CHAPTER 16 — The Road to the Frontier
The kingdom looked different from outside its walls.
Inside Asteria, everything was order: pale stone, banners, straight formations, discipline that seemed natural. But when the squadron passed through the last fortified gate and left the academy behind, that illusion slowly unraveled.
The road to the frontier was not glorious.
It was long.
It was gray.
And it was full of things the kingdom preferred not to look at too closely.
Caelum rode in silence on one of the horses assigned to the unit. He was neither at the front nor the rear. He rode in the exact center of the convoy, where he could see almost everything without drawing attention.
Thirty soldiers marched in organized formation, divided into columns of five. They did not talk much. They did not joke. They were not cadets dreaming of glory.
They were men and women who understood what it meant to lose comrades.
At the front of the column rode the Warrior of the Shield.
His presence was a wordless declaration. He didn’t need to give constant orders; his mere existence set the pace. The enormous shield strapped to his back reflected a dull glow beneath the cloudy sky.
To the right of the convoy, riding with almost silent ease, was the Warrior of the Bow. Her eyes scanned the horizon as if every tree might be hiding a secret.
And several meters ahead, walking without a mount—as if distance were something that did not concern him—moved the Hero assigned to the operation.
Caelum did not need his name repeated.
He had already felt it.
The Hero of the Black Storm.
Kael Morvayn.
The atmospheric pressure around him was different. Not visible, but perceptible. The air seemed to compress slightly when he passed. It was not intentional. It was simply a natural consequence of his power.
Caelum observed him without looking directly.
A Hero who controls air pressure and electricity.
Dangerous.
Not because of brute force.
Because of reach.
Lyra rode several meters ahead of Caelum, maintaining formation as the operational core. She did not speak much—only what was necessary. Her posture was firm, professional.
Caelum noticed something.
Since they had left, she had not looked at him once beyond strict operational necessity.
That was not distance.
That was strategy.
Good.
The road grew rougher as they advanced north. Villages became smaller, more scattered. In one of them, the villagers lined the road to watch the squad pass.
They did not cheer.
They did not applaud.
They simply watched.
Caelum read that silence easily.
They do not trust the frontier.
A child pointed at the Warrior’s shield and murmured something to his mother. The mother lowered the child’s hand and made him bow his head.
Not out of respect.
Out of fear.
The Hero of the Black Storm stopped briefly while crossing the village. He looked up at the sky.
“The pressure is unstable,” he said, as if commenting on the weather.
The captain coordinating logistics frowned.
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“A storm?”
The Hero shook his head calmly.
“No. Movement.”
Caelum listened.
The Sin of Envy did not always attack with visible force.
Sometimes it attacked by altering patterns.
A wind that should not change.
A patrol that should not vanish.
A village that watches too closely.
They continued.
By late afternoon the landscape shifted again. Cultivated fields disappeared. Hills became steeper. The forest returned—denser than the one near the academy.
And darker.
The Warrior of the Shield raised a hand.
The convoy halted.
“Tactical rest,” he said in a deep voice.
It was not a suggestion.
Soldiers dismounted in order. Two advanced to secure the perimeter. Others began setting up a minimal camp.
Caelum dismounted quietly.
Selene approached him.
“Do you feel it?” she asked softly.
Caelum did not look at her.
“Yes.”
Selene gave a small nod.
“It’s not natural.”
It wasn’t.
The air was too still.
Too contained.
Darius dropped onto a nearby rock.
“I like this even less than the forest,” he muttered.
Bram did not respond.
He was staring at the treeline as if expecting something to step out.
Lyra approached.
“Rotating watch shifts,” she ordered. “No one sleeps deeply.”
Caelum noticed something in her tone.
It wasn’t just caution.
It was intuition.
The Hero of the Black Storm walked into the center of the camp. He raised a hand and closed his eyes for a moment.
The air compressed.
Not violently.
Subtly.
Then he released it.
“No immediate ambush,” he said.
The soldiers relaxed slightly.
Caelum did not.
Because the Sin of Envy is not always where you expect it.
Night fell completely.
The camp was lit with low, controlled fire. No high flames that could reveal their position.
Caelum took the first watch.
He moved a short distance away from the camp—far enough to see and hear without being part of the murmurs.
He looked at the horizon.
