Carine Forest — Outer Camp — Main Command Tent
The command tent had become the heart of the entire operation.
Maps covered nearly every table.
Wooden markers represented army formations, artillery positions, supply routes, and projected advance paths into Carine Forest.
Colored strings stretched between pins and markers like veins across a body.
Red for Angelus.
White for the Church.
Gold for the Crown.
Black for Laos.
Around the table stood generals, senior officers, priests, and advisors.
Some looked tired.
Some looked tense.
None looked comfortable.
Because beyond the canvas walls—
One hundred and twenty thousand soldiers waited for orders.
And somewhere deeper within Carine Forest—
Something waited for them.
Sous stood beside the central map table alongside Adrean and several commanders.
One of the Angelus officers moved a formation marker slightly.
"If we advance from three directions simultaneously—"
The tent flap opened.
Heavy footsteps interrupted him.
Bal walked in.
No noble ornaments.
No decorated coat.
No ceremonial nonsense.
Practical clothing.
Practical expression.
He walked directly toward the seat reserved for Logos—
And sat down.
Silence followed immediately.
Several eyes shifted between Bal...
...and the empty chair beside him.
One general frowned.
"Who are you?"
His gaze narrowed.
"And where is Baron Laos?"
Bal looked at him.
"I am Bal, commander of the Laosian military."
He folded his arms.
"Lord Logos is unavailable."
The general frowned harder.
"Unavailable?"
Bal nodded once.
"He overworked himself for five days."
A pause.
"He is sleeping."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Several officers stared.
Adrean stared.
Sous stared.
Even the Church representatives looked confused.
One older general blinked.
"…Sleeping?"
"Yes."
Bal looked mildly confused by their reactions.
"He collapsed shortly after returning to his tent."
The room somehow became quieter.
Because nobody knew how to process that.
Darian finally spoke.
"…You are telling me the terrifying little monster locked himself in a tent for five days…"
A pause.
"…and then simply fell over?"
Mirelle frowned.
"That sounds disturbingly normal."
"I would appreciate it if you stopped speaking about my lord like that."
Bal sounded genuinely offended.
Adrean rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"…Fine."
He pointed toward the map.
"Can he still provide input?"
Bal nodded.
Then reached into his coat.
He removed a notebook.
Black leather.
Small.
Filled with paper tabs.
Too many paper tabs.
Bal placed it on the table.
"I have his notes."
Several officers leaned slightly forward.
Bal opened it.
Then frowned.
He flipped a page.
Then another.
Then three more.
The frown deepened.
"…Huh."
Sous narrowed his eyes.
"What?"
Bal slowly looked up.
"…I cannot read this."
Silence.
Darian stared.
"You cannot what?"
Bal rotated the notebook toward everyone.
The pages were horrifying.
Tiny writing.
Arrows.
Boxes connected to boxes.
Mathematical symbols.
Lines crossing through other lines.
One section somehow spiraled around itself before ending in a question mark.
A priest stared blankly.
"…Is this encoded?"
"No."
Bal looked offended.
"That is his normal handwriting."
The priest looked disturbed.
"That somehow makes it worse."
Bal continued flipping pages.
Then stopped.
"…Found it."
Everyone leaned closer.
Bal cleared his throat.
Then read aloud:
"The best course of action would be to draw the creatures out of the forest and kill them until the larger entity appears."
Sous nodded.
"Next."
Bal looked down.
"…There is an instruction for me."
He continued reading.
"Bal, if you are reading this, then I am asleep."
Silence.
Darian stared.
"…That is obvious."
Bal ignored him.
"Wake me when battle begins."
He looked lower.
"…There is a numbered list."
Adrean already looked exhausted.
"Of course there is."
Bal continued.
"Make sure to use nuance for some of the following statements. I was drowsy while writing them."
Before Bal could continue—
Adrean raised a hand.
"Just read them."
A sigh.
"At this point I would rather know."
Bal nodded.
"As you wish."
He looked down.
"One: If anyone complains about you being on the Council, punch their teeth out."
Silence.
Long silence.
Then—
Darian exploded.
Laughter nearly sent him backward.
Mirelle covered her mouth.
Several officers looked horrified.
Even Sous turned away slightly.
Because his shoulders had moved.
Adrean stared upward.
The Arch-Prelate quietly closed his eyes.
Bal looked around.
"What?"
He continued.
"Two: If Darian is present, remind him that fighting everything directly is not a strategy."
Darian pointed at himself immediately.
"WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!"
Bal continued mercilessly.
"Three: Sous might become sentimental due to this place having personal value."
A pause.
"Please console him regarding unavoidable collateral damage."
Another pause.
"If he attempts to charge the problem personally, bombard him with artillery."
Sous narrowed his eyes.
"…His concern is appreciated."
Bal kept reading.
"Four: Tell the Arch-Prelate not to attempt purification of my specimens."
He blinked.
"…The area is filled with poison traps."
Silence.
Very slowly—
Heads turned toward the Church delegation.
The younger priests looked offended.
The Arch-Prelate looked amused.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Bal continued.
"Five: Mirelle has a strong record regarding flanking maneuvers. Listen to her recommendations."
Mirelle blinked.
"…That was unexpectedly respectful."
Bal looked down.
Then frowned.
"…There are twenty-five attached subpoints."
Mirelle's expression changed instantly.
"No."
Bal ignored her suffering.
"Six: Prince Adrean tends to blame himself excessively for casualties, make sure to give him a piece of your mind."
The First Prince froze.
Actually froze.
Because for the first time—
There was no insult.
No sarcasm.
No hidden jab.
Just observation.
The room quieted again.
Bal looked downward slowly.
"…There is one final note."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Seven: If Mother arrives here somehow…"
A pause.
Bal stared at the page.
Then looked up.
His face had become perfectly blank.
"…Hide me."