[Jarlpa]
Two days had passed since my arrival at Centena. Mapping the terrain and readying the knights was proceeding steadily. Yet no matter how sturdy this fortress was, the ground beyond its gates was foreign soil. Barely a few kilometers ahead stood Oper, Shelvia’s proud fortress-city.
Evening drew near. The walls of Centena glowed blood-red as the sun dipped. Hemmed between sheer cliffs, shadow fell earlier here than anywhere else. Darkness crept quickly as the light fractured across stone.
Where would the enemy strike? After losing three times in succession, they would hardly be so stupid as to come head-on.
I ran through scenarios, imagining how I would bring Centena down if I were in their place.
Footsteps interrupted.
“Your Excellency, please—come inside. Patrols are already assigned.”
Targa. Turning, I found the giant looming silently, enough to chill even my spine.
“…We’ve prepared against every move Yelleneta and Shelvia might attempt. And yet something feels missing,” I muttered.
Targa exhaled, eyes fixed on the darkening land. “…You suspect the cannons, then?”
“Exactly. We lack proper intelligence. If they can fire accurately at ranges beyond our reach, then a siege is suicide. We’d be forced into the open, closing distance with cavalry, perhaps even on a death charge…”
I broke off—the faintest sound brushed my ear. Distant, echoing, direction unclear. But above us.
“…What was that?”
Targa’s brow furrowed. He looked to the cliffs. “…Impossible. Not with numbers, not up there—”
His words ended in a thunderous crash. The ground quaked, stone screamed, then splintered into a rolling blast. A tower—one of the great bastions broad enough to hold full platoons—was cleaved, its top third crumbling in a roar of falling stone.
“Damn them!”
The curse tore from my throat. Cannon fire. Not the black spheres I had seen before, which shattered surfaces—this was heavier, devastating.
I scoured the cliffs, hunting smoke like one would search for a parent’s killer. There—on the eastern ridge, grey smoke rose. Even in failing light, it stood out clear.
There could be no second shot. I snapped into chant, flinging my arm toward the ridge.
“Red-Heat Flame Bow!”
Power lanced from my hand, magic thick enough to glow, bursting into fire. It streaked like an arrow and exploded across the ridge, igniting trees and earth alike.
Targa blinked, then barked, “Your Excellency, inside! There may be others!”
“I know! Damn it all—I should have secured those cliffs! Infuriating!” I slammed a fist into the wall, pain reverberating to the bone but drowned beneath rage.
“It was inevitable,” Targa countered. “Even adventurers would not scale that cliff easily. Beasts roam there. A commander cannot risk throwing men into certain annihilation.”
His words jolted me. I had been blinded by cannon and black spheres, forgetting Yellenetta's other weapon.
“…Yes. The wyverns.”
“Wyverns? You mean—they’ve bound such beasts?”
“Bound, yes. Foul puppet-magic. They may be lesser dragons, but they are still dragons.”
Almost on cue, a shadow rose. Wings stretched like a bat’s, body large enough to snatch horse and rider. A two-legged wyvern, its iron-hard scales glinting. Arrows would not pierce it. Only magic could answer it.
A grim laugh escaped me. “Targa, I just remembered something amusing.”
“What is it?”
I pointed upward. “Those lizards have dropped black spheres before. Like birds dropping dung.”
“…That is most uncouth, Your Excellency,” he muttered, face tight.
And then came the quake, followed by a rush of heated air through the stairwell. A black sphere had landed at the wall’s base, erupting fire loud enough to be heard from within.
“Good. My head is cooling. Ideas pour like water now… of how best to crush these fools.”
“That is reassuring,” Targa replied dryly.
We descended, the ground trembling beneath us, each step a battle to keep fury in check. No more jokes—first, we would drag those winged lizards down to earth. Only then could this battle truly begin.
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