I almost furrowed my brows. “Lucas,” I said, keeping my tone dangerously even. “I need you to do something important. Identify my clothes. And while you’re at it, explain why everyone in this fort is terrified of me.”

His jaw dropped, his panic briefly replaced by sheer confusion. “Your… clothes?!” he blurted, his voice shooting up an octave. “What does that have to do with anything?”

I crossed my arms and arched an eyebrow, staring him down like a disappointed parent. “Yes, Lucas. My clothes. I can’t wait to know what they are. And… Explain. Because apparently, every guard, courier, and assistant thinks I’m some kind of rage-fueled dungeon overlord. And since you were conveniently here before me, I’m guessing that’s your handiwork.”

Lucas blinked rapidly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. Meanwhile, Mila loomed over him, radiating a barely restrained fury that could reduce even the cockiest of brats to a pile of regret.

“Well?” I prompted, tapping my foot against the floor. “Explain, Lucas. I’m all ears.”

For once, Lucas didn’t have a quick comeback. Instead, he wilted under both our stares, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Honestly, it was a kind of satisfying.

“You threw the Keeper's title at me and told me to take care of it,” Lucas finally said, his head rising defiantly, his tone brimming with frustration. “What was I supposed to do? I did not know what I was doing. I tried my best, and… well, the misunderstanding about you kind of… grew.” His voice softened toward the end, guilt creeping into his expression.

I watched him for a moment, my emotions a tangled mess of irritation and fondness. Before he could spiral into a full self-defense, I stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. “I miss you, Lucas,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. But I left it at that—there were bigger things to deal with right now than my Charlie predecessor love life.

I’ll cross that bridge another day.

Clearing my throat, I added aloud, “Obviously, you can’t identify clothes on me, and I’m not about to… strip here.” I laughed awkwardly, hoping to diffuse the tension, but it landed flat. No one joined in.

Rough crowd.

I let Lucas go, giving his shoulder a light pat, and turned my attention back to the room. “I’m happy to see you, my keeper,” I said, with as much warmth as I could muster.

Commander Mila let out a sigh that was half irritation, half exhaustion. “Can we start with the brief?”

“Uh, well…” I glanced at the time, grimacing slightly. “We’re waiting for the imperial attaché. I invited him…” My voice trailed off as I checked the clock again. He was late. Of course he was late. “A few more minutes, I guess.”

Mila’s jaw tightened, a flash of irritation crossing his face before he schooled his expression back into its usual stoic calm. “Why the pause?” he asked, his tone clipped.

“So you could yell at me about how bad I was,” I admitted with a nervous grin, moving toward the map and leaning casually against its edge. “I figured you’d want to do it without the imperial attaché present, so I pushed it.”

“That…” Mila closed his eyes, clearly wrestling with himself, before exhaling deeply. “Is appreciated.”

Best compliment I’m getting from him today, I bet, I thought, stifling a grin.

Right on cue, the door opened with a leisurely creak, and the imperial attaché strolled into the room as if he had all the time in the world.

His stupidly expensive clothes were perfectly pressed, his steps unhurried, and his expression carried that maddening blend of politeness and condescension that only imperial bureaucrats seemed to master.

I want to smack him just because of the ptsd.

“Well, welcome,” I said, straightening up from the map. The imperial attaché opened his mouth, no doubt ready to delay us with some overly ceremonial greeting.

I wasn’t in the mood.

I smiled brightly and continued before he even could get a word in. “I invited you all here because I wanted to apologize. I wasn’t here before to oversee the preparations, building, and, of course, meet you all properly.”

“Splendid idea, my Lady,” the attaché said with practiced politeness. He adjusted the cuffs of his flawless coat, as though the idea of being here at all was slightly beneath him. “My role here, as you know, is to pass messages between your court and the imperial court. I look forward to our cooperation until the evacuation is complete.”

Commander Mila let out a low grunt, clearly unimpressed.

Lola remained a quiet presence in the shadows, her sharp eyes darting between the rest of us as if noting every word and gesture. Meanwhile, Lucas grinned broadly. “Hi, people! We made a great fort, right? She can’t win!”

“We’ll lose,” Mila stated bluntly, his tone flat and devoid of emotion.

The room went momentarily silent as the weight of his words settled in the air.

“That’s why we evacuate the refugees via teleport tomorrow and the day after,” the attaché interjected, his voice full of smug confidence. He smiled like a man holding all the cards. “We’ll be gone before she arrives.”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Mila’s head snapped toward him, his glare sharp as a broken glass. “We stay until she comes. That was the deal,” he said, his voice low but firm.

The attaché shrugged, entirely unfazed. “Deals can change.”

“No.” Mila’s tone hardened, his voice having the weight of command. “Refugees come every day. We stay.”

The tension between them was palpable, like the air before a lightning strike. The attaché’s smug indifference was like a polished shield, while Mila’s sheer willpower radiated like a sharpened sword.

“Let’s start with the opposing force, shall we?” I said, motioning toward the map like some grand strategist. “What are we up against?”

Mila nodded and stepped forward.

With practiced ease, he began placing small pieces on the map—symbols of some sort, though I did not know what they represented. “By the latest reports, her army is sweeping through the land,” he said and placed red markers on nearly every village dotting the map. “With every village, they’re growing stronger. Currently, they’re moving toward the regional capital.”

Before I could process that, Lucas piped up, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. “So… they’ll miss us? Cool!” His grin was so infectious I couldn’t help but smile back at him for a moment.

Oh, Lucas. Sweet, naïve Lucas.

Mila, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to punch Lucas right through the wall. He inhaled deeply, the kind of breath someone takes when they’re debating whether to start a bar fight or simply walk away forever. “No, Keeper,” he said finally, his patience visibly thinning. “There is a second army.”

