ElaraFiction

B8 - Chapter 59: Ultimate Domain

Zeke’s eyes were grave as he observed the distant fight.

He watched as the treants fell one by one. He watched as Rhea flailed, desperately trying to strike her enemies. He watched as wounds piled across her body and the ground grew slick with her blood.

And yet, he did not act. It was not out of callousness, nor because he lacked the will. It was because he did not dare to. Acting too early would ruin everything. Every drop of blood she spilled would be wasted if the ploy failed.

That was why he endured.

Finally, the order he had been waiting for arrived.

The Legion's formation shifted, and the troops moved out. The camp was almost deserted now. In an attempt to cut off Rhea’s retreat, the commander had overextended his reach. Well, that was not quite right.

In any other scenario, he would have had plenty of time to call his people back. But not today.

The Alexandria, unseen and unheard, had been hovering close by. Just far enough to avoid detection, yet close enough to exploit even the smallest opening. An opening that had now appeared.

"Go."

One word. A command as vague as they came. Yet, more than sufficient for Akasha. The spirit had long since calculated every parameter, waiting only for his signal.

The Alexandria surged forward. The barrier of smoke broke apart, revealing her position to any observer. There were none left. Or, if there were, they would be far too slow to react. In the chaos of the moment, even a brief delay would prove fatal.

Zeke looked straight down. Beneath his feet lay the Legion camp, nearly empty. It was too late to stop him now.

"Sound the horn."

A deafening howl split the air. It was a recreation of Khai’zar’s roar from his time in the arena, but amplified through the Alexandria’s horns, it echoed a thousand times louder.

The battlefield ground to a halt. Every gaze turned upward. For a moment, Zeke had the impression they were all looking directly at him.

A slow grin spread across his face. "See me and weep, you ant-like bastards."

Kill them all.

His mental command was answered immediately, and in brutal fashion. One hundred bolts of lightning descended upon the camp, each corresponding to one of the hundred runes etched into the underbelly of the Alexandria.

It was a storm far too violent to occur naturally. Not even the heavens knew such fury. Yet more impressive than the sheer power was the precision. None of the bolts struck at random. Like arrows loosed by a master marksman, every strike had been chosen with care.

Dozens of bodies collapsed, charred and broken, either incapacitated or lifeless.

There was a reason Zeke had chosen lightning as his weapon of choice. Of all the elements, it was the most debilitating against flesh-and-blood targets.

If it did not kill you, it stunned you. If it did not stun you, it scarred you. Even thick armor offered little protection, the energy slipping through it like water through a crack. In many ways, lightning was even more deadly than Death itself. 

At least against humans.

"Again."

A second volley followed, then a third. After that, there were no targets left. None visible, at least. Zeke did not allow himself to relax. There was still one presence he knew remained alive. The commander would not be foolish enough to expose himself.

"Deploy the troops. Scorched earth."

The bombardment ceased immediately, replaced by the steady descent of falling soldiers. The Bloodguard had been waiting. The first to take to the air was, naturally, Zelkara. Spear raised, she fell like a meteor.

The impact alone cleared the ground across dozens of meters. She did not slow. In a single motion, she launched herself eastward, sweeping aside tents in her path. She reached the center of the camp in an instant, her spear tearing through the largest structures with ease.

He was not there.

Clever bastard.

The large command tent had been nothing more than a decoy. Any attempt at a decapitation strike would have come up short. Zeke had expected as much. That was precisely why he had waited for the Legion to deploy fully. Even if they returned now, he would still have ample time to locate the commander.

And with the Alexandria’s magical interference, the commander was no longer able to direct his troops. The Legion had been drawn outside the field, while their leader remained trapped within it.

Checkmate.

The only remaining variable was the Archmages. Especially that woman. She was fast enough to reach the battlefield in time. Depending on her choice, Zeke would need to adapt his plans.

So while the Bloodguard tore through the camp, Zeke watched with bated breath to see how the Archmages would respond.

They had not resumed their attack on Rhea, which was a smart choice. Even wounded, a Titan’s constitution was not to be underestimated. Killing her would take too long and drain too much of their strength.

With a new enemy of unknown power now in play, it was a risk they could not afford.

Zeke saw their decisions unfold in real time. The Earth Mage, still hidden underground, shifted his approach. Instead of aiming for killing blows, he once again focused on restraining the Titan.

The Wind Mage made the opposite choice. She abandoned Rhea entirely and rushed toward the camp. Her speed was astonishing. She would reach them in seconds.

Zeke smiled. As expected. Without the commander to guide them, their movements were easier to read and far simpler to counter.

"Block her."

The moment the Archmage came into range, dozens of lightning bolts descended, barring her path. Even an Archmage would not dare to take such an attack head-on. It would not kill her, but the lightning would disrupt her body and paralyze her mind. In that state, she would be a sitting duck.

The woman darted back, changing course midair. She avoided every bolt with the grace of a dancer. Even Zeke was impressed. It was no wonder Rhea had been unable to hit her. This woman moved through the air with the ease of a fish in water.

Her movements felt eerily familiar, overlapping with a figure from his distant past. It did not take long for Zeke to realize where the sensation came from. A name surfaced, rising to the forefront of his mind.

Windtänzer.

No wonder her movements felt so familiar. He had seen it often enough. The shadow of Viola’s effortless grace was unmistakable in this woman.

Who was she? A cousin, perhaps. Or an aunt.

Zeke shook his head, hardening his heart. It did not matter. Whoever this woman was, he would not let sentiment stay his hand. The Empire was the enemy.

No matter who they sent.

"Keep going."

The woman twisted and soared like a leaf in a storm. But it did not matter what she tried, she could not approach. With Akasha’s calculations, there would never be an opening. Perhaps she knew that. Perhaps she believed she only needed to endure until the Alexandria ran out of mages to power the formation.

Zeke’s smile widened.

That would never happen. Ten Archmages and dozens of Grandmages were now fueling his attacks. It would take days to exhaust them. No. With proper rotation, he could likely sustain this level of output indefinitely.

The woman was visibly frustrated as she failed again and again to close the distance, her movements growing more frantic with every passing second. It did not matter. She should not have come. It had been a mistake from the start.

This was exactly why Zeke had needed to eliminate the commander first. One wrong decision could trigger a cascading avalanche of mistakes and, in the end, bury any chance of victory.

It was a mistake the commander would not have made. After witnessing the Alexandria’s firepower, it would have been far smarter to send the Earth Mage instead. There was little Zeke could have done to stop him.

Ironically, the Earth Mage was now tied up restraining Rhea, while the Wind Mage wasted her time trying to breach the camp. 

Meanwhile, the Bloodguard scoured the area, every passing second bringing them closer to finding the hidden commander.

Zeke was utterly relaxed. The battle had been decided the moment they allowed him to take the camp. For every move they made, he already had a counter prepared. This was what it meant to hold all the cards.

This was what it meant to dominate the battlefield.

Finally, after so many trials and setbacks, he had lived up to the goal he had set for himself when he went to war. Back then, he had vowed to claim the skies, hadnt he? He had vowed that wherever the Alexandria went, the very air would belong to him.

Today, Zeke felt he had achieved that goal.

Watching even the mighty Windtänzer Mage flounder helplessly, unable to draw any closer, Zeke felt an unprecedented surge of pride. 

It was as if an invisible line had been drawn across the battlefield. It marked the point where Zeke’s dominance began. A silent declaration.

Until here, and no further.

It was almost pitiful to watch the woman struggle. Like a moth drawn to a flame, only to be stopped by the glass of the lantern. Even so, Zeke felt no trace of empathy. On the contrary, with every failed attempt to breach his realm, his chest swelled.

Was this how Exarchs felt? Was this how it was to possess a domain?

The thought only deepened Zeke’s longing for that realm. Today, he could simulate such a state by employing hundreds of mages alongside the Alexandria. But one day, his mere presence would have the same effect.

That was what he truly wanted. That was what he longed for.

[Notice.]
Host, the commander has been located. 

Zeke broke off his musings and focused on the camp below. By now, almost all the tents had been razed. The Bloodguard worked quickly, as always. There was so much debris that it took Zeke a moment to spot what Akasha had pointed out.

Then he saw the disturbance.

Several of his Bloodguard were engaged in a quarrel. About half a dozen had turned their spears on their own comrades.

Zeke was not surprised. Chimeroi had notoriously weak defenses against Mind Magic. It would not be difficult for a Geistreich to influence a handful of them. But it was, ultimately, a futile effort. How many could he possibly control? Ten? Twenty at most? Against the hundreds present, it was meaningless.

The commander had to know that as well, which meant this tactic would only be used as a last resort. That meant he had been discovered.

Zeke’s gaze moved past the struggling soldiers, who were already being quickly subdued. There it was.

Beneath the debris of an otherwise unremarkable tent lay an opening in the ground. Clever. The commander had hidden his true position in a concealed bunker. Layers upon layers of misdirection.

The Legion truly lived up to their fearsome reputation.

But this time, they had miscalculated. They had clearly been prepared for the possibility of the Alexandria’s arrival, yet they had still underestimated him. It was a gratifying realization. His choice back then had been the right one. The only way to escape the Legion’s calculations was to do something impossible to predict. To do the unthinkable.

That unthinkable existence had now emerged before everyone's eyes. It had blotted out the sun and razed their camp to the ground.

"David," Zeke called mentally. "The commander is in the eastern quadrant, third row, fourth plot. He is hiding underground."

A moment of silence.

"Go and kill him."

B8 - Chapter 57: A Titan’s Faith

Rhea experienced a strange sensation.

If she did not know any better, she would have said she was nervous. But could that be possible? Her? Nervous? Facing a bunch of puny humans?

Though she was still young, she was a Titan. How could a Titan fear the likes of them, with their frail bodies and insincere hearts? Even so, several spots on her body itched with phantom pain, a cruel reminder of the many wounds she had suffered during their previous encounters.

She took a steady step forward, the earth shaking beneath her feet.

At her side, two dozen treants marched, needing two or three steps to keep up with each one of hers. These were the last ones remaining, the result of Cassius working himself to the bone over the last few days.

There would be no more.

The young Dragon had promised. After this batch, Cassius would get to rest. She would get to rest, too. No more charging into enemy forces, into battles she knew she could not win, just to delay them for a day.

She could trust his words.

Rhea could feel the blood coursing through his veins. A Dragon’s blood. It could not be a lie. The ancient races did not lie. 

It was the only thing giving her courage as she felt the trees grow suddenly sparser and the enemy camp come into view. She had been told to trust him. She had been told to go all out. She had been told he would be here.

Rhea did not see him. And yet, her feet did not slow. He was definitely a Dragon. His words would not be false.

Her eyes turned to the distant camp. The enemy awaited her. Somehow, they always knew, as if an unseen hand were guiding them. It was the first time she had advanced this far, but they had still known. Somehow. It did not matter.

Rhea did not have to bother with it. There was no need for strategy, no need for thought. All she needed was to charge, and the Dragon would take care of the rest. He had promised.

The hand holding her club began to tremble. Strange. It was not that heavy. She tried to steady her grip, but the trembling only grew worse. This was not going to be her death, was it? No. That could not be. A Dragon could not lie.

Trying to vent this stifling feeling in her chest, Rhea roared from the depths of her lungs. The trees bent from the force, and she saw even the distant enemy formation take a half step back. They were right to fear her.

At her signal, the treants charged. It would be different from before. There was no room for the humans to retreat, so they would have to go all out to stop the treants’ charge, or give up on their camp.

Even though these treants were not very smart or fast, they were still relatively useful in situations like this. She followed in a leisurely trot. Ironically, the closer the battle drew, the more her nerves calmed. Her wandering thoughts began to fade, replaced by a single-minded focus.

This was a fight. Life or death could be decided in an instant. Her body instinctively knew that, shutting out all distractions.

Rhea heard it now, the screaming, the yelling, the shouted commands. The humans were preparing to meet her charge. She saw their faces. They did not look afraid. More than that, they looked confident. They must have thought she had finally lost her mind to challenge them directly. Maybe she had.

Rhea picked up a rock nestled behind a large tree. It fit neatly within her hand. Well shaped. Aiming for a gap between the rows of treants, she threw it. The rock whizzed through the air, finding its mark.

She saw a spray of earth, followed by groans and cries. The rock, no, the boulder, was slick with blood as it rolled into view again after tearing through the human formation. How many had it crushed? A dozen at least.

A smile touched her lips when she saw the change in their expressions. Much better. Their confidence had irked her. Humans should never look that confident when facing her. Even if this was to be her death, it would be theirs too.

Rhea caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye. It was too fast to follow. But she already knew what it was. She had known from the beginning that her little prank would cost her.

The human leadership could not allow her to run wild, so they had sent out their heavy hitters to counter her.

A sharp sting bit into her left thigh. A slash cut at her ankles. She knew this pain all too well. It was wind, shaped into a blade. That pesky little fly was targeting her legs once again. Completely ignoring the tiny human darting around her, she picked up another rock and hurled it at the human formation.

They had already engaged the treants and were locked in battle. Her second attack landed much like the first, but before the boulder could crush more than a few, it suddenly sank into the earth as if it were water.

Rhea felt the ground beneath her shift. That one was here too. She stomped, hoping to crush him to paste. No such luck. The earth rose once more, binding her.

These two always did this. One tried to injure her legs, the other tried to bind her movements. It seemed they wanted nothing more than to keep her here. For once, she did not mind. She had no intention of fleeing in the first place.

Her heart was pounding. Her blood was boiling. This was going to be a fight to the death. Theirs, or hers.

Rhea swung her club. She put her whole body into the strike, the muscles in her back straining to their limits. The blow went wide, barely missing the little fly, but still sending her whirling through the air.

It was frustrating.

She could not hit either of her opponents directly. One was too fast, the other hid too deep. She did not know the solution. But she did not waste time thinking about it either. If you could not solve a problem with your fist, then the real problem was that your fist was not large enough.

Rhea jumped, curling her legs. Then, before landing, she kicked out with both at once. Her feet struck the ground with the momentum of a collapsing mountain. Nearby trees keeled over, their roots ground to dust. The resulting shockwave even made the treants stumble.

The ground stilled. 

Had she finally crushed that cowardly little bug? The earth remained still. Rhea grinned. Then the ground erupted with twice as much fury. Instead of hands to bind her, it formed sharpened stakes.

It felt like stepping on a hedgehog. Rhea crushed them all. She felt them cut into her soles, drawing blood. Even so, the grin did not leave her face.

He was definitely hurt.

Before she could celebrate, another slash struck. This time, she could not help but grimace. The attack had been aimed at her neck. The next one cut across her face. This was definitely new. It seemed the enemy had already realized she would not run today. They had shifted from debilitating attacks to killing blows. From the stakes to the blades, every strike now targeted a vital area.

Rhea dropped her club. It was too slow, too cumbersome. She would never catch that pesky human with it.

She spread her arms wide before bringing them together with all her might. The sound of her palms colliding was like a battering ram striking an iron gate. The shockwave alone had enough force to pulverize an average soldier.

But she had missed her mark. That pesky fly escaped once more. The price was another slash to her neck and one to her wrist. Tendons and veins. The spots were well chosen.

Rhea was beginning to feel her strength diminish. She ignored it. Aiming even more carefully, she brought her hands together again. The human mage escaped by an even slimmer margin. Rhea could see it. The shockwave had reached her. The humans' robes were tattered, hanging in strands. But that was all. She was uninjured.

A slash to each of her heels was the price for the attempt. She could barely stand. The stakes piercing her soles had already done their work. The ground was slick with golden blood.

Her feet grew unsteady. Rhea tried to catch her breath. Her strength was draining. Slash. Slash. Slash. Heel. Wrist. Neck.

Her gaze shifted to the distant fight. No treant was left standing. The human forces had triumphed. None had even reached the camp.

She was alone. The humans were fanning out to cut off her retreat. A sense of hopelessness washed over her at the sight. Even if she could still run, she had nowhere left to go. 

Dead end. This was it. This was going to be her—

A deafening roar split the air.

It was so loud that all other noise vanished. Deep and resonant. Even after it faded, a low, mournful wail lingered in its wake, echoing like the song of a whale.

Rhea’s eyes opened wide. It had been more than a century since she had last heard that sound. Unbidden, memories surfaced from the deepest recesses of her mind. Memories she would never forget for the rest of her life.

How could she forget the Dragon’s roar?

Among the ancient races, the Titans had the strongest bodies. Phoenixes had the strongest minds. Dragons had the strongest pride. Their roar perfectly reflected that nature. A voice that feared nothing. Beautiful, yet haunting. Domineering, yet so very welcome.

Her eyes searched the sky, certain she would find the silhouette of wings against the sun. But that was not what she saw.

In the distance, just above the enemy camp, an unmoving structure hovered boldly in the air. No flapping of wings, no sails, nothing at all. It simply was, as unmoving as the earth itself.

Rhea had not seen it approach. It was as if it had simply sprung into existence.

Though not a Dragon, the flying fortress was no less imposing. There was menace in the way it defied the very laws of gravity.

The humans stopped. The troops that had rushed to cut off her escape paused, as if unsure whether to continue. Not even the two Archmages continued their attacks. For a breathless moment, the battle ground to an absolute halt. 

Rhea smiled, her body relaxing despite her battered state. It was a strange feeling. Her situation had not changed. Her injuries had not healed, and she was still surrounded. And yet, she did not feel even an ounce of tension.

In her mind, all danger had passed.

The Dragon had come, just as he had said he would. He had promised that if she led the charge, he would take care of the rest. She had led the charge. 

And now, he would take care of the rest...

B8 - Chapter 55: The Sentence

Zeke did not give anyone the time to protest.

He straightened, posture rigid, expression cold and distant, the faint trace of something regal settling over his features. When he spoke, it was not to the prince, but to the ten Archmages seated along the chamber’s sides.

“I sentence all of you to forced labor.”

The words fell like a blade.

No preamble. No justification. Spoken with the finality of a royal decree, as if the verdict itself needed no defense.

For a heartbeat, the room stood frozen. Then the reaction came.

Voices rose, sharp and indignant, several Archmages half-rising from their seats as protests spilled from their mouths. Yet even in their anger, there was hesitation. The fury was thinner than expected, brittle rather than explosive.

Zeke raised a single hand.

The gesture was unremarkable, almost lazy, but the effect was immediate. The voices faltered, then died away entirely, as if the air itself had been pressed flat.

He continued.

“The conditions are simple. Forced labor until the end of the war, or until I leave Rukia. During that time, you will be protected. You will be housed properly. You will have food, warm beds, and no expectation of direct combat.”

A murmur rippled through the chamber.

“You will serve,” Zeke went on. “Nothing more. Nothing less. Logistics. Construction. Support. Whatever is required.”

He paused, letting the words settle.

“In cases of exceptional service. I will issue commendations for your contributions.”

Silence followed. Not the tense, fearful silence from before, but something heavier. Something thoughtful. The meaning of his words had fully sunk in.

No danger. No battlefield. No risk of death.

Comfort. Protection. And more than that, the faint possibility of redemption.

For men and women who had fled, who had abandoned their posts and stained their names, such a thing was priceless. Proof, written and recognized, that they had contributed something of worth when it mattered most.

Though Zeke had spoken of punishment, the sentence was astonishingly lenient.

One by one, shoulders eased. Tension drained from rigid backs. The clamor that might have followed never came. As a group, the Archmages fell silent, no longer as defiant, no longer afraid.

They were begining to accept it.

Zeke had expected as much. These people were cowards, but that did not mean they were evil. They had simply crumbled under the pressure of war. Was it shameful? Certainly.

But just because they had achieved success in their magical pursuits did not mean they were warriors. It did not mean they enjoyed warfare. It did not mean they were suited for this life.

Zeke could see it in many of their faces. They had fled not because they lacked love for their country, but because they lacked the courage to fight.

People like these, he could use. Not as soldiers, certainly, but aboard the Alexandria. They could contribute to the war from a place of safety. It was the perfect solution, allowing them not only to redeem themselves in the eyes of the people, but even more so in their own minds.

In the first place, it had been a mistake to expect them to become generals. Was that a role someone could fulfill simply because they were ordered to? It was like telling a novice to paint a masterpiece. Would urgency alone make it possible? Would skill appear just because lives were on the line?

The answer was no.

This approach was far more appropriate.

He gave them a task they could actually fulfill. Something they were capable of doing. Their silence now spoke volumes. These men were not unwilling to contribute. They had simply been unable to live up to the roles they had been forced into.

For these Mages, who had long been drowning in self-loathing, this verdict must have sounded like the sweetest words they had ever heard.

Now, only a single voice could still be heard protesting.

“This is absurd!” Prince Edras shouted, rising halfway from his throne. “Who would ever accept punishment from you? I categorically reject such a demeaning sentence!”

Zeke turned his head slightly.

“The sentence was not for you,” he said.

The prince stopped mid-breath, mouth still open, stunned into silence.

Zeke continued, his gaze steady. “You are useless to me. As such, I will take you into protective custody until the end of the war.”

Edras froze. Color rushed to his face, anger flaring in his eyes as he drew breath to protest.

He never got the chance.

Dark tendrils rose from his shadow. Firm hands seized his arms from behind, locking them in place. His mouth was gagged a moment later, his neck constricted. The prince struggled, but the grip did not budge. Within a heartbeat, he was bound so tightly that he could not move a single muscle. The dark cocoon had enveloped him whole.

Everyone understood what that meant. Another Archmage had appeared.

All eyes turned to the spectacle of the struggling prince, each reaction different. None of them had sensed the arrival of this new presence. It was a testament to his skill. There could be no doubt about his level. With that realization, their gazes toward Zeke grew even more careful.

First Raileh, then Irisen, and now this new person. How many Archmages did this young human command? 

Zeke's expression hardened as he looked at the restrained prince. "It was not a suggestion," he said coldly.

The prince, expectantly, couldn't even protest anymore. Tied up like a slab of meat, there was nothing he could do. 

The difference struck them at once.

Edras had raged, issued commands, and unilaterally passed judgment. Yet despite all that, nothing had happened. His words had remained just that, words, lacking the power to shape reality.

But when this human spoke, the subject was immediately restrained. His words were law itself. This was authority. This was power.

No one in the chamber missed the dichotomy. They couldn't help but recall the earlier words: A prince whose orders were ignored was no prince at all.

It was a bitter truth laid bare. The old order was gone. Titles remained. But the systems that had once given them meaning had collapsed. That also meant that their former titles, their old privileges, were likely just as meaningless as the prince's.

No lords or ladies. No rulers or tyrants.

They were just ordinary people now, with nothing left but the clothes on their backs, the coin in their purses, and the strength of their magic.

Worst of all?

There was no one else to blame. They were all complicit. The country had truly fallen.

It was into that somber, sobering silence that Zeke spoke once more.

"I like the looks on your faces," he said.

It sounded like an insult, as if he believed despair and hopelessness were all they deserved. But that was not what he meant. Not exactly.

Zeke continued. "Nothing has changed from a moment ago. The Legion did not grow stronger. Your country's forces did not diminish. Yet you all look so hopeless now, when you were so chipper before. Can you tell me what exactly has changed?"

Only silence greeted him, but that was fine. Zeke knew they had realized it as well. What had changed. Still, this was not an atmosphere in which one could easily speak, especially when the answer was so humiliating.

Zeke answered his own question.

"You have finally begun to open your eyes and accept the true state of the world."

While they still had the prince, their roles, their places, it had been easy to pretend that nothing had changed.

They had clung to the old, nostalgic order of the past. It was a fairytale they had all indulged in together, with no one daring to rock the boat, keeping the lie alive for as long as possible.

Even Irisen had not been able to defy her ingrained instincts. Had she not also struggled to oppose a mere servant of the palace? That was how strong the influence of learned behavior could be.

But Zeke would not let them cling to it.

He had ignored all conventions, ignored all rules, and stood before their prince to boldly challenge his authority.

Was it confidence? Not really.

He simply understood the fragility of the facade. The fleeting nature of the lie.

It could not withstand scrutiny. The moment he challenged the system, it collapsed on its own. Not because of his power, but because of the hollow foundation on which this hierarchy had been built.

Now, it had all come crashing down. With it, these dreamers were forced to wake from their pretense. They now faced the real world amid the crumbling remains of what they had believed in.

A country in ruins. The enemy at their doorstep. No power to fight. No room to escape. The situation was so hopeless that many likely wished the lie could return, if only for a moment.

In this atmosphere, Zeke spoke once more.

"Scary, isn't it? This unfamiliar world..."

These were the words everyone was thinking, yet no one dared to voice. To speak them aloud was to admit cowardice. And yet Zeke said them with ease. More importantly, there was no judgment in his voice.

Zeke could sense it instinctively.

These people did not need to be judged. Judgment would not drive them to action. They had been given impossible tasks to begin with and they had failed spectacularly.

No. He had already torn them down enough. What they needed now was not to be broken further. What they needed, what they truly needed, was to be led.

"Do not worry," Zeke said softly. "I know the way."

It was a statement as simple as it was absolute.

"No matter how dark it gets, you do not need to fear losing yourself. Just keep looking at me."

Now all eyes were on him. Not only the ten seated on the thrones, but even Irisen at his side watched him as if entranced.

"If you cannot see the path forward. If you do not believe Rukia can be held. If you think even yourselves beyond saving, I will accept it all."

His words were a sweet temptation.

"Follow me, and I will lead you through this darkness. I will show you that which you cannot see with your own eyes..."

The tension hovered on the brink as every gaze hung on his lips.

"I will show you victory."

A simple declaration. A promise so straightforward that it left no room for excuses. Victory. Something no one here dared to dream of anymore. Not escape. Not survival. Victory.

It was a claim so bold that most would not even whisper it to themselves. Yet Zeke had spoken the word aloud, as if the outcome were already decided. 

Maybe, just maybe, he truly did know the way. Otherwise, how could he speak so lightly? Maybe it really was possible.

Victory.

It was a word these fallen lords, these shamed deserters, had long driven from their minds. Yet as they tasted it once more, a long-forgotten ember stirred in their chests.

