"To the grand Crusaders of the Katra, I am your Grand General Dulok Jijdon. As you know, the five nations of Cordinlane fought for the scraps while the rest of Alagore lived in prosperity. And yet, we left the darkness and emerged into the light.

  Since the the founding of our Unity, each one of us knew we had a purpose. The five nations of Cordinlane - under the guidance of the Katra we came together, putting aside our differences and built the greatest nation Alagore has ever seen!

  With out prosperity, our enlightenment, you Crusaders have successfully spread across our Moon, bringing the Katra teachings to all corners of those who wish to dwell in the dark. We have brought light, prosperity, knowledge, and salvation to all. Take heart that with all of your sacrifice, Unity has saved millions to the true path to enlightenment.

  There are those who have resisted, a test of your constitution. Faulter not, that those who CHOOSE to remain on the old path is not your devotions ill but theirs. Continue the march, continue the battle, and the day will come when you will lay down your weapons forever. The day will come when all of Alagore, not just our Unity will live in prosperity. No more starvation. No more poor. No more division.

  Many believe the false Mother, Tekali have summoned the Altaerrie. They are no threat. Demons from another world, only serving to be a final test against our will. Embrace this final test. Our Unity shall endure, and once we crush these humans from another world, our destiny will be complete. And only then, the Gods will arrive and will finally be equal. Now fight!"

  April 18th, 2068 (Military Calendar)

  Hiplose Woods, Former Confederacy of Daru'uie

  Nevali Region, Aldrida, Alagore

  *****

  Standing amid the ashes of the supply base, Lord Kallem Verliance surveyed the devastation. The recently built warehouses lay in ruins, their contents obliterated. Twisted remnants of vehicles, barely recognizable, held little value even as scrap.

  This scene had become all too familiar. The Altaerrie’s relentless attacks on their supply lines had wreaked havoc, and even Unity struggled to counter these Minutemen.

  “My Lord,” Oralit’ee said, approaching. “We’ve gathered the survivors. They all tell the same story.”

  “Altaerrie missiles?” Kallem asked.

  “That’s what they claim.”

  Kallem turned to the skeletal remains of a giant amplifier tower, its upper half obliterated, the orb shattered across the outpost. The pattern was routine: small-scale infantry strikes crippled defenses, followed by long-range artillery with uncanny precision.

  What puzzled him was the timing. Why had the Altaerrie only now unleashed these tactics after a protracted siege? Field Marshal Verlcon Korva theorized coordination between the long-range strikes and ground operatives, a strategy that emerged only after the Minutemen breached their blockade.

  “Do any survivors know how this happened?” Kallem asked.

  “I’m sorry, my Lord,” Oralit’ee replied. “My forces will continue hunting the Minutemen.”

  The idea of retribution pleased Kallem, but he knew it was futile. By the time Oralit’ee’s J’avais clan located the Altaerrie staging ground, the battle for Salva would likely be decided—either an Aristocracy victory or a forced retreat. Diverting manpower now risked weakening their defenses, especially with the upcoming operation demanding every available soldier.

  The question was: how had the Altaerrie managed this?

  “Don’t bother,” Kallem said. “We lack the time to hunt them. Order my vassals to reinforce our rear guard.”

  “You should speak with your Field Marshal,” Oralit’ee suggested. “He let the Altaerrie slip through.”

  “He’s occupied coordinating with Grand General Dulok Jijdon,” Kallem replied, pacing the ruins to assess the situation. “Besides, I doubt the enemy slipped through.”

  “If there’s no breach, are you suggesting they flew?”

  “Impossible. The Altaerrie lack large flying machines, and they know we’d shoot them down, rendering them useless for breaking a siege. No, they found another way.”

  Kallem stopped at a massive crater left by an American missile. His engineers scoured the site, studying the damage or salvaging what little remained. The base had been struck by three such weapons, yet the crater’s shallow depth sparked a realization.

  “They dug under us,” Kallem said.

  “Impossible,” Oralit’ee countered. “We’d have noticed.”

  “Would we?”

