CHAPTER 71: Immovable Wall (part 1)

Hunting Started

Adrian took some people he trusted based on their combat skills, together with the Marquis and the elders.

The meeting was not held in the usual administrative chamber.

That alone told everyone present that the matter had moved from management into operations. The room chosen for the discussion lay beneath the western side of the manor, a fortified planning hall once used only during the most dangerous periods of Valenhart’s old history. Its walls were thick, its windows absent, and its doors layered with both physical locks and detection seals recently improved by the alchemy department. A long table occupied the center, covered with maps, terrain sketches, supply route records, recovered merchant statements, bandit movement reports, and sealed packets marked with the South’s private authority. Lamps burned steadily from iron brackets, their light catching the edges of blades, armor clasps, and the hard faces of those chosen to stand in the room.

No one had been called casually.

Garret stood near the head of the table, one hand behind his back, the other holding a document sealed in black and silver. He did not need armor to seem dangerous. His presence carried a sharper stillness than many knights. Behind him, selected knights and mages had formed two disciplined rows. Twelve knights stood in full readiness, each of them among the newest three-circle aura users produced by the recent mana sensing integration. Their advancement was still young, not yet polished enough to be called effortless, but strong enough that the change could be felt in the way their aura settled around them. Two mages stood beside them, both recently stabilized at three-circle essence after pushing through the early adaptation period. They looked pale from restraint rather than fear, aware that the mission ahead would not be a tower exercise or a lecture demonstration.

General Darius stood at the front of the chosen soldiers.

His breakthrough had altered him. Not extravagantly, not in the crude manner of men who wished others to notice power. The change was bigger. His posture had become heavier without becoming slow, his breathing more grounded, his presence less like a blade alone and more like a fortified gate. He had reached the early stage of the fifth circle after incorporating mana sensing into his training, and even those who had known him for years could feel the difference. His earth-aligned aura did not flare. It settled, and that made him look harder to move than stone.

Beside the soldiers stood one expert scout recently recruited from the mercenary ranks. He was a two-circle aura user, lean, weather-burned, and narrow-eyed, with a longbow strapped across his back and a short blade at his waist. His name was Rolan. Unlike the knights, he did not carry himself with formal discipline. He carried himself like someone who had survived terrain before surviving people. He watched corners before faces. He checked the ceiling once after entering. He measured the distance to the door without turning his head. That was why Adrian had accepted him into the operation despite his lower circle. Terrain specialty was not decoration in a hunt. It was survival.

Alistair stood at the head of the table as Marquis of the South.

Merek and Seraphine stood beside him, not as observers but as elders whose experience had shaped the caution behind the plan. Garret completed the inner line near them. And at the center of the map, directly opposite Alistair, stood Adrian.

He was not there as a consultant.

He was not there as the eldest heir being protected behind walls.

He was there as the head commander of the operation.

When the last selected member entered and the doors sealed, Garret began.

“All selected personnel are present. Twelve knights of three-circle aura, two mages of three-circle essence, General Darius, Scout Rolan, and the assigned support artisans. The Marquis, the elders, and the young master are also present.”

Adrian gave the room a serious look.

His eyes paused longer on Darius.

That pause was understood by everyone who needed to understand it. Darius was no longer merely the strongest military authority below Alistair. For this operation, he would serve under Adrian directly as vice-commander. If Adrian issued an order, Darius would execute or adjust only within the mission’s safety frame. If Adrian became separated, Darius would carry command. If Darius fell, the mission would immediately shift to evacuation protocol. The hierarchy had been decided before the meeting began, but Adrian’s gaze made it real.

Alistair moved one paper forward.

The title written at the top was simple.

TIGER HUNT

“This operation plan,” Alistair said, “was suggested under my authority, refined with Adrian’s assessment, and prepared with the elders’ review.”

Merek’s eyes moved over the soldiers. “Do not let the name entertain you. A tiger hunt kills careless hunters first.”

Seraphine adjusted her glasses. “And this tiger has been trained by men who want the South to bleed for reacting incorrectly.”

Adrian placed one hand on the edge of the map. “Then we will not react incorrectly.”

