"Lucius Balka..." Arthur stared intensely at the book as the name resonated within him.
Lucius Balka was a foreign figure who could rival the forebearers of both Arthur's family, the Asvold family, and the Wilhem family.
His origins remained shrouded in mystery, and his power added an unexpected and profound sense of enigma.
Furthermore, all of his descendants exhibited exceptional strength and talent.
Take, for instance, the previous emperor, Emperor Elric.
He was the father of Emperor Alex and Arthur's mother, Vivian Balka.
He possessed a remarkable affinity for the earth element and the ability to exert control over the entire expanse of the Balka Empire's territory.
And now stands Emperor Alex, possessing a unique element—the element of light—a power that Arthur himself finds immeasurable.
Adding to this, there is Lucia, who too has awakened the potent element of light, demonstrating an equal magnitude of power.
One can only imagine the extraordinary genetic makeup of this Lucius Balka figure.
"Even my ancestors, Rozen Asvold and Darl Wilhem, were utterly overshadowed by him," Arthur mused, leaning back into contemplation.
With every revelation, the intrigue and unease escalated due to this peculiar factor.
"Now, let's delve into the discussion regarding the agreement among the three families," he said, his gaze shifting to the adjacent book, also bearing the title "The Treaty of the Three Great Families."
This treaty was the very factor and enigma driving David's insatiable lust for power.
The explanation behind Rozen Asvold's failure to secure dominion over the southern territory alongside the Wilhem family was undoubtedly a smokescreen, veiling the genuine cause.
Hidden within the contents of this treaty must lie an immensely secretive truth.
With a determined resolve, Arthur lifted the book and gently caressed its cover, sensing the delicate texture that bore witness to its years of neglect.
"Very well, let's unveil its contents." Arthur exhaled deeply and, with a sense of anticipation, opened the book.
...
Simultaneously, across an expansive stretch of territory, the resounding echoes of countless horse hooves and synchronized human footsteps reverberated throughout the entire region.
The glinting armor adorned their robust frames, and their swift movements exuded an intimidating allure.
Laden with colossal weaponry, their very presence emanated a sense of dread.
What's more, the countenances of each individual bore an icy detachment, their features etched with cruelty.
This demeanor was further intensified by an overwhelming aura of impending violence that stretched across the heavens.
Leading the soldiers were thirteen distinct figures.
Among them, ten were enveloped in dark cloaks that concealed their entire forms, projecting an air of enigma.
Contrasting them were three others, distinguished by their attire.
One donned white armor, another gold, and the third a deep, obsidian black.
The trio exchanged glances, their nods conveying an unspoken understanding.
The man garbed in white armor directed his attention toward one of the ten black-cloaked figures.
"Do you hold the assurance that you can vanquish the formidable army of the Balka Empire, along with their two formidable generals?" inquired the man, adorned in his resplendent white armor.
The man held the rank of third general within the Savaran Empire.
The recipient of his question was a black-robed figure, distinct in appearance as the most formidable among the nine others cloaked in similar attire.
A hint of amusement played across his lips as he responded, his voice laced with frigid assurance.
"Fret not over trifles! With all of us attaining the elemental saint level, what challenge do the two grand Balka Empire generals pose?" The cloaked figure's words dripped with a blend of scorn and pride, aimed at the comrades hidden beneath the veils of darkness.
His audacity emanated from his immense strength, positioning him as an invincible force within their ranks.
The inclusion of his subordinates, all at the early elemental saint level, bolstered his confidence further.
Upon hearing the brash proclamation from the cloaked figure, the man clad in white armor offered a slight nod.
"Let's hope your words align with the events that unfold," he responded in a calm tone, choosing not to prolong the interaction with the individual beneath the cloak.
Despite their shared purpose, these two sides were not aligned under the same banner; they hailed from distinct powers.
The trio of generals, including the man in white armor, hailed from the Savaran Empire, while the enigmatic ten cloaked figures represented an unfamiliar force.
It was the Emperor's directive that mandated their collaboration, aimed at ensuring victory in the impending grand battle.
Initially, he had reservations, believing that he and his fellow two generals were sufficient to launch a surprise assault on the northern region, where Duke Wilhem held sway.
"Noah Wilhem," he uttered the name with an undercurrent of seething resentment, vividly recalling the ruthless defeat they suffered at the hands of David and Noah in their previous engagement, a grim memory that still fueled his intense hatred.