It was not that they were unwilling to fight. They had simply lost hope. When no path forward could be seen, what reason was there to endure? 

But what if they did not have to see? What if all they had to do was follow orders? No room for doubt. No room to waver. As long as they followed orders, victory would await them.

The spark in their chests flared brighter.

This human, this young man, had been chosen by the elven lords to lead them to salvation. He had pierced their facade and subdued the prince. Everyone present could feel his will, his unwavering conviction.

If not now, then when?

They had nothing left. Driven into a corner, even a rat would bite. So what about them? With their backs already against the wall, would they still cower? Would they sink even lower than the basest of beasts?

The fire became a roaring flame.

The first to act was Eryth Sil. Perhaps he felt the need to prove himself, but his gesture was dramatic. He rose from his throne, then immediately lowered himself to one knee. A posture of allegiance. A posture of submission.

"Chosen of the tree," he said, his voice subdued yet filled with spirit. "Please. Show me the way."

Before Zeke could react, a second person dropped to their knee.

"Please..."

Thud. A third.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Before long, all ten had assumed the same posture.

Zeke took in the sight. A satisfied expression slowly formed on his face. Then, unexpectedly, he heard another thud. An eleventh. The sound came from right beside him.

Irisen had lowered herself as well. Her earnest eyes looked up at him.

"...Please, show us the way."

Zeke was surprised. He had not expected his words to reach even her. He had only sought to restore hope to the hearts of these fallen men. Yet it seemed Irisen had needed that encouragement just as much. 

Zeke nodded slowly. He did not take their gestures lightly. The trust they had placed in him, he would cherish.

"The enemy is at the gates," he said. "Let us go and kill them."

B8 - Chapter 54: Judgment

The audience chamber fell deathly quiet.

Even the faint pitter-patter of footsteps coming from beyond the broken door seemed to vanish in that moment. It was as if the entire world was holding its breath at his audacity.

I alone am enough to face all ten of you.

When had there ever been a Grandmage so bold? Not ten against one, but one against ten.

It was an insult beyond any other. A direct slap to all their faces.

Even so, Zeke, the one who had uttered such brazen words, stood tall without even a hint of nervousness on his face. The truth was, he did not feel a single ounce of fear in that moment.

It was not that he truly believed he could face ten Archmages alone. But if the situation turned violent, he would not be in too much danger either. He was certain of that. That certainty stemmed more from instinct than logic. His gut told him clearly that these people, despite their higher level, posed little threat to him.

It was hard to explain, but if Zeke had to put it into words, he would compare his current situation to a tiger surrounded by elephants. Though the elephants were, in theory, bigger and stronger, the tiger would never fear them.

Why not?

Simple.

They were herbivores. Confronting a predator directly was not in their nature.

Zeke did not understand how such unremarkable people had achieved the rank of Archmages in the first place, given the high entry barrier to the realm. The only explanation that made sense was that they had reached the threshold through slow accumulation. This was possible only because of the unnaturally long lives granted by their elven blood.

A mystery that had plagued him for a long time was finally being answered.

Aside from Irisen, these were the first native Archmages he had encountered so far. He had long wondered how Rukia could have fallen so quickly, given how strong she was. Now, he had his answer.

Irisen was the exception. These ten were the norm. Utterly useless, bearing the title of Archmage in name alone.

Even now, after he had so directly slapped their faces with his words and trampled their pride, not a single one had risen.

He inwardly shook his head.

Even the Merchant Lords of Tradespire had more backbone than these figures. They cared nothing for their pride, nothing for their country, and nothing for their people. It seemed the only thing that meant anything to them was their own safety. Running away was the only thing they had put any effort into so far.

Zeke let out a deep sigh. He needed to revise his plans. He had thought to strong-arm the local powers into taking a stance. By waving the carrot and the stick, he would have them stand side by side with Cassius and Rhea and decisively defeat the Legion forces.

For that, he had prepared several cards to play.

Cassius' food could be used as a bargaining chip, as could the existence of the escape tunnel. But now, he was not even sure that it would do any good. Even if he could force them into action, what use would these people be? 

They were like toddlers wielding masterfully crafted swords. Though theoretically dangerous, even a dozen of them could not defeat a real soldier. In Zeke's estimate, either of the two Legion Archmages he had seen outside could face them without difficulty. It would not even be close.

Finally, one of the figures stirred. Surprisingly, it was not one of the ten, but the man seated at their center. The prince slowly rose to his feet, his expression stern.

Zeke looked at him with a hint of expectation. Lacking as the man had appeared at first glance, it seemed that royal blood still carried some strength. After all, none of the Archmages dared to act in this atmosphere. And yet, he rose. 

"Human..." He spoke the word almost as if it were an insult, a slur. "I have tolerated your offenses for long enough."

The prince straightened to his full height. He was rather tall, his elven blood more prominent than in most other half-elves. Even his ears were longer, almost as if he were a pure-blooded elf.

Zeke remained silent, waiting to see what the prince would do next.

"...On the grounds of rescuing my sister-in-law and my brother, I wanted to show you leniency. But that does not mean my mercy is without end."

Zeke's eyes widened slightly at the completely unexpected words.

Seemingly pleased by that reaction, Prince Edras continued in an even more dignified voice. "I, Edras, third heir to the name of Rukia, hereby render judgment upon you."

Nobody spoke.

"Of the crime of breaking into a royal palace and destroying royal property, I find you guilty."

A pause.

"Of the crime of insulting a royal and his advisors in the most shameless way, I find you guilty."

Another pause.

"Even given your merits, the verdict for these crimes can only be one." Edras took a deep breath, as if speaking the words pained him greatly. "I sentence you to exile from Rukia. From now on until the time of your death, you are no longer welcome in this land."

In a single monologue, without even pausing to consider it, the prince had swept away all merits, listed his crimes, and passed sentence.

Jury, judge, and executioner.

During the speech, Zeke's head had gradually lowered. Now it was bowed. From the outside, it must have looked as though he were a sinner, accepting the weight of the verdict.

That impression could not have been further from the truth, though. The real reason he had lowered his head was that he could no longer control his expression. The prince's words had utterly shattered what little expectation he had still held for him.

What royal blood? What strength?

The prince had not spoken because of any such virtues. The reason was far simpler. He was a fool, no more and no less. So utterly incompetent that he had not even understood the situation he was in.

What fear could a newborn lamb have? It had never felt the tiger's bite, so it naturally did not fear its stripes.

Zeke let out a deep sigh.

Inwardly, he wondered if that spineless fool Khaelryn might, in fact, be the better of the two brothers. At least he had possessed the sense to beg for his life when the situation demanded it.

Zeke slowly raised his head and met the prince's gaze head-on. The prince flinched. Zeke no longer bothered to control his expression. He did not know what his face looked like, but judging by that reaction, it was not a pleasant sight.

"Edras," he said, stripping away all honorifics and titles. "What are you planning to do if I do not leave on my own?"

The prince's brow furrowed, as if he did not quite understand the question. Or perhaps he was simply displeased by the address. Even so, he answered.

"I would advise against that. Such behavior would only deepen your crimes. Even the death penalty would be a possibility..."

A fool to the end.

Zeke opened his mouth. "Imbecile."

The word came out more strongly than he had intended, but he could no longer be bothered to restrain his anger. It was precisely because of leaders like this prince that the people suffered so much.

When Zeke saw that the prince was about to speak, he would not allow it. He had no intention of hearing more from this fool, so he continued before he could.

"You cannot judge me." It was not a question, but a statement. "You no longer have the ability to do so."

"What nonsense is that!" the prince finally shouted. "I am a prince! I have the right to judge whoever I damn well please!"

Zeke shook his head slowly. "You are no prince."

Edras grew even more irate. "My mother is-"

"No queen," Zeke cut him off before he could finish the sentence.

At that claim, not only the prince, but even Irisen and the cowed Archmages looked at him with grave expressions. Denying even the queen was something akin to a declaration of war.

"...After all," Zeke continued slowly, "there are conditions that must be met before someone can call themselves a royal." He raised three fingers. "First, you must possess land. Second, you must have the strength to protect that land. Third, you must be able to command the people of that land."

Zeke looked at the prince. "Your family does not fulfill even a single one of these conditions."

Zeke lowered his hand, but his words continued. "Rukia has already fallen. Moreover, your mother's word no longer commands the respect of the people, and neither does yours." 

"What nonsense! We are far from defeated!" The prince had been screaming for a while now. Zeke couldn't see this as anything other than a child throwing a temper tantrum. 

Otherwise, he would have used logic instead of resorting to shouts. 

However, Zeke was done indulging such fantasies. It was time he tightened the noose he had planted around the prince's neck. 

"Then prove me wrong," Zeke said calmly. Despite the milder tone, his words managed to silence the prince at once. "If you still command the hearts of the people, command them to carry out your sentence. Exile or death. Speak the words and see them carried out." 

"What are you... I have already..." The prince's words faltered. Only now did he seem to realize the problem. Had he not already sentenced this human to exile? Yet, for some reason, the man was still standing there, continuing to speak so disrespectfully.

Why was he not being dragged away? His eyes seemed to ask.

Zeke watched as realization slowly dawned on him. The prince's gaze darted left and right as he looked at the Archmages flanking him, his loyal advisors. The people he had relied on until now.

Yet wherever he turned, none of them would even look at him.

"Lord Sil?" he called out, but Eryth Sil did not dare meet his gaze. Edras called out to a few others he was apparently close to, but none of them responded to his increasingly urgent calls.

"What are you..." he said weakly, visibly confused by their reactions. It was as if he were thinking: I am the prince, you have to obey me.

But that line of thought was fundamentally flawed.

It showed that the prince had a complete lack of understanding of how power truly worked. With the queen's status unknown, her forces scattered or defeated, and the country in ruins, what did these cowardly advisors have to fear from disobeying him now?

They were deserters to begin with, meaning they had already defied the queen's orders once. Why would they risk their lives now on the command of such a weak prince? In comparison, that crimson-haired human with reptilian eyes seemed far more fearsome.

It was as simple as that. Risk and reward were clear for anyone to see. Who would face a tiger just to escape a fox?

However, the prince seemed unwilling to give up. His gaze shifted to the last person he had not yet implored.

"Sister-in-law..." He looked at Irisen. "Arrest him for me."

Zeke felt Irisen stir beside him and turned his head slightly toward her.

Irisen glanced at Zeke for a moment before shaking her head. "No."

The prince was visibly angered by her refusal. The straightforward rejection enraged him far more than the cautious refusal of the elders.

"Irisen, you!" His eyes flashed dangerously. "Do you not care what happens to your sister at all? Or have you forgotten who holds her right now?"

Zeke's lips twitched. Oh. This was going to be interesting. The prince had crossed a line from which there was no turning back, resorting to outright threats. Zeke was genuinely interested to see what Irisen would do next.

In truth, Irisen's sister had already been removed from the prince's control. David had long since sent word that she was safely outside the wall, under Zelkara's protection. Even so, Zeke did not plan to reveal that fact just yet. He wanted to see how the situation would play out.

Would Irisen turn on him?

As expected, her expression turned extremely ugly.

It could not have been a good feeling to have her weakness used like this. After everything she had done, after everything she had sacrificed, this was how the royal family repaid her?

Even so, her feelings did not change the reality of the situation. The prince had spoken a threat, one that, for all she knew, he might actually be able to carry out.

This time, the eyes with which she regarded Zeke held a far deeper struggle. It was clear that the decision weighed heavily on her. More than once, Zeke felt her mana pulse briefly before dispersing again.

Eventually, with a deep sigh, she deflated completely.

"I can't do it." The words seemed to drain her. "I can't..."

"What do you mean?" Edras roared. "Are you so obsessed with that human that you would sacrifice your sister for his sake? What kind of creature are you?"

At his words, the previously deflated Irisen finally exploded. "What do you even know, you half-wit? Sacrificing my sister? How could I bear to do that? But what choice is there? Do you even understand the situation we are in?"

The prince took a step back, almost stumbling over his throne. Clearly, he had not expected Irisen to erupt like this.

"Even if I could capture Ezekiel, would my sister be safe? Without his help, this entire place is doomed anyway. Should I betray my morals just so we can live a few more days?" 

"Calm yourself, sister-in-law," Edras said soothingly. "If the worst comes to pass, the hidden passage will see us safely to the land of the elves."

Irisen's glare intensified. "The elves, you utter fool? What makes you think they would welcome us after we turned on their chosen champion?"

"Chosen... champion?" The words left his mouth slowly. Edras looked from Raileh, whom he had tried to negotiate with, to Zeke, who had remained silent for a while now. Gradually, his face drained of color.

It was then that Zeke made his move. Having seen the situation play out, there was nothing left for him to observe. He was quite satisfied with how Irisen had chosen to act. The first thing he did was send her a mental notice informing her that her sister had already been brought to safety.

Irisen's first reaction was to let out a deep sigh of relief. A moment later, she shot him a resentful glare. Clearly, she had not appreciated being tested in such a manner. Zeke simply shrugged it off. They were not close enough for him to trust her blindly yet. Smart as she was, she would understand that.

Next, he faced forward again. A visible ripple of unease spread through their ranks under his gaze. The realization that their plan to flee to the elves had already failed shattered their confidence more than anything before.

Even Edras seemed to be at a complete loss.

It was in that atmosphere that Zeke spoke. "Are you prepared?" he asked. "I will now render judgment."

B8 - Chapter 53: I Am Enough

Zeke’s steps did not slow, no matter who called out to him or what they said, nor did he ask for directions. 

He already had a rough understanding of the palace layout, and the place he was heading for lay at its very center. It appeared to be a large audience chamber, and it was also where he could sense Raileh’s mental signature.

Before long, he reached a massive gate. Its size served no purpose other than to emphasize the importance of the chamber beyond. Not that there was any doubt anyway. The more than a dozen guards stationed on either side, weapons raised, were more than enough to highlight the status of those inside.

Zeke’s eyes flicked between them, quickly assessing the threat they posed. Even while doing that, his steps did not slow. He had neither the time nor the patience for procedures.

"Halt! In the name of the king, stay where you are!"

Zeke scoffed inwardly. King? What King? And what power would such a figure hold over him? Without even thinking twice about it, he was already preparing to call upon his magic. Unexpectedly, before he could act, the ground beneath the guards began to shift on its own.

The floor, carved from the solid wood of the great tree, twisted unnaturally. Wooden pillars burst upward like bamboo after rain, catching the guards completely off guard. The offshoots twisted like snakes, coiling around the guards and binding them so tightly that they struggled to breathe.

Zeke turned his head slightly toward the source of the spell.

Irisen had nearly caught up to him, her eyes once more holding their usual indifference. Zeke inwardly nodded. It seemed his words had not been wasted on her.

He did not waste any unnecessary words and headed straight for the door. It was locked from the inside. Still, the mechanism seemed to be nothing more than a simple latch.

Zeke could easily use his telepathy to undo it. Or...

His foot lashed out. He put his full strength into the kick, the muscles in his legs straining as the floor cracked under the weight of the backlash. This blow carried all of his physical power, without holding anything back.

The result was as expected.

Far from merely breaking the thin latch, the door completely shattered, its remains exploding outward in fragments. From the inside, it must have looked as if a battering ram had struck the door at full force.

Zeke did not hesitate, stepping through the destroyed entryway. As expected, all gazes snapped toward him, and whatever conversation had been taking place before was instantly cut short. The looks directed his way were a mix of fear, anger, and confusion. Zeke ignored them all, turning toward Raileh and focusing on the mental link between them.

"What has been said?"

A hint of glee entered Raileh's eyes when she recognised him. She must have been quite annoyed with the people here if even a gentle soul such as her took pleasure in his rude conduct. She quickly relayed the information, the explanation taking no more than a single moment and unfolding at the speed of thought.

Before the last of the debris had even settled, Zeke had already learned everything. The reason was both surprising and unsurprising at the same time.

Zeke had assumed the respect she received was due to her status as a pure-blooded, and while that certainly played a role, he now understood that there was more to it. 

There were ulterior motives...

These people actually had the mind to bargain for safe transport and sanctuary in the elven lands, asking to be sheltered in Yggdrasil while their country burned. 

Zeke's eyes turned even colder, and he finally surveyed the scene inside the room properly.

Raileh stood in the center of the room, while ten thrones loomed on a raised platform above her, five on either side. At the very center of that platform stood an even more splendid throne, upon which a middle-aged man sat.

Zeke's gaze immediately locked onto the man in the center. Two things stood out about him. First, he wore a sort of crown. Second, he was the weakest person in the room. While everyone else, including Raileh, felt like a deep abyss of mana, this man alone had far weaker mana.

He was the only Grand Mage among Archmages. His mana felt even weaker than Zeke's, who had advanced not that long ago.

So this was the prince. Prince Edras.

It was exactly this prince who spoke first. Unexpectedly, his words were not directed at Zeke, but at the woman who had entered behind him.

"Irisen...?" he said, eyes wide. "How are you here? I heard you were lost at the battle for Willowcreek."

Irisen's expression did not change as she answered without any particular inflection. "I was."

"...And yet you are here now. Alive. Does that mean my brother..."

"Is alive as well," Irisen confirmed.

A genuine smile spread across the prince's face as he rose from his throne. "That is welcome news. Welcome news indeed. In these dark times, I had not even dared to hope—" He stopped himself, as if noticing something at last. "Why is he not with you? Where is my brother?"

Irisen cast a brief glance at Zeke before answering. "Khaelryn is currently in the care of the gentleman at my side."

For the first time, Prince Edras seemed to notice Zeke. His eyes swept over him, lingering for a moment on his hair and eyes.

"Ah," he said. "Yes, Lady Raileh has mentioned you. You are one of the human mercenaries sent to assist us during these troubling times. You have my thanks. Rescuing my brother is a great merit, one that will see you richly rewarded."

Clearly, the prince was expecting Zeke to say something. Perhaps a few words of flattery. To claim he was merely doing his duty, or that it had been an honor to serve.

Yet Zeke said nothing of the sort.

In fact, ever since he had entered, he had not spoken a single word. Even now, he was not looking at the prince. His eyes were instead fixed on the ten people occupying the other thrones.

One by one, his gaze moved over them, lingering only briefly on each. When he finished his inspection, he faced forward again, meeting the now impatient eyes of Prince Edras.

"...Ten Archmages," Zeke said, "would have been more than enough to rescue your brother yourself."

At his words, the atmosphere, which had been warmed by the prince's joy, cooled in an instant.

Zeke noticed several of the Archmages scowling at him, as if trying to stab him with their eyes. He did not even flinch. Their glares felt light. If ten people of Irisen's caliber had been staring at him instead, he might have begun to sweat. As it was, he remained completely unaffected.

The prince's smile turned awkward. "I had no way of knowing where he was being held. Otherwise, nothing would have prevented us from rushing to his aid. Is that not so?" He turned to the figures seated on the thrones flanking him.

Zeke shook his head inwardly.

After only a single exchange, he could already confirm one thing with absolute certainty. Edras was weak. Weak in a way that had nothing to do with his mana or his ability as a mage. He was a weak ruler and a weak person.

When confronted with criticism, his first reaction had been to divert responsibility. That alone marked him as a poor leader. And it was not as though the rest of these people were any better. Otherwise, how could they hide here while the rest of their countrymen fought and bled?

Zeke had seen no shortage of powerless peasants, and even children, among the resistance fighters he had taken in.

And yet these Archmages dared to hide. Dared to negotiate for safe passage.

While the mages were still nodding along with the prince's words, swearing that they would not have hesitated if only they had known, Zeke spoke a single sentence that silenced them all.

"Then how do you suppose I found them?"

The question hung in the air like an accusation.

"Could it be that I knew where they were being held?"

"This..."

The prince was left speechless. Clearly, he was not accustomed to being questioned so directly. While he struggled for words, one of the Archmages spoke up in his stead, his voice edged with warning.

"Do not act so arrogantly, human. You are addressing the prince."

Zeke's gaze snapped to the man who had spoken, like a bloodhound catching a scent. "And who are you to lecture me?"

The man rose to his full height. Though well past his prime, his back was straight and his presence imposing. From his elevated position, he could easily look down on Zeke.

"I am Eryth Sil," the man declared. "Lord of the White—"

"Lord of the Whitevein Range," Zeke interrupted before he could finish. "Protector of the ancient Greenwood. You were entrusted with guarding the passage between your lands and the capital at Fort Thirwatch."

The man's expression froze, but Zeke was far from finished.

"Last I heard, Fort Thirwatch had fallen. Every man, woman, and child was slaughtered to the last. Many have wondered what became of you, Lord Sil. How curious to find you here, half a world away, in such good health."

"This... I..." the man stuttered. "I barely escaped with my life."

"Escaped," Zeke repeated, his gaze hardening. "And how many thousands could have survived if you had fought to the death? If you had done your duty?"

The man remained silent. His lips were pressed shut, but his venomous eyes continued to glare at Zeke, as if he wanted to devour him whole.

Zeke did not care. His gaze was already moving on to the others. "Who else? Who else dares to criticize me? Step forward and introduce yourself."

It was a trap.

The moment any of them named themselves, Zeke could immediately determine where they had deserted from. With the amount of information Akasha had gathered on the war, it was impossible that she would not recognize their names.

As for the question of whether all of them were deserters, that was even simpler. As Archmages of Rukia, none of them could have avoided being drafted in such a time of crisis.

And since there had initially been no Archmages stationed here, the truth was obvious.

As expected, even after Zeke swept his gaze over them a second time, none of them dared to speak.

Zeke's expression twisted into utter disdain. "A cowardly prince and ten disgraced deserters." His words were merciless, making no effort to spare their dignity. "You dare sit on these thrones. Does it mend your wounded pride? Does it help you sleep at night? Does it drown out the screams of the thousands who died because of your cowardice?"

Each accusation cut deeper than the last, striking directly at their weakest points.

At last, one of the Archmages could endure no more. Eryth Sil, who had introduced himself earlier, roared in indignation.

"Enough."

With his scream, his considerable mana flared. It was far more powerful than Zeke's, instantly overwhelming his presence. In terms of raw quantity, it was many times greater.

Immediately, Irisen tried to step forward to shield him, but Zeke's outstretched hand stopped her before she could move.

Despite the immense pressure bearing down on him, his expression remained calm.

Zeke opened his mouth and spoke a single word.

"Sit."

To everyone's astonishment, Eryth Sil obeyed. The Archmage looked just as confused as the others as he found himself seated once more on his throne. Their gazes toward Zeke grew even more wary after witnessing this incomprehensible display.

How could this young man overpower an Archmage?

In truth, it had nothing to do with power. The power of Zeke's Draconic Aura was not a matter of strength, but of will. Eryth Sil, despite having reached the rank of Archmage, lacked Zeke's mental fortitude. Otherwise, he would never have deserted his post in the first place.

Naturally, none of the stunned Archmages understood this. They remained frozen in place, hardly daring to breathe.

It was in this silence that Zeke spoke.

"My mentor used to have a saying," he began. "He said that not even ten Grandmages can match an Archmage's might." He paused, his expression twisting into something ugly.

"But now, looking at the ten of you... I alone seem to be enough to match all ten of you."

B8 - Chapter 52: Who Are We?

Zeke’s gait was slow. He wandered the streets without direction. His thoughts lingered on the information Cassius had relayed to him.

The prince ruling this place was named Edras, the third son of the Queen of Rukia. He had been placed in charge of the sanctuary at the start of the war and, as a result, had not taken part in a single battle.

According to Cassius, nearly all of Edras’s knowledge of how the Ehrenlegion operated came from the "refugees" who had found their way to the sanctuary.

Refugees... 

Zeke could only shake his head. 

At the beginning of the war, there had not been a single Archmage stationed here, which meant they had all been part of this group. Likewise, most of the people who now called the sanctuary their home were those who had followed these Archmages. This also explained why a large portion of the people here were quite powerful. 

It was quite ironic.

Originally, the sanctuary was meant to serve as a safe haven for the non-combatant family members of important figures like Irisen, who could not protect their families after being deployed. Now, it housed some of the strongest combat assets the country had at its disposal. 

That was all the information Cassius had.

Though he knew little about the inner workings of this place, Zeke could already infer a great deal from even this much.

Now, it was time to see what David had uncovered.

"What did you find?" he asked telepathically.

David’s voice responded a moment later. "The Titan spoke the truth. There are at least nine Archmages here, and those are only the ones I could confirm."

Zeke nodded. He had never doubted Rhea’s words in the first place. After all, members of the Ancient Races could not lie. The only way her words could have been false was if she had been deceived as well, but that seemed unlikely.

"Also, I’ve found something that might be of interest, though I am not quite sure if it is relevant."

Zeke listened intently.

"There is a hidden passage. Its entrance is beneath the palace, and I cannot confirm how far it reaches."

Zeke’s steps paused for a moment. "What does it look like? How large is it?"

David did not reply at once. Several breaths passed before his voice came again. "It is a narrow passage, too narrow for even two people to walk side by side. But it appears well constructed otherwise. There are enchantments along its length. I cannot decipher their meaning."

"Show me."

In the next moment, an image briefly flashed before Zeke’s eyes. 

[Notice.]
This Enchantment has two effects: structural reinforcement and mana rejection.

Zeke nodded. The structural reinforcement was most likely meant to prevent the tunnel from collapsing. It allowed the passage to exist without additional load-bearing structures. Mana rejection, on the other hand, was most often used to obscure a location. While it would not withstand intense scrutiny, it could certainly prevent the tunnel from being discovered right away.

The corners of Zeke’s mouth curled into a mocking smile. How utterly unsurprising. What David had found was an escape tunnel. It was far too narrow to serve as a getaway for everyone in the sanctuary, but it might be enough to bring a few people already inside the palace to safety.

"Well done, David. Stay near the tunnel and wait for further instructions."

"As you command, my lord."

Zeke changed course. His aimless steps gained purpose as he headed toward the large structure faintly visible in the distance.

"Irisen," he called out in his mind. "Did you find your sister?"

It took her a moment to respond, likely because she had never used this form of communication before.

"I know where she is, but they will not let me enter. It is ridiculous..."

