GMWB 85

General Okeanus’s visit spread quickly through Navy Headquarters.

“There hasn’t been a quiet day for the navy this year,” Ami muttered while sneaking a cookie she’d bought from the canteen. Nearby sailors drifted over and surreptitiously grabbed a few crumbs.

“Aren’t you going to go greet the general, Major?” Lieutenant Colonel Ice asked on purpose.

Leto let out a short chuckle, like someone hearing something adorable.

“That was entertaining, Colonel.” He replied with a smirk, but answered politely enough. “If I go pay my respects to the general now, it’ll be like handing one of those people who already can’t stand me another arm to chew on.”

Because of that, special privileges today were tightly restricted to indoor activities.

When Leto returned from the war and received an unusual promotion, Admiral Albus Okeanus—who was then the navy commander—had kept his stance neutral.

He was angry that Leto had gone against his family’s wishes to enlist, but he also feared that if he intervened, his grandson’s achievements might be overshadowed.

On the day Leto’s promotion to brigadier general was confirmed, Albus resigned his post and chose to retire. Then he moved to the capital.

It was deemed inappropriate to have two high-ranking naval officers from the Okeanus line occupying admiral positions side by side.

Albus initially intended to stay retired, but the young king’s subtle persuasion brought him back to the Ministry of Defense.

These days he was enjoying a pleasant old age, quietly taking small vindications against the military officers and knights who had tried to check Leto.

“So, what brings him here?” Celine asked, with genuine curiosity and no hidden motive.

“Probably came south to have a drink with the commander,” Leto answered indifferently. “I heard he’s on leave. Looks like he’ll be staying in the Sharp territory for a while—just a courtesy call, I suppose.”

“Weren’t there formal introductions?” Ami asked, scrunching up the finished cookie bag and tossing it toward the trash. She nudged Noah’s arm lightly with her elbow. “How was it?”

“It was pleasant.” Noah offered a short comment.

Admiral Adbelo’s meeting with General Okeanus was a modest, private affair in the Chief of Staff’s office—just the two of them.

Adbelo’s usual aide, Bis, was not present.

Two on-the-rocks glasses, each holding a single round, clear ice sphere, sat on the table. A bottle of whiskey was placed between them.

“Five targets,” Albus said first.

“This hunt will hinge on information and speed.” Adbelo clicked his tongue, crossing his legs with a haughty arrogance that clearly showed his displeasure.

“The king’s dispatch came this morning.”

“I can guess what it says.” Albus inferred from Admiral Adbelo’s mood.

Adbelo had wanted to announce that spies had infiltrated the south, but after consideration the king had dismissed a direct declaration.

He’d allowed a loophole, though. “No direct mention, but it’s possible to hint at it in other ways,” the king had said.

The king appeared unusually reluctant to be openly cooperative with the southern governors. Adbelo didn’t voice that opinion aloud.

“Should we fabricate an incident?” Adbelo asked.

“If it were me, I’d have cursed a few dozen times first…,” Albus said with a wry smile.

“Might as well—we’ve got an attempted kidnapping on our hands.” Adbelo continued.

Albus frowned at that. There was no excuse for this oversight; it was plainly a mistake on their part.

“We can just send out a circular warning about heightened caution due to an attempted abduction.” Using their own error made him uneasy, but the stability of the south was paramount.

“Are you certain it’s limited to Sharp?” Albus asked.

“Yes.” Adbelo’s voice tightened. That damned grandson had shown up.

At the center of the trouble: Ati, now aligned with Tenebre, who’d appeared despite knowing he’d be beaten for it; the subtle pressure on the south; and a leak of information. Ati hadn’t simply reported that a spy had infiltrated the south—he’d hinted that the spy was hiding in the busiest part of the southern territory, the Sharp domain.

The king wouldn’t have exposed his own agent so carelessly otherwise.

“In short, this operation will rely on information and speed,” Albus summarized briskly.

He understood why the king had blocked open intelligence leaks about the spies. The goal was to capture all five spies alive—only then could they secure evidence to unmask traitors within the military.

They had to finish quickly and quietly. Any sign of activity could spook the quarry.

The king’s decision to dispatch Tenebre signaled his desire for a swift, decisive operation.

And Albus was confident.

“There was a reason the king disguised it as a family trip,” Adbelo said.

“I trust the marquis more than you, honestly.” Albus said.

Ayttra Okeanus—though not a military figure—was the kingdom’s most renowned strategist. Her involvement in the Adlabore counteroffensive seven years ago alone proved her competence.

Now, as head of her house, she’d temporarily shifted to research, but military institutions still sought her counsel constantly.

“You’ll hear from her by this afternoon,” Albus said.

“Wouldn’t it have been better if the marquis herself had come to the navy?” Adbelo mused.

“If she’d come here personally, we’d have been exposed right away.” Albus countered.