The room settled around his voice.

He looked from one chosen soldier to another. “This is a hunt with proper caution. There is no room for error, no room for glory-seeking, and no room for personal revenge. The King of Bandits has attacked a certified merchant of the South Merchant Guild. He left a survivor as a message. That does not mean we chase him blindly.”

Darius folded his arms. “Then the objective is not direct elimination.”

“Correct,” Adrian said. “We are not hunting Arslov.”

Several knights stiffened. The sentence ran against the expectation created by the operation name.

Adrian continued before a misunderstanding could form. “We are recovering what belongs to the South, confirming his movement pattern, and proving our roads are not abandoned.”

He tapped the map once.

“Priority one: tracking and safety. We identify affected movement, recover what can be recovered, and confirm bandit routes without exposing ourselves unnecessarily. Priority two: once the camp or temporary holding point is confirmed, traps will be laid along all possible routes of movement. Priority three: we do not eradicate the force yet. We diminish manpower, halt current passage, and study routine, pattern, rotation, and numbers.”

He looked at the scout. “Rolan.”

The mercenary straightened.

“You will handle terrain confirmation and long-distance observation. No heroics.”

Rolan nodded. “Understood.”

“You are chosen for your eyes and terrain sense,” Adrian said. “Not for your ability to die dramatically.”

A few knights almost reacted, but the room remained disciplined.

Adrian moved a small marker along the northern bend of the route. “Observation distance must be correct. Close enough to confirm movement. Far enough to avoid detection. Arslov may be a brute, but do not assume his men are blind. Bandit groups that survive under a sixth-circle aura knight understand scouting, traps, and fear management. Treat them as a hostile military unit with poor manners, not as roadside trash.”

That shifted the posture of several knights. Pride adjusted to caution.

Fredo’s appointed artisan representative, a compact man named Havel with soot-darkened hands and a belt full of tool capsules, stepped forward next. He was there on behalf of the smithing workshop, not as a fighter. Two assistants carried locked cases behind him. Havel opened the first case and revealed layered equipment wrapped in dark cloth.

“These are confidential prototypes from the smithing and alchemy collaboration,” Havel said. “Tracking markers, terrain traps, cold-weather armor inserts, and compact reinforcement plates. All were tested in controlled conditions. Not perfect, but stable enough for field use.”

He lifted a small circular device the size of a large coin. “Tracking marker. It sticks beneath wood, leather, or wagon frames. Weak mana signature. Difficult to notice unless searched directly. Effective range improves when paired with the new communication device.”

Then he lifted a folded strip of dull metal. “Pressure line trap. Can be concealed beneath snow, leaves, or loose soil. Does not kill by itself. It locks the ankle, damages movement, or slows pursuit. Useful for route denial.”

He pointed toward reinforced cloak panels. “Cold-weather armor lining. Light enough for movement, resistant to wind and minor frostbite, with limited heat retention. Do not treat it as full armor.”

Another case opened, revealing compact spikes, signal cords, small smoke capsules, and scroll containers.

Darius studied them carefully. “Are we truly planning to take down the King of Bandits?”

Alistair answered before Adrian did. “Yes and no.”

The room turned toward him.

“Yes, in the future,” Alistair said. “No, for this current mission. Right now, we need a way to eliminate only his lackeys, force Arslov to pause his ongoing rampage, and hold the road long enough for royal support to arrive.”

Merek grunted. “We have one week before reinforcement arrives.”

Seraphine added, “One week for our enemies to test whether the South panics.”

Adrian nodded. “Which means one week to show nothing unnecessary and learn everything useful.”

He moved another marker on the map, this time toward a hidden southern line. “All certified merchants of the South Merchant Guild will temporarily use the secret passage.”

Some of the selected knights looked up.

Darius’s eyes narrowed. “The tunnel?”

“Yes,” Adrian said. “A controlled underground route connecting from the South toward a capital approach. It is not ready for full commercial use. The structure needs improvement, ventilation expansion, support reinforcement, and more defensive stations. But as a temporary measure, it allows movement under strict supervision while surface routes are contested.”