Dark.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
Soft footsteps behind him did not surprise him.
“I knew you’d be awake,” said the voice of the Hero of the Black Storm.
Caelum did not turn.
“I don’t trust the first days of a mission,” he replied.
The Hero stopped beside him.
He did not invade his space.
He simply observed the same horizon.
“In the forest,” the Hero said calmly, “I felt something.”
Caelum remained motionless.
“It wasn’t common magic,” the Hero continued. “It wasn’t elemental energy. It wasn’t a summoning.”
Silence.
“Do you want to say something?” the Hero asked.
Caelum answered with perfect neutrality.
“We survived.”
The Hero smiled faintly.
“That does not answer my question.”
“You didn’t ask one.”
The Hero exhaled quietly.
“You’re careful.”
“Yes.”
The air compressed slightly again.
Not as a threat.
As a test.
The Hero did not use lightning.
Did not summon a storm.
He simply adjusted the atmospheric pressure within a small radius around Caelum.
Just enough to make breathing harder.
To force an instinctive reaction.
Caelum felt the shift.
His body registered it.
But he did not react.
He did not tense.
He did not adopt a defensive posture.
He simply slowed his breathing.
Controlled.
The Hero watched.
The pressure increased a little more.
Any normal human would have stepped back.
Would have stiffened.
Would have shown discomfort.
Caelum did none of that.
The Hero released the pressure.
“Interesting,” he murmured.
Caelum finally looked at him.
“Was that a test?”
“Yes.”
“And the result?”
The Hero tilted his head.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
He turned and walked back to the camp.
Caelum watched him go.
He’s searching for cracks.
Good.
Let him search.
The second half of the night passed without visible incident.
But Caelum slept no more than an hour.
Not because he feared an attack.
Because the silence told him someone was measuring distance.
At dawn, the convoy resumed its march.
Mountains began to rise along the horizon.
The frontier.
It was not marked by walls.
It was marked by absence.
Fewer villages.
Fewer roads.
More scattered military posts.
By midday they reached the first outpost.
A reinforced wooden tower surrounded by palisades.
The soldiers stationed there came out to meet them.
They did not smile.
They did not celebrate.
Their faces were tense.
“Captain,” greeted the outpost commander. “You arrived at a good time.”
The captain frowned.
“What happened?”
The commander hesitated.
“Last night we lost contact with the second outpost.”
Silence.
The Warrior of the Shield stepped forward.
“Confirmed?”
“Yes. They’re not responding.”
The Hero of the Black Storm looked north.
The air felt strange again.
Caelum watched the exchange without speaking.
Pattern.
First the academy.
Then the forest.
Now the frontier.
The Sin of Envy was not attacking with brute force.
It was tightening the rope.
The outpost commander lowered his voice.
“We found no signs of battle. No fire. No bodies.”
The captain clenched his jaw.
“So it’s not a massacre.”
“No,” the commander said. “It’s a disappearance.”
Caelum felt the internal confirmation.
A message.
Lyra stepped toward the outpost’s map.
“Distance to the second outpost?”
“Three hours on horseback.”
The Warrior of the Shield looked at the captain.
“We move now.”
The captain nodded.
“Full squad. No extended rest.”
Caelum felt the shift in tempo.
The mission had just changed.
It was no longer observation.
It was response.
As they mounted again, Darius muttered:
“I don’t like this.”
Selene answered quietly.
“No one likes the frontier.”
Bram swallowed.
Lyra turned toward Caelum.
For the first time since they left the academy, their gazes held for more than a second.
Not as senior cadet and recruit.
As two people who knew what was happening was not coincidence.
Caelum inclined his head slightly.
I know.
Lyra turned forward again.
The convoy moved toward the second outpost.
The landscape became harsher.
The wind colder.
The silence heavier.
And while the kingdom believed it was moving its greatest pieces—a Hero, two Warriors, thirty soldiers—Caelum realized something with brutal clarity:
The Sin of Envy was not running.
It was guiding them.
Toward something they still could not see.
And for the first time since leaving the academy, Caelum felt an uncomfortable certainty:
The real battlefield would not be at the second outpost.
It would be beyond it.
And when they arrived…
There would be no dragons.
No minotaurs.
There would be something worse.
Silence.
And a choice.
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