007: Signs of War

“Captain, this...”
“Too arrogant. Who does she think she is...”
“The newcomer who just joined our Sixth Squad...”
“Coming and going as she pleases, as if the Freedom Wings is some kind of playground...”
“What if she goes around talking nonsense outside? Could it harm our guild...”
“Enough! Quiet down!”

Seeing the girl walk away so nonchalantly, some of the remaining members at the table began to stir. Some said that the girl, who had only been here a few days yet already showed attitude and walked off on her own, was disrespectful of the rules. Others worried that such a casual departure by a newcomer might be inappropriate—what if she spread rumors that would damage the guild’s reputation? The team captain, who led the discussion, was a commanding figure; with just a few words, he quelled the heated atmosphere. He glanced at the silent ones who had not spoken—those who generally got along well with the lively girl. Their silence, he knew, was the real issue needing attention.

“Wuji, I understand your difficulties, but you know her personality well. Is this really the best approach...” After a pause, the man sitting beside the captain, likely the strategist of the squad, spoke quietly.

“...It’s fine.” After a long sigh, the captain called Wuji exhaled: “People like her exist everywhere. Situations like this happen every day. We’ve faced far bigger challenges—there’s no need to change anything over a single newcomer.”

“I know some of you feel aggrieved.” The captain looked at his silent subordinates and said slowly: “If you see any problems or issues, you’re free to report them to the guild leader. But I must say...” He paused and swept his gaze over his team: “The current arrangement is designed to maximize everyone’s benefit and... to avoid disrupting our plans.”

A moment of silence followed, then everyone nodded.

“Alan, Tiger, those three pieces of equipment will be yours today. Coordinate between yourselves and show me what you can do.” The captain reiterated his decision before turning to the others: “The plan remains unchanged. Brother Xiong, please take charge of this part.” He addressed the man sitting nearby: “Sorry to trouble you.”

Brother Xiong nodded and said softly: “I heard news from the guild headquarters—the Empire’s high command seems to be discussing whether to go to war...”

“I’ve heard that too.” The captain waved dismissively. “The guild leader is closely watching military movements. After all, we have some connections, so it’s easier to get information. Nothing is confirmed yet, and even if it is, we still need to study whether it benefits us...”

“Yes, especially since we’re currently within the Duchy’s borders. If the war reaches here, who knows what might happen...”

“It won’t.” The captain shook his head firmly. “The distance is too great. Let’s focus on our own business and let the Empire’s bigwigs keep arguing. Maybe by the time we’re done, they still haven’t decided...”

“That’s true...”

The group fell silent again, lost in thought. Brother Xiong frowned once more: “Tonight’s incident was ultimately unfair to that girl. Maybe we should go find her and try to persuade her...”

“Persuade her my foot... Fine, if you want to go, go. I don’t care anymore.” The captain replied impatiently. “In any case, today’s decision... won’t change.”

“The future plans remain as before.”

***************

“The future plans... for now, don’t need to change.”

Redcar, the capital of the Furei Empire.

At Landon Tavern, the same dark night, another round table—this one inside a private room within the tavern. The bustling imperial capital’s top taverns offered every service imaginable, but few low-level players had the privilege to glimpse the full picture. Still, private rooms were bookable, varying in size and decorated with relics from the Age of Freedom. Here, players or residents of the Free Continent could quietly enjoy fine wine and other amenities while discussing personal or official matters without fear of eavesdropping.

At this moment, several individuals dressed like elite players sat around the round table, apparently discussing important matters. Judging by their equipment, they were among the highest echelon of players.

One man, clad in gleaming silver armor, with two shining longswords hanging at his waist, sat in the center seat. His small mustache twitched as he spoke, his serious expression emanating the aura of a high-ranking figure.

Freedom Wings Guild’s current leader, Free Flight.

“...That target remains our primary objective. We’ve roughly pinpointed its location. The Sixth Squad has already gathered some intelligence and is organizing personnel for detailed arrangements. Even if war breaks out, it won’t affect this for now.”

He rested his elbow on the table and lowered his head slowly: “Moreover, if possible, we might even...”

“The key now is what the Emperor and his ministers think. Will they agree to... go to war?” A nearby male player spoke up, wearing a white robe and a monocle over his left eye, holding a book-like object. He adjusted his glasses and spoke carefully, concern evident in his tone: “Personally, I hope they don’t.”

“Don’t be such a coward, our great strategist! War is an exciting business!” Another man clad in black iron armor said loudly. His spiky hair stood like a porcupine’s quills; a greatsword strapped to his back. “A man’s ambition lies on the battlefield! How else can we show our romance and strength if not by charging into battle? Ha ha ha...”