Rolan gave a low whistle before remembering where he was and cutting the sound short.

Adrian looked at him.

The scout lowered his head. “Apologies.”

“Your surprise is reasonable,” Adrian said. “Your noise is not.”

Rolan swallowed. “Understood.”

Adrian returned to the map. “The tunnel does not become common knowledge. Merchants selected to use it will be escorted, sworn, inspected before and after, and monitored. Anyone who attempts to map or leak the passage will lose South Merchant Guild certification and face punishment under emergency security law.”

Garret made a quiet note.

Darius then asked the question that had been waiting in every soldier’s mind. “What is the plan if we encounter Arslov?”

The room grew tense.

Even Merek’s expression hardened. Seraphine stopped adjusting her glasses. Alistair’s gaze moved from Darius to Adrian, not because he doubted his son, but because this answer mattered most.

Adrian did not hesitate.

“Safety is the primary goal. If the King of Bandits is sighted or encountered, you do not engage unless escape is impossible. No challenge. No attempt at glory. No testing his strength. No heroic delay without command. Immediate evacuation.”

One of the knights clenched his jaw.

Adrian saw it. “If anyone believes pride is worth more than this operation, leave the room now.”

No one moved.

“Good,” Adrian said. “Because Arslov is a sixth-circle aura knight with extensive killing experience. Circle comparison is not enough. He fights without code, without restraint, and likely under factional direction. If you meet him and survive by retreating, that is success. If you die proving courage, you are a waste of training.”

Darius gave a firm nod. “All units will follow that order.”

“As vice-commander, you will enforce it,” Adrian said.

Darius placed a fist over his chest. “I will.”

Havel opened the second case.

“These are for emergency escape,” he said. “Smokescreen capsules, magic scrolls, health recovery potions, and holy blessing seals provided by the priests. The blessing seals are included because dark curse residue was confirmed in the wounds of Merchant Melo Varent.”

At the mention of Melo, the room darkened in mood.

The blind merchant had become more than a victim. He was proof that Arslov wanted Fear to travel back to the wall alive.

Havel lifted a small vial. “Health recovery potion. Stabilizes bleeding and restores enough stamina for retreat, but it does not replace treatment. Use only when necessary.”

He lifted a sealed parchment. “Wind displacement scroll. Short burst. Useful for crossing unstable terrain or breaking encirclement.”

Then a dark capsule. “Smokescreen. Thick enough to disrupt ordinary sight and some low-grade mana tracking for a short window. Do not inhale deeply.”

Finally, a small pale charm etched with holy script. “Blessing seal. Press against exposed curse contact or keep near the chest during withdrawal. Limited use.”

Alistair stepped closer to the table. His voice was heavier now, less political and more fatherly, though still carrying the authority of the Marquis.

“This is the hardest mission we have planned since Valenhart’s recovery. Not because it is the largest. Not because it is the bloodiest. Because the enemy wants us to misunderstand the objective.”

His gaze moved to Adrian.

“Escape is necessary if the operation turns unstable. Especially for the eldest heir.”

Adrian met his gaze without objection.

Alistair continued, “No stubbornness. No overcomplication. If escape is needed, do it without hesitation.”

The room understood the meaning beneath the words. Adrian being present as head commander sharpened the mission’s effectiveness, but also increased its danger. If the noble faction discovered that the eldest heir had stepped outside the wall in a controlled operation, they might accelerate. If Arslov encountered him, the mission could shift from reconnaissance to disaster within a breath.

Adrian said, “I will follow the operation’s safety protocol.”

Merek looked unconvinced. “You will follow it without interpreting it to death?”

Adrian’s expression remained calm. “I will not die to prove a point already understood.”

Seraphine gave a dry smile. “Acceptable.”

Garret then placed three flare rods onto the table.

“Signal flares,” he said. “Purple, red, and black.”

Havel explained while opening the protective caps. “Purple flare means safety exit with mission success. Once launched, all soldiers assigned to the outer response line will approach the rendezvous point, including the Marquis if necessary.”

Alistair nodded once.

Havel lifted the second. “Red flare means extra caution. King of Bandits was sighted or encountered, but the unit escaped in time. Response teams will move defensively, not pursue blindly.”