"Is she inside the palace?"

"Yes."

Zeke weighed his options. What he was about to do could be seen as an act of aggression. On the other hand, even in the best case, he would not leave this place on good terms. It didn't take long for him to decide that he didn't care. 

"...Picture your sister in your mind and focus on our mental connection." He instructed. 

"What are you planning?" Irisen asked, unease creeping into her voice.

"Just do it."

The connection remained still for a moment. Then an image of a young girl appeared in Zeke’s mind. He smiled. The girl looked so much like Irisen that it was impossible to mistake her for anyone else.

Zeke relayed the image to David. "Find this girl for me."

Silence followed. Nearly half a minute passed before David responded. "Found her."

Zeke smiled. He understood all too well why Shadow Mages were so feared. The ability to move freely inside a guarded structure while avoiding detection was truly terrifying.

"Can you get her out without being seen?"

"I can," David replied at once.

"Bring her to where Zelkara is."

Zeke heard nothing further from David, which was to be expected. He would only respond once the task was complete.

In the meantime, Zeke had almost reached the palace. The design looked ancient and strongly resembled elven architecture, or more precisely, the way elves grew their dwellings.

At least, at first glance. 

Unlike the natural integration the elves achieved, this palace seemed to have been carved from a massive tree rather than grown into shape. It was clearly a step down from true elven craftsmanship. If Zeke were being harsh, he might even have called it a cheap imitation of their style.

That did not mean the palace lacked presence. To anyone who had never seen Yggdrasil, it would appear a marvelous structure.

Even from a distance, Zeke could already spot Irisen near the entrance, arguing with a middle-aged man. Their exchange was clearly growing heated.

As he drew closer, Zeke began to make out their words.

"...Are you not being a bit unreasonable, Lady Irisen? Even someone of your standing cannot enter the palace whenever they please."

"You will not allow me to enter, and you will not bring my sister out. Am I to understand that she is a hostage, then?" Irisen’s voice was cold, but her eyes looked ready to spew fire.

The steward waved his hands in protest. "Nothing of the sort. But there are protocols for these matters. We cannot hand people over without following proper procedure."

That was when Zeke reached them. He stepped up beside Irisen, interrupting their conversation.

"...And who are you... Sir?" the man asked, adding the title a beat late.

Zeke did not respond. Instead, he studied the person in front of him. The man was slightly chubby and clearly well-fed. His clothes were among the finest Zeke had seen since entering Rukia. His features were soft, while his eyes held a crafty light.

Despite the strong presence of mana he felt from the man, Zeke’s senses told him that this person would not be able to match even a single member of the Blood Guard in actual combat.

It was the look of a civilian, someone who had lived far from hardship and bloodshed. With that single glance, Zeke dismissed him.

Next, he turned to Irisen with a disapproving look. "What are you doing?"

A flicker of confusion crossed her eyes at the sudden question. "I am trying to find my sister."

Zeke shook his head, a deep sigh escaping his lips. "Why is everyone like this all of a sudden?" he muttered. "First Cassius, now you too."

Completely ignoring the man before them, Zeke nodded toward the entrance. "Let’s go."

As if the steward did not exist, Zeke walked past him toward the palace entrance. Irisen followed a moment later, her steps hesitant at first, then matching his pace.

"Wait. Please wait. You cannot enter the palace without permission."

The steward hurried after them and once again stepped in their path. This time, he spread his arms wide, as if planning to block them physically. The two guards flanking the entrance tightened their grips on their ceremonial spears.

Zeke stopped and finally looked at the steward, his gaze turning sharp.

"I cannot simply allow you—"

Before the man could finish, Zeke placed a firm hand on his shoulder. The words died in his throat, as if the strength had been drained from him.

"Allow me?" Zeke repeated. "I do not recall asking for your permission."

"I..."

Zeke raised a finger in a shushing gesture before the man could say another word. "This is your last chance," he said, his voice utterly devoid of levity. "If you insist on blocking my way, I will go through you. Do you understand?"

With each word, the aura radiating from Zeke intensified. By the end, the full weight of his draconic presence bore down on the man before him. The steward went limp, hanging from Zeke’s arm like a doll with its strings cut.

His face had turned so pale that even a corpse would have looked healthy beside him. His entire body trembled uncontrollably, as if seized by a deadly chill.

Zeke released his grip, and the man collapsed to the floor.

Without sparing him a second glance, Zeke stepped over the fallen figure. The guards were so frightened that they could not even meet his eyes, let alone block his path.

Just like that, Zeke entered the palace without obstruction. Irisen followed a step behind. It was clear she was not pleased with how he had handled the situation.

"You were too harsh," she said as soon as she caught up.

Zeke shook his head, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "No. You were too lenient."

"What if—" she began, but Zeke cut her off.

"What if what?" He stopped and turned to face her, his eyes sharp. "So what if they are offended? So what if they are displeased? So what if they think poorly of us? Is that really what you should be worried about?"

Irisen’s eyes widened, caught off guard by the outburst. Her reply came haltingly. "I... I was just—"

"Irisen," he interrupted again. "Who are we?"

Her eyes showed she did not understand the question.

Zeke sighed and pointed at her. "You are one of the few Archmages in Rukia who has faced the Legion and survived." Then he pointed at himself. "And I am a Merchant Lord of Tradespire, commanding an enormous force."

He paused, letting the words sink in.

"We are not people to be stopped at the gate by a servant."

Irisen’s expression shifted slightly.

"Now," he said. "Straighten your shoulders and hold your head high." He continued walking, his posture growing even more domineering. His bearing made it seem as though the entire palace belonged to him alone, and everyone else was merely a guest.

Just before he vanished around a corner, the rest of his words carried back to Irisen's ears.

"...It is time we received an explanation for why the prince did not think to greet us at the gate. Do you not agree?"

***

Irisen stood frozen for a moment, her thoughts wavering. Her eyes remained fixed on the direction Zeke had disappeared in.

Then she took a step forward, and then another. With each step, her spine seemed to straighten, her chin lifting higher.

A single phrase echoed in her mind.

"...Who are we?"

Who was she? She was Irisen; Irisen, Flower of the East. She was an Archmage who had endured years imprisoned in darkness. She had shed blood for them and suffered untold hardships.

All for her people's sake. 

"...We are not people to be stopped at the gate by a servant."

Her eyes turned cold as she recalled the way the steward had spoken to her.

When she caught up with Ezekiel again, no trace of hesitation remained. The only thought left in her mind was why she had not received a hero’s welcome upon arriving at the gate.

B8 - Chapter 51: The Weight of Belief

Zeke's senses extended outward, searching. Though he could not perceive much, it was still better than moving blindly. His feet carried him down the central road toward the heart of the settlement.

For a while, his search remained fruitless. Then, at last, he sensed something. A familiar presence. It was a vague feeling, almost drowned out by the mana trees, but not completely.

He followed the sensation through the winding streets, past structures that grew increasingly intricate the deeper he went. The architecture shifted, becoming more refined. Elven influence grew clearer, with curved lines and living wood, buildings that seemed to have grown rather than been built.

This had to be the original part of the sanctuary, before it had been expanded in such a haphazard way.

The garden appeared at the end of a narrow lane.

It was small, perhaps fifty paces across, but maintained with obvious care. Plants grew in ordered rows, their leaves catching what little light filtered through the canopy above. Flowers bloomed in colors that seemed too vivid for the surrounding gloom. None of them were ordinary.

A tall man stood at the center of the garden, his back to the entrance. Even so, Zeke recognized him at once. Cassius.

He held a seedling in his hands, studying it with the kind of focus Zeke associated with men trying not to think about anything else.

He had aged since their last meeting. Not physically, half-elves were long-lived, and Cassius might well have centuries ahead of him. But there was a weariness in his posture that had not been there before, a weight pressing down on his shoulders.

Zeke watched him for a moment before speaking.

"You look like a man with a lot on your mind."

Cassius turned. Whatever he had expected to see, it was clearly not Zeke standing at the edge of the garden. His eyes widened, and the seedling slipped from his fingers.

"Ezekiel." The name came out rough. "Why are you..." He stopped himself and shook his head. "Never mind. Of course you would be here."

There was no accusation in his words, only a delayed realization. Cassius must have found it natural for Zeke to join the war, given his hatred of the empire and his opposition to everything Augustus Geistreich stood for.

Well. He was not wrong about that.

Zeke stepped into the garden, carefully moving between the rows. Cassius had put work into this place. He would not trample it.

Zeke studied Cassius' face. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper now, carved by something more than time. His shoulders, once held with the easy grace of someone detached from worldly affairs, now curved inward, as if bracing against a blow that had already landed.

"I remember our last conversation," Zeke said, his voice even and neutral. "You spoke of the Emperor's virtues. His justice. The peace he brought to Arkanheim."

"I remember," the elf admitted.

"You told me I saw the world in black and white." Zeke stepped closer, his boots silent on the soft earth between the flower beds. "That things were more complicated than I understood."

Cassius said nothing. He bent to retrieve the seedling he had dropped, brushing dirt from its roots with careful fingers. The motion was automatic, the sort of thing a man does when he needs something to occupy his hands.

"Tell me." Zeke stopped a few paces away. "Do things still seem complicated now?"

The words hung in the air. Zeke had not meant them as an accusation, though he knew they carried that weight all the same. He had earned the right to ask. Years ago, this man had called him foolish for wanting revenge, for refusing to see the nuance in Augustus Geistreich's conquest.

Now the Emperor had come for Rukia, and Cassius stood among the ashes of his home, many of his people having paid the ultimate price. 

The irony should have tasted sweet. It did not.

Cassius straightened slowly. When he met Zeke's eyes, there was no anger in his gaze, only exhaustion.

"I still believe the words I said back then. I just—" He trailed off. The seedling's roots hung limp, already beginning to dry.

Cassius knelt and pressed it into an empty patch of soil. His movements were precise and methodical, the motions of a man repeating a task he had done a thousand times.

"You must think me a hypocrite..." he said suddenly.

Zeke did not respond. The thought had crossed his mind. In the end, for all his talk, Cassius had still chosen to oppose the empire the moment his own home was threatened.

Cassius sighed. "You might be right. Maybe that is exactly what I am. But know that even now, I do not condemn the Emperor. For all we know, this could be the path that leads to lasting peace."

"Then why fight at all?" Zeke asked.

"Alas..." Cassius said, slowly infusing mana into the seedling. "It is much easier to hold certain beliefs than to live by them." He paused, his eyes unfocusing. "There is so much death. So much destruction. So much grief. I could no longer close my eyes to the suffering of my people."

Zeke nodded. He understood that even sincerely held beliefs did not always withstand the test of time. Even someone who fiercely opposed theft would not let their child starve rather than steal a loaf of bread.

Cassius must have felt the same. Though he believed it was not his place to judge the actions of the ruler of a nation, he could not watch his people be slaughtered without acting.

Was that hypocrisy? Maybe. But in the end, it did not matter if it was or not.

Here, in the middle of a warzone, questions of right and wrong were secondary to practical reality. Cassius was here now, fighting for his people.

"I met Rhea earlier," Zeke said, choosing to change the subject. "She seemed to be having a hard time."

Cassius remained silent, continuing to infuse his mana into the seedling. Zeke watched with keen interest as it grew rapidly. What had first looked like a strange radish soon swelled to the size of a child, sprouting limbs.

The plant was beginning to resemble something Zeke recognized, something he had encountered only recently.

A treant.

So the fearsome creatures that had fought alongside Rhea had originated here, in Cassius' garden. Zeke should have realized as much the moment he saw the Titan fighting alongside them. They were the product of the half-elf's unique growth magic.

The realization gave him pause.

Cassius could apparently produce creatures strong enough to drive back an entire regiment of legion troops, if only for a time. Zeke felt a brief pang of jealousy. The ability to influence a distant battlefield while remaining in complete safety was a terrifying power.

In a sense, Cassius could raise an endless army, given enough time and resources.

Zeke shuddered at the thought of what they might accomplish together.

"...They do not quite appreciate our efforts," Cassius said at last.

"They?" 

"The prince and his cohort," Cassius clarified. "They say we are causing trouble by provoking the Empire."

"Provoking the Empire," Zeke repeated. "Do they not realize the country is already at war?"

Cassius looked up, the exhaustion clear in his eyes. "They would like to avoid a fight, if possible."

Zeke was struck speechless. Avoid a fight? Did they not understand how war worked? If avoiding it were an option, who would not choose that?

"And how do they plan to achieve that?" Zeke asked, hoping, against his better judgment, that there was a reasonable explanation.

The pained look on Cassius' face told him there would be none.

"The prince intends to rely on the sanctuary's hidden location, or if it comes to that, on the defenses he has built."

Zeke's frown deepened. "Please tell me the defenses he is relying on are not just that wall."

Cassius shrugged. "He has other cards to play, I think. But they will not be enough."

Zeke swept his gaze around. Even at a glance, he could tell there were thousands of people here. Now he understood why they all seemed so unconcerned. The war had not reached them yet, and under the leadership of this so called prince and his advisors, they were comfortable pretending it never would.

If they closed their eyes tightly enough, they could act as if the world was not burning and the enemy was not advancing with every passing day. At least, they could do so until the Legion finally broke through.

Likely when Cassius and Rhea had been worn down so much that they could no longer hold the line.

His eyes narrowed as he studied Cassius, who continued his work. Clear signs of severe exhaustion showed on him. This was not the result of a day or two of overexertion. It had been building for weeks, perhaps months.

Zeke sighed. "What is your plan?"

"I am trying to grow something that can stand up to the Legion." Cassius' eyes sparkled, a hint of life returning to them. "I have already made the little ones fireproof, which was the biggest problem at the start. Now, from what Rhea told me, the Windblades are the real issue. But I already have an idea for that. Would you like to see?"

Zeke listened in silence as Cassius explained his work. Under normal circumstances, he would have welcomed the chance to discuss the results of Cassius' research and offer ideas of his own. But he could not allow himself that indulgence.

The reason was simple.

They had Archmages, trained for war. The chance of breeding a creature that could stand against them was almost zero. Cassius was only an Archmage himself; it was nearly impossible for his creations to match their power.

Especially since his special blend of Magic didn't really lend itself to combat or warfare. 

"...So if I infuse it with a trace of the Ironwood and maybe use some properties of the hybiscus flower—"

"Cassius," Zeke interrupted the spirited explanation. 

The half-elf fell silent, even though Zeke said nothing more. The liveliness in his gaze faded, replaced by a deeper weariness than before.

"It will not be enough to stop them," Zeke said once the silence stretched on. "You know that."

Cassius neither agreed nor denied it. He only looked at Zeke with a gaze more forlorn than any he had seen before.

"It's the best I can do."

Zeke sighed deeply. That was the problem with people like Cassius. Despite what he had just said, the current situation was far from the best he could do. It was simply the best he was willing to do.

For instance, Zeke could tell at a glance that at least half the food sustaining the sanctuary came from Cassius' gardens and greenhouses.

That fact alone would have put him in a powerful position.

If Zeke had been in his place, he would have used that leverage long ago to force the people into action. But Cassius, with his firm belief that people were free to make their own choices, would never impose his will so forcefully.

Well. That was going to change.

"Cassius..." 

Zeke had decided. He would save this sanctuary, even against their will. Even if it cost the lives of half the people living here. Even if he had to drag this useless prince from his throne and take it for himself.

Did that make him a hypocrite? Maybe. But as he had already concluded, in war, questions of right and wrong were secondary to practical reality.

"...Please tell me everything you know about the prince."

B8 - Chapter 50: Sanctuary

The scar carved by the Legion ended without ceremony.

One moment, the path lay before them—trampled earth and splintered stumps stretching toward the horizon. The next, it simply stopped. Beyond that line, the forest stood as it had for centuries, untouched and dense with undergrowth that would have swallowed a lesser group whole.

Zeke studied the boundary for a long moment. The Legion had not stopped here by choice. Something had halted their advance. Whether it was resistance, caution, or simple logistics, he could not say. But the fact remained: the Empire's forces had not managed to push further.

He filed that observation away for later.

Irisen stepped forward without being asked. Her eyes swept across the treeline with the familiarity of someone returning home after a long absence. There was tension in her shoulders, the kind that came from anticipation rather than fear.

"This way," she said, and moved into the undergrowth.

Zeke's gaze lingered on the spot she had been watching. A tree. Just that. There was nothing obviously special about it, yet Irisen must have noticed something he could not. Her certainty felt genuine. 

Zeke followed, and the others fell into formation behind him.

To anyone else, the forest would have seemed uniform. Trees pressed together in a tangle of bark and shadow, their canopies blocking out the light and casting the ground in perpetual dusk. Roots snaked across the soil like veins, ready to catch the unwary foot.

But Irisen navigated it with purpose, pausing now and then to examine marks that Zeke could barely perceive. A notch in a tree trunk. A stone arranged at an odd angle. Moss scraped away in a pattern that might have been natural to the untrained eye.

Subtle. The kind of trail only someone familiar with the method could follow.

Even Akasha could not make sense of these clues. Not because she failed to detect them, but because their meaning appeared random. It was like a secret language they did not understand. Perhaps, in time, the Spirit would learn to read it, but for now, they had no choice but to rely on Irisen.

The forest grew denser as they pressed on. Sound faded. Even the wind seemed reluctant to reach this far. The forest's suppression weighed heavily here, pressing against his senses like a physical thing.

They had been walking for nearly an hour when Zelkara raised a hand, a faint flicker of her senses shared with the group through the mental link. There was somebody. Close.

The group halted at once.

Zeke extended his awareness, probing the area ahead. His mind brushed against something, a presence that was powerful but diminished. Wounded.

Familiar.

He gestured for the group to continue, but slowly now.

They found her slumped against the base of an oak that must have stood for a thousand years. Her human form looked small against it, almost fragile. Golden blood stained her clothing in several places, seeping from wounds that had not yet closed.

Rhea's head snapped up at their approach. Her eyes, still holding that feral edge Zeke remembered, locked onto them with immediate hostility. Muscles tensed. Her hands balled into fists.

Then she saw who stood at the front of the group.

"Ashen Wolf?" The name left her lips like a question. "Gravitas?"

The two Chimeroi stepped forward. Ash's expression had shifted the moment he saw the Titan, losing some of its hardness. Gravitas hovered nearby, her concern plain despite her attempts to conceal it.

Rhea's gaze swept past them, settling on Zeke.

For a long moment, neither spoke. He could see her mind working, trying to reconcile his presence here with whatever she had expected. The confusion did not last long.

"I did not expect to see you here, little Dragon."

"Rhea." He inclined his head slightly. "You look terrible."

A bark of laughter escaped her, followed immediately by a wince as the motion pulled at her wounds. "Flatterer." She pushed herself straighter against the tree, refusing to appear weak despite her obvious exhaustion. "What are you doing here?"

Zeke shrugged. "It's a long story." He eyed the woman before him, noticing details that had escaped him earlier. Beyond the obvious wounds from her previous battles, there was a different kind of weariness clinging to her, as if she had not slept properly in a long time.

Something was gnawing at her.

"What are you doing here? Last time I saw you, you seemed quite content with your life in Irroch."

Rhea remained quiet for a long moment, countless thoughts flickering behind her tired eyes. In the end, she let out a sigh. "That's a long story, too. You should ask Cassius about it."

Zeke nodded, choosing not to press further. Clearly, there was more going on than could be put into a few words.

"Can you walk?" he asked instead.

"I can do more than walk." Rhea grabbed the trunk for support and hauled herself upright through sheer stubbornness. She swayed for a moment, then steadied. "The sanctuary isn't far. Try to keep up."

Despite her apparent weakness, the Titan's warning wasn't just a bluff. Even in her current state, her speed wasn't something Zeke and his group could take lightly. Fortunately, the distance they had to cover wasn't far. 

The sanctuary announced itself through sound before sight.

Voices. Distant, but growing clearer as they approached. Then the clatter of activity—hammers on wood, the scrape of tools, the controlled chaos of people trying to build something in too little time.

The trees parted to reveal a wall.

It stretched across the forest floor like a scar, hewn from living wood shaped and hardened through magic. Guard towers rose at intervals, manned by figures who tracked their approach with drawn bows.

Zeke studied the defenses with a critical eye. Impressive, for something built in haste. Whoever was in charge here clearly placed great value on safety. The wall stood perhaps forty feet high, reinforced at the base with packed earth and stone. The towers were well placed, offering overlapping fields of fire.

At first glance, it seemed to be a decent stronghold. Though Zeke saw it in a different light.

Wasted effort.

It would not hold. Not against a determined assault. Not against the two Archmages he had seen earlier. Wind could not be stopped by walls, and neither can Earth.

For all their effort, Zeke found the fortification lacking even compared to the wall the Legion had raised mid-combat to trap Rhea. This bulwark, by comparison, would likely collapse at a sneeze from that Mage.

Whoever had drawn the plans for this project severely underestimated the forces they were up against. It didn't speak well of the leader, who clearly lacked actual experience fighting the Empire.

Their arrival at the gate drew immediate attention. Guards descended from the towers, surrounding the group with weapons raised. Zeke noted their discipline—they moved in formation, covering each other's angles, never clustering where a single spell could take them all.

Trained. Not well enough, but trained.

"Halt." The speaker was a woman in armor marked with symbols Zeke did not recognize. Her eyes swept over the group, lingering on Rhea before settling on Zeke, the only one who was not hiding his face. "State your business."

"They are guests. I vouch for them," Rhea said. Her tone left no room for argument.

The guard captain's expression did not change. If anything, Zeke thought he caught a flicker of disdain.

"State your business," she repeated, as if she had not heard Rhea at all.

Zeke frowned. Rhea's influence here seemed unexpectedly low. What could have led to such a strange state of affairs?

Intriguing as it was, Zeke had no time to dwell on it. If the Titan could not vouch for them, they would have to find another way in. He sent a command through the shared link. While he was confident he could talk his way inside, there was someone in his party who could likely smooth their entry far more effectively.

It was not Irisen. Though she likely held a high position in Rukia, Zeke could not be sure how much influence she carried here. Instead, Raileh, the elven healer, stepped forward. As she did, she lowered the hood that had hidden her features.

"Did you not hear? We are guests," she said, stopping only half a step from the guard captain.

At that distance, the difference between half-elves and pure-blooded elves was unmistakable. Raileh, praised for her beauty even among her own kind, made the contrast all the more striking. She stood half a head taller than her counterpart, and her presence, down to the smallest detail, seemed sharper and more refined.

Even to Zeke, who did not subscribe to such beliefs, it was easy to see why the elves considered themselves superior to their mixed-blood cousins. The half-elf woman looked like a duller version, a flawed copy, as if someone had tried to recreate Raileh's features with limited skill.

"Lady Elf..." the guard leader muttered, her eyes widening.

Zeke found it almost comical to hear such reverence, while Rhea, a true Titan and protector of this place, was treated with such disregard.

After a moment of stunned silence, the guardswoman cleared her throat and spoke more politely. "Even for guests, protocol requires all visitors to surrender their weapons before entering."

Zeke felt the ripple of tension pass through his group. Zelkara's grip tightened on her spear. David shifted his weight, preparing for the possibility of violence.

He projected calm through the mental link. Stand down.

"A reasonable precaution," he said aloud. "We will comply."

Though that was what he said, his thoughts were very different.

What a ridiculous rule. His party included three Archmages who could slaughter hundreds with a wave of their hands. What difference would it make to take away a few weapons?

In the first place, the only ones carrying weapons were Ash and Zelkara. For Ash, handing over his bone daggers was no problem. He had crafted them from the bones of his hunts long ago, and even if they were lost, he would not mourn them.

When they reached Zelkara, though, she did not move.

The guard captain extended her hand. "Your weapon."

Zelkara stared at the outstretched hand as if it were something offensive. Then she turned to Zeke.

He understood without a word being exchanged. The spear had been his first gift to her, forged by hand from the finest materials. It was precious beyond belief. More than that, it was an extension of herself, a companion. Asking her to surrender it was like asking her to leave part of herself behind.

Your choice, he sent through the link.

She made it without hesitation.

"I will wait here," Zelkara said. She stepped back, taking a position against the wall where she could watch the gate. Her meaning was clear. If he needed her, she would break through the guardpost and rush to his side.

The guard captain looked as though she wanted to argue. But after a glance at Raileh's impatient expression, she decided to let it be.

"As you wish."

With all the formalities taken care of, they were finally led through the gate.

The sanctuary was larger than Zeke had expected.

Beyond the wall lay something closer to a city than a camp. Structures of wood and stone crowded along winding paths, their architecture a patchwork of styles that reflected the many refugees who had fled here.

Most of the buildings, like the wall, appeared to have been built in recent months. Little planning had gone into them. Demand had simply outpaced supply.

Even so, he did not see the usual signs of a refugee settlement. The people here seemed to live well. There was a general air of liveliness he had not felt since entering Rukia. Judging by their carefree expressions, it was hard to believe the country was in the middle of a war, especially one they were steadily losing.

He even recognized a few strong auras among the people around him. Some were Grandmages, their cores even more developed than his own.

Zeke took note of the anomaly, his brows furrowing. After a few steps, Rhea stopped and turned to face them. "I'm going to get myself treated," she said curtly.

Zeke was surprised. He had intended to offer Raileh's help, knowing it was no simple task to heal someone of Rhea's physical strength. Only a powerful Life Mage could manage that.

Yet it seemed such a person was already here.

"They have an Archmage?" he asked.

Rhea scoffed. "One? Try a dozen. The damn place is crawling with them."

Zeke's frown deepened. "Then how come you were fighting alone earlier?"

Rhea's expression twisted. "I've been wondering the same thing..." Clearly unwilling to say more, she waved a hand and moved off, her steps carrying her into the crowded street.

Zeke sent a silent command. A moment later, Ash and Gravitas flanked Rhea, supporting her despite her protests. Together, they headed toward what looked like the inner district, where smoke rose from multiple chimneys and the air was thick with the scent of herbs.

Irisen broke away without a word. Her gaze had fixed on something in the distance, or perhaps someone. She vanished into the crowd before Zeke could speak, though he would not have stopped her anyway. They had come here to find her sister, and now that she was so close, he would not stand in her way.