“Quiet, Iron Plate!” A woman beside him shouted, slapping the table. Though not stunning, her large eyes were captivating. Her fiery red hair fell in long waves, and although she wore armor, it was a lightweight design tailored for women—protecting vital areas while accentuating her alluring figure. The man’s ID was “Half Pack of Cigarettes,” but she called him Iron Plate, likely a teasing nickname. “Don’t lump your battle-crazed self in with us, alright? If you want to die young, that’s your business...”

“Tch, you don’t understand the joy of battle. That’s why women...”

“You—what—did—you—say?” The woman ground her teeth, clearly about to explode.

“Alright, alright, no more arguing.” Free Flight saw the tension and quickly intervened. “The war won’t happen just because we wish it or not. Let’s wait for the latest news. After all, Ice and the others are already on their way back. It wouldn’t be good if they returned now.” He sat down and sighed. “Let’s just wait and see what Little Bird replies...”

As the capital of the Furei Empire, Redcar was extraordinarily prosperous. Even at night, its lights illuminated this centuries-old city as brightly as day. Magical lamps of various hues lit the streets filled with revelers enjoying nightlife—bars, banquets, arenas, amusement parks, all kinds of entertainment dazzled newcomers from the countryside.

But on the night of March 25, Year 795 of the New Calendar, the imperial palace was devoid of song and dance, no joyous scenes of ruler and subjects celebrating together.

White window frames, golden walls, and a palace gate lavishly decorated. Flanking the entrance stood two imposing statues—said to be the two great generals who served the founding Queen Furei. They stood as symbols of shared honor and disgrace with the empire.

Such statues were common within the palace. Under the glow of pale yellow magical lamps, statues resembling soldiers and officers lined both sides of the central red carpet. At the carpet’s end stood the Emperor’s throne on a black dais, which spread outward in steps, forming multiple larger platforms. Each platform was surrounded by fixed seats, increasing in number with the expanding area.

Though night, the magical lighting made the platforms appear transparent, as if coated in gold. Apart from the Emperor seated at the throne, several others occupied seats on the highest platform.

The seats were crafted from exquisite materials. Those nearest the throne were made from a mineral excavated from ruins dating to the Magic Age—once used to store magical energy but now little more than a black jade-like stone. Its dark luster lent a solemn gravity to the vast space and dizzying heights.

Yet those seated there seemed restless.

“Agent Smith of Intelligence has returned. After verification, his information is highly reliable. Gentlemen, what are you hesitating for? This is our best opportunity...”

“No, Minister Sousas, the arrangements—some might say discoveries—at the southwestern border fortress have flaws. The Duchy may have already caught on...”

“So what? If it’s possible, we have grounds. As for our strength... do you think our army couldn’t defeat those loosely allied ragtag forces, Chancellor Kaldera?”

“Without a proper cause, we will face united resistance from those so-called ragtag armies, esteemed Minister.” The old chancellor, hair graying, dressed in noble robes, shook his head calmly but firmly. “We know their characteristics well. I believe... you do too. Moreover, there is a rebellion brewing in the Empire’s north...”

“You must understand priorities, Chancellor.” At that moment, another voice spoke from the chancellor’s other side. It was Marshal Reid, the Empire’s highest military officer.

“That minor rebellion can be handled by one capable officer under my command and some brave soldiers...” The marshal, elderly with white hair, wore his black military general’s uniform, radiating a grim martial aura. His voice was low but commanding: “However, if the intelligence is true, we must demonstrate our will with force.”

The chancellor lowered his head, his aged face shadowed, seemingly unwilling to argue further, perhaps pondering a suitable response. Silence lasted a few seconds before a frivolous voice interrupted.

“Sorry to disturb your... er, debate. But I must remind you that many are eager... for war.”

This came from a young man seated in a corner. Compared to others on the same platform, he was noticeably younger and stood out among the dignitaries—he was Simon, Deputy Minister of the Empire’s Civil Affairs Department, overseeing water resources.

But his name was Simon, so he was here.

His long black hair framed his pale, somewhat sickly face. Wearing a black tailcoat, he casually removed his white noble gloves and flicked them in his hand. “Around us—around Redcar, around the Empire, even some in the Duchy—many want war.”

“Oh, I don’t intend to judge this topic, gentlemen. Just a reminder: whatever your final decision, don’t forget those people.”

“Those my subordinates uncovered—the ones hoping to restore the old regime.”

