*

In the map drawn by the Etnan travelers, Graywood extended all the way to the far north, and at the top of the map, there loomed an old man with an angry expression, shrouded in clouds and exuding billows of smoke. People called this giant "Ashmaker" Anganar, explaining why the winds blowing from the north were so polluted.

As the soldiers of the Ninth Legion braved the treacherous Graywood, advancing through the inches-thick ash of desolate wasteland, they finally reached beyond the northern boundary of the map. The soldiers gazed in awe and reverence at the towering "Ashmaker" Anganar, separated by the sharp-toothed Fenwick Ice Sea; its true form may not have been that of a giant, but the difference was negligible.

Volcano Anganar, resembling the severed root of a colossal tree, rose up from the sea level. The towering mountain was divided in half by the clouds. Beneath the clouds, darkness prevailed, with occasional flashes of lightning and demon-blood-red molten rock, illuminating the barren black rock surface, and the veins formed by years of accumulated lava. Above the clouds, a deep red hue pervaded, resembling a sunset, yet without an end in time or space.

This silicosis-stricken patient coughed relentlessly, angrily hurling massive rocks out of the raging crater. Magnificent boulders, reminiscent of temple halls, ascended amidst dark smoke and burning sulfur, splitting into countless fiery showers within the dark clouds, then rained back down to the ground. From behind the volcano, a distant sound akin to the crumbling of city walls echoed.

Afterward, the brave soldiers set foot on the Fenwick Ice Sea, and even braver soldiers successfully reached the other side. They soon discovered that they were the first outsiders to set foot at the world's edge in decades, but they were far from being the first.

On the first night of camping beneath Mount Anganar, the night watchman discovered a series of flickering orange lights along the ridge line. Despite Commander Constanz's speech to stabilize the soldiers' morale, some people, consumed by extreme fear, lost their sanity and believed in the salvation of the divine flame behind the volcano, deserting the camp under the cover of night towards the lights. Those people never returned, and vanished without a trace.

The thing hiding behind the mountain had managed to survive for several decades, by whatever means necessary. On the other hand, the Ninth Legion's food and water supplies could only sustain them for a few weeks at most. If it weren't for deserters and the harsh cold that had been reducing their numbers, they might not have lasted this long. Finally, after killing off the weak horses, Constanz decided to launch an attack on the back of the mountain.

"Don't go, Vasili." Capillata fastened greaves on the cavalrymen and handed them their weapons. After searching for his good friend's figure to no avail, he finally found him among a group of infantry. "There is great danger ahead, I can feel it," he said anxiously, gazing at the towering ridge line.

Vasili remained silent, focusing on biting a linen strip and securely tying his large sword to his back. Seeing Vasili ignore him, Capillata half-knelt in front of him, hoping his gray-blue eyes could momentarily shift away from the equipment beside him. "You are chasing after an illusionary feeling. It will not bring you any benefit, only lead you towards destruction. And I fear that destruction is not far from you."

The tone of sorrow made Vasili raise his head and glance, but that was all. He put on a muzzle made of wrought iron, biting down on the iron bit with his molars. This peculiar apparatus, rather than being a piece of protective gear, made the wearer resemble a fierce dog. Vasili attempted to bite down, pulling the springs on both sides of his cheeks. Like a bear trap, the two sharp iron plates snapped shut with tremendous force, sparking and emitting a bone-chilling sound.

"Think about your homeland, the throne waiting for you, all the things you can do. While there is still time, you don't have to sacrifice everything here," Capillata tried to recall the past night when the nameless prince of Acdepin shared his stories with him. Since then, he had kept his promise and not flaunted it or mentioned it until today.

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"When you say there is great danger ahead, what do you mean?" Vasili pried open the iron plates and raised his gaze.

"Perhaps it means death," Capillata couldn't help but shudder, "a death that is destined."

"Then I should attend this meeting even more." Vasili laughed heartily, standing up and causing his iron mask to emit a mocking noise. "What better way to demonstrate a warrior's mettle than to face death head-on?" After saying this, he lightly patted Capillata's shoulder and walked into the bustling and crowded infantry, disappearing into the winding canyon formed by armor, shoulders, swords, words, and steam - a place that rejected all weaklings.

