After arriving at the dungeon entrance, Paul went straight to the table where Kruger had left his equipment. He picked up the Radio Core tuned to Channel 8, inspected it briefly, then slipped it back into his spatial bag.
He crouched down, retrieved several of his deployed drones, folded them with care, and stored them away. Once everything was secured, he pulled out a roll of documents from his bag and laid out a few blank sheets on the table.
Then, without a word, he grabbed his pen and began sketching.
Curious, Renya leaned over slightly and asked,
"Oh... what are you planning now, Prince?"
Her tone was teasing, but her eyes were genuinely drawn to the lines forming on the paper.
Without looking up, Paul replied with a burst of enthusiasm,
"Of course—so we can fly in the sky!"
He pointed upward, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
Renya blinked, a bit amused.
"Isn't that what Griffin Knights are for?"
she asked, confused.
Paul, still focused on the growing sketch—wings, a lightweight frame, rune circuits lining the body—muttered with a sigh,
"It's very difficult…"
as if that explained everything.
His hands kept moving, tracing out the dream of a machine not bound by wings of flesh, but powered by his own runes and design. A new kind of flight—one that didn't need to rely on living creatures.
Renya, still puzzled by Paul's previous answer, tilted her head and asked,
"You mean, Prince?"
Her voice carried genuine confusion.
Paul let out a long sigh, not taking his eyes off the document.
"You already know, right...? Roughly how long does it take before a griffon can even be ridden?"
He turned briefly to glance at her, then added,
"And if it's caught in the wild... how long does it take to tame?"
He returned his gaze to the drawing, hand already moving again with renewed focus.
Renya paused, then slowly nodded in realization.
"Ahh... I see."
She leaned in a bit closer, her eyes following the sketched wings and propulsion diagrams.
"So, Prince... how long would it take you to make that?"
Paul placed a hand on his chin, calculating mentally as he spoke.
"If I start from scratch... maybe eight months. A year at most."
Renya's eyes widened in disbelief.
"WHAT?!"
she blurted out, voice echoing across the clearing.
Paul immediately winced and covered his ears.
"Hey... not so loud. My ears are ringing,"
he muttered while massaging the side of his head.
Renya chuckled playfully,
"Hahaha~"
flashing a carefree grin as if nothing had happened.
Paul gave her a flat look.
"What?"
Still grinning, Renya leaned on the edge of the table and asked,
"So... when are you going to make it, Prince?"
Her tone was curious, eyes gleaming with interest.
Hearing Renya's question, Paul grinned mischievously.
"Oh... you want to help me?"
he said, his smile curving with a hint of mischief.
Renya, still intrigued by the blueprint and oblivious to the shift in his tone, nodded eagerly.
"Sure!"
Without missing a beat, Paul reached into his spatial bag and pulled out a thick tome — an old archive unit brimming with bookmarks and hand-written notes. He placed it firmly in front of her.
"Then make all these tools,"
he said, almost too casually.
"Exactly like the ones in my documents."
Renya blinked. Her smile slowly faded as she stared at the intimidating bulk of the book.
"But... Prince… this is a lot,"
she said, her voice suddenly smaller, her expression turning glum as she flipped through the endless diagrams and complex notes.
Paul still just smiled — that same subtle, unreadable smile that always meant trouble for someone else.Without saying a word, he reached into his spatial bag and gently placed a bundle of neatly prepared wooden sticks on the table beside Renya.
"Just do it."
His tone left no room for argument as he returned to his drawings, already focused on the next innovation.
Renya slowly turned her head to look at the sticks… then at the book… then at Paul.
Her shoulders slumped in silent defeat.
"You really planned this, didn't you…?"
she muttered with a tired sigh, picking up one of the sticks like it was her fate.
Paul didn't answer. He just leaned back slightly, continuing to sketch with a satisfied hum, as if the conversation had ended the moment she agreed to help.
"...Slave driver,"
Renya added under her breath — but her hands were already working.
Five minutes passed quietly — save for the steady scratching of quill against parchment — when suddenly a rustling sound broke the silence.
"Srek… srek…"
Paul and Renya both glanced up. From between the trees emerged Kruger, walking at his usual unbothered pace, blood still drying on his armor.
Paul barely blinked.
"Oh… Kruger, huh? Good. Wait for Greta, Gunther, and Brunhild first… then we'll start the conversation."
Kruger gave a simple nod, found a spot near the table, and crossed his arms — silent, ever the soldier.
Paul went right back to his sketches.
Another five minutes passed.
Gunther arrived next, his steps crisp and posture upright.
"Prince…" he said with a formal knight salute.
Paul looked up just briefly, nodded, and replied with the same calm tone,
"Wait for Greta and Brunhild."
Then, without missing a beat, he took a few folding chairs out from his spatial bag and began arranging them neatly in front of the table.
"Renya. Please…" he said casually, gesturing toward the chairs as he continued sketching with one hand.
Renya sighed — dramatically, of course — but complied.
"Okay, Prince…" she muttered, dutifully unfolding the chairs one by one and setting them into place.
Once everything was ready and the chairs formed a semi-circle around Paul's makeshift drafting table, he finally said without lifting his gaze,
"Everyone, let's sit down."
And they did.
Kruger, Gunther, Renya — all quietly took their seats, casting occasional glances at Paul, who still hadn't looked up.
Only the sound of quill on parchment filled the air, and a strange reverence settled in the clearing — as if no one dared interrupt Paul's momentum.
They waited. And watched.
Whatever this prince was drawing… it had to be something important.
