The northern banners flew half-mast over every fortress that week. The smoke of the Central Continent's "peace conference" still haunted the sky—ashen plumes curling like silent screams.

Noah stood at the balcony of the Citadel, the freezing wind cutting across his face. Below him, thousands of soldiers gathered in the square, their armor reflecting the pale northern sun. The air was heavy, charged with grief and the metallic scent of mourning.

Reports had poured in through the night. The explosion that had shattered the Central Hall was not an accident. The blast had been deliberate—planted under the delegation floor, timed for when both sides raised their glasses to toast a truce. The North had lost nearly all its envoys: dukes, generals, advisors, and envoys who had believed that words could save them.

Noah had been one of the few survivors.

He could still hear the shattering glass, the screams, the deafening roar that followed. The last thing he remembered before the blast swallowed the hall was Iris screaming his name and the flash of her red eyes turning toward him in panic.

Now, the council room behind him was filled with ghosts that wore the faces of men still alive.

---

Inside the War Council Chamber, the surviving northern officials gathered in thick fur coats. Their expressions were gaunt, sleepless. Maps stretched across the oval table, dotted with pins marking lost strongholds and burned supply lines.

General Raniel spoke first, his deep voice breaking the silence.

"The Central Continent has made its stance clear. They never wanted peace. That explosion was their declaration of total war."

Another general slammed his fist onto the table.

"We shouldn't have gone there in the first place! A treaty meeting in their territory? It was a trap from the start!"

Noah said nothing. His hands rested on the edge of the table, fingers pale against the wood. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—those faintly glowing silver eyes—betrayed a mind that was already three steps ahead.

"We couldn't have known," Raniel replied, though his voice lacked conviction.

All eyes turned to Noah. His silence was heavier than words.

"How many casualties?" he finally asked.

Raniel exhaled. "Eighty-seven confirmed dead from our side. Including Duke Varn, Lord Albrecht, and three members of the Winter Council. Over two hundred wounded."

The number settled like frost in the air.

"And the Central delegation?"

"Less than twenty. The blast hit our seating side harder. Whoever set it up knew exactly where our nobles were stationed."

Noah nodded slowly. His reflection in the table looked far older than eighteen.

"Then we proceed under the assumption," he said quietly, "that the attack was engineered to destroy the North's leadership, not to start a war.

War was simply the consequence they wanted."

The generals exchanged uneasy glances.

"And what do we do now?" someone asked.

Noah's answer came like a blade.

"We rebuild, reorganize and we strike."

---

That afternoon, the official ceremony was held in the Citadel's grand plaza. Every soldier, mage, and knight capable of standing attended. Even the snow seemed to pause its descent.

The announcer's voice echoed through the cold air:

"By decree of the Northern Crown and the will of the surviving Council—Noah, Head of Chrome Hearts, is hereby appointed Supreme Commander of the Northern Forces!"

The roar that followed was unlike anything Noah had ever heard.

Tens of thousands of soldiers struck their spears against the frozen ground, chanting his name until the sound became thunder.

"Supreme Commander! Supreme Commander! Supreme Commander!"

Noah stepped forward, his long black coat sweeping the ground. He didn't raise his hand, didn't smile.

His eyes drifted over the sea of faces—young men who had left farms, wives, and children behind.

Men who were about to march into a war none of them had started.

The chant kept going.

He wondered if they would still call him that after the things that would follow.

Behind him, Iris stood in uniform, her red eyes fixed on him.

She hadn't spoken much since the explosion. A thin scar marked her left arm now acting as a reminder of how close death had come.

"They believe in you," she said softly.

Noah didn't answer. His mind replayed the explosion over and over again, frame by frame.

---

That night, in the war room, Noah and the Chrome Hearts gathered around the map.

"We're creating a new unit," Noah said. "Codenamed Specter Division. You'll operate in shadows, under no nation's flag. Your target is the impostor...whoever they are, wherever they hide."

l

One of the agents raised a brow. "Do we have any leads?"

"Only one." Noah slid a sealed parchment onto the table. It bore a black insignia—half-burned wings.

"A southern church called Eldred's Remnant. They've been sighted spreading the impostor's sermons."

The room went silent. Even among assassins, there was unease in his words.

"And what about peace?" someone asked.

Noah looked up. His expression was blank, but there was something fractured behind his calm.

"Peace," he said, "is the reward of those who win."

---

When the meeting ended, Noah stepped out into the balcony again. The night stretched endlessly before him, painted in aurora green and violet light. From below, the faint sound of soldiers celebrating his title still carried through the wind.

He felt no pride. Only weight.

Iris joined him quietly, her breath visible in the cold air.

"You're not sleeping again," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I can't."

"You'll collapse at this rate."

"Then I'll collapse standing."

She sighed and leaned against the rail beside him.

"You're really going to bear it all alone, aren't you?"

Noah didn't respond.

The world was on fire.

But the North needed a symbol and a capable commander.

And so he let the title settle over him like armor.

The Supreme Commander.

At that moment Noah remembered something from right after the explosion and everyone evacuating.

Everything blurred around him from peoe screaming to them running around.

It was all as of in slow motion and the person who was before him and Noah were the only people.

Standing in front of Noah wearing armor and holding a sheathed blade was...

Draven Lockwood.