Capillata felt the gaze from behind, and he turned around to see a robust black Mantikhorian horse, ridden by an equally tall knight wearing a helmet resembling an iron bucket. Amidst the clamor and dust, if Capillata quieted his mind and observed carefully, he could easily recognize the figure as Commander Constanz. He initially thought the person was a centurion and approached, making a sudden request:

"Please allow me to go to the front lines, sir."

Capillata could sense that through the two pitch-black horizontal slits in the iron helmet, the person was silently scrutinizing him. At that moment, the young man finally recognized the knight's identity, but despite the vast difference in their positions, it didn't make him retract his request.

"What is it that you seek?" a reverberating voice came from under the helmet, with a penetrating tone that seemed to reach the young man's ears, unaffected by the surrounding clamor. "Are you pursuing safety? Achievement? Or something else that you desire?"

"I want to help my friend," Capillata almost instinctively replied, "I want to protect him and fight alongside him."

The armored knight lifted his visor, glanced towards the direction Vasili had departed, then lowered his head to look at the young man before him. "I will determine your fate based on loyalty and wisdom." A low buzzing sound emanated from under the helmet, as if Constanz was not just speaking to the young soldier before him but also confirming his own thoughts. "From what I can see, you cannot convince your friend to grasp your helping hand, nor can you forcefully hold him with great strength." He spoke as he pulled on the reins, "You are not yet ready, Capillata." And with that, he rode away, maneuvering towards the front of the central army, organizing them with a resounding command, and delivering a spirited rallying speech that echoed across the entire coastal plain.

The conversation between them a moment ago seemed to exist solely within the young man's imagination.

As the sun moved towards the rear of the army, over a thousand infantry and cavalry advanced towards the ridge. When they passed by the young man standing still, they impatiently pushed him aside.

When the sun reached its zenith in the deep south, they turned back. However, they could hardly be called an army anymore. They were exhausted and disheveled, with almost no intact armor and hardly anyone without injuries. Among the returning three hundred soldiers, Capillata struggled to find Vasili's figure.

Among those waiting for the army's return was the virgin Sandra. Constanz removed his dirty and dented iron mask from a distance, and without speaking a word, he conveyed the direction of the battle to the squinting maiden.

In the past, Sandra would immediately join the ranks of tending to the wounded soldiers. If necessary, she would even offer a small amount of divine fire to ease the pain of the injured. But today, the divine fire might serve a different purpose. So the maiden did not appear at the aid station for the wounded but instead had a private conversation with the commander in the command tent.

The young man with his eyes bandaged, the weary old soldier sitting on the ground clutching his weapon, and the survivors who trembled in fear, covering their ears and chanting prayers to the rumbling and deafening noises, all awaited news from the camp. Finally, as the lingering dim sun danced along the horizon, Constanz parted the curtain and behind him stood not the maiden in Toga but another knight. Clad in a lightweight silver armor adorned with intricate ivy and rose engravings, the knight wore a double-layered visored helmet with delicate lattice on top.

The news that the virgin would soon march with the army - and prepare to sacrifice herself in the flames to save the legion - quickly dispelled the gloom in the camp. Just hearing this news was enough to reignite hope for victory and ambition to seize the last divine fire. Among the ranks of the second charge, there were also many who held gratitude towards the maiden and couldn't bear the thought of her being consumed by the flames. Even if these people were to turn into ashes, they would still use their fragile bodies to stand between the maiden and death.

The returning three hundred soldiers, along with the two hundred remaining support personnel and the remaining horses in the camp, formed a replenishment legion consisting of four hundred infantry and dozens of cavalry. This diminutive army carried an unusually high spirit and, guided by the shimmering glow of the silver armor, advanced towards the ridge that had crippled them. At this moment, the sun was hovering towards the west, and amidst the volcanic lava and the dazzling sunset, no one noticed the presence of a newcomer among them.

It was a young man, wielding an ill-fitting long sword and wearing a conical helmet. Hidden beneath the wide brim was his radiant golden hair.