The room went still as Mila placed another marker on the map—this one on our side of the river. Not far from the fort, naturally.

She can’t ignore me.

“Right now, it’s only a token force,” he continued, his voice dropping into something darker. “But our spies have learned it’s just a ruse.” He straightened, his gaze flicking around the room before landing back on the map. “They plan to summon a demon army.”

I stared at the marker, resisting the urge to rub my temples. “A demon army,” I repeated, my voice flat. “I thought they were undead.”

Lucas blinked, his earlier enthusiasm dimming slightly. “Uh… how big are we talking?”

Mila shot him a sharp look. “Big enough,” he said grimly. “And yes, Lady. Undead demons.”

My memory flickered back to that moment—when I was in her prison, and she asked me for a name. I delivered.

Duwin Ianlee.

Somehow, she’d convinced him to summon his army. Why? Is she mad? Yeah, about as stable as me without whiskey. Summoning those things was reckless at best and catastrophic at worst. Once they were here, they wouldn’t just vanish into thin air.

And all the people talking about her destabilizing something.

I snapped back to the present, my voice sharper than I intended. “Do we know how many red-mana stones they have?” I clenched my fists under the table, willing myself to focus.

Mila hesitated, clearly surprised by my knowledge, but then his expression shifted into something bordering on pride. He even gave a genuine smile. “Eight, Lady,” he said, his voice steady as he placed hollow red figures onto the map with deliberate care.

I bit my lip. “So… four doan worth,” I murmured, my stomach knotting at the realization.

Even with players…

Lucas, oblivious as ever to the tension in the room, ambled over to the map. He grabbed one of our blue figures and plopped it onto the fort next to another blue one. “Count players! What’s a doan? How many people is that?” he asked casually.

Mila’s face darkened faster than a storm rolling in.

He grabbed the blue figure with a force that made the map quiver, his fingers tightening around it like he wanted to snap it in two. Then, with deliberate precision, he slammed it back outside the map’s boundary, his glare boring into Lucas like a drill. “Keeper. An imperial doan,” he said through gritted teeth, “is three to six thousand combatants.”

My gaze flickered back to the map, where our lone blue marker now sat woefully outnumbered, surrounded by the blood-red swarm.

“Well, it’s good we have the option of evacuating, right?” I said as I glanced at the attaché. He puffed up his chest, nodding with an air of self-importance so thick.

“But,” I continued, leaning forward and tapping a spot on the map, “I also recruited, uh, adventurers to our cause. At least one or two doan worth. Maybe more.” My voice faltered slightly at the end, and I glanced at Mila for some semblance of reassurance.

He didn’t give me any.

Instead, his shoulders sagged under the weight of what I’d just said. “I was afraid of hearing that, Lady,” he said, his tone heavy with resignation. His gaze flicked to Lucas, then back to me, as if searching for an explanation that might make this less disastrous. “Especially after you sent that company and granted them a quest of importance.”

The bandits? On no. “With the reputation Lucas built,” I admitted, wincing, “it must’ve sounded… bad.”

Mila nodded grimly, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he was trying to stave off an incoming headache. “That’s putting it lightly.”

“Oh, those guys?” Lucas perked up, his face lighting up with excitement. “I heard about them! They’re all over the forums! Super active, and happy they met you!” He sounded like someone reminiscing about a viral meme, completely oblivious.

How cute. And he doesn’t know Rimelion is real.

Maybe.

Mila, clearly done with Lucas’s enthusiasm, turned his attention back to me, ignoring the interruption entirely. “We sent them to investigate one dungeon,” he said, his tone lifeless. “They’re still not back. Not reliable. Untested force.”

I leaned over the map, my fingers brushing the edges of the figures representing the demon army. Their placement was precise, like a growing shadow on the landscape. “Sorry, but we need them,” I said, my voice firm as I pointed at the enemy. “Look at this. Without reinforcements, we don’t stand a chance.”

Mila stared at the map, his jaw tightening as he processed it. Finally, he let out a slow, measured breath. “I know,” he said simply, his voice a mix of reluctant acceptance and steely resolve.

“So, what’s our biggest weakness?” I asked, crossing my arms and leaning on the edge of the map table again.

Look casual, Charlie. Casual.

Mila cleared his throat. “Lady, that would be the low ford,” he began. “And our lack of any aerial combatants. The river protects us, but there’s a spot—a shallow crossing—they could exploit. I’d bet my sword they know about it. As for the air…” He trailed off, giving me a look that screamed do the math.

I glanced around at everyone in the room, hoping someone had a brilliant solution tucked away. Instead, I got silence as if Patrick asked how to split the bill.

“Right,” I said, dragging out the word and forcing a wry smile. “Air isn’t exactly easy to solve on short notice, so let’s hope our mages are up to the task.” I shifted my focus back to the map, placing adventurer markers randomly across the plain. “We’ll leave the defense of the ford to the adventurers.”

Mila’s face turned a shade paler, like I’d just suggested throwing a party for germans.

“I know,” I said, holding up a hand to stop the incoming lecture. “Not reliable. But hear me out—they’re built for this. Flexible placement, versatile force. They thrive on chaos, and if there’s one thing this battle is going to be, it’s chaotic. Maybe we can even convince someone like Luminaria to join us—”

“Cute princess!” a familiar voice interrupted, cutting my voice.

Before I could even think, Lisa barrelled into the room at full speed, her footsteps echoing off the stone walls like a charge of cavalry. She collided with me before I had a chance to dodge, her arms wrapping around me in a hug that could only be described as aggressively affectionate.

As usual, my head ended up squished against her chest, and I stumbled back a step, barely keeping my balance.

“Can we go now?!” she asked, her voice an excited squeal that would’ve been adorable if it weren’t for the fact that I was suffocating.