"Lady Elf!" someone called out.

Zeke turned to see a group of officials in luxurious clothing hurrying toward them, their expressions bordering on reverence.

"Please, allow us to escort you," the leader said. "The prince wishes to meet you as soon as possible."

Zeke considered that for a moment. A prince? Was that who ruled this place? If so, this could be an opportunity. Through their link, he told Raileh to accept the invitation. The officials then led her away with clear deference.

That left him with David.

"Young lord?" The Archmage waited for direction.

Zeke did not answer at once. He stood in the middle of the path, letting the people of the sanctuary flow around him like water around a stone. His mind replayed everything he had seen since arriving.

The defenses. The way Rhea had been treated. The carefree attitude of the people. The presence of Archmages.

None of it sat right with him.

"This place stinks," he said at last.

It was not a direct command, but it was enough to convey his intent.

"Understood." 

David headed toward a deserted alley. The moment the shadows touched him, they seemed to swallow him whole. He would be Zeke's eyes and ears in this place. If there was something rotten here, the Shadow Mage would find it.

That left Zeke standing alone in the middle of the street. 

"Well then..." he said to himself. "Time to meet an old friend." 

B8 - Chapter 49: Old Acquaintance II

True to the feisty Titan Zeke remembered, Rhea did not waste a moment. She charged at once, clearly having no intention of talking to her opponent.

Her club tore through the air, the resulting gale sounding less like the aftermath of an attack and more like a force of nature unleashed.

Despite her speed and ferocity, she struck nothing but empty space.

Wind mages were elusive targets, and even surprise had not been enough to land a solid blow on the Archmage earlier. Now that the woman was fully aware of Rhea's presence and could see every attack coming, it was even less likely.

Zeke watched the clash closely, his brows knitting tighter with each exchange. It became clear almost at once that Rhea was at a disadvantage.

While the mage's attacks did little actual damage to her, the flow of battle was obvious. Barring some unforeseen twist, Rhea had no real way to land a hit at all.

Titans were imposing beings, nearly impervious to both physical and magical harm, but they still had weaknesses. Chief among them was their reliance on direct physical attacks. In that sense, Titans could be even more limited than many Chimeroi breeds.

Rhea, for instance, showed no special abilities beyond her overwhelming physique. Against most foes, that alone was more than enough. Against a well-trained Archmage, however, it was not. The mage's experience, versatile spell arsenal, and deep reserves of magical stamina made victory nearly impossible for her.

Dancing through the air like a leaf carried on the wind, the Archmage evaded the ferocious blows with ease. Each dodge was followed by a spell, striking either Rhea's limbs or the lumbering treants still pressing the Legion lines.

The number of creatures dwindled rapidly, not only from the Archmage's attacks but also from the combined efforts of the Legion mages. Slowly but steadily, they were being worn down.

Zeke's brows drew together as he watched the battle unfold. Something about the scene unsettled him, though he could not yet place the reason.

Rhea, now bleeding from several shallow wounds, roared loudly. The sheer volume staggered the Legion, buying her a brief moment to recover. Even so, it was clear she was nearing her limits.

The treants halted their advance at once. It seemed the Titan's roar had not been meant as an attack, but a signal for her forces to withdraw. It was a sound decision. 

Then it happened.

As Rhea took her first step back, the ground rumbled. Earth surged up behind her, sealing her retreat behind a truly monumental wall. It no longer resembled a simple earth barrier, but a mountain that had erupted from the ground in an instant.

Zeke harbored no illusions about who had raised it.

There had to be a second Archmage, likely concealed beneath the ground.

It had been a trap all along.

By feigning weakness and even allowing themselves to be overwhelmed, the Legion had drawn Rhea out and worn her down. Only now, when she was exhausted and injured, did they reveal their full strength. 

Quite bold... to even use an Archmage as bait. 

Clearly, they intended for her to die here.

Moments after the wall rose, the earth itself seemed to turn against Rhea's massive form. It was as if hundreds of hands grasped her limbs, restraining her movements and trying to drag her beneath the soil.

"...Should we intervene?" David asked from beside him. He and Irisen were both watching the battle closely.

Irisen's expression had grown grim at the sight of a second Archmage joining the fight.

Zeke shook his head, a faint smile appearing on his face. "No need."

His words puzzled the two. Zeke would not have been surprised if they thought him callous, but that could not have been further from the truth. His decision not to intervene had nothing to do with indifference.

On the contrary, it stemmed from his intimate knowledge of the Titan named Rhea.

An attack of this magnitude was not enough to kill her.

Just when it seemed she could no longer resist, bound by dozens of earthen hands, it happened. In an instant, her massive form vanished. Or at least, that was how it appeared from a distance.

Zeke knew better. Rhea had not vanished. She had changed forms, shrinking from her towering Titan body into that of a human woman. The difference in size was so vast that she now seemed like an ant compared to her former self.

Freed from the earthen restraints, Rhea stomped the ground. The motion looked almost comical, given her now ordinary size. The result was anything but. The earth shattered beneath her foot, as if a massive boulder had struck, sending tremors through the ground and tearing open wide fissures in every direction.

Zeke could not see what became of the Earth Archmage hidden below, but the sudden halt in the attacks told him enough. The mage had not escaped unscathed.

Rhea nimbly dodged to the side, avoiding a sweeping wind blade. The spell carved deep into the ground before fading away.

She glared at the Wind Mage hovering above. Yet in a rare moment of restraint, Rhea did not press the attack. Instead, she stamped the ground again, launching her much smaller body backward.

Moving with the speed of a loosed arrow, she punched straight through the wall that had blocked her escape moments earlier. The Earth Mage was clearly in no condition to reinforce it.

It was a surprisingly clean escape. With that single maneuver, Rhea slipped free of the deadly trap.

The treants were not so fortunate. Lacking any means of retreat, they were cut down one by one, sliced apart by wind blades or buried alive by the Earth Mage who still had yet to reveal himself.

Zeke watched in silence as they fell.

Though the Legion had failed to achieve its primary objective, they did not seem disheartened by Rhea's escape. After all, they had brought down more than a dozen treants without suffering serious losses themselves. On top of that, they had uncovered a new ability of their opponent.

Zeke understood that mindset well.

Every revealed trump card meant one step closer to victory. A predictable enemy was no threat at all.

His gaze hardened as he watched the Legion withdraw in an orderly fashion, hauling the massive treant corpses back toward their camp.

Rhea had escaped this time, but Zeke was unsure how many such encounters she could survive before the Legion finally cornered her. That was something he could not allow to happen.

Now that he knew the true identity of the so-called forest guardian, his view of the situation had changed.

Silently, he conveyed his intentions to Akasha.

After several hours of holding position, the Alexandria began to move once more. On the main display, the Legion encampment gradually shrank. This time, he did not follow the treeline. Instead, they rose above it, tracing the scar the Empire had carved through the forest, while maintaining a safe distance.

"Young lord?" David asked. "Have you decided?"

Zeke nodded. If Rhea was here, then Cassius was likely nearby as well. That alone greatly increased the sanctuary's value in his eyes. What had begun as a mission to earn Irisen's loyalty had turned into a potential windfall.

If he could recruit Cassius and Rhea...

The thought sent a shiver down his spine. On the surface, it might seem like nothing more than two additional Archmage-level fighters, but Zeke knew better than to see it that way. With those two at his side, his power would more than double.

Cassius's growth magic and Rhea's unique constitution, if used properly, were far more valuable than their apparent strength suggested.

"We are going to make contact," he said, turning his back to the screen. "Prepare to embark." He looked at the two Archmages. "Both of you are coming."

There was no need to say more. Akasha immediately contacted the remaining forces Zeke had chosen to bring along. By the time he reached the exit hatch, everyone was already assembled.

All three Archmages were present: David, Raileh, and Irisen. Zelkara stood among them as well, his most physically gifted warrior, alongside Gravitas and Ash. He had not brought the latter two solely for their combat ability, but also because they had become close with Rhea, seeing her as an older sister and mentor.

Zeke gave a brief nod as he took in the group waiting for him.

"Let's go."

Without wasting another moment, he was the first to disembark. Wind rushed past his face as he let himself fall. Even as the ground rushed closer, he made no attempt to slow his descent.

There was no need.

Just before impact, the relentless pull of gravity weakened, then reversed. In an instant, all his momentum vanished, and his feet touched the ground as gently as if he had taken a simple step.

A faint smile crossed his face as he turned to the woman hovering just behind him.

"You have grown quite adept at controlling your power."

Gravitas, still focused on guiding the others safely down, showed little outward reaction to the praise. Even so, Zeke noticed the slight flush spreading across her bluish skin.

"It is all thanks to you, Master," she said after a brief pause.

Zeke smiled. In a sense, it was true that her growth was owed to the theoretical texts he had written specifically for her. Even so, he did not see it that way. Books were lifeless things. They could not teach on their own. It was up to each individual to draw knowledge from them.

How many hours of practice had it taken to truly master that power?

No. At best, he had shown her the path. Gravitas had done all the hard work herself.

Zeke glanced skyward. The Alexandria, briefly visible when the hatch had opened, had already vanished once more. He could leave her behind without worry. The vessel's innate camouflage, combined with the forest's suppression, made it even more impossible to detect.

"Let's move," Zeke said, his voice not spoken aloud but projected directly into their minds. "From now on, we communicate silently."

This was one of the great advantages of a Mind Mage. With such a small team of elites, maintaining a mental link was a simple feat. It allowed for a level of communication and coordination that would otherwise have been impossible.

He did not even need to verbalize his orders. Instead, he sent an image of the intended formation directly into the minds of his comrades. It was a blend of thought and vision, far more intuitive than spoken commands. Thought was, after all, the native language of the mind.

In an instant, the group shifted into position. Zelkara took the lead, followed by Ash and Gravitas. Zeke held the center with Raileh, while David and Irisen brought up the rear.

They moved at speeds that would have been unthinkable for ordinary people. Even the weakest among them possessed physical strength far beyond that of a normal human. As a result, the trees blurred past as they covered the distance with ease.

Not even the dense vegetation slowed them. Zelkara and her spear cleared the way, cutting through the undergrowth while maintaining a steady pace.

No one present could match her physical prowess, and it showed in how effortlessly she moved at such speed.

It did not take long for them to reach the path carved by the Legion. At Zeke's silent command, they adjusted their course. Though none of them had seen it firsthand, it was clear that following this trail would eventually lead them to the sanctuary.

Or, at the very least, to its guardian.

B8 - Chapter 48: Old Acquaintance

Zeke had the Alexandria follow the treeline, holding back from diving into the verdant depths of the vast forest.

According to the information Irisen had provided, it was impossible to locate the sanctuary from the air. If that were not the case, the Wind Mages of the Ehrenlegion would have discovered it long ago. Even without that warning, Zeke would not have tried to search for it blindly. 

Gazing out over the endless sea of trees, he could see nothing out of the ordinary. The sight resembled an infinite green ocean, each tree's branches connected to the next so seamlessly that no light could reach the forest floor.

More importantly, these trees were far from mundane. Zeke could sense the faintest traces of mana within them, a sign that the entire forest was made up of magical plants. Though none of them were especially valuable on their own, the sheer number of trees created a kind of suppressive blanket.

As a result, it was nearly impossible to penetrate the canopy using magical detection. That held true even for Zeke's Sphere of Awareness.

It was rather frustrating.

Unlike more deliberate concealment techniques, the canopy was not completely impenetrable. Instead, the range of his detection just grew hazy after a short distance. To sense anything with certainty, he would have to be extremely close to his target.

In this situation, it meant he was better off relying on his eyes and searching the old-fashioned way rather than attempting to sense anything through magic.

Zeke found this method intriguing. By combining countless plants with only faint magical properties, the forest produced an effect far greater than the sum of its parts. Any target form of concealment would have marked the location of a hidden base. Here, however, the concealment was a natural byproduct spread across a vast area, making it remarkably effective.

Truly, only nature with its boundless abundance could employ a strategy like this.

"Trouble," David called out from beside him.

Zeke followed his gaze, his eyes narrowing at the sight.

Along the orderly line of trees, halfway to the horizon, he spotted a massive camp. The style of the tents and the many banners made its allegiance unmistakable.

The Ehrenlegion.

So they had reached the area first after all. No. That did not seem quite right. As the ship drew closer, Zeke noticed more details. The camp showed clear signs of long-term occupation. While the Legion could erect fortifications with frightening speed, this place did not look newly established.

They had been encamped here for a considerable duration already. 

It was also far more than a single detachment. This was not one or two companies. If Zeke had to guess, there was likely more than one Archmage present within a camp of this size.

At his command, the Alexandria came to a halt at a safe distance.

Though his forces had grown stronger over the past few days, even gaining an Archmage, Zeke did not like his odds against such a concentration of power. Facing even two mages of Balduin's caliber at once was beyond what they could handle.

Still, a savage part of him wondered what Irisen's parasitic attack could do to an encampment of this size. He quickly set the thought aside. There would be time to consider it later. After all, the element of surprise could only be used once.

Zeke's gaze shifted to the forest bordering the Legion encampment. There, he noticed a trail of blackened trees cutting deeper into the woods. Even so, the forest's resilience surprised him.

He had expected a wide stretch of land stripped bare of vegetation. Instead, the path was narrow, barely wide enough for a few dozen men to march abreast. Even here, the greenery already seemed to be reclaiming the ground. These magical plants were far more resilient than ordinary flora.

The sight gave him a measure of hope.

By all appearances, the half-elf sanctuary was a far tougher target than the Legion had anticipated.

"How do you intend to proceed?" Irisen asked. She seemed far calmer now, likely having reached the same conclusion he had.

Zeke turned the question over in his mind. How to proceed, indeed. Of all his predictions, this situation had not been one he had considered. Arriving before the Legion would have been ideal. Arriving after them would have been tragic, but at least it would have brought closure.

But what was he meant to do now, faced with an enemy he could not contend with?

In an instant, dozens of plans surfaced, only to be discarded just as quickly.

...Should he launch hit-and-run attacks to weaken the enemy? No, that would not serve their goal.

...Should he attempt a full assault to inflict as much damage as possible before retreating? No. That would still not ensure the safety of those inside the sanctuary.

...Should he wait and hope to assist the defenders at a decisive moment? No. He knew too little about the forces within the sanctuary to risk such a gamble.

...Should he—

As each option fell apart, Zeke let out a quiet sigh. He could not commit to a strategy like this. The information he had was simply insufficient. He did not know the full extent of the enemy's strength, nor the true power of his allies.

Planning an effective strategy with so many unknowns was nearly impossible.

Therefore, there was only one right choice.

"We wait," he said decisively. "The sanctuary does not appear to be in immediate danger. That gives us time to learn more about the situation before choosing a course of action."

Irisen considered his plan for a moment, then nodded. "A prudent strategy."

David nodded as well, though it seemed he would have accepted any decision Zeke made. His trust in his young lord's judgment had deepened after their repeated victories.

Zeke continued to observe the encampment in silence.

Though they remained far from the enemy camp, the optical displays in the control room allowed them to study it as if they were hovering directly overhead. It was much like viewing the scene through a powerful telescope.

On the large display, even individual figures were visible.

Zeke quickly learned the layout of the camp. As was common, the largest tents, those housing the most influential figures, stood at the center.

Three structures could barely be called tents at all. They appeared to have multiple floors and were reinforced with iron beams. Mobile palaces was a more fitting description than mere shelters.

He saw no one entering or leaving them. Forming a ring around these were several large tents, which Zeke assumed belonged to the Legion's mages, Flamecallers, Flyers, and others.

Beyond them lay a wide spread of medium and small tents, likely housing the regular Legion soldiers.

Zeke soon noticed a discrepancy between the size of the camp and the number of people he could see. Either most of them were inside the tents, or...

His thoughts were cut short by a deep rumble and a roar that shook the forest.

Zeke turned toward the depths of the woods, following the gradually darkening trail as far as he could. The disturbance had come from within the forest, of that he was certain.

Moments later, another heavy impact echoed through the trees. Then, slowly, the outlines of figures began to emerge. There were hundreds. Some flying through the air, some marching on the ground. 

However, they had one thing in common, all their backs were turned to him as they focused on something deeper withing the forest. 

It was a retreat. 

Pillars of flames, Windblades, and Earthen constructs were launched toward an unseen force within the forest. 

Zeke waited with bated breath. This was his first chance to glimpse this so-called guardian of the forest that had held such a large Legion force at bay. To say he was not excited would have been a lie.

At last, he saw it.

A wall of earth and stone, freshly raised from the ground, shattered and exploded outward. From the debris, a lumbering figure emerged.

This...

Zeke could think of no better description. It was a tree that had come to life. The height of fifty men, it had a thick, stick-like body of wood, and hundreds of tiny feet formed from its exposed roots.

Zeke blinked at the sight. This was the guardian? Though imposing in stature, the creature was slow, and its offensive power seemed limited. His disappointment did not last long, though. A second, then a third of the hulking trees stepped into view.

An army of treants.

Even the Flamecallers, focusing their full offensive might on them, could barely slow them down. Stone would have melted under such flames, yet these creatures seemed even less combustible than water. If anything, Zeke had the impression they welcomed the fire, their leaves growing more lustrous with each passing moment.

Contrary to expectations, it was the storm of wind blades and the constant barrage of rocks that caused them more trouble.

"DIE!"

The shout was so loud that Zeke heard it even from his considerable distance.

Following the war cry, a wind blade several times larger than any before tore out of the darkness. It slammed into the foremost creature. True to its size, it did not merely gouge the creature's wooden body, but split it clean in two before carving deeper into the forest and vanishing from sight.

Zeke immediately focused on the caster.

Though it was impossible to make out details from this distance, especially with the forest's magical suppression, Zeke knew what it meant. An attack of that scale could only have come from an Archmage.

The woman floating in midair wore a satisfied expression after felling one of the creatures with a single strike. She locked onto a second target, clearly intent on repeating the feat.

However, before she could even begin to gather mana, she was hurled backward, nearly to the edge of the forest. Her face drained of color, even her lips turning pale.

Zeke's eyes narrowed. It had happened in an instant, but he had seen it clearly. A massive club had struck the Archmage in midair. Had she not raised a shield at the last moment, it would have crushed her outright.

"WHO!?" she screamed into the darkness of the forest. "Show yourself!"

Zeke heard it before he saw it. Footfalls like drumbeats, each step making the forest tremble. Leaves shook loose under the constant vibration, turning the woods into a swirling spectacle.

Then something emerged from the darkness. The treants, already the size of dozens of men, had seemed imposing. However, compared to this figure, they looked like children.

The figure, clearly female, towered over them like a dependable older sister shielding her bullied younger siblings. Quietly, she stepped up behind the treants, a massive club fashioned from a mammoth tree resting lazily across her shoulders.

Her face was that of a woman, though her size was nothing short of monstrous.

"...And what if I do?" the newcomer asked, her booming voice shaking the ground itself. "What will you do now, tiny human?"

Zeke's jaw nearly dropped. Not because of her sheer size, nor her bold words. It was not even the overwhelming display of power. No. His shock came from an entirely different source...

He recognized the figure. It was none other than Rhea, the Titan wife of Cassius Leafless.

After all this time, after searching far and wide, he had encountered this old acquaintance in this desolate place.

B8 - Chapter 47: Matters of Strategy

After his success at Prison Camp #82, Zeke struck twice more using the same tactics. Not even two full days had passed by the time he raided the third prison, leaving the Legion's high command no time to devise countermeasures.

The relentless pace put a tremendous strain on Irisen, who could barely recover her strength between assaults. Even so, she did not complain and seemed to grow more eager with each victory.

It was no wonder.

Not only was she freeing her imprisoned people and playing the role of a benevolent savior, but she was also venting her fury on the Ehrenlegion.

Though Irisen appeared composed most of the time, it was during these moments that Zeke realized how much animosity she had bottled up. The years spent trapped in darkness had clearly left deep marks on her psyche.

It was hard to say how often she had sworn revenge during that time, but the occasional flashes of madness in her eyes were vivid proof of the torment she had endured.

The attacks on these forts were the perfect outlet.

Striking from the shadows and unleashing her full power at once was an ideal approach. It left no room for countermeasures and proved devastating against the Legion forces stationed at the prison forts.

Still, Zeke wondered how Irisen would fare in a direct confrontation with a Legion Archmage. He suspected she would struggle, especially against members of the Feuerkranz family.

It was always difficult to gauge the outcome of battles between high-tier mages. They often specialized in narrow fields of magic that gave them an edge in certain situations, while leaving them vulnerable in others.

Irisen was a good example of this.

Her use of parasitic creatures, combined with her uniquely attuned Nature Magic, allowed her to eliminate large numbers of lower-ranked enemies with a single strike. Yet, that did not mean she would be equally effective against an opponent of similar strength.

For example, Zeke suspected that this method would have little to no effect on an Archmage. Reaching that level caused a change in the body itself, making mages far more resistant to poisons and parasitic organisms. Their bodies often took on traits of their attuned element.

In short, not every mage who excelled at slaughtering large numbers of weaker enemies could achieve the same results against fewer but stronger foes.

Mind Mages were the clearest example of this.

There was almost no defense against a Mind Mage of higher rank. There was no place to hide, no barrier to shelter behind. Their magic was inevitable, leaving weaker opponents without any real countermeasures.

Yet the opposite was also true. Among Mages of the same tier, Mind Mages were often the weakest in direct combat. Breaking through the mental defenses of an equally ranked opponent took far longer than casting spells of other affinities. Their physical bodies, likewise, were among the frailest of their tier.

This contrast made it clear that magical affinities were not ranked from strong to weak. Instead, they formed a complex balance, where some excelled in duels while others dominated large-scale battles.

Thoughts like these often occupied Zeke's mind these days, as he had ample time between assaults. Rather than spending it on personal growth, he found himself absorbed in matters of strategy.

Though a distraction from his own training, it was a burden he had to bear as the commander of his own forces. Everyone relied on his judgment in such matters, including the three Archmages under his command.

In his limited engagements so far, Zeke had been able to exploit the element of surprise, along with his still hidden ability to coordinate his forces through Akasha. That advantage had allowed him to defeat a superior Archmage in his first battle.

Zeke understood, however, that this success had depended on many factors aligning in his favor.

If Balduin Feuerkranz, whom he had slain in that encounter, had been given the time and freedom to cast his spells as Irisen had, the devastation he could have unleashed would have been incalculable.

It was entirely possible that Zeke would have lost that battle had he faced all enemy forces at once. Only by eliminating the commander early and systematically dismantling the remaining threats one by one had he secured such a decisive victory.

He now recognized that a considerable amount of luck had been involved. The Ehrenlegion, emboldened by their string of victories, had clearly not taken the threat he posed seriously enough.

Unfortunately, that was not an advantage he could rely on going forward.

The rudimentary anti-invisibility measures he was encountering made it clear that they were aware of his presence and actively working to dismantle his advantages.

If even these remote outposts possessed ways to counter the Alexandria's distortion field, then the truly fortified positions closer to the center of power would almost certainly have far more advanced methods to deal with him.

Zeke could only sigh at that. 

By allowing the Alliance to deploy the Wraiths against the Empire on the western front, he had given them much-needed breathing room. However, it had also given the Empire time to develop countermeasures against this new technology. Zeke strongly suspected that he would soon see the results of those efforts here in Rukia.

It was entirely possible that the advantage he held through the Alexandria's invisibility would not last until the end of the war.

That thought did not dishearten Zeke. In fact, it fit neatly into his calculations. He had never intended to rely on invisibility as a permanent trump card. In his mind, it had always been a kind of grace period.

This feature of the ship was meant to grant him an early advantage, at least until he found his footing in this unfamiliar role.

But it also meant that once the Empire learned to counter it, he would have to face them head on, without the benefit of stealth.

It was a daunting prospect, placing immense pressure on him. His forces, and his abilities as a commander, would need to improve rapidly. Otherwise, his fate would be sealed.

Yet instead of feeling weighed down by the pressure, Zeke welcomed it. This was exactly the kind of strain needed for rapid growth.

The saying that war was the mother of invention was rooted in this very pressure. Humanity possessed an extraordinary capacity for growth, adaptation, and will.

Yet it was only in times of dire need, when one's life truly hung by a thread, that these qualities could be fully expressed. Like being thrown into deep water. Sink or swim.

The difference was that Zeke had chosen to throw himself into that bottomless pond.

Without a mentor to drive him forward, Zeke had no choice but to take on that role himself. Though he demanded much from those around him, he was even harsher with himself.

It would have been far more comfortable to remain in his workshop, developing newer and better airships. That path might even have allowed him to contribute more to the war than he was doing now.

Even so, Zeke sensed that it would have led him to eventually stagnate.

Without the pressure of life and death, without the constant need to push past his limits, he would eventually have slipped into complacency. Just as the elves had. Once the foremost masters of magic, they had faded into little more than a footnote in its history.

Sheltered by the blessing of the tree, there had been no force capable of threatening them. With their naturally high magical affinity and long lifespans, the elves had come to see the other races as beneath their concern.

But what had happened when they finally encountered the human civilization after centuries had passed?

A massacre.

The Empire tore through their jeweled armies and silk-clad mounts with relentless savagery. Tempered by centuries of warfare, humanity had become a beast with sharpened claws, ready to devour anything in its path.

For all the criticism Zeke held toward his former home, he understood the formidable strength of the Empire. The constant threat of war, combined with the fierce rivalry among the four dominant families, created an environment of unending growth. It bred a hunger for power that he had not seen in any other nation.

Even the youngest apprentices at the Elementium, whose classrooms Zeke had once shared, possessed a drive for strength and advancement unlike anything he had encountered elsewhere. 

It was likely this very mindset that had propelled the Empire to its current heights. To a point where all other nations had been forced to combine their strength simply to contain its relentless expansion.

Not to stop it, but merely to slow it.

Zeke saw this clearly, even as many in positions of greater authority chose to look away. The Empire had reached a point where it could no longer be caged. Now, after years of preparation, it had extended its claws and struck beyond the Alliance's prison.