  “Even if they did, how could they dig a tunnel so quickly?”

  Kallem couldn’t answer that. Tunneling beneath the blockade made logistical sense, but the speed required seemed implausible. He considered an unknown Altaerrie technology capable of rapid excavation but hesitated to assume unverified capabilities.

  Then he recalled a nearby dwarven City-State. “Vagahm.”

  “Who?” Oralit’ee asked.

  “A dwarven City-State south of here, known for forging.”

  Oralit’ee stood beside him, staring at the crater and rubbing his chin. “I remember them. They sheltered Salva’s women and children before the first siege.”

  “Correct,” Kallem said. “Princess Assiaya—”

  Oralit’ee burst into laughter. “And the false Noble Ryder.”

  Kallem understood the jab. The Americans’ elevation of a junior officer to a noble house was laughable, its legitimacy propped up only by tying the name to a regional princess—a tenuous claim at best. Still, Kallem refrained from mocking House Ryder. Their recent encounters had taught him not to underestimate these outsiders.

  “As I was saying,” Kallem continued, “Assiaya and Ryder secured an agreement with Vagahm. In exchange for releasing Salva’s civilians, the dwarves pledged neutrality.”

  “I thought our spies confirmed Vagahm honored the treaty,” Oralit’ee said. “Didn’t they recently reject a Salva envoy?”

  Kallem hesitated, reflecting on his own actions in the city. He had tried to sway Vagahm to his cause, nearly succeeding, but the dwarves’ stubbornness prevailed. They chose Assiaya’s neutrality treaty, denying Kallem a base or recruits. While he honored the treaty to avoid pushing Vagahm toward Salva, he now suspected duplicity.

  “Our scouts reported Vagahm rejected all Salva envoys, even refusing an audience with the Princess,” Kallem said. “But it seems they’ve played us both, manipulating the geopolitics for their own gain.”

  Oralit’ee clenched his fist. “My Lord, let my clan attack Vagahm. We’ll teach them—and all Nevali City-States—not to cross you.”

  “Under normal circumstances, I’d approve,” Kallem replied. “But we lack proof, only suspicion. Attacking a neutral city now would brand my House as aggressors against a bystander.”

  “We can’t let this deception go unpunished.”

  Kallem traced the crater’s edge, recalling the Minutemen’s rear attacks. Underground tunneling was the only explanation for bypassing the blockade, meaning the enemy could strike anywhere.

  “Oralit’ee,” Kallem said, “summon Toriffa. I have a task for their dwarven engineers.”

  April 19th, 2068 (Military Calendar)

  Salva, Former Confederacy of Daru'uie

  Nevali Region, Aldrida, Alagore

  *****

  Exiting the Minutemen barracks, Mathew Ryder felt refreshed after a hot shower. Seven days of relentless fighting behind enemy lines had left him craving time with his daughter before returning to the fray.

  “You have no idea how badly you all needed that shower,” Natilite teased.

  “You smelled worse than us,” Wallace shot back.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Seconded,” Barrios chimed in.

  “That’s hardly gentlemanly,” Natilite said, crossing her arms.

  “I can show you just how ungentlemanly I can be,” Wallace said with a wink. “Care to visit one of those bathhouses you rave about?”

  “Seconded,” Barrios repeated.

  Natilite gave Wallace a flirtatious glance before smirking. She poked his chest with her index finger. “That does sound fun.”

  Wallace froze, caught off guard by her response, then leaned in confidently. “I could teach you some Earth techniques. A little multiculturalism between worlds.”

  Natilite giggled, tapped his nose, and said, “Nope.”

  Her sharp rejection sent the Templar strutting away, sparking laughter and jabs at Wallace’s expense. Ryder enjoyed seeing the team’s ladies’ man outplayed. Natilite, a seasoned warrior, thrived in the camaraderie of soldiers while retaining her feminine charm.

  As the team dispersed, Ryder headed toward the Palace. Natilite rushed to his side, surprising him.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “To get the brat,” Ryder replied.

  “Cute. Big brave soldier missed his daughter. Mind if I tag along?”

