They stood in silence for a moment, watching as the Magiteks below reset the field. Finally, Lenundis turned to his friend, dropping the formal posture he typically maintained in public.

"Look, forget I'm wearing this stupid crown for a minute," he said, his voice lower and more casual than before. He tapped Cenoris on the chest with the back of his hand. "Just between us—you and me, like when we used to sneak into the kitchens at midnight—would you bet your life on these cannons? Not as Captain of the Royal Guard, but as Cen, the kid who lost three teeth trying to climb that tree outside my window."

A smile tugged at the corner of Cenoris's mouth as the formality between them dissolved. He drummed his fingers briefly against his sword hilt and let out a short laugh.

"Honestly?" Cenoris's expression turned serious as he gazed down at the smoking remains of the cannon. "These things pack enough fire-power to level a daemon battalion, but they're only as good as their position. All it takes is one daemon—just one—to slip through that hell-fire, and these expensive cannons become sitting ducks." He made a slashing motion with his hand. "They need infantry support. Boots on the ground. Flesh and blood standing between the Rift and these machines."

He drew his great sword in one fluid motion, the Magik Circles etched along its blade glowing faintly blue in response to his Complete Circuit. "When it comes down to it, I trust what I can control." The sword hummed as he channeled a thin stream of mana through it. "I'd stake my life on my own hands before any cannon, no matter how advanced."

Then his expression softened, and he gestured toward Lenundis with the tip of his blade. "And yours too, of course. If you weren't busy wearing that crown, you'd be the best fighter among us. Not that I'd ever admit that in public."

Lenundis watched as Cenoris sheathed his sword with practiced precision, the faint blue glow of the weapon fading as it slid back into its scabbard. The prince nodded slowly, his eyes returning to the activity on the field below.

"You're right," he said quietly. "That's exactly the problem. The ideal solution would be sending our own Magitek operators along with the cannons." He gestured to the soldiers in their Magik Armor, the defensive enchantments still shimmering faintly as they contained residual energy from the explosion. "Our Magiteks are trained from childhood with these weapons. They understand the calibration requirements, the maintenance procedures, the tactical deployments. With their armor, they can withstand both cannon malfunctions and daemon attacks."

He ran a hand through his light blue hair, revealing for a brief moment both his eyes—the glowing left and the plain hazel right—before carefully arranging his locks back into place. "But that creates an entirely different set of problems. The Empire would see it as an infringement on their autonomy, maybe even the first step toward occupation. They're proud people, Cen. They've been fighting the Rift for generations with minimal outside interference."

Lenundis's voice lowered further, nearly a whisper now. "And even if the Empire agreed, the Table would never approve sending our soldiers. Lord Foghorn is already complaining about the Mana Ore expenditure for these cannons—can you imagine his reaction if I proposed deploying actual Somnium troops? He'd call it a waste of 'valuable human resources.'" The bitterness in his voice made clear his disgust with such a cold calculation.

He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly under the weight of his position. "And the worst part is... I wouldn't approve it either. How can I order our people into that danger? Standing at the edge of that crimson hell, watching for daemons day after day, knowing the next breach could be their last?" Lenundis shook his head. "I'd be sending them to die, Cen. And for what? A rift that's been contained for centuries? I'm caught between my duty to help our allies and my responsibility to our own people."

Lenundis fell silent, gazing out over the training field. The morning sun had risen higher now, burning away the mist and casting long shadows across the scorched earth. After a long moment, he spoke again, his voice softer.

"I wonder what Aestalon would do," he said, almost to himself. "My brother always seemed to know exactly what path to take, even when all choices seemed wrong. Reckless, perhaps, but decisive." A sad smile touched his lips. "I miss that certainty sometimes."

Cenoris caught the note of sadness in Lenundis's voice and shifted uncomfortably. Aestalon had been his friend too—all three of them inseparable as children, racing through the floating palace corridors, practicing swordplay in the royal gardens, sneaking out to explore the lower city against their tutors' explicit instructions. The absence of the elder twin was a wound that had never properly healed for either of them.

"Well," Cenoris began, clearing his throat awkwardly, "he would've probably blown up half the cannons himself just testing them." He attempted a laugh that came out strained. "Remember when he tried to 'improve' Lord Ardorius's ceremonial armor before that parade? Father was furious for weeks."

The attempt at lightening the mood fell flat, leaving a strained silence between them. Cenoris rubbed the back of his neck, searching for something else to say.

"I mean, that's not to say—" he stumbled over his words, "—what I meant was—"

The sound of approaching footsteps saved him from digging the hole any deeper. Both men turned toward the source of the sound, Cenoris visibly relieved at the interruption.