Rukia had borne the full weight of that blow. An entire nation shattered in a single strike.

Some claimed it was due to Rukia's relative weakness, or its false reliance on the elven Matriarchy. But Zeke did not accept those excuses. 

There was only one conclusion he could draw from the destruction of an entire nation.

A storm was coming. A storm that would shatter established rules and norms, raze borders and armies, and reshape the land itself.

It was that looming storm that had driven Zeke to throw himself into this bottomless pond, this warfront of despair.

For when the storm finally arrived, he would need the strength to face it with his head held high. Only then could he protect those who mattered to him. Only then could he hold on to what he carried in his heart.

Just as the Alexandria's invisibility granted him a grace period to find his footing, this conflict in Rukia was his chance to grow strong enough to endure what was to come.

He would not waste it. The pressure, the danger, and the constant fight for survival were exactly the fuel he needed to reach that goal.

He would make full use of it.

With that resolve etched deep in his heart, Zeke greeted the dawn of a new morning. With the first rays of light, the signs of their destination also came into view.

Trees as tall as hills, each older than most nations on the continent, dotted the landscape. As the vegetation grew denser, no light could penetrate the canopy anymore. It formed a land of shadow and mystery, and even Zeke could not tell what awaited them beyond its borders.

They had arrived at the hidden sanctuary. 

B8 - Chapter 46: Rich Harvest

Zeke returned to his senses a moment later, finally grasping the meaning behind Akasha's words. By then, the Alexandria had already resumed its advance.

The sudden turn of events raised many questions in his mind. Still, he held them back, knowing he would see the answers for himself in a moment.

As expected, he soon felt the siege protocols of the Alexandria take hold as the space around him grew heavy. It was the unmistakable sensation of the Space Lock activating. At the same time, the ship's hatch, which had previously been open only a crack, began to open fully.

This finally revealed the scene below.

Outwardly, there seemed to be very little change to the fortress. There was no sign of any struggle. The fortifications were completely intact, and not a single stone appeared out of place.

The only difference Zeke could see lay with the troops once stationed in the heavily guarded mountain fort. There had been a full company of at least a hundred Ehrenlegion soldiers within its walls.

Zeke could still recall the exact positions of every lookout and guard post. Yet no matter where he looked, he could not spot a single person manning the fortifications.

His brows furrowed. Unfortunately, he could not use his Sphere of Awareness while the space lock was active. Otherwise, it would have been easy to determine what had occurred.

Instead, he was forced to rely on his eyes alone, which struggled to discern the truth in the darkened night.

His gaze swept over the campground directly beneath the Alexandria's current position. This was where he had previously spotted most of the Ehrenlegion forces, the heart of the camp where they spent their leisure time.

Here as well, there was no sign of life. Instead, Zeke noticed something else. Piles of equipment lay scattered across the ground: dark armor, spears, boots, even daggers. Each pile was neatly arranged, every one a complete set. It was as if the legionnaires had stripped themselves of all their gear and fled without it.

The thought was absurd, yet it pointed clearly toward what must have happened.

Zeke finally turned his gaze to the woman beside him.

Rather than looking down at the aftermath, Irisen was watching him instead, far more interested in his reaction than the result of her spell.

"...Were those the spores of a carnivorous plant?"

A faint smile appeared on her face, but she shook her head lightly.

She finally glanced down at the fortress, her expression unreadable. "What I released was closer to a mobile ecosystem. Dormant, incomplete, harmless on its own. It only becomes whole once it finds warmth, moisture, and a living host."

Her fingers curled slightly, as if remembering the weight of the grains. "Inside a body, it grows faster than any natural organism. Not outwardly. Inwardly. It feeds, replicates, and exhausts the host before pain can even register. By the time the first man fell, the rest had already inhaled it."

Zeke's gaze returned to the empty sets of armor, unease washing over him. "...Grows into what exactly?"

Irisen's smile widened, taking on a teasing edge. "What? Is the young lord afraid of a monstrosity emerging?"

Zeke did not reply at once. Among the dead in the courtyard, more than a few had been mages of similar rank to himself. It would be foolish not to be wary of a power that could kill them in an instant, without even a single scream.

Under normal circumstances, he could rely on Akasha to warn and protect him from such threats. But with his Sphere of Awareness blocked, there was little she could do.

Reading his unease, Irisen slowly shook her head. "There is nothing to be afraid of. One drawback of these lifeforms is that they must feed within minutes or perish. That means no danger remains after even a short time."

Zeke nodded, though it did not fully ease his concern. "What about the ones that did find a host?"

Irisen gestured toward the courtyard. "See for yourself. It should be about time."

Even without her prompting, Zeke would have noticed it moments later, when the entire fort was suddenly bathed in radiant light. The glow did not come from a single source, but from dozens igniting at once.

From each discarded set of armor, a tiny, luminous creature rose into the air.

They resembled butterflies, yet were nothing like the ones Zeke remembered from the fields of his hometown. Their wings shimmered with intricate patterns, and they left trails of glowing particles in their wake.

Hundreds of them emerged at the same time, forming a spectacle of rare beauty. Their wings flashed in every color of the rainbow, bathing the courtyard in a magical light reminiscent of the fairy realms from children's tales.

Yet instead of feeling entranced, Zeke grew wary. These creatures had been born from the stolen life force of elite soldiers and mages. They could not be harmless. In nature, there was no such thing as a truly benign creature.

Before he could ask, Irisen answered his unspoken question. "They are Venomwing Moths," she said. "Their wings can bewitch the mind, and their spores carry a paralytic poison. That is why none of the guards were able to call for help."

Zeke was not even given a chance to ask how they should deal with the creatures before Irisen took action. It was no more than a faint pulse of mana, yet it seemed to act as a signal. In the blink of an eye, the creatures dispersed and vanished from the fort.

Darkness returned to the area at once.

Zeke did not waste a moment. Now that the fortress was deemed safe, he could not afford any further delay. To prevent the prisoners from being used as leverage, he had already sent orders to the Bloodguard. They would need to secure the prison as quickly as possible.

While waiting for Zelkara to arrive, Zeke cast a sidelong glance at Irisen, who stood calmly beside the exit.

This woman was far more formidable than he had expected. 

Zeke had always known that Archmages were not to be underestimated. David, under his command, was formidable in his own right. But having only recently advanced, he still had a long way to go before he could fully display the power of his new stage.

Raileh, on the other hand, was a healer. That did not make her weak, but her offensive abilities were almost nonexistent.

Because of that, Zeke had underestimated the true power of an Archmage. It was a mistake he would not repeat after today's display.

He had become far too smug. 

Commanding a force like the Bloodguard had given him a taste of power. By any standard, they were an elite force. Even the Ehrenlegion, which had trampled Rukia underfoot, could not contend with them.

But what Zeke had witnessed moments earlier was a sharp reminder. He had no doubt that Irisen's parasitic butterflies could have wiped out his entire force if they had been caught unaware.

Perhaps Zelkara might have survived, but the regular members of the Bloodguard would likely not have stood a chance. If even the Legion's Grandmages had no means of resistance, his own elites would have fared no better.

It was a reminder of why mages ruled this world. Compared to the physically superior and far more numerous Chimeroi, a single mage, given enough time to prepare, could kill hundreds before they ever had the chance to notice they were even under attack.

This was likely also why most top-tier forces did not bother cultivating legions of high-level foot soldiers. Losing such a force to a superior enemy would be devastating, wasting all the resources invested in them.

It was far more efficient to field regular troops led by a small number of exceptional individuals. In the event of a complete defeat, only the loss of those few truly mattered, rather than the destruction of an entire legion of experts.

A moment later, Zelkara arrived. She did not pause to greet Zeke, leaping from the ledge the instant she reached it. The Bloodguard followed close behind. One after another, they used their serpent-like lower bodies to hurl themselves from the edge, shooting toward the fortress below like arrows loosed from a bow.

Dozens descended within moments. Even without Akasha's guidance, their formation and coordination were formidable. With only a few hand signals, Zelkara directed her troops with ease. In less than a minute, the entire exterior of the fort was secured.

That was only the beginning. Having done this before, the Bloodguard wasted no time pushing underground to seize the prison.

This time, Zeke did not join them. Neither did David, nor any of the other Archmages.

They already understood the layout of the prison and the level of resistance they could expect, which was to say, almost none. With the Legion already eliminated, the hard part was over. At most, Zeke anticipated the presence of a Mind Mage inside. Even then, no matter how skilled, they would stand no chance against so many attackers at once.

As expected, Zelkara reappeared at the entrance less than a minute later.

Zeke felt a subtle pull on his core, a clear sign that Akasha was using his mana to communicate with her.

The report followed a moment later.

[Notice]
The prison has been secured. A significant number of prisoners are being held in isolation. Captain Zelkara suggests it may be advisable to send someone else to free them. I agree with her assessment.

Zeke considered this briefly. It would indeed be unsettling for prisoners who had known only darkness and isolation to be greeted by a horde of unfamiliar Chimeroi upon their release.

Thankfully, he had someone perfectly suited for the task.

Zeke turned to the woman beside him. "I need you to play the hero for a bit."

***

With Irisen's help, the liberation of the prison went smoothly. The half-elves were ecstatic when they learned who had rescued them. Irisen was clearly well known in Rukia, and many of the prisoners fell to their knees at once, swearing to follow her from that moment on.

Others might have been bothered by the fact that Irisen received all the credit for the rescue, but Zeke was not.

If her influence allowed him to recruit even a single additional mage, he was more than willing to give up any recognition demonstrating the act. As for whom the half-elves would choose to follow once the war was over, that mattered even less to him.

He had never intended to keep them under his command long term. While he would not turn away capable allies, he could not expect true loyalty from those who joined him out of desperation.

Only those raised within his household from a young age could develop a genuine sense of belonging, not those who took his banner out of necessity. But these matters would be decided in the future. 

Tonight, it was time to celebrate.

The mood was festive as the prisoners were brought aboard the Alexandria. It was a stark contrast to the arrival of the inmates from Irisen's prison. These former resistance members were welcomed like victorious heroes returning from battle.

A sense of harmony formed at once, further highlighting the difference in how the elves who had mutilated their ears were treated. Zeke arranged for a lavish banquet, welcoming these people and nourishing their depleted bodies and minds. 

He was in high spirits. Buoyed by the easy victory and the addition of twenty-three new Grandmages, he ordered the Alexandria to set course for the next prison.

At last, things were going according to plan.

B8 - Chapter 45: Upwind

The Alexandria drifted through the night like a silent specter, and not even the air was disturbed by her passing. Even if an army had been stationed below, no one would have sensed anything out of the ordinary.

Not that it mattered.

Under normal circumstances, there might have been some travelers about, but the narrow mountain paths were completely deserted now. No merchants frequented them anymore. No wanderers moved from town to town.

That was how war truly was.

The only people left to roam the lands were soldiers or refugees, usually traveling in large groups for safety.

But against the Legion, there was no safety to be found anywhere. Escape was impossible.

Their surveillance network was too tight, and their flying scouts could track people across any terrain. That meant the only safe places were deep within the thickest forests, ancient sanctuaries the elf-blooded had erected in ages past.

No one would leave unless they were forced to. Those foolish enough to try now found themselves in one of the dozens of prison camps that had sprung up across the country. 

Just like the one the Alexandria was heading for.

Zeke stood in the middle of the command center, watching the fortification come into view.

Prison Camp #82 was different from their last target. Even from a distance, it was clear that it did not function like the previous one. While the last camp had been guarded by converted inmates, this place was still crawling with Legion forces. A company of at least a hundred men was encamped at its base.

The prison itself appeared to have developed naturally from the rock, with branching passages that reached deep into the mountainside. There was only a single, well-fortified approach leading to it, with steep cliffs on all other sides.

Zeke's first thought, upon taking note of these features, was that the place would have been a nightmare to conquer using traditional forces. However, instead of feeling vexed or cursing his luck over the presence of an enemy force, he found it to be a welcome sight.

The reason for this was not that he relished the thought of bloodshed, nor that he considered every blow against the Legion a noble endeavor. His reasoning was far more practical: If the Legion was still stationed here to guard the prison, it likely meant that not enough of the half-elves had been corrupted to act as overseers themselves. 

To his surprise, the Alexandria came to an abrupt halt.

[Warning]
We cannot approach any further without risking detection.

Zeke frowned. Risking detection?

Before he could ask, he caught a faint flicker at the edge of his vision.

He focused on the spot and noticed a thin veil of white mist hanging in their path. Tracing it downward, he saw that it rose from a small tent, one of many spread across the mountainside at regular intervals.

He immediately understood.

Smoke.

A faint layer blanketed the entire airspace above the mountain, fed by dozens of fires burning beneath the cover of thick tent walls.

It was not dense enough to be easily seen with the naked eye, but any keen observer would notice at once if the natural flow of smoke was disturbed. 

Clever.

It was an efficient and inexpensive way to guard against an invisible enemy. High command had clearly considered that his attack on the prison might not remain an isolated incident and had warned the other prison camps to prepare.

It was a smart move. Still, Zeke doubted the guards here truly expected an attack. There were closer and more valuable targets he could have chosen. This was likely a precaution taken just in case.

Even so, it was a problem.

The Alexandria was still a considerable distance away, far too distant to ignore the natural defenses of the fort. If they were forced to stop here, the assault would become a major undertaking.

He could not ignore the geography. His forces would either have to scale the cliffs or confront the defenses where they were strongest.

"What is happening? Why are we stopping?"

The voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

It was Irisen. She, David, and Raileh were accompanying him in the command center. They had been so quiet that he had almost forgotten they were there.

Zeke pointed toward the faint pillars of smoke barring their path. "If we advance any further, we will be discovered."

The three Archmages narrowed their eyes, searching for the hidden trap. It did not take them long to notice the smoke as well.

"Well spotted, young lord," David said. "How would you like to proceed?"

Zeke considered it for a moment. "Under normal circumstances, I would have you infiltrate their positions unnoticed and eliminate all observers without drawing attention, but..."

His gaze shifted to Irisen.

She already looked impatient from the short delay this obstacle had caused. There was no way she would agree to wait for a slow infiltration, not while her sister's fate still hung in the balance.

"We should ignore it and advance anyway," Raileh suggested. "There is no way the forces down there could put up a fight against us, surprise attack or not."

Before Zeke could respond, Irisen was already shaking her head. "That will not do."

Raileh looked at her in surprise. Out of everyone present, she had likely expected her to be the most in favor of a quick solution.

Irisen sighed deeply as she explained her reasoning. "Even if we could break through with ease, news of our presence would spread before we could disrupt their communications. They might even receive reinforcements through a spatial tunnel before we can tighten the net."

Zeke nodded inwardly. It seemed that worry for her sister had not dulled her mind. The concern she had raised matched one of his own. But there was more to it. A premature discovery could lead to many other unwanted consequences.

For example, it was entirely possible that the Legion would choose to execute the prisoners rather than allow them to fall into enemy hands.

That would render the entire purpose of the attack meaningless and result in a complete loss.

Discovered, stalled, and with nothing to show for it.

No. That was not something Zeke would accept. He would rather call off the attack entirely than risk such an outcome.

That did not mean he was completely out of options, though. He could still—

"I will take care of it."

His thoughts came to a halt as he looked at the speaker. Irisen met his gaze, her purple eyes shining with determination. "I will take care of it," she repeated.

Zeke opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again.

Irisen was a smart woman. She knew the stakes, the strength of the Legion, and her own limits. Someone like her would not speak so carelessly. If she claimed she could resolve this situation, there was a good chance she truly believed she could.

She was likely also aware that the lives of the prisoners depended on her ability to follow through.

Was she really that confident?

"Fine."

Zeke decided to trust her.

"What do you need?"

Irisen looked toward the distant fort again, clearly estimating something. "Can you circle around halfway?" She pointed to a spot opposite the fort.

Zeke followed her gesture to the far side of the camp. Despite his best efforts, he could not tell what she planned to do.

There was nothing there but a sheer cliff wall, too steep for any of the Bloodguard to climb, except perhaps Zelkara. If she intended to attack from there, she would have to do it alone.

Despite his doubts, Zeke did not hesitate. The moment Irisen pointed out the spot, the Alexandria began to move under the direct control of Akasha. They took a cautious route well outside the smoke screen. Even so, it took less than a minute to circle around the fort.

Irisen studied the prison for a moment. Her gaze lingered on the lightly swaying banner of the Ehrenlegion atop the structure.

When the Alexandria came to a halt, she nodded decisively. "Perfect."

Without offering a single word of explanation, she moved, and Zeke followed. Their path led down to the ramp at the bottom of the flying fortress, the same opening he had used to deploy his troops in the past.

Here, Irisen stopped and turned her head slightly to look back at him. "Can you open it just a crack?"

Zeke nodded. From this distance, it would be almost impossible to spot such a small opening in their camouflage, even if the enemy was on high alert.

Besides, he was far too curious to learn what she had planned to deny her request.

Irisen reached into her pocket and took out a handful of something. It looked like a cluster of loose sand. No. Not quite. It was softer, fluffier somehow.

She held it close to her face and closed her eyes. Zeke felt the mana in the area shift, streaming toward her like a flood drawn into a sinkhole. The amount was staggering, likely on par with what Raileh could produce when going all out.

It was the same sensation he had once felt from his sister, reminiscent of pine wood and a fresh breeze. The presence of Nature.

Just a thousand times more intense. The sensation was so concentrated that he could almost feel the rough texture of bark against his skin.

And all of that mana was focused on the strange lump in her hand.

Zeke watched in stunned amazement as the mass began to absorb the mana like a starving man gulping down water. There seemed to be no end to its greed.

Finally, the mass pulsed with green light. Once. Then again. Only then did Irisen stop. Exhaustion was clear on her face, and her breathing had grown slightly heavy. She had gone all out, pushing close to the limits of what she could manage at her level.

Zeke's eyes remained fixed on the strange cluster of tiny grains in her hand. What kind of material could possibly require an Archmage to expend so much power? Was this some sort of secret weapon she had developed?

Irisen noticed his stare and smiled faintly. But instead of offering an explanation, she gently blew a faint breath of air toward her hand. The grains scattered as if they were weightless. For something that had consumed so much mana, they seemed surprisingly fragile.

One stray grain drifted close, passing no more than a step away from his face. In that instant, something stirred in Zeke's mind. An instinct. A sudden, overwhelming sense of danger.

Before he could stop himself, Zeke realized he had taken a step back.

Irisen noticed the grain as well and quickly snatched it from the air. She walked toward the small opening of the hatch and gently guided it outside.

Throughout it all, Zeke's eyes never left that single particle. Once it was beyond the ship, exposed to the night air, he watched as it was caught by the cold wind and slowly carried away.

He followed it with his gaze until it vanished from sight, drifting south.

The last piece fell into place in his mind. He finally understood why Irisen had asked him to circle around the prison camp...

She had needed them to be upwind.

Moments passed in silence, neither of them speaking. Zeke was not sure what he had expected to happen, but he was certain there would be some kind of reaction. Instead, only silence greeted him, growing heavier with each passing second.

The silence was so absolute that he nearly flinched when Akasha's voice sounded in his mind.

[Notice]
All targets eliminated. It is safe to advance.

B8 - Chapter 44: Revised Expectations

"What's the final tally?"

Akasha's gaze turned vacant for an instant.

"One hundred and seventeen individuals have been extracted from prison camp seventy-three. One hundred and two with augmented ears, and fifteen who were still held in isolation cells."

A small frown crept onto Zeke's face at the numbers. Out of more than a hundred people, fewer than twenty were actual prisoners. All the others had been, in one way or another, complicit in running that place.

Granted, most of the lower-ranked inmates had only played along to escape the horror of solitary confinement. But that still left roughly three dozen guards.

They had not merely complied. They had actively enforced the cruelty of the system. Even more disturbing was the fact that their combined strength would have been more than enough to overthrow the person who had controlled the prison.

That meant he could not blame force or coercion for their actions.

No. These people had turned on their own brothers and sisters willingly, and without remorse. Even now, after the prison had fallen and all of them were under his control, they showed no regret and no desire to reconcile with their people.

Tap, tap, tap. 

Zeke drummed his index finger against the wooden desk of his study, the steady rhythm helping him focus.

Nothing had turned out how he had expected.

His plan had been simple. Overwhelm the prison guards, free the high-level prisoners, and add them to his forces. But reality was entirely different.

Not only were many of the prisoners far from powerful, but a large number of them had no desire to join him at all. Some would likely even work against him if given the chance.

Tap, tap, tap.

The entire excursion could be called a failure, if not for one simple fact.

Irisen.

Though she had not formally joined him, it was only a matter of time. Their goals aligned too closely, and she could not hope to achieve them on her own. She was smart enough to recognize that, too.

Zeke looked up, meeting the patiently waiting projection of his Mind Spirit. 

"What about the prisoners who remained in isolation? What did they decide?"

"Out of fifteen, nine chose to leave. Six, including Lady Irisen, have remained behind."

Zeke nodded slowly. That, too, was a bitter pill to swallow. These were the individuals with the strongest wills, and all of them had been Grandmages. To have more than half refuse to join him was a blow, but he had still decided to give them that option.

Many of them likely had their own reasons for leaving, their own loved ones who needed saving, and Zeke could not afford to chase after every cause. If he did, he would accomplish nothing else.

But that meant that he had only gained the strength of six Grand Mages. It was far from the boost he had expected. On the upside, the siege, if it could even be called that, had also been far easier than anticipated. 

It was just as they said. No plan survived contact with reality.

Zeke allowed himself a small sigh and set aside the matter of the prisoners for now.

"How long until we reach our next destination?"

Akasha's projection answered without hesitation. "I have selected a route away from the main travel paths. This will cause a delay of no more than fifteen percent. We should arrive at our next stop in approximately twenty-two hours and reach our final objective within fifty-six."

Zeke nodded, satisfied. Though he had promised Irisen to come to her sister's aid, that did not mean he would abandon his original plan of raiding as many prisons as possible along the way.

Just because the first attempt had been a disappointment did not mean the plan itself was doomed.

"What do we know about our next target?"

"Designation #82. The site is located in the outermost regions of Rukia and was established later than our previous target. It is conceivable that most prisoners are still in isolation at this point."

That would be a welcome change. He already had more than enough trouble dealing with the prisoners he had. But before Zeke could ask any follow-up questions, Akasha's head snapped toward the door. 

"A visitor has arrived. 

After speaking, she vanished from sight.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Enter."

The door opened slowly, revealing none other than his newest Archmage guest. Irisen had changed out of her shabby prison attire into a proper mage gown, making her appear all the more formidable. Even so, there was a new hesitation in her movements.

Zeke nodded to Zelkara, who had escorted her. On his private floor, no one aside from the Bloodguard was allowed to move without an escort. There were simply too many secrets here that could not be seen.

The Pureblood bowed low before backing away, leaving the two of them alone.

Irisen did not speak immediately, standing just beyond the doorway as if unsure how to proceed.

Zeke waited patiently. He had a good idea why she was here, but he would not rush her.

"...You have an impressive ship," she said at last.

Zeke smiled politely. "You are too kind, Lady Irisen."

The woman shook her head. "No, I truly mean it. I have not seen its equal in all my years. Tradespire's workshops prove to be every bit as marvelous as the rumors claim."

Zeke simply nodded. This was not the reason she had come.

Noticing his silence, Irisen paused for a moment before speaking again. "I've met with... Khaelryn."

Khaelryn. Not husband. That was definitely a change. But he was curious to know what else had changed. He would not have been surprised to learn that the cowardly elf was no longer among the living after facing his wife.

"His ears..." she continued, pain clear on her face. "I did not believe it. Not fully. Even after everything you told me, even after you spoke of my sister, a part of me still hoped there was some misunderstanding."

Zeke remained quiet, listening as the stoic woman poured out her heart. 

"I had hoped..." Her voice faltered. "I do not even know what I hoped for. Just... something."

Zeke could sense the turmoil in her mind. That alone spoke volumes. The fact that even he, a Grandmage, could feel it meant she was completely unmoored.

Any halfway competent Mind Mage could have exploited such a moment, planting thoughts and compulsions into her unguarded mind.

She likely knew that as well.

The fact that she still allowed herself to show such weakness in front of him was already a sign of trust. Trust that Zeke would not abuse. If there was one thing she needed now, it was someone she could rely on completely. Someone steady. Someone unmoved by temptation.

Only by being such a person could she begin to move on from her husband's betrayal.

"...I barely recognized him," she continued. "It was not just his ears. His entire personality has changed. Truly, the power of Mind Magic is far more terrifying than I ever imagined."

Zeke’s lips twitched, but only for a moment. In the end, he chose not to correct her. Inwardly, though, he knew that Khaelryn’s change had not been caused by Mind Magic at all.

Akasha had analyzed the prisoners, even delving deep into the minds of those who could not wield Mana.

From that, he had learned how the Geistreich had manipulated them. The method had been surprisingly simple. In fact, the only Magic involved was a spell that made memories hazy.

But blurred memories alone could not reshape a person’s nature. You could not force someone to commit cruelty simply by taking away their recollections. Their innate sense of right and wrong remained intact.

This had been proven by those prisoners who had retained their kindness even after leaving isolation.

All that had been stripped away was learned behavior, social rules, and the fear of consequences. If anything, the memory spell revealed the truest essence of a person’s character.

He chose not to say any of that.

It was easier for her to believe that her husband had been corrupted by an evil Mind Mage than to face the truth that this was who he had always been.

"...His words were full of hatred, especially toward me," Irisen continued. "He said he had always despised me, always hated that I stole his spotlight, always resented me for ruining our marriage."

That last part caught Zeke’s attention. "What did he mean by that?"

Irisen’s expression grew conflicted. "I... did not want to marry Khaelryn at first. We had little in common, and his ambitions were shallow. But when his father came to ask a second time, I eventually agreed. On one condition..."

Zeke listened in silence. There was clearly more to this story than he had expected.

"I agreed to the marriage on the condition that I would only truly accept him as my husband once he reached my level."

