“Everything seems to be going according to plan, Commander,” Ursuline noted.
Riftan neither confirmed nor denied it, opting instead to accelerate the army’s march.
Hebaron looked at him with a quizzical expression. “Did the message contain any troubling news?”
“None. Everything is progressing as planned. Once we’ve liberated Midna, we will advance to Dristan to reclaim the last occupied city. That should delay the dragon’s resurrection.”
The problem was what came after. Lost in thought, Riftan gazed over the snowy expanse. He frowned when he felt the wind pick up. Ice particles swirled above the ground like fog, and thick snowflakes poured from the gray sky.
A snowstorm is coming, he thought as he tried to gauge the remaining distance to their destination. Though they still had a considerable way to go, pressing on would mean setting up camp in a blizzard.
Riftan guided his horse southeast. Soon, a lumber camp abundant with conifers came into view. A shallow, frozen stream stood nearby. He surveyed the sparse tree stumps, log piles, and snow- covered cabins before signaling a halt. The place appeared to be deserted; the loggers had likely evacuated long ago. It seemed a perfect spot for the army to rest for the night.
“We will stay here tonight. Set up camp with haste!”
The knights promptly began unloading the luggage from the wagons. Riftan walked Talon around to oversee the soldiers, who moved with well-practiced coordination. While the foot soldiers positioned the wagons and erected tents, the knights led their steeds to the stream for water. Once satisfied with their progress, Riftan rode up the hill to check on the Baltonians.
The northerners were establishing their own camp about a thradion(Approximately 185 meters.) away, and so far, there had been no suspicious activity within their ranks. They were likely being cautious, aware that openly defying the Council’s orders would make them enemies of the Seven Kingdoms.
His eyes locked onto the green banner of the Knights of Phil Aaron before he turned Talon around, heading back toward the heart of the camp. As he watched the quartermaster distributing rations, he noticed Kuahel Leon sitting nearby, staring blankly into the blazing flames of a campfire. Somehow, his relaxed demeanor got on Riftan’s nerves.
This war, and the hellish task of preventing the dragon’s resurrection, should have fallen to the Temple Knight commander. But ever since Leon had rejoined the coalition, he seemed solely focused on guarding the relic. Perhaps he thought laying low was the most prudent course of action.
Riftan clicked his tongue in irritation. The church had cleverly managed to shirk its responsibility by relinquishing leadership of the coalition army – a first since signing the armistice. King Reuben had eagerly stepped in, hoping to consolidate his power. In stark contrast, Balto’s king had chosen a more cautious, passive approach. As a result, command of the army was now Riftan’s burden to bear. Success would yield him a high-ranking title and autonomy for Anatol.
Yet, despite each party having something to gain, he despised how the church had cunningly absolved itself of the responsibility for losing the dragon stone. He was certain that Leon had been on the hunt for the stone even during the expedition to the Pamela Plateau. Knowing that such critical information had been withheld from them incited a hot anger within him.
Suppressing his mounting resentment, he tore his gaze from the Temple Knight. Nothing fruitful would come from quarreling over it now.
Riftan’s gaze then fell on his wife. She was leading her horse to the stream, her fiery hair in a long ponytail. Charon trailed behind, talking to her, but she seemed to ignore him. With a swift, sharp movement, she cracked the frozen stream with her boot to let Rem drink, then spiritedly led her mare toward the temporary stables.
Riftan sighed as he watched her refuse Charon’s offer of assistance, proceeding to unsaddle her steed herself. He swiftly descended the hill and dismounted, blocking her path.
“Come with me. Let Charon tend to your horse.”
Her eyes flashed defiantly, something he had seen often when he spoke commandingly or she felt unfairly favored.
“I want to help you train before the snow worsens,” he quickly added.
“R-Really?” she asked, her face lighting up in delight.
Riftan regretted his decision the moment he noticed the dark shadows under her eyes. Still, with the impending snowstorm, he could have her rest after a few light exercises.
“I haven’t had time to do so until now. This seems like a good opportunity.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she handed her reins to Charon. Riftan led her near the lumber camp, a space mostly empty except for the neatly cut tree stumps dotted around. Once he had made certain there was no one about to disturb them, Riftan turned to face her.
