[07] HARVEST PROTOCOL

-THE BATTLE ON THE BATTLEMENTS-

Gareth was stunned by the strange weapons of the brothers. Marcus had also purchased a rifle design, its sleek, unfamiliar lines humming with mana.

“On your eight o’clock,” Marcus called to Rhys, his voice calm over the shrieks of wyverns.

“Roger.” Rhys pivoted smoothly, the barrel of his Long Shot sniper rifle tracking for a fraction of a second before he fired. CRACK-THOOOOOM! The wyvern took two rounds straight to the skull and plummeted.

“These fuckfaces… they’re eating the goblins,” Kaelen growled, focusing his AK-47’s fire on the ground, supporting the rear of the scrambling soldiers with short, controlled bursts. BRRRT! BRRRT! Goblin bodies jerked and fell.

“On your five o’clock,” Rhys said to Marcus, focusing on the opposite side of the chaotic sky.

“Roger.” Marcus’s rifle spoke with a sharper CRACK! Another wyvern screamed and spun out of formation.

Then Rhys noticed the three smaller wyverns that had flown high, breaking formation and slipping past their line of fire.
“FUCK!” Rhys yelled, starting to swing his heavy rifle to track them.

“Don’t! Eliana is there! Just focus on the sky in front of us,” Marcus commanded, his own focus never wavering from the never-ending herd diving toward the walls.

“Do you know what the hardest kind of battle is, Marcus?” Kaelen shouted over the din of gunfire, monster roars, and clashing steel. He punctuated his question with another burst. BRRRT! “It’s when you’re in a war while protecting something. Don’t let anything else pass.”

“I know that,” Marcus snapped, his shot taking a wyvern in the wing joint. It spiraled into the fortress wall with a sickening crunch.

Gareth stood nearby, utterly stunned, listening to the conversation of the three who moved and spoke like a single, deadly organism in the heart of the battle.

Cris had already run back to the castle, frantically readying the potion supply they had brought with them earlier.

The other archers, emboldened, focused their arrows on the smaller wyverns. Their defense was holding—miraculously—because of the three men creating pockets of violent calm in the storm.

“Almost done?” Marcus asked, referring to the three large alpha wyverns left circling high above.

Rhys pivoted, his movements now fluid and predatory. He wasn’t just aiming; he was hunting. He exhaled, and the world seemed to slow. CRACK-THOOOOOM! The Penetrator Round activated, a tracer of brilliant blue. It punched through the lead alpha’s forehead with a wet SPLATCH, and the creature fell like a stone.

Marcus took the next one down with two rapid shots to the throat. CRACK-CRACK! Acidic blood sprayed into the snow.

Lastly, Kaelen pointed his gun straight up at the remaining alpha as it dove. “Eat this, you overgrown lizard!” He held the trigger. BRRRRRRRRT! A sustained stream of mana-fire tore into the creature’s belly. It convulsed, shrieked, and crashed into the battlement a hundred yards away with a ground-shaking BOOM.

“Phew. That’s too much of a mana drain,” Kaelen grunted, the glow on his weapon fading.

“I wonder if Lia is done, too,” Rhys said, massaging his neck.

“My lords, thanks to your help, this Level A threat caused no casualties, only wounds,” Gareth said, bowing deeply. “Thank you so much for—”

The faces of the three brothers turned to horror, freezing Gareth mid-sentence.

[ADMIN B: WHAT ARE YOU STANDING THERE FOR?! ADMIN A SAYS ELIANA IS CRITICALLY INJURED!!!]

“FUCK! LIA!” Kaelen yelled, already in motion. He didn’t run for the stairs—he vaulted over the battlement wall, using a short burst from his own newly-purchased harness to soften his landing in the courtyard below with a WHUMP of displaced snow.

Rhys was a half-step behind him, sliding down a ladder with reckless speed.