Then the last.

“Black flare means unnecessary event.”

No one asked what unnecessary meant.

In operational language, it meant everything that should not happen but might: severe injury, failed extraction, unexpected encirclement, hostage situation, Arslov closing distance, noble faction interference, curse deployment, or direct threat to Adrian. The black flare was not a request for help. It was a declaration that the board had changed.

Havel then moved to the trap diagrams.

“Terrain traps include pressure lines, caltrop clusters coated with numbing extract, trip-triggered smoke, false trail markers, and collapsible snow-cover pits. Destructive magic scrolls are included only for enemy camp disruption. They are not to be used near recovered goods unless abandonment is necessary.”

Darius asked, “How much damage can the scrolls cause?”

“Enough to destroy tents, supply racks, and light fortifications. Not enough to kill Arslov.”

“That was not my expectation.”

“Good,” Havel said. “Because if anyone expects a scroll to solve Arslov, I prefer they not touch my equipment.”

Despite the tension, one or two knights gave faint smiles.

Then Havel brought out two compact devices with dark casing and embedded mana stones.

“These are MT-60051. Communication devices made with stabilized mana stone. Prototype field units. They allow short-burst voice transmission and location signal exchange between linked devices.”

The room leaned closer.

He placed one before Adrian and one before Darius. “One for the head commander. One for the vice-commander. If the group splits, the devices maintain contact within an estimated range, depending on terrain and interference. They may also switch to location pulse mode. Do not overuse. Mana stone stability is good, but the casing remains prototype.”

A third device, larger and set in a reinforced frame, was placed before Alistair.

“This monitoring unit remains with the Marquis,” Havel said. “It receives signal pulses from both devices and allows rough positioning on the route map. Not exact yet. Better than blindness.”

Alistair’s gaze lowered to the device. “That is enough.”

Adrian picked up his MT-60051 and inspected the casing, channel groove, and mana stone socket. “Transmission delay?”

“Less than three breaths under clear conditions.”

“Too slow for combat command.”

“Yes, young master. Better for coordination and emergency separation.”

“Then it will be used as such.”

Darius accepted his unit, testing its weight in one hand. “If damaged?”

“Signal failure. Possible mana discharge if cracked deeply. Do not let it take a direct hit.”

Rolan muttered, “Comforting.”

Darius looked at him.

The scout straightened again.

The final phase of the briefing covered routes, timing, formation, emergency roles, and fallback lines. Adrian would lead the operation from the center-rear command position during approach, not the front. Darius would hold combat execution authority under Adrian’s command and take front-line adjustment if engagement became necessary. Rolan would scout ahead but never beyond signal distance without explicit approval. The two mages would handle detection, concealment support, and scroll preparation. The twelve knights would split into three units of four, rotating between guard, trap placement, and recovery work. No one would pursue fleeing bandits beyond the assigned boundary. No one would engage unknown reinforcements. Recovered goods would be marked, not prioritized over lives.

When Adrian finished outlining the route, he looked at each of them again.

“This operation does not exist to satisfy anger over Melo Varent,” he said. “His suffering is evidence, not permission for stupidity. It does not exist to impress the kingdom. It does not exist to test the noble faction’s full strength. It exists to reassert that roads tied to the South are not abandoned, that our merchants are not bait, and that bandits may take goods once, but they will not take confidence freely.”

The words settled into the room.

Darius bowed his head. “Head Commander, the units will follow.”

The use of the title shifted the atmosphere.

Not young master.

Not the eldest heir.

Head Commander.

Adrian accepted it without visible pride. “Vice-Commander Darius, prepare the soldiers for departure under silent movement protocol.”

“Yes.”

Alistair looked at the soldiers, then at Adrian, then at the devices and maps on the table. His expression held the restrained difficulty of a father allowing his son to step into a dangerous field because the son had already become too central to keep behind walls without weakening the very thing they were building.

Finally, he spoke.

“I don’t need perfect execution of the operation,” Alistair said. “I will reiterate this to all of you. Safety is a must, even if the mission fails.”