TMLWA 78

Chapter 78

“Did this year’s Witch’s Night pass safely as well? Since there’s no alarming news, I assume Tegenes is still secure. Fighting day and night on the battlefield makes me feel that I’m truly protecting my land and my people. I wonder if everyone at the lord’s castle is sleeping soundly.
Just the thought that I’m guarding your nights makes even this cold ground bearable.”

“How can he tell me to sleep well when he’s the one in danger?”

Anne grumbled at the letter, rubbing her sore nose bridge.

“The minority tribes along the border have either been incorporated into Ruto’s elite army or purged en masse. Not good news for the West. There are also rumors that the navy is being deployed to the capital.”

It must’ve been around this time that the attack on Edith Tara occurred in her previous life. Anne’s eyes focused sharply on the page.

“If Ruto is being driven this far, it means this war is nearing its end. I will claim the final victory.
The West belongs to the West. As a Claid, I cannot allow anyone to take this land.”

“Anne Ferro. There’s something I want to tell you in person when we meet again. So—”

“So…?”

“Until we meet again, make a list of everything that made your life difficult in the lord’s castle. The people who troubled you. I’ll make sure they’re paid back in full.”

“…Really now.”

A laugh escaped her lips at the childish, almost silly words. Yet, oddly enough, she felt comforted.

Anne reread the letter, folded it carefully, and placed it in an envelope inside her drawer. The drawer was now stuffed with the letters Hannibal had sent.

Though most of the letters were updates on the war and political affairs, they always carried with them a warmth and sincerity.

She hated being Hannibal Claid’s fiancée. She found the position uncomfortable and burdensome. She wished to be free of it.

But with him absent from her side, she felt no reason to hide her heart.

Anne often reread his letters, cherishing them as she tucked them away.

“…Please, return safely. I’m begging you.”

And afterward, she would clasp her hands and pray sincerely.

Anne Ferro missed Hannibal Claid desperately.

Three years on the battlefield.

Not once had he returned home in a year, and this was the first war where that had been the case.

Hannibal stared wearily at the ash-blown plains in the distance.

“Those damned mages! Burning everything as they retreated—what if the sparks catch on nearby homes?!”

The area was windy, and the flying embers could easily ignite the thatched roofs of nearby peasants’ homes.

“They don’t care. It’s not their land or their people,” Hannibal replied dryly to Oliver’s complaint.

“Damn those Ruto bastards!”

It had been a victory.

They had decimated the enemy’s mage corps, forced them into a disgraceful retreat, and driven them beyond the border. But all that remained behind was scorched earth and death.

That was how war with Ruto always went. Even in victory, only scars remained for the West.

“This time, we end it for good.”

Hannibal ground his teeth.

For three long years, the war had dragged on, and Haiman’s meddling had only increased.

Prince Daniel had siphoned off elite troops while leaving the remaining imperial forces in the south—forces that, once the war was over, would become a thorn in Hannibal’s side.

“Send word to Sandor. All southern troops are to be relocated to the Greslin territory. Every last one of the imperial soldiers, too.”

Heading straight north from the central border, they would reach Ruto’s capital, Kailas, in just three days.

Ruto had split their forces to attack Edith Tara. Hannibal recognized this as a critical opportunity—and made the decision to end the war.

Count Sandor initially opposed the plan, but when Hannibal threatened to conscript his own son, the count relented and sent both his private soldiers and the imperial troops.

While waiting, Hannibal wrote another letter to Anne. They had exchanged quite a few by now.

No matter where he went in the West, Hannibal always kept Anne’s replies with him.

Sometimes, her letters were his only source of strength.

“To the Lord,
I hope this finds you safe.”

Her neat handwriting called to mind Anne Ferro’s calm, expressionless face.

Her smooth, partless crown. The round curve of the back of her head. Her lowered lashes. And those bold eyes that sometimes looked up at him as if to say, “What nonsense are you spouting now?”

He longed to see her in person—the proper, cool, and secretly cute Anne who always hid behind a mask of politeness.

“I always pray for your safety. —Anne Ferro.”

No matter how many times he reminded her of her status as his fiancée, her letters remained cool and reserved.