She wore a leather guard over a loose gray tunic. Along with the sword hanging from her waist, she looked like a woman clumsily disguised as a man. He warily eyed her slender shoulders, delicate wrists, and narrow waist.
“Draw your sword,” he said, giving an aloof nod. “We’ll start with your posture.”
Maximilian flickered a nervous glance at him before unsheathing her weapon. Stepping behind her, he adjusted her elbows and the angle of her wrists. He then guided her arms up and demonstrated a slashing motion.
“Now try doing it diagonally.”
“L-Like this?” she asked, tentatively swinging the sword.
Though there was some progress, she was still as stiff as a block of wood. Stifling a sigh, he corrected her posture once more.
“There are five basic swings: diagonal, sideway, and a vertical cut aimed at the head. Once you’ve mastered each, you must learn to seamlessly combine them. Now, try again.”
She awkwardly swung her sword once he stepped back.
“H-How about this?”
After watching her, brows furrowed, Riftan reached out to adjust her stance. Despite his efforts, she seemed to struggle to understand the difference between the movements he was demonstrating and the erratic flailing of her limbs. As someone who had been blessed with physical prowess from a young age, he found Maximilian’s complete lack of it utterly baffling.
Summoning his patience, he explained gently, “Open your legs wider. You’ll be able to put more strength into your lower half that way.”
Maximilian obediently followed his instruction and swung the sword with all her might. Repeating this unfamiliar movement over and over again must have taken a toll, as her pale cheeks were flushed and her breath winded.
The sight was tantalizing. Riftan looked away with an uncomfortable expression. He had brought her here to give her a moment of respite from the grueling labors of the camp. It was not so he could have his way with her.
Clenching his jaw, he spat brusquely, “We should stop here.”
“I-I can keep going.”
She wiped the sweat from her forehead and repeated the movements. Riftan grabbed her arm and forcefully took the sword from her hands.
Searching her face, he asked, “Why are you so anxious about it?”
“There will be a battle soon, and if I wish to be… helpful even a little…”
Riftan’s expression hardened. “Have you forgotten your promise? That you will put your safety above all else? I bid you to learn the sword only so you would have an additional means of protecting yourself, not so you could fight in battle.”
“I-I am aware of that! I just-” Maximilian exclaimed before snapping her mouth closed.
Riftan was taken aback when he saw tears welling in her large gray eyes. When he leaned toward her, she looked down to avoid his gaze.
She said in a hushed voice, “I just… wish I was capable of doing something more.”
“You are already fulfilling your duties as a mage.”
“B-But they are all… menial tasks.”
“You also cast barriers during battles and heal the wounded.”
“Don’t you see? I want to be useful to you in more ways than that!”
Riftan’s brow furrowed as he gazed down at her slumped shoulders. What could she possibly want to do for him by learning how to use a sword? Though a part of him found it absurd, he also found her spouting of such nonsense so endearing that he nearly let go of his reason.
Barely managing to maintain his composure, he said rather stiffly, “As a new recruit, you are already doing more than enough. To want more would be presumptuous.”
“B-But I am also your wife!” she shouted heatedly. “It is not presumptuous for a wife t-to want to help her husband!”
Her eyes always flashed like silver flames whenever she was angry. All of a sudden, he found himself unable to hold back any longer.
Lifting her off the ground, he carried her across the lumber camp. Maximilian flailed her legs, making incomprehensible protests. Riftan glanced around and spotted an abandoned shed nestled between the trees. He made a beeline toward it.
Inside, he pressed her against the column of the dingy log shed and hungrily devoured her lips. She stopped pounding his shoulders, responding with the same passion as she wound her arms around his neck.
A contented moan seeped from him as he pressed his rigid member against her soft abdomen. In one fluid motion, he undid the strap around his wrist and tossed aside his gauntlet and glove.
Her skin was hot and damp with sweat beneath her tunic. After urgently stroking her smooth torso, he pushed his hand up and under her leather breastplate.
He felt her nipple grow taut beneath his palm. He rubbed his thumb against it to stimulate it further, then loosened the buckle of her armor with his teeth. Spreading his hand over her full breast, he began to knead gently.
