"The Marquis isn't here?"
"Yes."
"Then where is he now?"
At the very center of the eastern camp by Mirror Lake, inside the largest and most luxurious tent, a man and a woman were engaged in conversation.
If Colin were here, he would have immediately recognized the man kneeling before the woman—he was the same knight from the Saint Hild family who had previously issued the emergency conscription order to the Fire Fox Mercenary Company.
Back then, that knight had been full of arrogance. But now, he knelt humbly, completely submissive.
"The Marquis… he…" The knight hesitated in the face of the woman's questioning.
"Sir Bliss, if this is a matter of military orders, you don't need to tell me," the woman said softly, not pressing him further.
She was tall and slender, wearing a slightly oversized white fox-fur cloak. Her golden hair fell down her shoulders and back, shimmering with a kind of magical light that made people afraid to stare, yet unable to look away.
A thin, translucent black veil covered her face, but the elegance and nobility that radiated from her could not be hidden.
Every movement she made exuded an irresistible presence—an air of command and dignity only true highborn nobles possessed.
Yet atop her head sat a mage's hat, and in her hand was a purple magic staff—revealing her as a mage.
That was quite odd.
In the human empires of this world, nobles and mages were not exactly mortal enemies, but they certainly lived in two different worlds.
The reason was simple: mages had no faith.
To them, only arcane truth was worthy of pursuit. Gods were merely powerful mortals who had mastered arcane knowledge.
Thus, in the eyes of noble knights devoted to the Lord of Radiance, mages were outright blasphemers—heretics who deserved to burn at the stake.
However, in the Glorious Empire, where nobles held absolute power, mages were not especially persecuted.
Why? Also simple—mages were powerful.
That said, like warriors, mages who lacked divine faith could never break through to the Saint rank. No Saint-rank mage had ever appeared.
But mages had one key difference: even without reaching the Saint rank, they could still unleash Saint-level power.
The secret was forbidden spells.
With sufficient preparation, rare materials, and terrifying costs, a sixth-rank mage could cast one.
During the fiercest period of conflict between the Church of Radiance and the Mage Council, ten sixth-rank mages once combined their power to cast the forbidden spell "Falling Stars".
It wiped an entire city of over a million people off the map.
Of course, the cost was devastating—seven of the ten mages died on the spot, and the remaining three perished within five years.
But their sacrifice made the Church and nobility understand how terrifying mages could be, eventually forcing a truce between the two powers.
Still, the millennium-old hatred and religious rift weren't easily erased. As a result, nobles and mages remained largely estranged.
So, this female mage—treated with utmost respect by a Saint Hild knight and seemingly a high noble herself—was indeed very strange.
Seeing that the woman did not press further about the Marquis's whereabouts, Sir Bliss let out a breath of relief.
But after a brief hesitation, he warned: "Miss Vera, I suggest you leave the camp as soon as possible. This place… is not safe."
"There's no such thing as safety on a battlefield." The woman looked at the knight curiously and replied calmly, "I came here ready to fight."
"No, you don't understand what I mean," Sir Bliss said, raising his voice slightly. "What I mean is—this place is extremely dangerous."
The mage's expression changed. She stared through the black veil at the kneeling knight and asked in a low, serious tone:
"Sir Bliss, what exactly was the Marquis's order to you?"
⸻
"My task is to patrol the western camp and maintain order," Sir Raymond said to Colin.
The two of them were walking through the eastern part of the camp. Compared to the chaos in the west, the eastern side was quiet and orderly.
But… it was too quiet.
Colin frowned, looking around at the camp, a growing sense of unease gnawing at him.
"Just patrol and maintain order? No orders to send out scouts?"
"None." Raymond shook his head, clearly confused as well. "Not just our squad—I haven't seen any cavalry sent out for reconnaissance."
Colin's brow furrowed deeper.
On the battlefield, information was everything.
Yet this entire camp beside Mirror Lake had apparently given up on scouting the surrounding terrain?
That was basically military suicide!
Unless Charles the Marquis was a complete idiot… this could only mean one thing:
This camp wasn't important at all.
Or worse—it was bait.
"The army's main force must've left the camp long ago, right?" Colin asked Raymond, scanning the eerily calm eastern camp.
"Yes, my lord. Troops have been leaving daily, but none have returned."
"So the real army's gone, and what's left are just those mercenaries and conscripts summoned by the emergency order. And of course, knights like you, who've lost your lord and fallen into disfavor."
"Exactly. Our real mission is to keep those rabble in line and prevent them from deserting."
"In that case…" Colin trailed off as he saw a cavalry squad emerge from the center of the camp.
The leader was a woman on a white horse.
And behind her… was the knight who had issued the emergency conscription to the Fire Fox Mercenaries.
A big shot!
Realizing just how precarious his situation was, Colin immediately started walking toward them.
Since the Marquis was nowhere to be found, perhaps this mysterious noble mage could get him out of being used as cannon fodder.
But he had only taken a few steps when a blaring bugle blast jolted him.
"Wooooooo—"
Colin spun around and saw birds scattering from the northern woods.
Then, with the ground trembling beneath their feet, a black-and-white wave appeared on the distant horizon—
The trolls were here.
Like water dropped onto boiling oil, the entire Mirror Lake camp erupted into chaos.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"
"Don't run! Form up! Get into formation!"
…
The officers' shouting was useless. The ragtag bunch of conscripts in the western camp panicked and completely fell apart.
This was the price of not sending out scouts—no warning, no prep time.
And even if they'd had a warning, the cobbled-together militia wouldn't stand a chance against a professional troll army.
Colin knew exactly what was about to happen:
A massacre.
He turned to Raymond and pointed at the woman who was riding quickly east.
"Let's go. We stick with her."