  Ryder hesitated, about to decline since he only planned to bring Assiaya to the team meal. But a nod from his XO, Rommel King, signaled approval. “Why not? Assiaya would love to see you.”

  They passed through Palace security and the near-empty main chamber, where only a night crew remained at this late hour. At his room, Ryder knocked gently but heard no response.

  Concerned, since Assiaya and Ceka should have been there, he unlocked the door. The closet-sized room held two cots with minimal space, everything neatly folded, reflecting Ceka’s professionalism.

  “She’s not here,” Ryder said.

  “Maybe she’s with the Council?” Natilite suggested.

  “God, I hope not,” Ryder replied. “I’ll lose it if they’re dragging her into meetings daily.”

  “Why do you invoke your God when angry or insulting?” Natilite asked. “I’ve noticed you use Jesus’ name when frustrated, too.”

  Ryder paused, stumped. “I… don’t know. Probably just habit.”

  Natilite peeked into the room, unimpressed. “So, this is where you three live?”

  “Three?”

  “Ceka, your motuia Head Maid?”

  “Right. I got her a separate room for professionalism. These quarters are too tight for that.”

  “Smart.” Natilite glanced inside again, then at Ryder. “But a Princess and Duke living in a closet?”

  Ryder saw her point. The space was barely livable for one, let alone a family. “It’s the best we can do. Main rooms are for military use.”

  “I get it—wartime priorities. But once the siege ends, you should claim a villa.”

  “I don’t know,” Ryder said. “I hate cramming Assiaya in here, but can a Captain’s salary afford a place? This is the safest spot for her.”

  “I didn’t mean to pry,” Natilite said, glancing at the room again. “You’ve said you want Assiaya to have a normal life. Locking her in a closet while you’re deployed won’t win you any favors.”

  Ryder stared at the Templar, recognizing her tactic: logically cornering him to upgrade his lifestyle. Her precision, using his own desires against him, reminded him of his wife. “Do women practice manipulation, or does God issue a manual at birth?”

  Natilite clasped her hands behind her back, smirking. “A woman never reveals her secrets.”

  “Carol said the same thing.” Ryder sighed, realizing Natilite’s point might have a deeper intent. Buying a home on Alagore would mean relinquishing his Earth base, symbolizing permanence. As a Royal Duke, the military had long-term plans for him here, but it was a significant step.

  “That’s a big move,” Ryder said.

  He paced the tiny room, puzzled by Assiaya’s absence. Natilite giggled at something, and before Ryder could ask, someone tackled him, nearly knocking him over.

  It was Assiaya, her dual-colored eyes brimming with excitement as she hugged him. “Hola!”

  “I missed you so much!” she said. “Never be gone that long again!”

  “No promises,” Ryder said. “Say hi to Natilite.”

  Assiaya waved enthusiastically. “Natilite! You’re looking spiritual!”

  “Thank you,” Natilite replied. “You’re in high spirits. Because of your father?”

  “Yes,” Assiaya said. “It felt like forever. Uncle Hackett said you were fine, but I was worried.”

  “That’s sweet,” Natilite said. “But careful—worrying too much grows gray hair.”

  Assiaya inspected her hair for discoloration, prompting chuckles. Ryder and Natilite noticed she and Ceka wore oversized military jackets over white undergarments.

  “What happened to your clothes?” Natilite asked.

  “Were you robbed?” Ryder added.

  “No,” Assiaya said. “We gave up our maid clothes for a mission.”

  Ryder exchanged a confused glance with Natilite. “Someone took your clothes for a mission?”

  “No, no,” Assiaya clarified. “It’s for Uncle Hackett. Everything’s fine.”

  “What mission?” Ryder pressed.

  “I can’t tell you. It’s… that secret word. Class… file… fide? Classified! And I’m leading it—my first act as Princess!”

  “The Colonel has you on a classified mission requiring your clothes?” Ryder asked bluntly.

  “Master,” Ceka interjected, sensing his concern. “Colonel Hackett requested Her Highness and many women in the city for a secret project. If you command, I’ll disclose the truth.”

