To command a legion was said to be like ruling a province of the Kerezim Empire itself. But it was significantly harder than normal, being a standing army that marched at the whim of the emperor if need be. Garrison postings to let tired soldiers rest and recover were few and far in-between, not when it felt like their presence was always in demand somewhere in the vast territory they called their home. And sometimes, they ventured further beyond those borders too.

  Gionre, appointed commander of the Third Legion, subtly wished for his unit to be bestowed such a great honor one day, to fight in foreign soils to earn glory yet seen. Of course it would be a daunting challenge, both logistically and strategically to be in hostile lands not yet mapped. But he welcomed them- thrived in it even. It had been why he gladly endured the grueling selection process against other noble candidates who jockeyed and jostled for the appointment.

  To be awarded the position was already prestigious. To fulfill the position: glorious.

  The Third Legion too had an illustrious history, perhaps not as stellar as the First or Second. But their standard had been at the forefront of the war against the undead, of when the corpse emperor arose. And they had participated in the great march north, one of those few who came out still intact where others perished and withered in those untamed, bitter lands. It was only natural then that assuming command should thus be everything Gionre had ever wanted.

  Yet by wisdom of Her Radiance, the Third Legion had been mostly tasked with peacekeeping operations across the empire ever since he was placed in charge. It wasn't even the arguably comfortable and prestigious honor guard that the First Legion had; instead, the Third marched through lands that the noble from the illustrious south could only call poor and underdeveloped. He had looked upon those who called themselves electors for the empire and found them wanting, lip curling disdainfully at their lack of...spine.

  He had put up with it though, for at least occasional unrest was a passing dalliance to test his wit. He could proudly boast to have handled so many that would have ground house troops down to nothing, before the marshal had received the blessing of the emperor to rest on garrison duty. Even glory-hury as Gionre was, the man would not let the Third Legion overly exert to criminal neglect.

  But he found himself wishing that the new recruits would already hurry up their training so that his legion could march again. The question was, of course, to where.

  That had been the thought that plagued the orc commander all the while his unit rested. Where next to suggest the Third Legion head towards? Now that Gionre had surely proven his command, he could perhaps request Her Radiance to send the Third Legion to more challenging fronts. Perhaps to the far eastern lands over the ocean, where the empire was hinted to be expanding towards? Or could he accomplish what his predecessors hadn't and carry a successful march through the northern range to the famed dragon heartland? Maybe even finally dealing with those southeastern islands of that merchant republic, bringing them under the imperial flag they evaded for so long?

  But before he could settle on one and draft the proposal to the emperor so, a raven had arrived with unwelcome news that had Gionre frowning. Apparently the Duhcy of Gabion, the stalwart guardians of the west against the endless monster tides, had come under threat from unknown internal enemies and required aid. It sounded like perhaps one of their more antagonistic neighbors had finally decided to forget the empire's involvement in pacifying the region, and broken the agreement to attack those who defended them.

  Gionre found himself more excited at the prospect of a fight than outraged of this smear against imperial honor. He supposed he could be both at the same time, especially when it had been by direct proclamation of a prior emperor that House Cordis was to remain uninvolved in whatever petty squabbles the nobility liked to engage in within this western region of the empire. But it sounded at last that there were those who would unabashedly stir up trouble, then dare somebody do something about it!

  Ah, he would enjoy this march to lend aid to a beleaguered ally. Finally, a challenge worthy of his skills!

  Then the Third Legion, while preparing muster for their march, had received another update, one that quite pointedly killed his enthusiasm. House Cordis had apparently triumphed and needed no further aid. Now the only thing Gionre would march to was to exhaustively demand the heads of all those responsibility for this upset. He would do so dutifully, if only to earn some sort of dark retribution against those who had the gall to perish right after getting his hopes up.

  Hm, but was it not said that these monster tides were a threat? That anything beyond the great western wall was a new frontier? Oho. Perhaps Gionre had foolishly overlooked the opportunity there, to muster the Third Legion to strike out and see if they could find the source of all these tides. He had been in the middle of drafting up a proposal for such when even more ravens arrived, this time from the troublesome neighbors.