He reached into his pocket for a cigar, then hesitated with a groan and withdrew his hand—smoking was banned inside the navy building.

“…Let’s drop the hunting talk for now.” Adbelo finally picked up the bottle.

He lifted the sealed glass stopper, releasing a sharp, potent aroma.

“My word, Admiral Adbelo.” Albus sneered exaggeratedly when he recognized the scent.

His mockery wasn’t aimed at Adbelo personally.

“No wonder it smelled odd.” Adbelo, despite his reputation for eccentricity, was a person who kept certain standards. He would never do something as reckless as drink on the job.

“This is a fine whiskey, but its name is unfortunate.” Albus remarked.

“I agree.” Adbelo replied.

The whiskey’s name was The Devil’s Night—strong of aroma and flavor, usually mentioned among fine whiskies for on-the-rocks drinking; it was expensive.

But the bottle meant nothing to the two of them now. Instead, it served as a trigger that raked up buried anger.

“There was only one name that made former Chief Flancy react,” Adbelo said.

When he had personally interrogated former Chief Flancy in a secret room, Flancy had flinched at just one name among the many Adbelo had recited.

It was a name whose meaning matched the label on the whiskey being poured.

“Dimone Nix.” Adbelo said.

Crack—crackle.

Albus’s glass fractured in his hand.

The name set him off so violently his rage boiled over and he couldn’t control it.

Adbelo pretended not to notice and went on.

“That bastard. I thought he’d been lying low lately.”

“He only pretended,” Albus replied.

Dimone Nix—Army Major General, deputy commander of the border operations—had been a prime suspect in last fall’s explosion in the Finichi district.

“So he’s been behind this kind of plot all along,” Adbelo said.

Albus’s dark eyes flashed with murderous intent, his features reflecting only the desire to kill the man with his own hands.

Then he composed himself and relayed the information calmly.

“We’ve confirmed he enticed former Chief Flancy and Lord Delart—the ringleaders in the previous defection incident.”

“How did you learn that?” Adbelo asked.

“Fred Relli.”

If Flancy and Lord Delart were the obvious ringleaders, Sir Fred Relli was the hidden mastermind—someone who kept his hand concealed, manipulated the leaders, and arranged contacts with smugglers and Empire spies.

Yet even he was ultimately a pawn in someone else’s game.

“He apparently hinted at it during a prior contact,” Albus said.

“Can’t we catch him with the knight’s testimony?” Adbelo asked.

“He only hinted. If he denies intent or demands proof, it complicates matters.” Albus explained.

“But his public reputation isn’t bad, is it?” Adbelo asked.

Publicly, Dimone Nix had a decent reputation. Only one stain marred him—the divorce from the Marquis Okeanus and some revealed fact from that scandal.

General Okeanus’s visit was short.

Officially it was a family trip—he had no reason to stay long at the navy.

He simply shared a long-standing camaraderie and a quick drink with Admiral Adbelo. That had to be enough.

After sending off the white lion, Admiral Adbelo had no time to rest.

“Bring Captain Vello to me.” He ordered.

He called Noah, who had been with the special privileges, and took him to the training grounds.

At the last recorded Aura Master training in the kingdom, Admiral Adbelo helped his granddaughter with her aura training.

The training was simple.

Noah would convert magic to aura while Adbelo unleashed attack after attack. Even after the magic became aura, Adbelo kept pressing the assault.

Only attacks. Nothing else.

But even for Adbelo, Noah’s aura was a formidable power.

Historically, auras were described as “like lightning.”

Unlike magic, which flowed like water, a manifested aura was sharp and wild—more like a lightning strike hitting the ground.

The blue aura that enveloped Noah’s body and sword crackled with static, the sound prickling the air like tiny shocks.

“…Amazing.” Adbelo exhaled.

Who was training whom, really?

A bead of sweat formed under Adbelo’s chin and fell to the floor.

At that moment, Noah closed the distance in a single move.

A fierce aura flashed from the sword in his outstretched hand—an electrical hiss, like thousands of birds chittering, rattled the ears.

Noah’s blue eyes glittered with brutal intent as he swung the sword without hesitation.

‘Look at this,’ Adbelo thought, catching his breath.

This kid had gotten cocky, thinking he’d finally properly train with aura after seven years.

And his composure seemed slightly unhinged.

There was a clear will in that blade to kill the opponent standing in front of him.

‘Told to master the aura, and already you’re getting eaten up by it.’ Adbelo mused.

No matter how great an aura was, he himself was Adbelo—the former head of the house and the current head of the navy.

“Tch.” He clicked his tongue.

If I still can’t beat you, then what can I say.

Adbelo reached out with his left arm and grabbed Noah’s head with his hand.

“…!”

Noah’s glazed expression snapped back into focus.

“Guh!” he choked.

But because his head was held, he couldn’t avoid a kick aimed at his exposed side as he swung his sword; the kick struck with all its force.