Marcus turned to Gareth, his expression a mask of cold fury and fear. “Ready the physician! Tell him to prepare a room for Eliana—NOW!” He didn’t wait for a reply. He turned and ran, his boots pounding on the stone as he chased after his brothers.

Gareth was left standing in the sudden, eerie quiet of the post-battle wall, the only sounds the moans of the wounded and the crackle of dying fires.

“Oh, dear sun… please let Her Grace be safe,” he whispered into the bloody air.

-ˋˏ✄ - - - - - - - ♡⁠

The three worried brothers jumped onto their horses when they saw Tomas taking off his coat to warm Lia’s body on the snow-covered ground. Blood kept flowing from her wounded shoulder, coloring the white snow crimson.

“ELIANA!!” they yelled, charging toward her.

“L-Lordships…” Tomas stammered, pressing firmly on Lia’s wound to stem the bleeding.

“Calm down. For now, let’s just hurry back to the castle,” Marcus said, his voice tight as he fought to compose himself.

Rhys tore off his own coat, adding another layer over Lia’s already-covered body. He lifted her gently but swiftly into his arms. “Let’s hurry,” he said, his usual playful tone gone, replaced by a grim urgency.

“A-alright…” Kaelen’s jaw was clenched, but his mind, trained for chaos, clicked into a cold, operational mode. He turned to Tomas. “Tomas, was it? Please clean up the wyvern remains and bring anything useful back to the castle. Organize help for the townspeople, check for other injuries.” The orders came out clipped, automatic—a commander delegating despite the fear twisting in his gut.

He then shrugged off his own coat. “Here, wear this. Thank you for warming Lia.” He tossed the heavy garment to the stunned soldier.

“My lord, I couldn’t—” Tomas began to protest receiving such an expensive piece of clothing.

Kaelen didn’t wait. He was already swinging back onto his horse and digging his heels in, riding hard after his brothers.

The townspeople hadn’t returned to their homes. They stood clustered at a distance, their faces etched with worry and awe.

“Is that… the Duchess?”
“I think she’s the youngest one…”
“Oh, dear sun… Is that the child, Lady Eliana?”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, especially among the older folks who remembered the Javiers from before the four siblings were even born.

The children, still huddled under Eliana’s fine coat, were crying softly.
“Will the good lady be alright, brother?” a small girl asked her older sibling.
A nearby adult heard and patted her head. “Don’t worry. Her Grace will be fine.” The words were hopeful, but his eyes were glued to the retreating figures.

They all watched as the three horses bearing the Javier brothers raced back toward the castle, their unconscious sister cradled between them.

Why… why are they all so selfless for a noble? Tomas thought, watching them disappear, the coat Kaelen gave him is impossibly fine, lined with fur from a southern beast he's only heard of in tales. The sheer, tangible value of the gift, given so casually, deepens his bewilderment and loyalty.

“Tomas!” A man—Elon, another soldier—ran up, his face pale.
“Oh, Elon. Can you gather the resting soldiers and help me clean this up?” Tomas asked, his voice still shaky.
“Before that… who were those three?” Elon breathed, staring at the castle gates.

“They are the three sons of the late Duke and Duchess Javier,” an old man said, stepping forward, his voice thick with memory. “To think all four of the siblings have come here at once…”

“What for? They abandoned us!” shouted an angry citizen. The old resentment, nursed by years of frost and hunger, still simmered in some hearts.

“How can you be so ungrateful?!” another citizen yelled back. “If it weren’t for Her Grace, we’d have a lot more than damaged roofs right now!”
“That’s right!”
“She gave her own coat to the children!”
“And those lords fought on the wall like demons! Did you see?”

“That’s enough,” the old man said, his voice quiet but cutting through the squabble. He looked around at the faces of his neighbors—gaunt, tired, scarred by the North. “They were just kids too, back then. Just like your children are now. The Emperor took them to Capital. Would any of you, in his place, have left your orphaned nieces and nephew in this… this graveyard?” He let the uncomfortable silence hang for a moment. “But you all saw it today. You saw how they fought. You saw the supplies they brought. Her Grace, our new Duchess, put her life on the line for us. For commoners. She didn’t hide in the castle. She stood between the monsters and our children.” His eyes landed on the man who had spoken with anger. “Don’t let your old hurts blind you to the sacrifice happening right in front of you. The only thing we should be doing now is praying for her recovery.”