  Unabashed, open war had broken out in the region! Oh, now this was getting exciting for the man. He'd set the proposal aside to finish later, then began to make plans for quelling this obviously unacceptable chaos. He needn't wait for the order of Her Radiance to do so when it was so blatantly against the imperial mandates. Curiously, it seemed like only the Duchy of Gabion was exempt from this upset in regional unrest, isolated by their now conflicting neighbors.

  Hm. Some of his officer corps had suggested that the assault and subsequent defeat against House Cordis could have been the catalyst for all this. He supposed in thanks, he'd prioritize trying to keep open the trade routes into their territory from other lands. And if that so happened to mean that he would have the delicious trial of trying to protect merchant convoys through hostile lands- so be it.

  Yes, Gionre would take his time with this rare treat. Not too slowly that it'd be a dereliction of duty of course, but properly subduing the region to restore lasting peace instead of a quick and temporary resolution. His pride, and that of the Third Legion, demanded no less.

  Then perhaps House Cordis would be most amenable to supporting his petition to strike further west and eradicate the monster tides, once and for all! He looked forward to the likely years of work and battle then. Perhaps, if it wasn't too inappropriate, he would have the Third Legion show their thanks to the Ten Lights for this blessing. He would want to offer a private prayer especially to Savage, Divine of War, for the gift sent his way.

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  As soon as he had been cleared for light exercise so that his muscles wouldn't start to atrophy, Gregori wasted no time in making use of the training arena in the manor to start refreshing his skills. Frustratingly, the recovering duke was told that spars were still strictly forbidden, so all he could do was punching some quite rather soft dummies. He was forced instead to simply watch as his daughter insisted on trying her own skills against the amused dolls. Frie was the one who had accepted the challenge and had taken on Petula's sword with their fists.

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  The vampire woman lost within seconds when her opponent used a skill to open up the fight.

  "Oh?" they expressed, sounding slightly surprised by how fast the wooden sword had been knock out her hand. "My sincere apologies, I had been anticipating you would use a parry or counter skill to match my own. Are you quite alright?"

  "Nothing but a bruised ego," she muttered, shaking off the slightly bruised wrist. "You're really fast."

  "[Crane Stance] is quite a handy skill for that and when combined with [Flash Step], it's very nimble."

  "I can see that," Petula uncharacteristically snapped before gritting her teeth, frstrated. She sucked in a deep breath before exhaling, hanging her head slightly. "Sorry, I just thought that I was better. That maybe I was good already for fighting off that assassin. Now it feels like they were holding back on me, or just even worse than me in a fair fight."

  Oh, the duke was absolutely going to have a stern talking to with his daughter with that. What in the world was she thinking, going after the one who almost killed him! It was perhaps a miracle that she wasn't killed or, like she suggested, maybe they had been purposefully restraining themselves."

  "Hm. I very well can't say without knowing details," the butler doll commented with a shake of the head. "All I know was that back in my day, they were capable in open fights too with adequate preparation or setup. A good deal of effort that should be respected in itself, like all who train well enough."

  "Now, again. This time, I want to see how your swordplay truly is."

  While the two readied up again, heavier sound of another ongoing spar drew the duke's attention. It was Kuch and Mordred, out of armor and using practice weapons, yet going at it with ferocity that would have shattered bones in a drill yard. Both seem quite accustomed to it, like it was simply how they had fun: by honing themselves to a maddening degree of power.

  "[Spiral Thrust]!"

  "[Cloak of Ignominy]!"

  The practice lance point gleaned, then engulfed in energy that seemed to accelerate the way it spun forward at its target. Meanwhile one of the large blades used by her opponent suddenly seemed to become like a flowing robe, one that absorbed the incoming with extraordinary resilience. The clashing offense and defense skills seemed to war with one another for a few moments before both broke off, weapons returning back to normal when the energies faded away.

