Prologue – Part 02
“I would like to invite the blacksmith to the Militant Nation.”
Arvie Irving, an envoy from the Militant Nation, was at the mayor’s office in the Independent Trade City’s Third District.
He had pale, silver hair that was almost white, and bangs cut neatly across his forehead. He adjusted his round glasses with his middle finger and straightened his collar, betraying his nervous yet serious nature.
He wore a deep, navy-blue military uniform. The Militant Nation placed great importance on training both soldiers and craftsmen, and his uniform, crafted by highly-skilled textile artisans, was famous across the continent. Though he wasn’t armed—since carrying swords was forbidden here—there was no doubt that his official military sword was a fine piece.
Accompanying him was a cloaked attendant, their hood drawn low.
“As you might have guessed, yes, this is an unofficial request, not mediated by the Continental Law Commission,” Arvie explained.
Arvie held the position of military strategist in the Militant Nation. For someone in his position to travel to a remote city like this was highly unusual. Attending the Valbanill Conference, a meeting between three nations and one city, was one thing, but simply delivering a message was a whole different matter. In short, the invitation towards the blacksmith held that much significance.
“We hope for a technical exchange between your blacksmith and our nation’s sacred swordsmiths, yes.”
I knew it, Hannibal Quasar thought to himself.
Hannibal Quasar was a towering figure with a bald head. As the captain of the Independent Trade City’s Third District Knight Guard, he possessed the dignity and battle history to match his position. The cross-shaped scar running from his cheek to his neck marked his participation in the Valbanill War.
Hannibal studied the people in the mayor’s office. Between a low table for receiving guests, Arvie sat in one of the couches, while Mayor Hugo Housman sat across from him, his hands folded in his lap, listening intently. Always impeccably dressed, Hugo was in his late thirties—young for his position—but his stern features showed clear signs of fatigue, reflecting the burdens of his office. Lately, those worries had only grown.
Hannibal stood behind Hugo, watching the exchange. Similarly, Arvie’s attendant stood silently behind him.
The visitors had arrived about an hour ago, requesting an audience with the mayor. Hannibal was also summoned to join them. He was always called upon whenever there were discussions with foreign parties.
“Just as I thought,” Hugo finally spoke. He and Hannibal shared the same suspicion. “You’ve sensed something odd in the Empire and the Crowd Powers’ movements.”
The recent incident with the Inhuman and the Empire’s response showed clear signs of cooperation with the Crowd Powers. With Valbanill’s revival just a year away, both nations were making suspicious moves.
Arvie nodded in acknowledgment. “That’s correct, yes. Unlike us, the Empire and the Crowd Powers don’t know how to forge Sacred Swords. We believe they’re attempting to establish some form of collaborative framework to face the upcoming Valbanill Campaign. As you saw during the conference, they’re desperate to secure their interests.”
“And you’re saying that the Militant Nation is different?” Hugo asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“Yes,” Arvie replied instantly. “To be frank, the Militant Nation sees no benefit in Valbanill’s existence. We view it as nothing more than a source of unnecessary conflict, a catalyst for another Proxy Pact War. Instead of sealing it away, we want it completely exterminated.”
Each nation held a different view on Valbanill, the worst Inhuman in the history of the continent. The Independent Trade City referred to it as God, the Empire as King, the Crowd Powers as Machina, and the Militant Nation as the Beast. In other words, the Militant Nation viewed Valbanill as a destructive force, a beast to be conquered and subdued by mankind.
“You want it exterminated?” Hannibal’s voice rose in disbelief. Did they really hate Valbanill this much?
Hugo furrowed his brows. “But that would mean…”
“We’re fully aware, yes, that killing Valbanill could lead to devastating consequences for the Independent Trade City.”
Driven by an unquenchable hatred for humanity, Valbanill, sealed in the depths of Blair Volcano, continuously released Aetheria. This curse, while fueling Demon Pacts, was ironically repurposed to enrich people’s lives. The Independent Trade City, in particular, was heavily reliant on them. Not only had Prayer Pacts become deeply integrated into its citizens’ lives, but the reason the city remained untouched by volcanic ash—despite its proximity to the volcano—was because Aetheria permeated Housman Forest, absorbing the ash within it.