A solemn hush fell over the square. The truth of his words sank in, colder and more penetrating than the wind. They had been saved, not by distant, indifferent nobles, but by a family that was throwing everything away to come back and face the hell they'd fled.

One by one, the people—even the resentful ones—looked toward the castle in the distance. Their expressions shifted from anger and fear to a fragile, dawning realization. The Javiers weren't just visiting. They were staying. And for the first time in a long, long time, the people of the North felt something unfamiliar stir in their chests—not just hope, but the weight of a debt they never expected to owe.

「JAVIER’S CASTLE」

—ELIANA’S ROOM—

“Oh my… Her Grace…” Helen sobbed, clutching a handkerchief. “Why would she do this…” She cried harder. “She told me to help prepare clothes, and then she went out straight to her death! WAAAAH!”

“Calm down, Helen. Her Grace is resting,” Cris said gently, though his own hands weren’t entirely steady.

Eliana’s wound had been sewn and dressed. The three brothers, along with Helen and Cris, stood in her room. The bleeding had stopped, but she remained asleep, her breathing shallow but even.

“Ha…” Kaelen sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s a good thing the physician here is competent.”

The brothers had visibly calmed, the raw panic replaced by a simmering, professional tension.

“Right,” Rhys said, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. “But… are GSD Black Ops this aggressive?”

“Maybe? After all, she was Captain of the Assault Squad,” Kaelen replied.

“Remember what Eliana’s mistake was today,” Marcus stated, his voice low.

The two brothers sitting near Eliana’s bed looked up at him. “It wasn’t a mistake. It’s called a soldier’s duty,” Kaelen shot back.

“Aren’t you a Commander in the GSD? You know even the smallest tactical error can result in fatal damage on the battlefield,” Marcus lectured, his tone cold.

“Don’t get too smart with me, Raymond,” Kaelen said, obviously pissed.

“What did you just call me? You must think you’re a tough guy, Lester,” Marcus retorted, his eyes narrowing.

“HEY, THAT’S ENOUGH!” Rhys snapped, stepping between them. “Can’t you two be quiet for a moment? And if the ‘mistake’ you’re talking about is Eliana pushing herself when her body wasn’t accustomed to the strain, this was an exemption case. She knows that already.”

“Tsk, I wasn’t the one who started it,” Kaelen murmured.

“Besides, keep your wits. We spent years apart before. We all had our own near-death experiences. This is what it means to be a soldier,” Rhys said, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

“Don’t act all mature, Hans,” Marcus sneered.

“What’s your problem, you jerk?!” Rhys finally lost his composure.

“Hey, tone it down!” Kaelen barked.

In the corner of the room, Helen and Cris stood watching, utterly confused.

“What are they even talking about?” Helen whispered.

“How would I know? You’re the one who’s known them the longest,” Cris whispered back.

“Right. Yet I don’t understand a thing,” Helen admitted.

They both sighed in unison.

They had seen the raw horror in the brothers’ eyes earlier, yet it had vanished in an instant the moment they saw Eliana stabilize—only to be replaced by this bizarre, bickering tension.

[ADMIN A: LOOK AT THESE FOOLS BICKER.]

[ADMIN B: HA… TELL ME ABOUT IT.]

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The three brothers went downstairs after their bickering, leaving Eliana to her well-earned rest. The transition from chaotic siblings to calculating commanders was seamless.

“My lords,” Commander Gareth said, waiting for them at the base of the stairs. He looked more haggard than ever.

“Gareth,” Marcus acknowledged, his two brothers flanking him like a pair of lethal shadows.