"...Once he became an Archmage," Zeke clarified.

Irisen nodded.

His expression tightened into a frown. Something was missing. "Khaelryn’s father. Who is he?"

She shook her head. "It does not matter. I would be surprised if they were still alive."

That confirmed it. Khaelryn was not just some random nobody. His family clearly held influence in Rukia. That also explained how a man like him had married Irisen, and how he was still alive after betraying her.

Great. Another problem down the road.

"How would you like me to handle him?" Zeke asked, keeping his voice gentle.

"I... I do not know," Irisen admitted. "I should hate him for what he has done, but I cannot. Instead, I despise myself for trusting him."

Zeke nodded silently, choosing not to press her further. Still, inwardly, he had already decided that her disgraced husband needed to be dealt with as soon as possible. He would wait for the right opportunity. Keeping such an omen of trouble around could only invite disaster.

"...What are your plans now?" he asked instead.

"I will assist you," she replied. "At least until we reach my sister."

Zeke nodded, a faint smile forming. "Then I should bring you up to speed on the current state of the war."

Irisen’s expression darkened into a frown. "...I have already learned some of it from speaking with the others."

By "the others," she likely meant the remaining members of the resistance. Still, he doubted she had learned much from them. The so-called resistance was little more than a scattered group of refugees by now. Their information network barely extended beyond what they could see with their own eyes.

Zeke gestured to the table before her, where a map of Rukia lay spread out.

At his mental command, Akasha began projecting the latest data directly into their minds.

Irisen frowned when she felt the touch of Mind Magic, but after a brief hesitation, she allowed it.

Her eyes widened as hundreds of small annotations appeared across the map. Each one marked a force, city, camp, or reported sighting.

"I am one of twelve forces deployed by the elven matriarchy to support Rukia," Zeke said, pointing to their marker. "At present, we are heading north toward the sanctuary where your sister is located."

He indicated another point near the elven border, one of the last areas still entirely marked in green.

"Two of our human allies are advancing from the east alongside us. Five forces are attacking from the north, arriving directly from the elven homeland. The remaining four are pushing in from the south, likely hailing from the dwarven lands."

Irisen studied the map in silence, her gaze drifting across the outer regions before moving toward the center of the country. There, the markings grew sparse. Much of the heartland remained unknown.

Zeke noticed her eyes linger on the capital, though she didn't ask.

It was for the best. The last reports he had received suggested the capital might have already fallen. If that was indeed the case, there were likely few, if any, survivors.

Her gaze returned to the Alexandria, following the plotted course.

"We are not taking the direct route?"

Zeke shook his head and pointed to a location slightly off the path.

"This is prison camp #82. It is similar to the place where you were held," he said, giving her a pointed look.

"...It is almost on the way," Irisen said after a moment. The reluctance in her voice was clear. She would have preferred to rush straight to her sister, but her honor would not allow her to abandon others to that fate. "...We cannot leave these people behind."

Zeke nodded, pleased. She had reached the conclusion on her own with only a gentle push.

"Will you assist in the attack?"

Irisen nodded, her expression firm. "I will do all I can."

"Then I will be counting on you, Irisen."

And he truly meant it. In that moment, Zeke felt a childlike excitement at the thought of seeing what the woman bearing the title Flower of the East was capable of.

B8 - Chapter 43: The Taming of the Shrew II

After reading the comments on my last chapter, I’ve decided to make a small adjustment.

You were right to point out that the final sentence felt off. It came across as needlessly blunt and clashed with the carefully built tone of the scene.

What has changed?

Not much. Simply disregard the final sentence of the previous chapter. The chapter now ends like this:

Zeke studied her in silence. Her loyalty was admirable. Truly, the loyalty of a virtuous wife. Unfortunately, it was utterly wasted on a man who deserved none of it.

Well... There was no point in delaying the inevitable. 

Time to rip the band-aid off.

<--- [New Chapter] --->

"About that..." Zeke said, his voice softening. "Do you wish to know his fate?"

Irisen’s glare eased, replaced first by surprise, then by concern. She had likely been captured before him and never learned what had happened to her husband.

"Will you tell me the truth?"

Zeke nodded solemnly. "To the best of my knowledge. I swear it."

This would not be easy for her, and he would not make it worse by playing games.

"Khaelryn was captured," he continued. "I do not know the exact date, but it was likely a few weeks ago."

The woman nodded, her expression steady. It seemed she had long expected as much. From her perspective, years might have passed. Years spent alone with her thoughts, turning over every possible outcome. She had likely already prepared herself for answers like this.

"He was taken to a prison camp and forced into an isolation cell," he explained.

To be fair, he had not learned Khaelryn’s full story himself, but how this prison operated made most of it easy to imagine. Given Khaelryn’s character, Zeke was almost certain he already knew how the man’s confinement had gone.

"Isolation..." Irisen repeated, a faint tremor running through her. To her credit, she kept her voice steady, and her eyes did not waver. Even so, it was clear that her own time in the Time prison had left scars.

"Do you know the conditions of his release?" Zeke asked, curious whether she had been offered the same terms.

Irisen scoffed. "To cut off his ears, no doubt. To mutilate the very essence of his being for a chance at freedom." The disgust in her voice made her opinion of that offer abundantly clear.

Zeke nodded quietly.

"Do you know which prison he was taken to?" Irisen asked, a note of urgency in her voice. "I want him freed from that darkness as soon as possible."

"There is no need to hurry. He is no longer confined."

"Was it you who saved him? You have my tha—"

"No," Zeke cut her off, extinguishing the warmth that had crept into her voice. "I did not free him, and neither did anyone else..."

Zeke waited, meeting her gaze without offering further explanation.

Confusion.

Shock.

Doubt.

Disbelief.

Anger.

Her expression shifted through more emotions in those few moments than he had seen throughout their entire conversation so far. At last, her face settled back into the same neutral mask, though her eyes had grown even colder.

"You lie," she said, her voice firm. "He would not."

Zeke did not look away, holding her stare without flinching. They remained locked in silence until, at last, he caught the faintest crack in her confidence, though she was still far from trusting him.

The standoff stretched on, the room utterly silent.

"That is not the end of the story," he said. "Do you want to hear the rest?"

Irisen hesitated, then nodded slowly. Zeke had no doubt she distrusted his words greatly, but enough uncertainty remained for her to listen.

"After arranging his own release, he lived as a slave," Zeke continued. "Serving within the prison's false hierarchy as one of its lowest members."

Irisen clenched her teeth.

"The ones ruling over him were not his human captors, but his own brothers and sisters, driven to work against each other in a meaningless game of power. A sick game, played according to the design of a depraved mind." His gaze shifted to the dead Mage lying in the corner of the room.

"Khaelryn might have lived that way until today, if not for one thing," Zeke continued, then raised a finger and pointed at her. "He was recognized. Recognized as your husband. You, the Archmage Irisen."

She leaned forward slightly, hanging on his every word as the story approached its end.

"He was brought here, into this very chamber. No more than a few steps from you. Here, he was given another choice."

"...What choice?" Her voice was hoarse.

Zeke paused, recalling the words she had used earlier to describe the Geistreich's offer. She had called it the mutilation of one's very essence. At its core, that was exactly the choice Khaelryn had been given. And for the second time, he had failed it.

"He was asked to betray you."

"Lies... He wouldn't..." Her protest was weak now, spoken more out of obligation than belief. It was as if she already sensed what was coming next.

Zeke let the silence stretch. He wanted to give her a moment to brace herself. What came next would likely shatter her marriage, along with whatever feelings she still held for the man.

"Your sister," he said, watching horror spread across her face, "is hiding in a sanctuary to the northeast."

Irisen froze, her face draining of color. She did not even seem to breathe, standing rigid like a statue.

"How... could you possibly know that?"

Her words were barely audible, more a plea than a question. Her eyes were begging him to say it was all a lie. A test. A cruel joke. Anything.

Zeke wanted nothing more than to give her that comfort. But he would not. He could not. Allowing false hope would only make the truth harder to face.

"I know her location because he told me himself," Zeke said quietly. "He even offered to instruct me on how to avoid the creature guarding her."

The light in Irisen's eyes dimmed, though it did not vanish entirely. "He must have recognized you as an ally," she said faintly. "He must have been trying to protect her."

Zeke shook his head. He could not allow even this last refuge. "I told him I would use her to threaten you. To make you serve me. I told him I would kill everyone in that sanctuary."

With every word, Irisen seemed to crumble further, as if each sentence struck at her very soul.

It hurt to witness such a change. Yet despite the pain he was causing, there was one final truth he had to reveal.

"...I have reason to believe that he revealed her location to the Legion as well."

Irisen seemed to crumble, like a fortress that could no longer withstand a siege. Its walls fell, its gates breached, and all hope appeared lost. The domineering woman from before, the noble princess, had lost her glow, her confidence, her bearing.

"How could... he do this...?"

Her words were barely audible. "She... is lost? Why did I even... Dahlia... Dahlia..."

Zeke allowed her a moment to face the reality of the situation. But when he heard her murmuring the same name over and over, he knew it was time to stop this downward spiral. What needed to be done was done. The bond between husband and wife had been severed.

It had been a clear and decisive break, like cutting away a cancerous tumor. But now that the wound had been opened, it was time to heal it.

People could not live without hope. They needed it even more than food or water. Zeke had stripped it from Irisen to force her to face the truth. Now, it was time to light a new fire.

"That is not certain," Zeke said. "Your sister may not be lost."

Irisen barely moved. That was expected. If words alone were enough to restore hope, despair would not exist.

Fortunately, he had more than empty words to offer.

"There is one more thing you should know about your husband's betrayal." 

No reaction.

"...The timing," he added, continuing calmly.

Still nothing.

"His betrayal did not happen years ago, or even months or weeks ago."

That finally drew a response, though only a faint twitch of her long ears. Still, it meant she was listening.

"He revealed her location less than an hour ago. Likely even more recently."

Finally, Irisen raised her head, her lifeless eyes meeting his. "Have you not done enough already? Do you find pleasure in giving me false hope, only to tear it away again?"

Despite her despair, there was still steel in her.

Zeke smiled gently. "Why do you believe it to be false hope?"

Her expression remained cold. "The invaders can communicate across vast distances, their thoughts traveling in an instant. There is no way I could reach her in time."

Zeke nodded, not disputing her words. "That is true. You would never arrive in time. Not only because of the distance, but because you would likely be surrounded before even making it halfway."

Her expression did not change. She had already known that.

"...I, on the other hand?" Zeke continued, pointing at himself. "I could reach her in time. I could bring my army. I could even bring you."

At last, there was a reaction.

It was subtle, no more than a flicker. A small spark of hope.

"...What will it take for you to get me there?" she asked.

Zeke's smile widened. "As I said, I wish to recruit you..."

Irisen did not even wait for him to finish. It took her only a moment to weigh her options and decide. She was as decisive in action as she was in speech.

She dropped to one knee. "I, Irisen, Flower of the East, swear that—"

"No!"

She looked up at him, pure confusion on her face.

"No," Zeke repeated, more softly. "You misunderstand."

"...What else could you possibly want from me?" she snapped. The anger was clear. She had been willing to kneel, to swear loyalty, to cast aside her pride for her sister's sake.

And still, she had been refused.

Yet Zeke had no choice but to stop her. Her oath was exactly what he wanted. But not in this way.

Zeke stepped forward, moving for the first time since he had cleared the exit for her. In slow, measured steps, he approached the kneeling half-elf. Her tattered white dress was stained with dust and debris from kneeling in the underground prison.

He loomed over her, and standing so close, he noticed for the first time how narrow her shoulders were, how slender her arms. For all the strength and bravado Irisen possessed, her body was still that of a young woman.

Zeke looked down at her, meeting her eyes. He could see the anger within her, likely seething beneath the surface. Even so, she kept it tightly restrained. It was an impressive display of control. This was a dangerous woman, someone capable of mastering her temper for the sake of a greater goal.

It only made him want her more.

"I do not want your oath," he said.

"Then tell me what you want. If it is something I can give, I will."

"...Nothing."

He could see her patience fraying.

"WHAT. DO. YOU. WANT?" 

Zeke's smile softened. "That was my mistake. I should have been clearer. I meant that I want nothing in return for helping you."

Irisen froze, her anger giving way to confusion.

"I will help you. I swear it on my name."

She remained silent for a moment, staring up at him in utter disbelief.

"...Why?" she finally asked.

"Because I want to recruit you," Zeke replied. "I want you to guard my back, to support my ambitions, to face my enemies as if they were your own."

Irisen listened without interrupting.

"But how could I ask you to fight for my dreams if I was not willing to fight for yours?"

"I do not want you to kneel before me," he said, slowly extending his hand. "I want you to stand at my back."

Irisen looked from Zeke's face to the offered hand, then back again. Slowly, almost like a skittish animal, she raised her own hand, as if expecting him to pull away at any moment.

Zeke waited patiently. It felt like an eternity as she inched closer, but at last, her cold skin touched his.

He closed his larger palm around hers and gently pulled her up. A moment later, Irisen stood before him. There was a new look in her eyes now, uncertainty mixed with a hint of anticipation.

She did not yet fully trust his words.

But she was giving him the chance to prove that he was who he claimed to be, and Zeke would not waste it.

B8 - Chapter 42: The Taming of the Shrew I

The sound intensified, deep and powerful, like a blacksmith hammering away at a block of iron. With every reverberation, David’s expression grew more serious.

"...Was it truly wise to send Raileh away, young lord?"

Zeke shook his head. "We are not trying to pick a fight. Besides, I have the utmost confidence in your ability to protect me if it comes to that."

David turned his gaze back to the trembling prison and gave a wry smile. "I will do my best..."

Finally, the metal could not take the punishment any longer, and parts of the internal structure gave way. Zeke winced inwardly at the destruction of such a remarkable piece of engineering. Still, he did not mourn its loss for long. He had little use for such a small chamber that accelerated the flow of time while cutting its occupant off from all Mana.

More importantly, he had already obtained the blueprints of the arrays. Even now, Akasha was working through them, cataloguing and deciphering their full functionality.

That was the true treasure, not the device itself.

Zeke could already think of one way to use those enchantments once he fully understood how they worked. But that matter would have to wait. 

A pale hand emerged from the wreckage of the shattered prison, pushing a heavy iron plate aside.

A tangle of purple hair appeared first. Then an eye of the same deep violet shade. It fixed on them, flicking quickly between Zeke and David.

Before either of them could speak, an explosion of motion erupted from the heap of metal. Fragments were hurled in all directions like deadly projectiles.

Zeke did not move. Instead, he condensed a thin layer of space in front of them. The debris struck it and bounced away as if hitting a solid wall. 

David sensed the move and did not interfere, leaving the defense to Zeke.

With the debris cleared, the woman came fully into view.

She had long purple hair that reached almost to the soles of her feet and hard eyes of the same color. She wore a simple robe, cleaner than those of the other prisoners, but far from luxurious. Even so, her haughty bearing and stern presence remained untouched.

She looked like a princess wearing a peasant’s clothes for the first time, unable to hide her noble upbringing no matter how she dressed.

Her gaze lingered on the invisible barrier for a moment, then slid past it and locked onto the two figures blocking the only exit.

"Cur...sed... Hu...man...s," she rasped, her voice rough as sandpaper.

"Yes," Zeke admitted. "We are humans."

The woman lowered her stance, and Zeke felt the Mana in the room stir. No matter how often he witnessed it, the display of an Archmage's power still mesmerized him. It was like a whale drawing in water, draining the surrounding area of Mana with a single breath.

"...But we are not the same as those who imprisoned you," he said quickly, before she could strike.

She did not stop gathering Mana.

"If you truly wish for revenge," Zeke continued calmly, "you will find his corpse over there." He nodded toward the fallen Geistreich.

His tone remained even, as though there were no urgency at all. That, too, was deliberate. Despite the immense pressure radiating from her, he could not afford to sound desperate. Showing weakness would give her a sense of control, something he could not allow if he hoped to recruit her. If she saw them as prey, negotiations would become far more difficult.

She continued drawing Mana, but Zeke noticed her glance toward the body. At the sight of it, her expression shifted rapidly. Surprise. Rage. Confusion. Glee.

"Who are you?" she asked at last, her voice already steadier. It was deep for a woman, yet carried the melodic undertone typical of elves.

"Where I come from," Zeke said slowly, "it is a sign of respect to introduce oneself first when asking another's name. That is especially true when facing one's benefactor, would you not agree, Lady Irisen?"

At the sound of her name, the woman reacted. Her brows furrowed, and the steel in her eyes grew sharper. She clearly grasped the deeper meaning behind his words. She was at a complete disadvantage, not only in numbers and strength, but even more so in information.

And that disadvantage went far beyond her own identity.

She had no idea how much time had passed in the outside world, nor what had become of her country or her people.

For all she knew, Zeke could have been the new ruler of Rukia, standing atop the ruins left by an Ehrenlegion victory. Or he could have been part of an alliance that had arrived to save them.

Zeke could only guess at the storm of thoughts racing through her mind. But in the end, it came down to two possible responses to her situation. One would be disappointing, ending in blind aggression. The other was...

"I am Irisen, Flower of the East," she said. "Who am I facing?"

...diplomacy.

Zeke smiled. He had hoped she was not the kind of brute who only knew how to react. Even so, he had expected as much. A woman like this was never going to be simple.

Now, the only question was how skilled she truly was at politics and negotiation.

"I am Ezekiel von Hohenheim."

"...The merchant?" Irisen asked, her brows drawing together. "What would bring you to a place like this? Or am I no longer in Rukia? Was I sent to Tradespire?"

Impressive.

She not only knew his name, but also where he operated from. These days, he had become well known, so that alone was not remarkable. Still, it showed a solid grasp of current events.

Zeke grinned. "Do I really look like a merchant to you?"

"Yes," she replied without hesitation.

"How so?"

"...Hiding behind a hired bodyguard while talking big is exactly what merchants do, is it not?"

Ouch. That one actually hurt.

Out of the corner of his eye, Zeke noticed David's mouth curl slightly, which only made the jab sting more.

Yet despite the bite of her words, they sparked an idea. Zeke's expression grew thoughtful as he carefully weighed the situation. He studied the woman before him, considering everything he had learned about her character so far.

Was it worth the risk?

The scales in his mind shifted, weighing danger against reward, before settling firmly on the side of benefit. 

"David," he said in a flat tone, as if the decision were casual. "You may go."

David's expression, which had held a hint of amusement just moments ago, turned deathly serious. "Young lord, she is..."

"I know," Zeke replied, already anticipating the objection. "You will have to trust me. Can you do that?"

David hesitated for a heartbeat, his eyes locking onto Irisen with a silent promise of violence. Then he nodded once and turned away.

"...Always, young lord."

The room fell into deathly silence, the only sound left being David's fading footsteps down the corridor.

When even that had vanished, Irisen spoke again. Instead of relaxing now that the only real threat had left, she seemed even more cautious.

"...Why?" she asked at last. "You held all the cards, and now you are completely at my mercy."

Zeke smiled warmly, without a trace of fear. "Am I?"

"I can feel that space is locked. You cannot escape."

"True."

"You are far too weak to fight me on your own."

"Also true."

"Then what? What gives you the confidence to send your guard away?"

Zeke spread his arms slightly, as if inviting an embrace. "Can you not feel my power?"

Irisen focused, likely reaching out with her Mana sense, as if expecting him to reveal himself as some hidden Exarch finally showing his true strength. Naturally, nothing changed.

"No," she said simply. "You seem rather mediocre."

Ouch. She was not gentle with her words.

Even so, Zeke's smile only widened. This was where things became interesting.

"Then attack me," he said lightly. "Take me hostage and demand whatever you want. You could order my people around while holding this dagger to my neck." He gestured to the weapon at his waist.

Irisen glanced at it for a moment before looking back at his face. Her expression barely shifted. She was clearly used to hiding her emotions. That, more than anything, made the subtle signs easier to read.

Confusion. Doubt. Hesitation.

Paradoxically, it was precisely because she was intelligent and aware of her position that her feet were now bound. With the limited information she had, it was impossible to judge the consequences of taking him hostage.

Depending on the state of the war and Zeke's true standing in it, such an act could doom not only herself but even her family. And what comfort would it bring her to take his life afterward? She bore him no personal grudge that demanded revenge.

For someone as rational as her, it was not a risk to be taken lightly, especially in the face of his unwavering confidence.

This, too, was power.

An invisible kind of power, one that could not be defended against, yet restrained her more tightly than any physical chains.

"Can you feel it now?" Zeke asked again, sensing that she was beginning to understand.

"...What do you want from me?"

Another sharp question. She was catching on quickly. But he could also tell that her patience was wearing thin. That meant it was time to change his approach.

A skilled fisherman knew that to catch a fish, one needed bait.

Bait, and a hook.

"Simple," Zeke said, wiping the grin from his face. "I want to recruit you."

That made her freeze. Clearly, she had not expected such a direct answer. After all, he had been playing mind games from the moment he spoke.

"Before I say anything else, you should also know that neither I nor my forces will stop you from leaving if you choose to do so. You are no prisoner, and I do not demand any reward for freeing you."

To underline his words, Zeke stepped aside, leaving the path clearly open.

"...What is the catch?" the woman asked, still not moving.

"There is no catch," Zeke replied, "except that I will stop trying to recruit you."

Irisen fixed her deep violet eyes on him, clearly trying to see through the trap she expected. Zeke did not react. He felt no pressure at all. There truly was no trap. If she chose to leave now, he would let her go.

"...You are surprisingly straightforward all of a sudden," she said dryly. "Why?"

Zeke shrugged. "My father always said one should be open and honest when pursuing a woman."

Zeke did not expect the faint blush that rose to her cheeks. Almost as if to contradict it, her gaze hardened even further.

"I am married."

Zeke could not help but scoff. "Khaelryn, was it? I have to say, if your taste in men is any indication, then you are a terrible judge of character."

Irisen glared at him. For an instant, he thought she might abandon restraint and attack. Then she reined herself in. "I will not tolerate slander against my husband, no matter how lacking he may be at times."

Zeke studied her in silence. Her loyalty was admirable. Truly, the loyalty of a virtuous wife. Unfortunately, it was utterly wasted on a man who deserved none of it.

Well... There was no point in delaying the inevitable. 

Time to rip the band-aid off.

B8 - Chapter 41: The Guardless Prison II

Time resumed its usual flow.

Yet, Zeke did not move. He did not explode into action, nor did he order his people to attack... except for one.

Slowly, the blond-haired figure began to sway, then fell forward. The Mind Mage, who had stood on the opposite side of the room, collapsed without even trying to brace the fall. Their body hit the floor like a sack of grain. A thin wound at the back of their head became visible.

It was an incision no wider than a finger. The cause became clear when David lowered his hand, and the shadow stake behind the Mage’s former position slipped back into the dark corner.

The Mind Mage had died. The siege was over. 

Staring at the fallen figure, the two guards were clearly confused, their gazes darting between the fallen Mind Mage and Zeke’s group with growing panic. Strangely, the lone Grand Mage prisoner who had stood beside the Mind Mage looked even more disturbed than the guards.

Meanwhile, the eight Grandmages powering the strange time prison didn't react at all. They seemed to be in a sleep-like trance. 

What the hell was going on in this place?

"You," Zeke said, pointing at the guard who seemed to be of higher rank. "What is going on here?"

"..."

The man stared back at him in silence. He opened his mouth several times, but no words came out.

"Are you elves?" Zeke asked, realizing he was getting nowhere asking broad questions.

Both David and Raileh reacted instantly, their eyes widening as they turned to him in surprise at the strange question.

It was no wonder. Unlike Akasha, they could not notice the oddities of these people at a glance. They had likely not yet realized the true identity of these people.

Zelkara, for her part, did not react at all. Either she did not care, which was likely, or she had her own way of knowing the truth. Given her senses, which far surpassed those of humans, neither option could be dismissed.

"We are honorary citizens," the guard bristled. "Do not lump us in with that scum!"

"Scum...?" Zeke repeated. He had clearly noticed that both guards had glanced toward the Grand Mage prisoner as they spoke. He felt a distinct sense of superiority radiating from them.

Curious.

What gave these weaklings the confidence to look down on a Grand Mage like this? Even stranger was the fact that the Grand Mage seemed to shrink under their gazes, as if their contempt was justified. As if shame was his natural state.

Zeke had assumed that the strange play would end once the Mind Mage was dealt with. Yet nothing had changed. The people here were like actors clinging to their roles, even after the stage lights had gone dark and the audience had long since left.

"What about you?" Zeke asked, turning to the Grand Mage. "Why are you here?"

"I..." The man hesitated, as if reconsidering his answer, then simply shook his head.

Zeke's gaze hardened. He was growing tired of this. Neither the guards nor the prisoner were willing to answer his questions. They were treating him like an enemy, not a saviour. 

If that was what they chose, then Zeke had no problem playing that role. 

"Zelkara," he called. "The next time anyone refuses to answer, cut their throats."

Zelkara gave no verbal reply, but the way she angled her spear made her intent clear.

"Let's try that again," Zeke said, turning back to the out-of-place prisoner. "Who are you, and why are you here?"

"I'm... Khaelryn," the man said, his wide eyes fixed on the tip of Zelkara's spear pointed at his neck. "I was brought here... because of my wife."

As he spoke, he pointed toward the massive crucible.

Zeke's brows lifted. His wife? The Archmage imprisoned in that device was his wife? Was that the reason he had been brought here? To be interrogated? Used as leverage? 

Zeke shook his head. He could not take his words at face value. Until proven otherwise, everyone here was an enemy.

"You. Is he telling the truth?" Zeke asked, pointing at the weaker of the guards.

"Yes..." the man replied reluctantly. He clearly did not want to help, but the threat of death was enough to force minimal compliance. That was all Zeke needed anyway.

He was by no means a skilled Mind Mage, nor could he read thoughts the way the Geistreich could. Still, the guard was so weak that he could not shield his mind at all. Judging the truth of his answer was as easy as reading a drunk card player.

Zeke turned back to the Grandmage. "What did they want to use you for?"

