In the middle of the night, under the twin moons which shone brightly across the starry night sky, one of many newly constructed high-security warehouses outside Vindia city's wall stood awake with shining lights while the rest of the city was fast asleep.
The structure was enormous yet reinforced, its walls layered with brick and metal plating with specially made sealed lanterns burned along the perimeter, guarded by rifle wielding sentries. Inside it lay the grand army's pride, which were rows upon rows of modern armaments arranged with calculated care to prevent an accidental cook off.
John stood near a long foldable metal table covered in inventory sheets, speaking with one of the quartermasters assigned to the warehouse. His uniform was neat, but his eyes were bloodshot, and his posture carried the stiffness of a man who had been awake for too long.
"So we have one hundred solid shot for every field gun. Did I understand that correctly?" John asked, rubbing at his temple.
"Yes, sir!" the quartermaster replied with noticeable forced enthusiasm.
John nodded and scribbled into a small leather notebook pulled from his coat pocket.
"And the high-explosive shells?" he continued, his voice tightening slightly.
The quartermaster hesitated of a second, then speaks, "About fifty rounds per field gun, sire!" the energy drained from his voice as he said it.
John stopped writing for a moment, he then closed the notebook halfway and exhaled through his nose, "Affirmative, go get some rest, boy. Dismissed!" he shouted and gestured him away.
The quartermaster saluted sharply, relief flickering across his face, then turned and disappeared into the shadows between stacked crates.
John remained where he was, as he reopened the notebook.
"Three troops to man one gun, another two to ferry ammunition and handle logistics." he muttered to himself.
He flipped a page.
"We have fifty field guns and fifty howitzers, that's one hundred guns total. Five men per gun…"
He paused.
"That's five hundred artillery personnel..."
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
The numbers would not stop, they marched in mathematically accursed columns behind his eyelids. Ammunition, uniform, ration, spare part, It felt less like thinking and more like reciting a esoteric chant for a ritual to summon some kind of otherworldly entity.
He had not slept in over a day. Instead, he had spent every waking hour verifying numbers, inspecting crates, double-checking rosters. Even though math wasn't his strong suit at all, he'll make damn sure that the margin of error was as razor thin as possible.
"Focus, John, young master is counting on you." he murmured as he snapped shut the notebook and forced himself to stand upright.
Outside, the night air struck him with sharp cold as he mounted his horse. The steed shifted impatiently, breath steaming in the pale moonlight.
He rode back toward Frosthearted mansion beneath the watch of the moons, their light casting long silver shadows across the grey concrete road.
By the time he reached the manor gates, the coldness felt deeper than it should have been.
"Why is it so damn cold tonight?" he muttered under his breath as he dismounted. "And where are the guards?"
The wind cut through his coat like a blade, awhile the estate grounds were unnaturally quiet.
He tied his horse to a post and walked toward the main gate usually opened by guards, but tonight, there was no one.
He placed both hands against the metal gate and pushed, yet his muscles protesting from fatigue, causing the gate to barely move.
Knowing that, he gritted his teeth and shoved again.
In that moment of frustration, a soft voice drifted through the darkness from behind him.
"Need help?"
John turned quickly, for a brief second, he assumed it was one of the maids coming for a late shift.
It was not.
Instead it was a pale young woman stood a short distance away, her silhouette illuminated faintly by a silvered rays of moonlight as her long black hair fell smoothly down her back, almost blending with the night, a while her body was cladded in finely tailored black-and-white dress in a gothic lolita style which were crafted with opulent expense.
Her glistering blood red eye look straight at him, as gently smile emerges from her face.
"No need, young miss." John replied carefully, lowering his hand. He noted the quality of her dress immediately, without question, she's a noble, possibly his master guest.
"I think you do, young man." she said, as she stepped forward, placed one delicate hand against the gate, and pushed the gate open as though they weighed nothing.
John confusingly blinked in reaction, as normally gate should be weight more than that.
"I'm Isabelle von Schwarz," she said, her voice smooth and composed. "I have come to meet Baron Libertas "Victor" of Vindia."
She produced a small emblem from within her sleeve, it was black bat flying against a crescent moon.
John straightened at once after he saw the emblem.
"My apologies! Miss Schwarz, please, follow me." he bowed slightly as he led her through the garden path toward the mansion's main entrance.
Gravel softly crunched beneath their steps, tonight was quiet, too quiet, almost to a dangerous degree. No noise of guards nor shifting patrol, but only the wind moving through hedges and branches.
John tied his horse properly to a temporary hitching post near the entrance before stepping up to the front door. After he pulled it open and entered the dimly lit entrance, he turned back and realized that's she had not followed him in.
She stood just outside the threshold, looking at him with that same calm smile.
"May I humbly come inside, please?" she asked softly.
The question struck him as odd, guests did not usually request permission so formally, even if she's the most noblesse of noble.
"Of course, Miss Schwarz, please, come in." he replied, gesturing politely.
"Thank you." she replied as she stepped across the threshold.
The sound of her heels echoed distinctly against the floor, slow and measured each step is deliberate and beautiful.
For a moment, John felt something he could not quite name, a subtle pressure in the air and the uncanny stillness that pressed against his ears.
As she passed him, she spoke again, her voice close enough that he felt the faintest brush of cold air near his neck.
"Call me Lady Isabelle, please. I am older than you think." she told him with the same warm smile, she then continued forward into the living room without waiting for his response.
John remained standing by the door for a second longer than necessary, watching her back as she walked into the living room while whistling a lullaby that's oddly familiar to him in a weird way.
And, after they spoke for a while in the dimly lit living room, the purpose of her visit became clear.
Lady Isabelle had been sent by the Princess herself.
She offered, in smooth and carefully chosen words, an apology for Duke Wulfgang's earlier rudeness. According to her, the Duke had allowed his temper to outrun his manners and the Princess wished to mend that misstep and, more importantly, to renegotiate certain aspects of their agreement in his stead.
John listened attentively despite the thick mental fog pressing against his mind from exhaustion.
"I understand," he said once she finished. "however, my young master is currently in the great city of Ursunia. He is expected to return tomorrow morning and any formal renegotiation would be better discussed directly with him."
But when the word "Morning" had barely left his mouth when he noticed a subtle change in her expression, as one of her brows twitched, It was small, but it carried a trace of irritation.
"Morning?" she repeated, her tone even but slightly tighter than before.
"Yes, at almost midday, most likely." John replied.
There was a brief pause.
"In that case, I will require a room for the night." she said smoothly.
"Of course, my lady!" John answered immediately.
"But, there is one condition, the room must either have no windows or very thick curtains." she added.
John blinked in confusion, for that was quite unusual.
"I can arrange that, even though I may need to inform the head housekeeper, so she can prepare it properly. She'll certainly expect me to report the reason to the young master of why such room arrangement would be done." he said slowly.
He studied her politely, waiting for clarification, as her red eyes met his without hesitation.
"Sun allergy." she replied plainly.
The answer came without any embarrassment nor humor, suggesting that's it serious.
John considered it for a moment, It was not unheard of for someone to be allergic to certain things, but this is also the first time he have heard about the sun allergy.
"Understood, we will ensure the curtains remain drawn." he said with a nod.
"Thank you!" she replied, her smile returning.
And so, an arrangement were made.
A guest room deep within the manor, one with heavy curtains thick enough to block even harsh daylight, was prepared for her. The awoken servants worked quickly, though quietly puzzled.
Lady Isabelle retired for the night within the Mansion, and as per John, he's now too tired to question the strangeness of it all any further, finally allowed himself the thought of sleep.