But Hannibal found even that endearing. It was exactly like her.

Life and death flickered by in a heartbeat on the battlefield. The future was always uncertain.

And so, love became all the more urgent.

He would survive. He would win.

And then, Hannibal Claid would properly confess his love to Anne Ferro.

This time—for real.

Troops from the South moved up to the center. The Northwestern army, led by Hannibal, descended.

Soldiers camped on the western edge of Greslin stretched across the plain, endless and vast.

“They really mean to end this,” Oliver said, standing on a hill and looking down at the troops.

“They have to. No more senseless death,” Hannibal replied.

“Word is, last week, a ship suspected to belong to Ruto’s forces passed by the south.”

“I hope the capital finally understands our suffering.”

“Maybe the emperor will stop once his own backyard catches fire.”

Oliver muttered bitterly as he chewed on jerky.

“I’m sick of dried meat. I want to go home and eat freshly grilled steak and piping hot onion soup!”

Hannibal let his friend’s grumbling drift away in the wind and looked past the border.

If they rode day and night, they’d reach Kailas in three days.

A city of mages—it would be impossible to avoid casualties. How many more had to die for this war to end?

“At dawn, we march.”

“…Got it.”

Oliver’s usual banter faded, and his shoulders grew heavy with silence. The brief peace of the past few days would end tonight.

That night, as torchlight flickered beyond the tents, Hannibal forced himself to sleep.

The noisy footsteps and murmuring voices had faded.

The camp was quiet. Deep and still.

BOOM!!

A massive explosion tore through the stillness, and flames shot up from the edge of the encampment.

“We’re under attack! The enemy has breached the camp!”

But the surrounding area was barren—just low hills and plains, no place for an enemy to hide.

Yet here was a surprise attack.

Hannibal, awakened from sleep, hastily armed himself and charged outside, shouting as he ran through the disoriented crowd of soldiers.

“Form ranks! Follow your captains!”

The front line began to reassemble, but the rear—where the fire had broken out—was utter chaos.

Hannibal spurred his horse and rode hard. The only ones he saw were their own soldiers, panicked and scattering. No enemy in sight.

“Where are they? Where is the enemy?!”

He grabbed one fleeing soldier.

“T-there! The flames rose from that direction!”

Smoke clouded the distance. Hannibal bit down on his lip and tugged the reins.

“Hyah!”

He charged into the smoke. The deeper he rode, the clearer the air became—and the flames began to die.

“Hannibal Claid?”

“Who’s there?!”

A low, husky woman’s voice. Hannibal raised his sword and shouted, “Show yourself!”

A laugh echoed through the haze.

“Reveal yourself!”

He slashed through the air with his blade.

Then—thud. A heavy footstep.

A towering figure appeared before him.

“…Who are you?”

Without hesitation, Hannibal raised his sword.

Even mounted, he barely reached the neck of the massive figure—like standing before a statue carved from stone.

The woman, with striking golden hair and icy blue eyes, slowly raised her hands.

“My name is Missmaighty Ruto. I’ve come to offer surrender.”

“Surrender? From a nation mobilizing every last soldier through a general conscription?”

“But most of them are commoners, not mages. We’re at a disadvantage against the Western army. So I came alone to surrender. Take me as a prisoner and demand terms from the Ruto King.”

“…Are you serious?”

“I swear on my name, Missmaighty Ruto—heir to the throne and Grand Mage of Ruto. I’ve long believed that subjugating the West is impossible. I was the one who asked you to return the golden key. Our king’s judgment is clouded—he’s desperate for prosperity and growth.”

“…”

Hannibal narrowed his eyes at her, then lowered his sword.

“Bind the prisoner.”

The soldiers who had been lingering nearby hesitated, intimidated by the woman’s size, but Missmaighty bent down to make it easier for them.

Later, she was confined to a tent. Hannibal came to speak with her.

“What’s your real plan?”

“I told you already.”

“Where did you hear about the golden key?”

“Asad Claid was once a mage of Ruto. We know as much about him as Claid does.”

“Who gave you that information?”

The golden key was a secret only recorded in Asad Claid’s chronicle, kept in the lord’s private library.

Hannibal didn’t believe her.