"...To break into her mind," the man said after a brief hesitation.

"Did they succeed?" Zeke asked, his expression turning serious.

"Thankfully, you arrived before it came to that, lord human."

The guards exchanged a glance, clearly unsettled by something. Zeke caught a brief flicker of confusion in their thoughts.

Interesting.

"Tell me about your wife," Zeke said. "Who is she?"

"She is called Irisen," the man replied, his voice turning reverent, as if he had been born to praise her. "She is one of the greatest Mages in all of Rukia."

Zeke doubted that. The woman had a strong presence, but not that strong. Despite her resolve, he could tell she was still young. If anything, she was closer to the level of the newly advanced David than to ancient monsters like Maximilian or Aurelia.

Still, he had never expected her husband to be an impartial judge.

More importantly, Zeke was watching the two guards. Their confusion had curdled into something closer to disgust as they listened to the man praise his wife.

Something was wrong here. He could feel it.

If the guards had been more cooperative, this mystery would have been easy to unravel. Now, it seemed he would need a different approach.

"Irisen... Irisen..." he repeated, stepping forward. In a scene where everyone else seemed frozen in place, caught between fear and readiness, only he moved freely.

Zeke circled the apparatus and, for the first time, looked directly at the image of the woman trapped within the crucible.

His first impression was that she would likely be a pain to deal with. Pale skin, delicate features, and thin lips gave her a cold, restrained beauty. But it was her eyes that sealed his judgment.

Stubborn. Headstrong. Willful.

No wonder they had resorted to such extreme measures to break her mind. A woman like this would bend before she ever broke.

All these thoughts passed in an instant.

He would deal with her when the time came. For now, it was time to handle her husband.

"Tell me, Khaelryn," Zeke said, standing only a step away from the half-elf. "How did they plan to use you to reach your wife?"

"They... wanted me to reveal the location of her sister."

"Why?"

"To use as leverage."

"Why not use you as leverage?"

The man shook his head. "I am a grown man, capable of facing death with open eyes. But her sister is just a child. Not even Irisen could watch her die."

The answer confirmed Zeke's impression that Irisen was exceptionally unyielding. He filed that away for later. That was not why he had steered the conversation this way.

"...That sister," he said, meeting the prisoner's eyes. "Where is she?"

"That... why would you need to know that, lord human?" Khaelryn asked, a glimmer of doubt flickering in his gaze. "Do you intend to save her?"

"No." Zeke's words were cold. "I intend to use her. I will break your wife's will and make her serve me."

There was no emotion in his voice. Khaelryn visibly paled, his shock seemingly genuine. Still, something about the man unsettled Zeke, and he chose to press further.

"Tell me where her sister is, or..."

Without needing an order, Zelkara appeared behind the man like a specter, the cold metal tip of her massive spear pressing against his neck like a guillotine about to descend.

"I am going to count, Khaelryn," Zeke said, raising three fingers. Before he could lower even the first, Khaelryn spoke.

"Wait, wait, wait! I'll talk! I'll talk! She is in the northeast, watched over by a creature of myth. It will not be easy to reach her without an army, lord human, but I can guide you. They trust me."

Zeke lowered his hand.

He studied the man in front of him for a long moment.

"I am going to kill everyone in that place. Will you still guide me?"

Khaelryn lowered his head in shame. "What choice do I have?"

Zeke's eyes drifted to the man's ears, and a sudden wave of disgust washed over him. Not because of the scarred flesh itself, but because of what it represented.

"I see," he said, feeling a sense of defeat.

If this was the quality of prisoners in this place, then his plan to recruit them was a failure. He would rather see the entire country of Rukia burned to the ground than rely on people like this. Still, a glance at the image of the woman trapped inside the prison was enough to rekindle a faint spark of hope.

He turned to Zelkara, who regarded him with an emotionless gaze. She would not hesitate to kill the man if ordered. It was a tempting thought, but Zeke still had a use for him.

The location of the sanctuary could prove important later. And if Khaelryn had been married to a woman like Irisen and knew of such a hidden place, then he was clearly not entirely ordinary.

"Gather everyone in the great hall," he ordered the Pureblood. "Until further notice, treat them all as enemies."

"As you command, Progenitor."

Zelkara grabbed Khaelryn by the shoulder and dragged him along like a sack of grain. The remaining two guards and the eight Grandmages bound to the Time prison were hauled out in much the same way by the other Bloodguards.

That left only Zeke, David, and Raileh in the chamber.

"What a lovely guy," David remarked sarcastically, his gaze fixed on Khaelryn's screaming form.

Raileh shook her head in silence, her face pale. Unconsciously, her left hand rose to her long ear, stroking it as if afraid it might vanish if she let go. The sights in this prison had clearly affected her the most.

It was easy to forget that despite her mastery of magic and high rank, she was likely the most sheltered person in his employ. When would she ever have encountered such barbarism in her long life?

"Raileh," he called gently. "You may return to the ship."

"As... as you command," she replied, bowing slightly before turning to leave.

David watched her go, then turned back to Zeke. "What are we going to do now, young lord?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Zeke said, managing a faint smile. "We are going to negotiate."

"Negotiate..." David frowned. "With whom?"

At that moment, a deep, echoing clang rang through the chamber, metal striking metal. Then it came again, followed by a large dent forming in the side of the metal cauldron.

Zeke stepped closer to David, stopping half a step behind him.

"A very stubborn woman..."

B8 - Chapter 40: The Guardless Prison I

[Notice]
The target location will come into view at any moment.

Zeke’s gaze sharpened, his eyes scanning the distant horizon.

This was the moment of truth. His entire strategy, his entire plan, hinged on his ability to raid this prison. If he could not overcome its defenses, then everything he had worked toward would collapse.

His eyes locked onto the distant structure slowly coming into view. It was underwhelming, to say the least.

A rectangular slab of stone, surrounded by walls. The Earth Mages who had built it clearly had not cared much for appearances. Still, Zeke did not believe for a moment that this was all there was to Prison Camp 73.

More likely, this above-ground structure served only as an entrance. The true prison would be underground. After all, there was no better way to confine people than to bury them beneath the earth. It removed the need for walls entirely.

“Bring us on top of it,” he ordered mentally.

There was no need to speak aloud. He was alone in the command center, and Akasha would relay his orders to the appropriate people if necessary. For most actions, however, she held full control herself.

The Alexandria’s systems were far too diverse and complex for most anyone to operate. Beyond the sheer intricacy of the functions, many of the rituals and engravings did not even have human interfaces.

Zeke might add physical controls later. For now, he was content to let Akasha handle most of them. The only drawback was that he could not stray too far from the Alexandria without losing control of the ship.

Even so, it was a price he was willing to pay.

The structure, once a distant speck on the horizon, was growing larger at a rapid pace. The sheer stone walls came into sharp detail on the screen, and he could already make out individual figures manning the battlements.

They did not look like ordinary Legion troops. Their armor, bearing, and demeanor were far too different. Elites, perhaps?

[Notice]
Approaching target airspace. Preparing to intercept outgoing communication.
Holding off on Siege Protocol until detection. 

Zeke held his breath.

The longer they remained undetected, the more information he could gather before the attack.

A moment passed, then another, until at last the Alexandria came to a complete standstill with the prison camp directly beneath his feet.

Still, nothing happened.

Zeke exhaled.

So far, so good. 

[Notice]
There is no indication that we have been noticed. Should I attempt a preliminary scan of the facilities? 

"Not yet. Analyze the guards first."

Akasha fell silent for a moment before delivering her report. The words that followed left Zeke unsettled.

[Notice]
Full scan complete. The guards appear to be nonstandard troops. Most show only small traces of Mana. Additionally, they do not appear to be human.

Zeke frowned. None of it made sense. Non-mages? Non-humans? Since when did the Empire field such forces?

"Are they Chimeroi?"

[Answer]
Negative. They carry both human and elven blood.

Zeke focused on the guard closest to him, a man standing atop the highest platform. A lookout. The man swayed slightly, barely staying awake despite the early morning hour. It must have been near the end of his shift. Even so, the behavior was sloppy.

That was not what truly caught Zeke’s attention.

His gaze fixed on the man’s ears. Rounded. Lacking the familiar pointed tips of half-elves.

"What about their ears?"

[Answer]

The observed structure appears to be the result of physical modification achieved through repeated self-mutilation.

Zeke went still. Self-mutilation? Did that mean what he thought it did?

"They did this... to themselves?"

[Answer]

The angle and pattern of the scarring strongly suggest such a scenario.

Zeke took another look at the guardsmen. Sloppy. Undisciplined. Careless.

"Are they... the prisoners?"

The thought was so absurd that he hesitated to accept it, even though it had come from his own mind. This was a prison, was it not? A prison needed guards.

How would it even work to have prisoners watch over other prisoners?

Surely they would revolt. Surely they would band together. Surely, they would...

[Notice]

Not a single person in range has an elemental or Mind affinity.

Zeke’s frown deepened. What was going on here? What kind of place was this?

He forced down the hundreds of questions threatening to overwhelm him. None of that mattered right now. He would get his answers after taking the facility. For the moment, there was only one concern: how this revelation would affect his strategy.

That decision was easy.

"Contact David. We are going with a covert infiltration. Have him disable all guards without spilling any blood."

[Warning]

If they are being controlled by a Mind Mage, this will likely alert them.

Zeke shook his head. "They are moving far too sloppily for that. This is not the work of Mind Magic."

Akasha did not question him further. A moment later, Zeke noticed David’s handiwork. He had not seen the Archmage leave the craft, but the result made it obvious.

Half a dozen [Shadow Puppets] struck at once, each taking down a critical target with a single, precise blow.

Then again. And again.

By the time it was over, roughly three dozen guards lay motionless on the ground.

David's figure materialized beside the body of the careless watchman, stepping out of a dark corner as if he had been there all along. He raised one arm, hand open, and slowly swept it from side to side above his head.

All clear.

This had gone so smoothly that Zeke almost suspected a trap. But on second thought, the outcome was obvious. An Archmage fighting a handful of untrained, bottom tier Mages with the element of surprise could only end one way.

[Warning]
I have blocked an outgoing communication from inside the prison. Likelihood of detection within the next minute: 90%. Awaiting further instructions.

Zeke did not hesitate.

"Initiate full siege protocol. Lock down the Space and arm all weapon systems. Nothing goes in or out of this place."

The exchange between him and Akasha was instantaneous. Before he could even finish the thought, he felt the ritual arrays take effect.

The air around him grew heavy. So heavy that he could not pierce it at all. Only overwhelming force could break through such a barrier, and Zeke had no concern about that happening. Nearly two dozen Grand Mages were powering the array at that moment. That was enough to contend with any Archmage.

Only an Exarch, or several Archmages working together, could hope to break through. And the chance of encountering such a force inside this prison camp was almost nonexistent.

That was only the beginning. "Send in the shock troops. I want Zelkara down there right now."

[Notice]
We will likely lose connection with them as they descend—

"No, we will not," Zeke replied before Akasha could finish. "Because we are joining the assault."

[Notice]
I will lose control over the arrays.

"It's fine. Leave them at full power. We control the only exit anyway. It is far more important for you to coordinate the assault."

Even as he spoke, Zeke never stopped moving. He descended from the command bridge, taking the stairs two at a time and reaching the ramp in moments. He arrived just in time to see the last of the Bloodguard jump.

Only one figure remained at the exit.

"With me, Raileh," he ordered as he passed the elven Archmage.

Raileh fell into step without a word, leaping from the ramp alongside him.

They landed on the highest platform of the small fortress, where David was still waiting.

Zeke did not slow, turning his fall into a brisk walk. David followed without a word. Together, the three of them descended into the inner sanctum of the prison.

The first underground room was a vast cavern, filled with guards wearing the same uniform. All of them already lay on the floor, some bleeding profusely.

Zelkara's people had been far more heavy-handed than David. Zeke did not blame them. He would rather see a hundred of these guards lying dead than take any chances with the safety of his people.

Thankfully, it seemed he would not have to make that choice.

"Stabilize them. No more," he said as they passed.

Raileh obeyed without a word, applying just enough healing to ensure the subdued guards would not die, but not enough to let them cause further trouble.

The trio reached the center of the hall. From here, two paths diverged. Both were already teeming with Bloodguards.

[Notice]
I sent Zelkara down the left path. She is encountering minimal resistance.

That was all he needed to know. His steps carried him to the right. In a surprise attack, speed was paramount. Despite how smoothly everything had gone so far, he refused to give the enemy any chance to stage a comeback.

They moved down a dark corridor. On either side, images of half-elves flickered into view, live projections that allowed the prisoners to be observed from the outside without their knowledge.

Interesting.

It seemed there were still actual prisoners left in this place. He also noted that their ears were intact, free of the mutilation he had seen on the guards.

The corridor ended at a massive iron door.

Zeke's brows furrowed as they approached it. He could feel Time Mana seeping from behind it, in vast quantities. Far too much for a single Mage. There was also a strange, sterile quality to it, one he recognized all too well. This was pure Mana, produced by enchantments and rituals, stripped of will and intent.

There was some kind of large-scale Time ritual taking place behind those doors.

Before he could investigate further, Zeke felt a presence approach from behind. It moved with lightning speed, reaching the end of the corridor in barely a moment.

The figure stopped behind him, already down on one knee before he could even turn.

"...I have cleared the eastern route according to your orders, Progenitor," Zelkara reported.

Zeke nodded, pleased with her swift work. She had arrived just in time, too. There was likely no one in his employ who could match the Pureblood in sheer physical strength, and he had a task that would require exactly that.

"Can you clear the way?"

Without a moment's hesitation, Zelkara rose to her feet and strode past. Her eyes bore into the heavy metal door blocking the path as if it were a sworn enemy. It was clearly sealed by magic, and the surrounding walls had been reinforced as well. With space locked, there was no way to know what awaited them inside. 

Even so, Zeke could feel several active minds beyond the door. One of them was especially powerful, possibly even an Archmage...

A dense, pale blue mist streamed from Zelkara's body, filling the space before her and clinging to the metal door and the wall around it. Then, with a single step, she drove her fist forward.

The iron shattered, cracking like thin ice struck by a stone. The sudden change in temperature had made it brittle enough to break.

At last, the space beyond came into view.

[Sanguin Clarity]

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as his thoughts accelerated manyfold, allowing him to assess the situation inside the room instantly.  

A massive iron contraption stood there, shaped like a giant metal crucible. Eight figures were bound to it, their hands attached to its surface.

He dismissed them at once. They might possess the strength of Grandmages, but he felt no real threat from any of them.

That left four others. Two wore guard uniforms and seemed just as weak as the guards he had encountered outside.

That left only two, standing side by side.

One was a half-elf with mutilated ears, radiating the presence of a Grandmage. The other was a figure with blond hair and blue eyes.

A Geistreich...

Zeke's instincts flared at the sight, urging him to kill this enemy at once. However, something made him pause. This person was not the presence he had sensed from outside.

Like any competent Mind Mage, the Geistreich had shielded his mind, making it impossible to detect. Then who was the presence he had noticed? Where was the Archmage?

Zeke focused, narrowing in on the source of the remaining mind.

It came from... inside the crucible?

Was this some kind of ritual meant to strengthen an ally? His eyes followed the visible runes, trying to grasp as much of the device's inner workings as possible. In his accelerated state, not even Akasha could match his speed of comprehension.

...Mana isolation runes.

...Some kind of Time construct.

...Reinforced walls.

Zeke's eyes widened at the realization of what this was. But... if his assumptions were right, then the person inside would not be an enemy at all.

Zeke felt the strain on his mind increase, signaling the end of his accelerated state. That was fine. 

He had already learned all he had to know. 

B8 - Chapter 39: Flower of the East

"Why are you moving so slowly?" The command was punctuated by a shove, not the first one Khaelryn had received on their short trek up the stairs.

Again and again, he lowered his head and quickened his pace. Unease coiled in his chest with every step that took him farther from the life he had come to know. This was not part of his plan, not part of his careful strategy.

Everything he had worked toward over the past weeks had gone up in smoke the moment that young guard recognized him.

All because of his wife.

"What are you hesitating for? Move!"

This time, it was more than a shove. Khaelryn felt an armored fist drive into his side, a liver strike meant not as a warning but to inflict real pain.

He barely felt it. 

The dark, menacing armor and the weapons at their sides gave the guards an aura of immense power and authority. Khaelryn had never questioned that impression. But now that he actually felt their strikes, it became clear that these two, even the captain, were far weaker than he was.

Their punches barely tickled his skin, and even the blow to his liver caused only a moment of discomfort.

He had once assumed their armor restricted Mana flow, preventing him from sensing their Cores. Now, however, he was beginning to suspect that the absence of Mana was not due to concealment at all, but because these two men were simply...

As they marched him through yet another corridor, Khaelryn reflected on the guard's earlier words.

He had been just a farmer, the man had said. Did that not imply that they lacked the breath of Yggdrasil? That they were the unloved children of the tree?

A flicker of dissatisfaction rose in Khaelryn's chest, an almost forgotten shard of pride stirring awake. Since when had he allowed others to treat him so rudely? And by a mere Unloved, no less.

His dissatisfaction turned to anger when he felt another shove. It seemed these two were making a game of it. His pace was already brisk; there was no reason for the constant pushing. They were simply trying to humiliate him.

He would not allow this to contin—

Before he could even finish the thought, the corridor opened into a large hall. Dozens of guards filled the space, eating, drinking, laughing.

The spark of rebellion died instantly in Khaelryn's chest. Dissatisfaction melted as reality asserted itself. Did strength even matter here?

In this place, they were guards, and he... he was a Maggot.

"Who's that, captain?" one of the guards called out. "New Aspirant?"

"No," the captain replied curtly. "We are bringing him to the master."

That drew the attention of several nearby guards. Khaelryn felt their eyes on him, scanning his face and body as if searching for some hidden meaning.

"...What for?"

The captain did not slow, continuing to push him forward. It seemed he had no intention of entertaining their curiosity. Only when they were nearly across the hall did he call a response over his shoulder.

"...He is Irisen's husband."

The words sent a sharp sting through his chest. It felt like an old wound being torn open, a pain he had nearly forgotten resurfacing without mercy. 

Irisen's husband.

The moniker did not sound offensive on its own, yet to him it was a slur. A pointed insult aimed directly at the most vulnerable corner of his pride.

He was given no time to dwell on it, as the guards pushed him onward. From the large hall, they entered a completely different section of the underground network. 

Was this where his isolation chamber had been located?

He could not quite remember. The pain and relief of that day made it difficult to recall anything that had happened immediately after his release.

But as they continued past row after row of cells, he became more certain of his suspicion. From the outside, the cells looked nothing like he had imagined. Next to each door was a shifting image, displaying a figure huddled in the dark. No. Not a picture. A real-time projection of the cell's inhabitants.

Even now, most of these cells were occupied.

Khaelryn's eyes locked onto one of the projected images as they walked past. Or, more accurately, onto the prisoner's ears. Their long, tipped, beautiful ears.

His hand rose to his own, stunted ear.

A strange emotion washed over him. Sadness. Shame. Regret.

But the feelings vanished as quickly as they came, swallowed by anger and disdain.

How foolish these creatures were to remain in the darkness for such a trivial reason. Soon enough, they would give in as well. By then, he might already be a guard. Then they would realize the folly of their resistance, just as he had.

They would wish they had surrendered sooner.

The thought filled him with eager satisfaction. Yet at the same time, something strange was happening to his body. Khaelryn's vision blurred, and he felt wetness on his cheeks.

The reaction only made him angrier. It felt as if his own flesh was betraying him.

With an angry swipe, he wiped the tears away. Only the anger remained.

Khaelryn began to speculate about his wife's fate. Was she among these poor souls, stubbornly clinging to a pointless resistance?

Irisen had always been proud. Too proud. She was the type who would cling to a futile struggle simply for the sake of defiance.

Even when his father had tried to arrange the marriage, she had initially rejected it.

Contrary to his thoughts, the guards did not take him to one of the cells. Instead, they continued down the corridor, moving past the isolation room.

Khaelryn's steps slowed as he felt the presence of Mana in the air. Not Nature, not Life, but something far more rare among their people, something even he knew only because of his father's status.

It was a sensation unmistakable to anyone who had ever experienced it, like the moment of twilight before nightfall. The feeling of change.

The presence of Time.

That was strange. His wife did not have a Time affinity. Had they taken him to the wrong place? Or was this a different woman entirely? A different Irisen? The thought filled him with hope.

Not because it meant his real wife might be safe, but because a buried part of him dreaded meeting her. A part of himself he had only just now become aware of.

And now that he had noticed it, he could not push it away.

He truly did not want to meet his wife.

"Move!"

Another shove forced him forward. No matter what he felt, he was in no position to protest.

The trio soon reached a large gate. Now, Khaelryn could feel it clearly. An enormous amount of Mana pulsed on the other side of the door. More than he himself could summon. And the fact that it was Time Mana made it all the more shocking.

"Go in."

Reluctantly, Khaelryn opened the door.

Eight figures knelt on the ground, their hands bound to a massive metal apparatus. They seemed to be fueling some sort of ritual. This was where the immense amount of Time Mana came from.

Not far away stood the person he had come to know during his isolation. Long, flowing blond hair and cool blue eyes...

Khaelryn flinched. He did not dare look directly at those eyes. Even now, when the person was not facing him, he still did not dare.

The guards pushed him inside, though far more gently than before. It seemed even they did not dare behave so crudely here.

"Master..." the captain called out softly. "We have found someone who might be of use to you."

The blond figure did not turn, his gaze fixed on something attached to the large metal structure.

"What have you brought me?" the figure asked, his voice as gentle as Khaelryn remembered. Fond memories stirred at the sound. There was no doubt. This was the person who had saved him from the darkness. His benefactor.

"...This is her husband."

Strangely, the captain nodded toward the metal apparatus as he said the word "her."

"Ohh?"

The figure finally looked away from the device, and Khaelryn felt their eyes on him. The gaze was uncomfortable. It felt as if they were seeing deeper than his skin, tearing at the very fabric of his mind.

"Curious," they said after a moment. "Bring him here."

Without waiting for the guards, Khaelryn stepped forward, walking around the device.

Before he reached his destination, the front of the apparatus came into view. And with it, the spot his benefactor had been staring at.

Khaelryn's feet froze.

There was an image projected on the device, just like the displays outside the cells.

Purple eyes, purple hair, skin as fair as snow.

A flood of memories surged through him at the sight.

A frown that could chill any room. A temper as fierce as a dragon's. A talent that redefined the meaning of genius. 

It was a picture of his wife. 

Irisen, the Flower of the East.

Even now, trapped within this strange device, her haughty expression remained unchanged. She did not huddle in a corner, did not cry, did not rage. She simply sat there, perfectly at ease. Her expression was one of absolute serenity, as if she were immune to the very concept of fear or loneliness.

"Impressive woman, your wife," the figure said. "She is holding out longer than I ever imagined..."

The words stung, cutting through his reverie. "A few days longer than me," he murmured weakly. But the figure clearly heard him.

"A few days?" they echoed, amusement coloring their tone. "You might want to take another look."

Confused, Khaelryn focused once more on the image of his wife. On second glance, he noticed several inconsistencies with his memories. The Irisen he remembered always kept her hair short. But the woman in the image had long hair, incredibly so. It reached past her shoulders, past her waist, pooling on the floor beside her kneeling form.

Khaelryn's eyes widened as realization dawned. His gaze shifted from the image to the strange apparatus. 

The overwhelming presence of Time Mana...

His benefactor's earlier words...

"How... how long has she been... in there?" he asked, already dreading the answer.

The figure paused, as if calculating. "About seven years," they replied. "Two years since I last spoke to her."

Khaelryn's heart sank. Seven years. That stubborn woman had endured seven years. Two years without speaking to anyone. Compared to that... he...

His eyes drifted to her ears, uncut and unmarred. Their very existence seemed to mock him. They seemed to whisper that he would never measure up. He was just... 

Irisen's husband.

Irisen's unworthy husband.

Irisen's pathetic, unworthy husband.

Irisen's pathetic, unworthy, cowardly husband.

His teeth clenched so hard he heard them grind.

How long would he have to endure this? Even here, in this new world, he could not escape her shadow. Even now, he was still nothing more than Irisen's husband.

Khaelryn felt a hand settle on his shoulder.

"Say, Khaelryn. How would you like to see her fall?"

Sweet words, dripping like honey into his ears.

The image of Irisen, that haughty woman, toppling from her pedestal and crawling in the dirt with the rest of them... The thought alone washed away his bitterness.

"What... should I do?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"Not much," the figure whispered. "I only need an opening, something that will let me crack that impenetrable shell. Do you have any idea?"

At those words, a face rose in Khaelryn's mind. An adorable girl, lively and kind. Irisen's sister. Irisen's weakness...

Before he could speak, the figure behind him murmured, "...A sister? Where is she?"

Khaelryn knew exactly where. His wife had entrusted him with her sister's evacuation before leaving for the war. He was one of the few who knew the girl's location. It was a secret he had once sworn to keep, even under threat of death.

"A hideout? Tell me where it is."

Khaelryn hesitated. Even now, after everything that had happened, he knew this was a line he could never return from. Revealing the location would be a betrayal worthy of death.

This was not just the bending of his pride.

If he spoke, it would mean abandoning the last piece of his humanity.

"Tell me, and I will immediately promote you to an honorary citizen of the empire," the voice whispered. "All the guards will be yours to command. All the Maggots yours to do with as you please." The figure paused. "Even your wife..."

A dam inside him broke at those last words. The thought of finally besting his wife, rising above her, was too much to bear. If he had to sell his humanity for it, then he would do so gladly.

He let his thoughts wander to the place where he had hidden them. The voice behind him picked up on it as if he had spoken aloud.

"...An old grotto to the northeast, close to the great forest? The beast of the forest watches over them and hides their presence?"

Khaelryn nodded, feeling a strange mix of relief and shame.

The voice spoke again, as if sensing his wavering thoughts. "You have done well. I will not forget your contribution to our cause. I will immediately dispatch the Legion to—"

The voice stopped mid-sentence.

