Soren asked.
"There's a magical fluctuation in that direction," Caesar replied, pointing again towards the mountains.
Soren's eyes lit up. "Let's go! Something must've happened there. Perhaps it's exactly what our mission requires us to find!" Bold and unhesitating, Soren made his decision.
Chris hesitated. "It's likely we're the only ones who noticed. Both the Baron's troops and Knight Will's forces are too far away. They probably haven't felt the magical disturbance."
The implication was clear: if they went, they'd be on their own, facing unknown danger.
Soren wasn't foolish; he understood Chris's concern. But his desire for glory outweighed his caution. During the recent siege of France, he had been protected by Caesar and Jelson, never truly facing the frontline. The scar left by a stray arrow on his face had added some rugged charm, but deep down, he felt embarrassed. He wanted to prove himself—prove that he was more than just a noble with good equipment. After all, in terms of pure fighting energy, he outranked most of the squad captains.
"Then send someone to contact the Baron and Knight Will. Meanwhile, we'll advance cautiously and assess the situation. If it looks too dangerous, we can retreat," Caesar suggested, understanding Soren's mindset.
Soren nodded approvingly. "Good plan. We'll check it out. If someone needs our help, we can't just stand by. That's a direct order from the military command." Soren felt satisfied with his quick-witted subordinate.
With the 'military command' invoked, none of the squad captains could object. Besides, Soren was in charge here; even without an explanation, they had to follow his orders.
"Ael! Hausen! Go contact Baron and Knight Will respectively!" Dal barked orders at two nearby soldiers.
"Yes, sir!" The two soldiers didn't hesitate, abandoning their half-eaten dinners and rushing into the night towards the other commanders' positions. It would likely take them until dawn to catch up.
"Move out!" Soren commanded, leading the way.
"Form up! Forward!" Caesar and the other squad captains rallied their troops and followed.
Clad in his luxurious chainmail, Soren felt confident. After all, he hadn't sensed the magical fluctuation himself—a clear sign that the magic was weak. If an entry-level squire like him couldn't detect it, the magic couldn't possibly pose a threat to their entire group.
Meanwhile, Princess Angelina was still fleeing—running with every ounce of strength and willpower she had left. Her physical and mental endurance had reached their breaking points, but she refused to give up. Twice more, she had cast Lightfoot, further draining her dwindling reserves of magical energy. And still, the blood-red pursuers drew closer.
If not for their orders to keep her alive, her pursuers could have easily stopped her by now. Angelina's eyes flickered with despair. As Garrel's princess, she could not—would not—allow herself to be captured. Whether for the dignity of her royal family or to avoid becoming a burden on her brother at the frontline, she had to keep running.
Her mother had died six years ago, and since then, Angelina had devoted herself to magical study under one of Garrel's finest mages. Her brother Kensel had taken a different path, training as a military leader and eventually commanding the Lion Legion, Garrel's elite forces. Their father, King Garrel, took great pride in both of them, cherishing their accomplishments as his greatest legacy.
Leyte and Casar, seeing their soldiers struggling to capture the fleeing princess, cursed under their breaths and joined the pursuit themselves.
By the time Caesar and the others arrived near the signal flare's location, they spotted Angelina running desperately through the woods, pursued by blood-red armored soldiers. Her tattered white robes and exhausted expression didn't diminish her ethereal beauty. In the moonlight, her pale skin seemed to glow, and her delicate figure radiated an almost otherworldly fragility. To Soren, she looked like a frightened doe crashing into his chest.
How could someone be so beautiful? Soren thought, his breath catching.
Faint traces of magic still lingered around her—a clear sign that she had been casting spells. Soren's imagination filled in the gaps: this stunning mage must have been attacked by some sinister force, using her remaining magic in a desperate attempt to survive.
"Charge! Rescue her!" Soren roared, dashing forward with reckless courage. His heart pounded—not just from excitement, but from the image of himself as the heroic savior.
"Be careful, Young Master!" the squad captains called out, following closely. They weren't distracted by the princess's beauty; they saw only the capable enemies chasing her.
But Soren wasn't just thinking about beauty. Kyle Territory desperately needed a resident mage. If this mage became his wife, their offspring might inherit magical talent—an unparalleled advantage for his family's legacy.
Gripping his weapon tighter, Soren charged ahead, his eyes fixed on the fleeing princess.