  Ryder swallowed his frustration. “If it were anyone else, I would. Whatever Hackett has you doing, honor the secrecy.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” Assiaya said. “I thought I was helping.”

  “I’m not angry,” Ryder assured her. “Just caught off guard. Anyway, I came to take you both to the mess hall. They’re serving town eggs with MREs.”

  Assiaya squealed with excitement, grabbed Ceka’s hand, and rushed into the room as the door closed.

  April 19th, 2068 (Military Calendar)

  Salva, Former Confederacy of Daru'uie

  Nevali Region, Aldrida, Alagore

  *****

  Fraeya stared at the boiled chicken egg, marveling at its simplicity. Like the others, it had been hardened in hot water, allowing her to peel the shell while the contents remained solid.

  “Fraeya,” Ford said, “you’re staring at it like it’s gold.”

  “I’ve never eaten an egg before,” Fraeya replied.

  “That’s not true,” Ford said.

  The tanned wood elf, half-human, perked her ears in surprise. “It’s not?”

  “No,” Gonzales said from across the table. “That MRE omelet last week was made from eggs.”

  “According to the government,” Forest added, preparing his MRE.

  Fraeya stared at the egg, shocked she’d consumed it unknowingly. “Eggs are a luxury where I’m from. We don’t have animals that produce them daily.”

  “She’s right,” Ar’lya said. “I once got paid with a Sinfernilum egg for guiding a group through the wilderness. It was delicious.”

  “You didn’t sell it?” Natilite asked, astonished.

  “A lady has to eat,” Ar’lya replied. “It was my only chance to treat myself.”

  “We don’t have anything like that on Earth,” Ford said.

  “We do,” Forest countered. “They’re just not economical. That’s what Fraeya and Ar’lya mean.”

  “It was a smart move,” Ryder said, sitting at the head of the table with Assiaya beside him. “The egg initiative didn’t just address the food shortage; it boosted civilian morale.”

  He helped Assiaya peel her egg as she struggled.

  “Good to hear,” Forest said.

  “Bossman’s a genius,” Higgins teased. “Getting in early to become the next billionaire.”

  “I’m not profiting,” Ryder clarified. “I may play House, but I follow ethics regulations. All revenue goes to the city as taxes, not my pocket.”

  “Just joking, sir,” Higgins said. “Too bad we’re not making a cent. I’d have bought my own farm if I knew it’d be a billion-dollar industry.”

  “No kidding,” Forest said. “Back home, we had a chicken farm just to feed ourselves.”

  “Enough whining,” King interjected. “You’ve been at this all week. Shut up or do something.”

  Forest and Higgins exchanged confused glances, then looked at Ryder.

  “Is that allowed?” Forest asked.

  “Of course,” Ryder said. “Captain Millar runs a home business stateside.”

  Assiaya stood excitedly. “I made sure anyone can start chicken farms. The Guilds wanted to monop… poly…”

  “Monopolize,” Ryder corrected.

  “Yes, monopolize them, but I stopped it. Your amendment.”

  “Point is,” Ryder said, “you two can start a farm. Just register with the Merchant Guild. But duty comes first—figure that out.”

  Fraeya watched, fascinated by the inner politics. Forest and Higgins mumbled about a business plan, a concept new to her. Forest discussed equipment needs, while Higgins shared knowledge from urban chicken farms. Their agreement was refreshing, given their usual left-versus-right political debates—Forest from rural roots, Higgins from urban life. Fraeya recognized similar divides from her academy days, where countryside and city students often clashed.

  As Viking passed after their meal, Fraeya noticed them calling Natilite “Mum.”

  “Natilite, why are they calling you that?” she asked.

  Natilite pointed to herself, confused. “They’re saying that to me?”

  “Of course,” Barrett said. “Don’t be humble—take the compliment.”

  “I’ve heard soldiers call me that,” Natilite admitted. “I don’t know why.”

  “It’s because you helped the wounded after the battle,” Barrett explained. “Word spreads.”