30 minutes later…
The quiet buzz of the forest was broken by the rhythmic steps of armored boots. Greta and Brunhild finally arrived, flanked by several of Brunhild's aides, each of them carrying oversized swords wrapped in cloth.
Without breaking stride, Brunhild gestured toward a shaded patch near the meeting table.
"Put it there… and leave it," she said coolly, pointing to the ground beside her.
The aides obeyed immediately, setting the weapons down with practiced efficiency before saluting and departing without another word. Their silhouettes quickly disappeared into the trees.
Once the area cleared, both Brunhild and Greta stepped forward in sync, placing a fist over their hearts and bowing slightly.
"Prince," they greeted in unison with their knight salutes.
Paul finally lifted his head, returning their salute with a simple nod.
"Please, sit down," he said, his voice calm but with an air of quiet command.
As the two took their seats, Paul began packing away his papers and tools, sliding sketches, blueprints, and measurement diagrams back into his spatial bag in careful order.
He left out only a few blank sheets of parchment and several ink pens, laying them in the center of the table with deliberate intent — as if what came next would begin from a clean slate.
After everyone had taken their seats, the low tension in the air slowly gave way to purpose. Paul finally broke the silence, his tone steady and composed.
"Now... the goblin problem has been resolved," he began, his eyes scanning the group before landing on Brunhild. "Are all the war areas over? Any remaining threats?"
Brunhild nodded firmly, her expression sharp and focused.
"Yes. In the north, east, and south, there were a few goblins that managed to escape during the initial clash. But all of them were intercepted and eliminated by the cavalry teams we had stationed in advance. No remaining threats, at least for now," she said in her usual crisp, soldierly tone.
After nodding at Brunhild's report, Paul continued, his tone neutral but his pen already moving across the page.
"Casualties?"
Greta, who had been quietly observing, lowered her head slightly before responding.
"At least… ten confirmed dead. Most of them from the western front. Thirty others were seriously injured, and a few with minor wounds."
She paused, then straightened her posture.
"But all the injured have been stabilized. The healers did well."
Paul exhaled slowly, not from relief, but from frustration.
"What can I do… we didn't expect the Goblin King to be that smart," he muttered, scribbling quick notes. His tone carried the weariness of command, of accountability.
After a moment, he lifted his head again.
"And the supplies?"
Brunhild answered, her voice firm but her eyes avoiding Paul's.
"Approximately 512 weapons — swords, shields, spears — either destroyed or damaged beyond field repair."
Paul ran a hand down his face, then slapped his forehead lightly.
"Of course… with goblins organized like that," he sighed. "Even regular foot soldiers would've taken a hit, let alone against a strategic enemy."
He leaned back slightly, processing the cost of victory — not just in lives, but in material, morale, and time.
Paul glanced at Brunhild once more, his voice calm but firm.
"And the adventurers?"
Brunhild met his gaze, thoughtful, then replied while resting a finger lightly against her chin.
"I've already issued an agreement — double compensation for each goblin type they defeated. So far, no complaints."
Paul gave a small nod, continuing to jot things down in his document. After a moment, he paused and looked up seriously.
"Alright. Once you're back in the capital, arrange for compensation to be delivered directly to the families of the fallen — both troops and adventurers."
His gaze sharpened.
"Give it personally. Understood?"
Brunhild straightened, hand to chest in a firm salute.
"Yes, Your Highness!"
The tone of the meeting settled back into focus. Paul flipped to the next page in his notes.
"Now, onto the next agenda, the report—"
Before he could finish, Brunhild raised a hand slightly.
"Wait, Prince. I've received a letter from the Queen."
Brunhild reached into her pocket and carefully handed a sealed letter to Paul.
Paul took it without a word, broke the seal, and unfolded the paper. His eyes skimmed through the contents briefly.
Then, with a long sigh, he looked up at the sky and muttered, "Mom must be joking, right…"
Seeing Paul suddenly go silent and gaze at the sky, everyone around the table exchanged confused glances.
But before anyone could ask, Paul lowered the letter with a calm expression and shifted the atmosphere with a firm voice, "Now… let's talk about the goblin settlement here."
He turned to Renya and asked, "Renya, have all the goblins in their nest been wiped out?"
Renya nodded confidently. "Yes. We've flattened every tent and cleared the area thoroughly. There's nowhere left for them to hide."
Paul nodded slowly, then turned his gaze toward the direction of the now-ruined goblin settlement. "Because the former goblin settlement is located in a good strategic position..."
He paused, his tone turning more resolute. "Brunhild."
The moment her name was called, Brunhild stood tall and responded with sharp discipline, "YES!!" accompanied by a crisp knight's salute.
After hearing that, Paul said in a serious tone, "Build a military zone inside the former goblin settlement. Make sure it can accommodate no less than 3,000 soldiers."
"YES!!" Brunhild replied loudly, still holding her knight salute.
Paul gave her a small nod. "Please sit back down."
Once Brunhild took her seat, Renya, sitting beside her, tilted her head and asked, "But… won't everything be exposed if we train troops here?" Her confused tone mirrored the expressions of the others, who all nodded in agreement.
Paul let out a sigh and rubbed his forehead with one hand. "It seems Mother is planning to form a special forces unit under my command, using last year's attack as justification… So, it's fine for this place to be known."
He paused for a moment, clearly reluctant, before muttering, "And also…"
Renya leaned forward slightly, curiosity on her face. "And also…?"
Paul exhaled slowly, then reached into his spatial bag. "This is the perfect location for a plan I've been working on…" he said, pulling out a stack of documents and laying them on the table.