The devastating consequences Arvie alluded to involved the city being engulfed in volcanic ash if the Aetheria vanished as a consequence of Valbanill’s death.
“However, we have a plan to prevent that disaster, yes,” Arvie said.
“You do?” Hugo asked, taken aback.
“Our plan is to destroy Blair Volcano itself.”
Both Hannibal and Hugo were stunned. Destroying the volcano—essentially turning it dormant—was a concept that seemed beyond comprehension. Yet, the conviction in Arvie’s voice suggested he had reason to believe it was feasible.
“We are committed to eliminating Valbanill. But to achieve that, we need a high-quality Sacred Sword,” Arvie explained, bowing deeply. “Please, lend us your assistance.”
Hannibal glanced at Hugo, wondering how his boss would respond. As expected, the mayor was wearing a deep frown.
Given the recent incident involving the Inhuman and death row convict, the disturbing actions of both the Empire and the Crowd Powers could not be ignored. Though they had never revealed so much of their plans before, the Militant Nation had often proposed technical exchanges in the past. But the Ainsworth family’s forging secrets were closely guarded, passed down only within the family. Neither Basil Ainsworth nor his son, Luke, had ever agreed to share them.
And above all, there was a core reason why negotiation was off the table.
“As you’re likely aware,” Hugo explained, “the Independent Trade City’s highest priority is to maintain its neutrality. That has been the unyielding policy set by the first Housman.”
Though Hugo Housman shared the founder’s surname, it was merely because of the tradition of the mayor taking on the name. He was not, in fact, related to the visionary who laid the foundation of the Independent Trade City. But related or not, the mayor intended to fully uphold the founder’s legacy.
Surely, the Militant Nation understood this. Yet Arvie listened to Hugo’s explanation without so much as a flicker of emotion. For someone hailing from a country known for its fiery temperament, he displayed a remarkable composure. Even Hannibal, observing from the sidelines, could sense that persuading Arvie was a futile endeavor. Still, Hugo continued to patiently outline their reasons for refusal.
“We turned down Charlotte Firobisher’s request as well. Though hers was a personal plea rather than an official one from the Empire, we declined all the same.”
Hugo recalled that early summer day when a headstrong figure stormed into their city, seeking to recruit Luke, much like today’s delegation. Charlotte Firobisher, a young girl with imperial blood, had come with three retainers and an Infernal Blade, intending to bring not only the city’s blacksmith but also its Infernal Blade under imperial control.
In the end, she failed to achieve her goal and was forced into exile. The country that eventually took her in was none other than the Militant Nation.
“And our stance remains unchanged,” Hugo concluded firmly. “We cannot accept your proposal.”
“This time is different,” came a sudden interruption from Arvie’s attendant. The figure behind pulled back their hood to reveal their face.
“You’re…”
Hugo let out a gasp of surprise. Hannibal’s eyes widened as well.
The attendant was someone they knew well—dark-skinned, sharp features for a woman, and a lean, muscular build. She was dressed in the same military uniform as Arvie.
“It’s been a while. I am deeply grateful for your assistance back then.”
It was Doris, Charlotte’s bodyguard who had fled to the Militant Nation with her employer.
She gave a crisp salute. She looked far more disciplined than the brash, impulsive person they remembered from months ago.
“Time is of the essence. Please, hear us out,” she urged, her gaze firm. “And if possible, we would like the current head of House Campbell, Cecily Campbell, to come as well. This request comes directly from our queen, Zenobia Q. Lanchester.”
The Proxy Pact War was a great conflict that engulfed the entire continent forty-four years ago, sparked by an accursed ritual that a beast had created centuries past. Powerful people who knew the true nature of the war gave it another designation, the Valbanill War, and the name Valbanill eventually spread among the common folk.
Now, four decades after the war’s end, the ruling elite no longer saw Valbanill as just an Inhuman, but as a source of opportunities.
The Empire, the Militant Nation, the Crowd Powers, and the Independent Trade City—all is entangled as the tides of continental history are once again in motion.
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