  “I was just doing my duty as a Templar,” Natilite said. “I only wanted to bring peace to those being treated.”

  As Natilite described her role as a vassal of Tekali, Horatius arrived from the meal line and sat beside Comanche. Fraeya noted their native clothing, a possible act of cultural defiance rather than adopting American attire.

  When Derion-Luciferus Warclaw, a Luperca, sat on the bench, his weight lifted the table briefly before it slammed back down. He fell backward, embarrassed. Natilite quickly stabilized the table with her supernatural strength, nearly snapping the wood.

  “Sit on the ground,” Alfredus Canina ordered.

  Derion frowned and settled at the table’s end, ripping open his MRE and eating without heating it.

  Most of Horatius followed proper MRE procedures, though some struggled. Primipilus Centurion Alfredus Canina distrusted the chemical warmers, while Ovidius Vestalis complained about artificial effects. Darius Rutilus, however, appreciated the lack of moldy food.

  Fraeya’s attention shifted to ?lia Valhana, Horatius’s Noble Elf mage. Unlike the others, ?lia meticulously arranged her MRE components, using a glowing red crystal on her glove to heat the meal without the chemical pack. The kitsune healer, excited, asked ?lia to heat hers, and ?lia obliged.

  “You must be a powerful mage to control your mana so precisely,” Fraeya said. “I’m impressed.”

  ?lia glanced at her, confused. “Impressed by what?”

  Fraeya’s ears drooped slightly at ?lia’s disinterest. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I admire how efficiently you manipulate mana.”

  “I suppose,” ?lia said, focusing on her meal.

  “Oh,” Fraeya said softly. “Okay.”

  Rosa-Plutas Gavia, the Palatini kitsune healer, giggled. “Don’t take offense. ?lia’s always like this.”

  “She’s all warm inside,” Rutilus teased, earning chuckles and a glare from ?lia.

  “Your jest is crude,” ?lia said.

  Fraeya took a moment to grasp the humor. “Is it because she’s a pyromancy mage? Warm inside?”

  “That’s the joke,” Rutilus confirmed.

  “Humans…” Fraeya muttered, then turned back to ?lia. “I was wondering about your mage rank. I’m an Initiate from the Allsari Thaumaturgy Academy.”

  “I don’t follow academy ranks,” ?lia replied.

  “Don’t be modest,” Rosa said. “A Lat battle mage once compared ?lia to a Disciple.”

  Fraeya’s ears perked in shock. “What academy did you attend?”

  “I’ve never gone to one,” ?lia said, preparing to eat.

  The concept stunned Fraeya. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re new to the world,” ?lia said. “My people don’t confine our minds with the titles of short-lived races. My village believed as much.”

  “But academy ranks aren’t as rigid as Legionary or Altaerrie ranks,” Fraeya said. “Mage ranks reflect knowledge and spellcasting skill, not a box.”

  “You miss my point,” ?lia said. “It’s not what the label represents—it’s the mindset it creates. Take your Altaerrie leader, Ryder. Labeled a Duke, he acts royal. Natilite, a Templar, behaves accordingly. She’s free to live as she pleases, but her title shapes her path. Our Primipilus Centurion, Canina, will always be second to Antius, not because of skill but because of rank. I reject such labels, even fluid ones.”

  Fraeya leaned back, absorbing ?lia’s philosophy, a perspective absent from her academy’s rigid curriculum. She turned to her friends. “Is this true?”

  “Yes and no,” King replied. “Titles carry meaning, which shouldn’t be ignored. But ?lia’s right—people can trap themselves in a mindset. It’s worth remembering.”

  “Fascinating,” Fraeya said.

  Before she could ask more, the city alarm blared. Most in the mess hall remained unfazed, accustomed to the routine, but distant explosions caused everyone to freeze.

  Comanche, Horatius, and other Special Forces teams rushed outside. Fraeya scanned for an artillery attack but saw no active defenses engaging targets. More explosions echoed behind them.

  Turning toward Indolass, Fraeya saw fire and impact bursts lighting up the landmass.