“Is Her Grace alright?” Gareth asked, genuine concern cutting through his fatigue.

“Worry not. Eliana is many things, but ‘fragile’ is no longer on the list,” Marcus said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “The wyvern corpses. Are they secured?”

“Yes, my lord. Dragged to the old training yard. It’s… a grim sight.”

“Good. Have your men open the chest cavities. Extract the heart-stones. Be careful—they’re volatile if punctured.”

Gareth blinked. “The… heart-stones, my lord? You mean those ugly, crystalline lumps? We usually just burn them with the rest…”

Kaelen let out a short, incredulous laugh. Rhys shook his head with a scientist’s pity.

Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. You do not burn a fortune. Those ‘ugly lumps’ are condensed mana cores. In certain markets, one the size of a wyvern’s is worth more than this fortress’s annual imperial stipend.” A memory flashed, unbidden—a gaudy, enthusiastic man with a monocle, waving a cheque with an absurd number of zeros, babbling about ‘aesthetic purity’ and ‘inherent potential’ in a Solarian palace hallway. The brothers had dismissed him as a crank. Later, they learned he was the only man on the continent who saw monster parts not as filth, but as art and arsenal.

“But… who would buy such things?” Gareth asked, utterly lost.

“A maniac,” Marcus stated simply. “A very rich, very specialized maniac.”

“Are you referring to Count Geselle of the Densen March?” Rhys interjected, tapping his chin. Another memory surfaced—a missive, received in the final, desperate year of their first life. An offer for ‘untainted wyvern hide and unshattered thoracic gems.’ The price listed had been a lifeline they’d been too besieged and too proud to grasp. “The one who turns claws into decorative daggers that can’t hold an edge and gems into paperweights? He’s a glorified trophy hunter.”

“But he pays,” Kaelen grunted, crossing his arms. A different, sharper recollection—standing over the body of a giant frost-spider in year three, Kaelen had joked, ‘Geselle would give his other eye for these fangs.’ Lia, covered in ichor, had replied, ‘We’re not that desperate yet.’ They had become that desperate, mere months later. “And his county borders the South-Eastern pass, right on the Densen-Solarian line. It’s practically a smuggling route made for eccentric nobility.”

Gareth could only stare. This was knowledge from another world. The Solarian Empire’s policy had always been purification by fire—erase the monster, erase the curse. The idea of profiting from it was… heretical. And yet, the three men before him spoke of it with the casual certainty of merchants discussing grain tariffs.

“The prejudice blinded the entire Empire to a resource literally falling from the sky,” Marcus said, reading Gareth’s stunned silence. “The North isn’t just a cursed shield. It’s a mine. One we will now operate.” He turned to Rhys. “Draft a letter to Count Geselle. Be discreet. Frame it as the ‘new management’ of the Javier estate discovering some ‘interesting curiosities’ during a cleanup. Express a… scholarly curiosity about their potential uses.”

Rhys’s eyes lit up with mischievous intellect. “I’ll make it sound like we’re naive nobles playing with dangerous toys. He’ll salivate at the chance to be the expert.”

“Good. Gareth,” Marcus’s focus snapped back to the commander. “The claws, the fangs, the hide—preserve everything. Bundle the heart-stones separately. This isn’t scrap. This is our first working capital.”

The weight of the statement landed on Gareth not as an order, but as a revelation. He looked from the brothers’ determined faces to the direction of the bloody training yard, seeing it not as a charnel pit, but as a treasury.

“Yes, my lord,” he said, his voice firm with new understanding. “We’ll treat them like gold.”

“Better than gold,” Kaelen corrected, a ruthless grin touching his lips. “Gold doesn’t help you kill the next thing that flies over your wall. These might.”

I don’t understand… what could they see from these monsters that made them so confident to say it’s valuable? Gareth thinks, well, it’s assuring seeing them so confident.

He then smiled and walked towards where the remains are to follow the order of his new odd Lords.

-TO BE CONTINUED-