This silence lingered longer. Even Minister Sousas, who had persisted earlier, fell quiet. Amid the heavy atmosphere, another scornful voice snapped back.

“I’ve always thought... you and your subordinates are alarmists!”

Everyone turned toward the speaker, a bulky figure sitting nearby. Matching his corpulent build was his identity: the Empire’s Finance Minister, Field Pammuel.

“I’ve long suspected the things you say! You...” His grating voice paused, aware this was no place for certain words, then continued: “Wanting war isn’t necessarily bad. As Finance Minister, I am the most qualified to say this because I know our nation is wealthy and... very capable of waging war.”

“Even if those so-called war hawks within the Empire are eager, so what? We have the strength, the reasons, the benefits... isn’t that enough? Those young men wanting glory on the battlefield—let them go. We have the funds to support them. Those country bumpkins from the Duchy wanting to fight us? Let them come—I’ve disliked them for a long time. As for those others you mentioned...”

The fat man’s voice suddenly rose sharply:

“All lies! Your rumors! Your... fabricated delusions!”

He gestured wildly, exerting great effort despite his bulk. Settling back into the sturdy black chair, he relaxed and began to pant lightly. The pale young man smiled calmly at the outburst, confident others would dismiss the finance minister’s words.

At that moment, the figure atop the highest throne finally spoke.

“Minister Pammuel, please remain calm.”

His voice was soft but commanding, befitting the middle-aged man who sat there. His beard and hair were fully white, resembling a lion’s mane—a striking image for an emperor in his forties or fifties, in his prime.

Dreniel Furei Kadreft, the current Emperor of the Furei Empire.

Dressed in regal gold and red robes, holding a black gentleman’s cane, his seemingly casual demeanor concealed sharp eyes that swept over every person present. After the finance minister’s attack, a single word from the mighty emperor silenced all others, for they knew tonight’s decision was imminent.

“Continue investigating the authenticity of that matter—the border fortress incursion...” The emperor pondered briefly before speaking: “Keep pressuring that old stubborn Hosman for an explanation. As for the restorationists...” He chuckled coldly twice: “Let them jump around a bit. I want to see what they can actually accomplish.”

“As for the troop deployment proposal, it will be discussed by the ministers tomorrow...”

**************

Late into the night, news from the palace spread, and the tavern group relaxed.

“Glad it didn’t come to blows after all. I feel better now.” The woman named Nan Zhi sighed. “Our goal shouldn’t be affected...”

“We can lower our guard here, but don’t celebrate too soon. Our old rivals have probably caught wind of this and seem to be making moves...” The strategist with the monocle poured cold water on the mood.

“Hmph, the underworld...” Free Flight sneered darkly. “Since the Tanya incident... sooner or later, they’ll get what’s coming to them...”

Iron Plate secretly stuck out his tongue. He knew this kind of sneer from the guild leader usually meant a lack of confidence—after all, they were facing the top guild of the alliance, which had suppressed them for a long time...

“By the way, did you hear? That person logged in today...”

Thinking of their nemesis, a sudden rumor flashed through his mind. At first, he had dismissed it as idle gossip, but now, recalling it, he spoke casually.

“Who?”

“You say that, who’d understand...”

The others responded confusedly, which seemed to comfort Iron Plate somewhat. He laughed heartily: “Obviously just rumors. I said it couldn’t be true, haha... uh, what’s wrong with you guys...”

His voice trailed off as the others’ expressions grew strange, as if his question had sparked a troubling thought. Free Flight stiffened, then grew solemn.

“You mean... that person...?”

“The one from three years ago...”

The air thickened, a tacit understanding passing between them. None spoke their thoughts aloud, but in their eyes was a flicker of hope mixed with tense apprehension.

“Hey, have you guys also heard...” Iron Plate hesitated, his voice no longer boisterous. “Could it really be...”

No one answered. The mood darkened further. The woman shook her head as if to dispel the uneasy feeling and then left the room.

“Hey, Zhi, wait for me...” Iron Plate chased after her, his voice fading into the distance. The monocle-wearing strategist frowned and sat down, whispering: “If it’s true...”

“Get someone to spread the word and watch the public’s reaction. Also... to test the waters.”

After giving some instructions to a subordinate, Free Flight walked to the window, gazing at the city’s vibrant nightscape. Thoughts of the guild’s plans and the sudden rumor swirled chaotically in his mind. He eventually looked up at the nonexistent stars in the sky above reality, sighed, and shook his head.

“He’s back...?” he murmured. “That legend...”