  Both combatants nodded at each other and then relaxed, lowering their weapons once sure that the spar was over. "You picked up a new skill then from dealing with the mercenaries. A good one too- while [Vein Ripper] is good, it's more ideal for dealing with groups. [Spiral Thrust] hits harder but only against a single opponent."

  "Ah, I was going to ask the difference between them. It also feels like it drains me a bit more, like I need to rest before using it again," Mordred commented with a roll of the shoulder. "Still not as much as [Dragon Dive] though."

  "That is your most powerful ability in your arsenal for the moment, so I'm not surprised."

  "Three dedicated combat skills," the duke reckoned by his count, shaking his head. "What power."

  "Oh, is that so unusual?" This time it was Noel who asked the question, the puppet overseeing and making sure the vampire didn't overly exert themselves training. "How many does the average individual have?"

  "One or two, for the average commoner. Three is considered particularly talented."

  That actually did surprise them greatly, their body stilling for a moment before resuming. They blinked and tilted their head. "But I saw bakeries having both [Infuse] and [Ferment]? Oh, but there were a lot others who just made the bread by hand too."

  "Those with the skills were considered the high-end ones. For somebody to have one or both crafting skills would be an indication of considerable experience, as it likely would be in conjunction with whatever battle skills they have." Gregori decided to take a break and rest his hands. He supposed he could work his tongue and head instead. "I suppose that since you're from a time where skills were likely commonplace, it perhaps we today seem quite meager. But the truth of the matter is that the average individual in the empire would want at least one combat skill, in case they are drafted up as a levy. That is what the vast majority would have at least, hence the saying that anybody could at least become a mercenary or soldier if all else fails.

  "Though if they were to work especially hard over time, perhaps they could pick up a second skill, either another combat or crafting one. Usually by then, one can tell what sort of career trajectory they're angling for, what sort of lives they wished to live. A third afterwards is considered to be true mastery in whatever field they desire to pursue." The duke shifted and rubbed at his wrinkled palms. "You have observed us for a while, so I take it that you are aware of our house's specialty."

  "[Blood Harvest], right?"

  "Indeed, and in my time of rule, I have also picked up [Rallying Cry]. But no matter how hard I try, it feels like I cannot quite find it in myself to obtain another." He sighed heavily, shaking his head. "It simply feels like it eludes my grasp. My hope is that since my son seems to have obtained the same skill much sooner, he has the greater potential to become a leader than I. Or so that is the hope at least."

  The puppet's face seemed to be contorting in thought and consideration. They glanced over at Kuch who had resumed sparring, seemingly recalling something. "The one who invaded your castle had four skills."

  His hand balled into a fist. "Which was why he had been hailed and believed to be something like a chosen of the gods. His reputation did not start from nothing but lies. He had apparent talent to back his claim of blessing. Generational talent, to be specific, who then put his might into opposing us. He could have been the type to help shape an era, in one way or another."

  "Is this...normal?" Noel asked in a low tone. "To have so few skills? And such poor understanding of them at that?"

  "It is simply what we know in our time. But you are surely aware that skills are only methods by which we channel energies- nothing can overcome earned ability and talent." Gregori fell silent and turned to face his daughter going through the motions. "Or so I pray, for my daughter's sake."

  "Which ones does she know?"

  "None. She apparently cannot channel our ancestor's greatest gift." Perhaps he was being a bit too open about things that should have remained secrets of House Cordis. But Noel was the closest thing to perhaps a sage from an era of worldly enlightenment, and the duke was aware that he could not be around to shield her forever.

  That was why most commoners learned at least one combat skill, to protect themselves in the heat of battle. If Petula could not even manage that, then he shuddered to imagine what would happen if she found herself in danger again. She seemed to especially rush into it an awful lot, so he feared the worst. Perhaps though, this puppet who could cure an incurable poison could bestow upon her some wisdom.

  "The greatest gift of her ancestor?" muttered Noel. When the duke looked questioning at them, they waved their hand. "Ah, don't mind me. Just thinking about a few things. Sorry, I need to excuse myself and think on this."

  "I understand. But if you could-"

  "Oh, don't worry. I'll see what I can do for Petula- might be a while though."

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