The disdainful expressions displayed by the duo only further fueled his dissatisfaction, kindling a profound and unyielding hatred that penetrated to the core of his being.
Reconciliation seemed a distant notion.
Here was an opportunity, seemingly bestowed by the divine, to finally exact vengeance upon one of the two tormentors.
The mere thought of Noah's imminent demise quickened his heartbeat, igniting fervent anticipation.
Meanwhile, the sentiments within the minds of the other two generals mirrored those of the man encased in white armor.
Among them, the figure donning pitch-black armor held a prominent status as the primary and mightiest general.
The memory of the humiliation suffered at the hands of David and Noah remained etched upon his soul, an indelible scar that fueled his determination.
As they progressed toward their planned ambush, an abrupt disturbance emerged from the rear of their ranks—a cacophony of hastening hoofbeats echoed.
"Clack, clack!"
The resonating sound drew the attention of both the ten cloaked figures and the trio of generals alike.
It became evident that the source was a rider urging their horse to exceptional speed, positioned among the troops following behind.
The rider's visage bore the marks of acute panic, etched deeply into their features.
"What's amiss?" queried the man in white armor in a voice that carried concern, pivoting his steed to advance towards the hastening soldier.
Their paths converged, and the two figures stood face to face.
The general, attired in his gleaming white armor, regarded the soldier with a scrutinizing gaze, seeking an explanation for the disturbance.
"What has unsettled you to the extent of breaching protocol and galloping your horse into battle?" His voice resonated coldly, the frigid tone aimed at the soldier before him.
As its name implied, the most pivotal military dictum within the Savaran Empire strictly forbade hastening the pace of horses in the soldiers line.
A transgression of this rule would incur severe retribution.
This regulation held immense significance, preventing the disruption of meticulously orchestrated formations that could otherwise spell catastrophe on the battlefield.
The potential repercussions of such a breach were far-reaching and capable of leading to a crushing defeat.
Confronted by the ire of the third general, the soldier promptly lowered himself alongside his horse, maintaining a firm stance while addressing his general.
"I beg your pardon, General! If you deem it fit to penalize me later, I'll readily accept the consequences without dispute. However, a matter of utmost urgency has arisen—one that I cannot overlook. It is imperative that I convey it to you forthwith. Failure to do so could result in dire consequences for us all!" The soldier's voice rang out, resolute and unyielding, yet his visage betrayed a distinct blend of alarm and trepidation.
Despite the firmness of his words, the underlying panic on the soldier's face did not go unnoticed by the man adorned in the distinguished white armor.
He swiftly deduced that the situation must indeed be of grave importance, warranting immediate attention.
"This instance shall be pardoned," the general stated, bestowing a minor nod that indicated his willingness to overlook the infraction on this occasion.
The soldier's countenance remained wrought with apprehension, unfazed by the general's clemency.
"Please elucidate the precise nature of this occurrence." An air of perplexity mixed with concern pervaded the general's query.
The trembling soldier, with unsteady hands, retrieved a white scroll from his waist and tendered it to the man in white armor.
As the scroll exchanged hands, the man garbed in white armor scrutinized it with curiosity evident in his eyes.
"What does this scroll contain?" he inquired, his tone laced with intrigue.
In response, the soldier clenched his jaw and responded in a somber tone, "It bears intelligence from the force that launched an assault on the southern region. I implore you to peruse its contents."
The general's fingers delicately unfurled the scroll, his expression growing increasingly absorbed as he engrossed himself in the text.
"Boom!"
A thunderous vibration seemed to ripple through his frame as his visage transformed from concentration to astonishment, his grip on the scroll faltering as his hand shook.
"Inconceivable! How could this be?" His voice trembled, the undercurrent of fear palpable in his words—a sentiment not unnoticed by his fellow generals.
"What transpired? Your countenance betrays something amiss," the man donned in pitch-black armor interjected, hastening his steed to the side of his colleague, a perplexed expression etched upon his features.
However, the man engrossed in reading seemed oblivious to the inquiry; his gaze locked upon the scroll as his expression shifted from astonishment to a state of profound disbelief.
Ignoring the queries, he was soon jolted from his stupor as the scroll was wrested from his grasp by the man in pitch-black armor.
Swiftly scanning the contents, the pitch-black figure mirrored the same astonishment, his features contorting into an unsightly grimace.
"Impossible. Could Don truly have perished in a single strike?" He clenched his fists, muttering in disbelief as incredulity clouded his expression.
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