"Strange..." they murmured, in a tone Khaelryn had never heard before. There seemed to be real concern in it.

"...Why can I not reach anybody?"

A cold weight settled in Khaelryn's stomach. The unease in his benefactor's voice seeped into him. The air itself felt heavier. No… that was not just his imagination. A faint, yet crushing presence saturated the Mana around them. He could feel it with every breath.

Khaelryn knew what this was. It was the sign of a siege. Space had been locked.

As if on cue, the entire room began to shake, and screams echoed from beyond the chamber walls.

Khaelryn's blood ran cold.

B8 - Chapter 38: Chains of Obedience

The meal was awful. A slimy soup with a few clumps of hardened bread, slop barely better than what pigs would eat.

Khaelryn devoured it as if it were a feast.

In the two weeks since his release from the darkness, he had never once regretted his choice. His new life was one of contentment. Not only did he get to see the sun almost every day, he even had the freedom to speak to people whenever he pleased... at least during the few minutes at night after his duties ended.

Khaelryn's wooden fork moved slowly as he scraped the bottom of his bowl. He did not want to make any noise and risk waking his bunkmates. It was a challenge, given how little space their cramped room offered.

Gulping down the last mouthfuls, he made his way to the door. This was the most difficult part: opening the creaky old thing without making a sound.

This step had been his downfall in the past, but today, Khaelryn was confident. Instead of simply pulling it open, he gripped it by the decorative ridges and lifted the door slightly.

Suspended just enough, he managed to open it without the faintest creak. So far, so good.

Turning around, he did the same to close it again.

With bated breath, Khaelryn stood before the door, listening for any movement inside. A moment passed, then another. Nothing. Silence. 

Relieved, he took a few careful steps before daring to walk more casually. The caution he had shown moments earlier vanished as he brushed past the other rooms.

This earned him more than a few dirty looks from others who were also trying to sneak out. Not that it concerned him.

By the time he reached his destination, he had broken into a light jog. A good decision. There was already a line of several people who had arrived before him. Khaelryn took his place and slowly made his way toward the front of the quickly moving queue.

"Name and rank?"

"Khaelryn... Maggot."

The woman glanced up from her list, giving him a disdainful look. As if he needed the reminder. He knew perfectly well how shameful his position was. If only... if only he had left the darkness sooner. Then he could be in her place. Or better yet, a proper guard or overseer by now.

There was no helping it. He would climb the ladder sooner rather than later.

"Khaelryn... Khaelryn... Khaelryn... Ah, here you are." Her finger paused as she spotted his name. "Oh? Your third consecutive time arriving first?"

Khaelryn's back straightened a little at her surprise. Indeed. He had been first to report three days in a row. Slowly but surely, he was distinguishing himself from the ordinary, proving his excellence.

"Well, well," the woman said, brushing a hand over her neatly trimmed ears. "You might be more than meets the eye. Tell me, who is your room leader?"

"Her name is Caelys, Madame Overseer." 

Khaelryn watched as the overseer's fingers continued down the list, doubtlessly searching for Caelys' name. She wouldn't have to look for long. Members of the same room were grouped together.

A moment later, the finger paused once more, and she began to read.

Khaelryn's satisfaction grew as the overseer's expression shifted to clear disdain while reading Caelys' list of merits. It was surely a short one. Caelys was not the type to put effort into anything. The only reason she had been appointed leader in the first place was how early she had left the darkness. That was likely where her accomplishments ended.

"Congratulations, Maggot Khaelryn," the overseer said after a moment. "You are now the new leader of room twenty-three. That means you will be eligible for promotion at the end of the week."

Khaelryn beamed, walking off in a complete daze. Finally, his efforts were bearing fruit.

His late start had been a blow, but now that he was gaining momentum, he would make up for it. Soon, he too would join the high and mighty guards. Maybe, someday, he might even reach the rank of honorary citizen...

His daydreams were interrupted by a sharp tug on his shoulder.

Khaelryn turned and found himself face-to-face with a small group. Five people in total, with a petite woman at the front.

"...Again, Khaelryn? Again?!" she demanded, barely able to contain her fury.

Khaelryn brushed her hand off his shoulder and straightened to his full height. "What are you talking about, Caelys?"

"Do not give me that," she snapped. "You snuck out again!"

"Nonsense," Khaelryn said calmly. "I tried to wake you, but your sleep was too deep."

"Khaelryn..." The woman sighed, her anger giving way to something else. "We agreed to arrive together. If only you show up early, it will make all of us look bad. As room leader, you leave me no choice but to report your behavior and apply for a demerit..."

"I don't think so," Khaelryn said, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face.

"What..."

"Don't you get it? You are no longer in charge. You are no longer the room leader."

Not only Caelys, but the entire group stared at him in shock. Their stunned expressions made Khaelryn's smile grow wider. Finally, he was done pretending. Done acting repentant to placate these fools.

"Caelys..." Khaelryn said slowly. "I expect you to vacate your bed by the end of the day. I will be taking it."

The woman looked at him with wide eyes, but no words came out. Her silence only made his sense of triumph swell. "Also, I will have to submit a demerit for you."

That finally snapped her out of her daze. "What? What for?! It was you who betrayed—"

"You grabbed me just now," Khaelryn explained calmly. "That was an attack on your room leader, was it not?"

"...I did not know," she said, much of her confidence gone.

"Ignorance? That is your defense?" Khaelryn clicked his tongue. "Remember, Caelys, ineptitude is never an excuse. Now get out of my sight before I have to add a second demerit for insubordination. For all of you."

As he said this, he swept his gaze over the group. They all shrank back. As they should. As room leader, he now held a great amount of power over them. Caelys, foolish as she was, had never used that power. That was the only reason she had been dethroned so easily.

But things would be different now.

"...Move!" he snapped.

The group scattered like leaves in the wind, their earlier anger collapsing into fear and apathy. They had grown used to their cushy lives. No more. Under his rule, they would learn discipline again. He would raise his room to first place and earn his promotion.

Khaelryn walked to the room leader station. It was up to him to assign jobs for his people. The earlier he arrived, the more desirable tasks would be available. He scanned the list and quickly found what he wanted.

Kitchen duty, 1 merit point.

He put his name down and continued.

Herb farming, 1 merit point.

This had been Caelys's job. She was apparently skilled, but that did not matter. The more pleasant tasks earned fewer merits.

His finger moved all the way to the bottom.

Latrine duty, 3 merit points.

The least desirable job. Khaelryn had done it once, and it had been the only time he wished he could return to the darkness. Nobody volunteered for it, and it always fell to the unlucky few who arrived last.

...Not today.

Khaelryn wrote down the names of his roommates, his mind already calculating the gains. Five times three made fifteen merits, plus one from his own task. Sixteen merit points every single day. It might be close, since the week had already begun, but if he kept this up, he could still reach the top of the leaderboard.

His days as a Maggot might soon be numbered...

"Prepare for inspection!" the overseer ordered.

Almost instinctively, Khaelryn dropped to his knees. The waiting room, which had been noisy a moment earlier, fell deathly silent. A group of figures emerged from the stairwell, clad in dark armor, weapons at their sides.

Their ears, perfectly rounded, bore decorative studs along the helix. Their bodies were filled out, packed with muscle and fat. They looked nothing like the stick-thin Maggots.

Even the overseer, for all her authority, did not dare meet their eyes.

These were the guards. One of the highest ranks in this place, only a single step away from becoming honorable citizens.

Khaelryn's eyes gleamed when he saw them, though he quickly lowered his gaze again. A single word from any of them could destroy his ambitions and cast him back to the lowest of the low.

He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, not daring to flinch even when one of the guards stopped in front of him.

The guard grabbed his chin and forced it upward. His other hand inspected Khaelryn's ears, checking whether he had done his trimming properly.

"Good, good," the man murmured, but stopped cold when their eyes met. "Is that you, Khaelryn...?"

Khaelryn's eyes, which he had kept unfocused to avoid offense, sharpened on the man's face. A young man with flaxen hair and brown eyes. Entirely unremarkable. And yet, something in Khaelryn's mind stirred with faint recognition.

Who was he? An old friend? No, the memory was too vague. An acquaintance? Possibly. But certainly no one substantial enough to ignore the difference in their ranks.

"I recognize your face, Sir Guard, but I cannot recall your name. I apologize."

The man shook his head with a faint smile. "I don't think you ever bothered to learn it."

"Then... who?"

"We're from the same village," the guard said. "But my people were just farmers. While your father..."

Father.

A dull ache bloomed in Khaelryn's chest. Strange. Why did that hurt?

Another guard approached, stopping beside the young man. This one carried an even more ornate weapon at his waist.

"What is going on?" the newcomer asked in a stern voice.

"This is him, captain," the young guard said.

"Him?"

"Khaelryn."

"And who is that supposed to be?"

"He is Irisen's husband."

The captain froze, his eyes drilling into Khaelryn. "Him? This guy? That cannot be right."

Khaelryn barely registered the insult. His mind spun at the name. Irisen. His wife. Her face remained a blur, but the name struck something deep within him.

A rush of memories surged up. Desire. Pride. Possessiveness.

"...Is she alive?" he heard himself ask before he could stop the words.

A backhand strike hit him immediately, snapping his head to the side. "Do not speak out of turn, Maggot," the captain hissed.

His glare grew even darker, filled with something personal. Yet Khaelryn could not imagine why. He was certain this was their first meeting.

"How could she be dead if even a shitstain like you survived," the captain added.

"Is she... a guard too?" Khaelryn asked again, too caught up in the possibility to remember the warning from moments earlier.

"A guard?" the captain echoed, disbelief thick in his voice. This time, he did not answer.

"What do you think we should do, captain? The master might need him," the younger guard said.

The captain shot Khaelryn a doubtful look. "I cannot imagine he will be of much use. But that is not my decision to make. I will bring him to the master."

The younger guard frowned. "Captain... I was the one who found him. We should at least report it together."

The captain hesitated, then sighed. "Fine. Grab him and let us go."

Khaelryn felt hands seize him, hauling him to his feet. Before he could even process what was happening, he was already halfway up the stairs.

B8 - Chapter 37: Whispers in the Dark

Utter darkness.

That was all Khaelryn could see. Or would it be more accurate to say could not see? 

He sighed deliberately. Not to express his feelings; there was nobody here to hear it anyway. It was simply to break the numbing monotony. 

It was so very different from what he had expected. When the Empire had taken him and his wife, he had prepared himself for a cruel fate. Torture, perhaps. A public execution. But certainly not this.

This mind-numbing silence. This inescapable boredom. This utterly meaningless existence inside a room that was almost as dark as his recent thoughts.

How long had he even been here? Days? Months?

...Years?

He wasn't sure.

It was a curious thing. He had once prided himself on having an excellent sense of time; his internal clock had been reliable ever since childhood. Little had he known how much that inner sense depended on context to remain accurate.

Now, with no access to sun or moon, no regular meals, and no orderly sleep cycle, he had not only lost track of day and night but even the very concept of time had begun to feel foreign.

There was only one constant left in his life. One single occasion that broke the monotony of his torment. Though he was not sure whether it truly broke his suffering or only intensified it.

As if on cue, the door to the room opened, and with it came the light. Khaelryn's eyes burned at the sudden brightness. Every instinct begged him to blink, to look away. Yet he did not. He stared straight into the light, drawn to it.

Like a moth flying into a flame despite knowing it would burn it.

Even so, he would not look away. He could not.

"Good day, Khaelryn," a familiar voice said.

The door closed again, but the darkness did not return. Instead, the small room was illuminated by the flickering glow of a spirited white flame that danced inside a glass container.

The light came closer, then was gently placed before him. Khaelryn did not look away for even an instant. He didn't dare. He could not meet their eyes.

"...Do you like the lantern?" the voice asked from beyond the light. They had taken a seat across from him, as always. But he refused to answer, or speak at all. Inwardly, though, he knew. He knew exactly what this was: petty defiance.

It would not last. He would not last. The sheer, overwhelming need to speak to someone was far too strong. And even if he held out again this time, what kind of victory would that be? They would simply leave.

They did not need this. They did not need to talk.

He did.

"Did you sleep well?" the voice asked again, not at all bothered by his silence. It was a cheerful voice, friendly and soft. Khaelryn could feel the concern in every word. Had anyone ever shown him this much concern? Cared this much about him?

He did not think so.

Maybe his wife had. But honestly, he could not be sure. He barely remembered her face. Her voice was a complete mystery. Had she been kind? She must have been. Otherwise, why would he have married her? He had been the pride of his village ever since he was a child.

...Or had he?

"That's right, Khaelryn," the voice said gently. "You have been the pride of your village. Until the accident..."

Accident? What accident? He did not remember any accidents. Had someone been hurt? Who?

"...You do remember, don't you?" the voice added, concern threading through every word. "The accident that deformed you."

Deformed? He was deformed? No, that was impossible. He would have remembered something like that. Wouldn't he?

"Poor child," the voice murmured. "To think you must spend your days like this, all because of those ears..."

His ears?

His hands rose to touch the soft skin on the sides of his head. His ears felt normal. Nothing seemed wrong. The skin was smooth, unscarred. His fingers traced their outline, from the base to the slight tip...

The person across from him sighed. "I don't know how you endure it. All alone in this darkness."

Khaelryn's breath caught. Anger and gratitude warred in his chest. The sincere concern touched him in a way he could not deny, yet the hypocrisy of it made fury rise within him.

But no words left his mouth. He simply stared into the flame, his eyes burning from keeping them open for so long.

The person opposite him remained silent as well. Time passed like that, in total stillness, the only movement the flicker of the flame and the shifting shadows along the walls.

"...It seems you are not very interested in speaking today..."

Oh no. No. No. No.

"That's fine. I will return soon. Maybe you will feel more inclined to talk then."

No, No,  No, No, No, No.

Don't leave. Not yet.

His thoughts went unheard. The person stood, and with them, the lantern rose as well.

Hot tears streamed down Khaelryn's face. If they left now, he would be alone. Alone in the dark. Alone for who knew how long. They might never return.

"...Wait."

The word came out hoarse, but it was definitely his voice.

The figure stopped. "Did you change your mind? I'm glad."

But they did not return to their seat. Instead, they remained where they were, halfway to the exit.

"Unfortunately, I am a little busy today. So I might not be able to stay..."

Khaelryn felt a darkness sink into his stomach. He had compromised, given in, spoken aloud. And they were going to leave anyway. He felt like a fool. Like a child who had fallen for a cruel joke.

"Unless..." the voice continued, breathing life back into the tiny flame of hope inside him.

Unless what? Unless what? Should I speak? I will speak. Should I dance? I will dance. Should I sing? I will sing.

"—Unless you can do something about those ears?"

Khaelryn felt a strange defiance rise within him. Something inside whispered that he should tread carefully, move with caution. He pushed the feeling down. There was no time for caution. Caution meant darkness. Caution meant solitude. He did not need caution. He needed action.

"What... do you want me... to do?" His voice was still rough, but it grew steadier with every word.

"Nothing difficult," the voice said. "I just want you to make a slight change to the way your ears look. After all, it is unbecoming for a human to have such pointed ears, don't you think?"

Khaelryn frowned. Human? He was not human. He carried the noble blood of Yggdrasil in his veins, a lineage that granted him a lifespan far beyond that of mortals. His ears were the proof of that bloodline.

How could he deny them?

The figure seemed to read the rejection on his face.

"You will not? That is a pity. I was looking forward to spending more time with you..."

Before they even finished speaking, they began to move again, the light drifting farther away.

"Wait!"

Khaelryn hated how desperate his voice sounded, even to his own ears. But he had no choice. He had already broken his vow of silence. What did it matter if he broke it further?

"What... should I do?"

This time, the figure returned. However, they did not sit down. Instead, they stood directly before him.

Khaelryn watched their billowing robes shift as they retrieved something from within the folds. A moment later, metal gleamed before his eyes. Two blades crossing over a hilt.

An exquisite pair of shears appeared before his face. The edges looked sharp, frighteningly so. The moment he saw them, Khaelryn felt the impulse to turn them on himself, to slice open his own neck. His carotid artery would spill enough blood that he might die before anyone could stop it.

The impulse was so strong that his hand twitched toward the blades before he even realized it. But before he could act, reason reasserted itself. 

What a foolish thought that had been. Why end his life now, when he had finally found a way forward?

"...Take them."

Slowly, Khaelryn reached out. His hands closed around the cold metal. It felt pleasantly different. Even this simple brush of his fingers against the steel filled him with a sudden, inexplicable happiness.

It had truly been the right choice to speak today.

Otherwise, he would never have felt this.

"Now..." The voice was as gentle as ever, though Khaelryn could swear something else hid beneath the softness. He could not name the emotion. "I want you to cut off the tips."

Khaelryn raised the shears. His mind was made up. He would do it. Yet the moment the sharp edges pressed against his skin, he froze.

"Could... you," he stammered. "Could you do it for me?"

It was a weak plea, but Khaelryn honestly did not know if he had the strength to do it himself.

"No," the rejection was firm. "It is important that you do it yourself."

Khaelryn hesitated. Could he do it? 

He could. He would. He had to.

Yet every time he tried to apply pressure with his fingers, his strength vanished. It felt as if another will inside his own flesh fought him, resisting every command.

"Try harder," the voice urged gently. "You have to find the strength to free yourself."

Yes. That was right. He had to do this. He had to get out.

How could something so simple be so difficult? All he needed was a little pressure. Just that, and he would be free. Everything would be fine.

So why was it so hard?

He could feel his hand starting to tremble. Why? The shears were not heavy. He should have been able to hold them for hours without tiring. So why did they feel like the heaviest burden he had ever carried?

"...Don't think too much," the voice whispered, now close to his ear. "Don't think at all."

That was right. He was thinking too much. This was not difficult. All he had to do was close his hands, and all of this would end.

His fingers twitched, and he felt the bite of metal on his ear, drawing blood. He had been right: The blades were sharp. Even that tiny touch had already split his skin.

Warm blood slid down his ear and dripped onto his neck. He could smell it, taste the iron in the air. There was no pain. In fact, he felt relief at having made progress.

Though it had been an accident, he had made the first cut. Now the rest would be easier.

"Do it," the voice said, now far more insistent. And with that command, the last vestiges of his resistance crumbled. At last, he could move freely. At last, he was in control.

Finally, he could free himself.

He felt his lips stretch strangely at the thought. It was an unfamiliar expression. How did he look right now?

The thought drifted away. It did not matter. All that mattered was that he could finally do what he had been too weak to do before.

His hand closed. The metal pressed against his ear from both sides. This time, he did not stop. He welcomed the pain. Though it stung as the shears cut through his flesh, it was far less torment than the suffering he had endured moments ago.

If anything, the pain felt like salvation.

Finally, he was free... 

B8 - Chapter 36: The Unpredictable Blade

"Our next target will be..."

Zeke's finger slid across the eastern reaches, past Thalebrook, past Gwyrel Ford, and past a dozen more settlements before stopping deep within the inland.

"...This."

Linus and Morris, standing to his left, both leaned closer to see the exact point he had chosen. Their expressions shifted the moment they recognized it.

"This... young lord, that is a Legion stronghold," Linus pointed out carefully.

"I am well aware," Zeke said, leaning back in his chair.

"Wouldn't it be easier to face them on the open field? Preferably with ally support?"

"It would be, yes."

"...Then why are we not doing that?"

"Because it is the obvious move. It is what the enemy expects us to do. I have no doubt they have already reinforced every position in our path."

He pointed at two locations on the map, each marked with a red cross. "These are where our nearest allies launched their attacks. The Bloodletter forces to the north, and House Cairnwyck to the southwest."

The northern strike, led by the troops of House Bloodletter, had hit a forest sanctuary similar to the one he had raided.

The southwestern attack had been an ambush, where the Flesh Mages of House Cairnwyck infiltrated the enemy camp and eradicated key targets in their sleep. An Archmage had been among the dead.

"Both their initial raids were effective. However..." His finger slid from the northern position to a nearby outpost. "The Bloodletter forces did not make it far before being stalled. They are still bogged down even now. Same for the Flesh Mages. Their two following infiltrations failed, and they suffered casualties." 

Zeke looked up from the map, meeting the eyes of his two captains. "The Empire's reaction speed is even faster than expected. In a matter of days, they managed to locate, assess, and counter both forces, effectively neutralizing them."

He shook his head. It was hard to put into words how impressive that truly was. The Empire moved as if guided by a Mind Spirit of its own, directing the actions of every Legion in perfect harmony. If this was the power of their mental network, it was no wonder they were such a dominant force.

In war, information was everything, and the Empire excelled not only at distributing it, but also at acting on it with terrifying efficiency.

Even after being caught completely off guard by the sudden involvement of so many new factions, it had taken only a single battle for the Empire to adapt.

Against the Blood Mages, they used rapid air raids to slow their march, forcing them to advance at a snail's pace while staying constantly on guard. It exhausted their troops and impeded their progress while exposing the Empire to almost no risk. All achieved simply by exploiting the superior range and mobility of their forces.

Against the Flesh Mages, they had developed countermeasures practically overnight, preventing further infiltrations. Such a swift response would have been impossible under normal circumstances. Only multiple minds working in perfect tandem could have devised and implemented solutions at such speed.

"...Terrifying."

The word escaped him before he could stop it, but he did not regret saying it. It was the simple truth.

Zeke pointed at the two or three targets closest to their initial attack. "I do not know what waits for us there, but it would be foolish to assume the Empire has not prepared a countermeasure for us as well. That is why we must move as unpredictably as possible."

"...If the Legion is that terrifying, what makes you so sure they will not predict this move too?" David asked, stepping closer to the table.

His brows were furrowed, his eyes serious. None of the casual confidence he had shown before the first battle remained. His fight against Baldwin Feuerkranz had shattered much of his certainty. Too much, perhaps. 

But that was to be expected. 

Like any Mage after advancing, David needed time to adjust to his new power. Excessive confidence would be humbled, while too much caution would hinder him. With time and more battles, he would find the right balance.

"...Because they lack the means to predict it," Zeke said. "Unlike our allies, I expected the Empire to use every shred of information available. That is why I killed their commander before our forces arrived."

David's eyes brightened for a moment, only to dim again. "Impressive, young lord, but would they not have learned much from the traces left behind as well?"

Zeke nodded. "It is possible. But even so, there is one element they could not have learned." He gestured toward the room around them. "The Alexandria has never landed, nor has it left any trace behind. It is simply impossible for them to know the exact capabilities of this ship."

David did not seem convinced. "Young lord... the Wraiths have been active on the front for quite some time now. Wouldn't it be foolish to assume the Empire would not connect the two?"

Zeke grinned. "That would be foolish indeed."

This time, not only David but the rest of his commanders looked confused. The only exceptions were Zelkara, who did not seem to care either way, and Leo, who looked completely lost.

"What is the Wraith?"

Zeke turned to his brother. "It is the ship I developed to assist in the war against the Empire. Just like the Alexandria, it uses the new subspace engine and the light-bending arrays that allow it to turn invisible."

Leo looked from Zeke to David and then back to Zeke, his confusion growing. "So... erm... huh?" His mouth opened, closed, then opened again with an actual question. "Why would you assume they do not know what we can do if they have already seen it?"

"...Have they?" Zeke asked. "The Wraith is a fast, lightweight transporter, and they will naturally assume the Alexandria is the same thing, only larger. After all, that is what you all think as well."

David's brows drew together. "It is not?"

He glanced toward the captains who commanded the vessel, but neither Linus nor Morris had any answers. They looked at Zeke, just as lost.

"...Is it not?"

Zeke shook his head. "The Alexandria was never meant to be a transport vessel. Nor is she a traditional warship."

"Then what is she?" Leo asked.

Zeke leaned back, fingers drumming lightly against the armrests as he met the expectant gazes of his commanders. He allowed the silence to stretch a moment longer before answering.

"She is a Battlecarrier, built to siege fortresses and hold land."

"...Siege?" Morris echoed. "I was not made aware of such capabilities, lord."

Zeke nodded. "Of course not. We have been running the ship on a skeleton crew ever since we set off. How would we power the shields and interceptors if we needed double shifts just to stay airborne?"

"But..." David began, then stopped. "...The rescued elves?"

Zeke nodded. "Exactly. There are a few dozen Mages among them, more than doubling our output."

Silence settled over the room as everyone absorbed the revelation.

"Tell me, David," Zeke said after a moment. "Do you think the Legion can predict this?"

"...That's impossible, young lord," David replied. "How could they predict what they do not know?"

Zeke shook his head slowly, a wide grin spreading across his face. "That is just it. The Empire's greatest strength is also its greatest weakness."

"In what way?"

"Prediction is a gamble," Zeke said. He picked up a short dagger that served as a paperweight and slid his fingers along one edge. "Just like a blade. If you guess right, it hurts your enemy," He slid his finger along the opposite edge, "but if you guess wrong, it hurts only yourself."

With a sharp motion, he slammed the dagger into the table, its tip piercing the exact spot he had marked as their next target.

"...Take a closer look."

David leaned in, reading the name written there. Beneath the town’s original name, the Empire’s new designation appeared.

Labour Camp #73

David's eyes widened as understanding dawned on him.

Their next target was a prison. Not only because the Empire would never expect such a bold move, but because such a place held the greatest potential recruits. Who would be imprisoned instead of executed? Mages. Powerful Mages.

So what if the Empire learned the Alexandria's capabilities during the attack?

By the time they saw her again, the ship would have been reinforced with so much new blood that it would be unrecognizable. The only true limit was how quickly Zeke could scale its systems. And with Akasha working tirelessly to meet those needs, that limit would not pose a problem anytime soon.

Compared to the Empire's mental network, Zeke had one overwhelming advantage. His mental capability was concentrated in one place. Akasha was bound to him. He could use the full extent of her processing not only for analysis but for actual execution.

She could adapt the ship in real time. She could meet any requirement. As long as they had the Mana to fuel it, she could create a fortress unlike anything the world had ever seen. Resources were the only remaining constraint, but Zeke had already prepared for that.

The World Anchor was filled to the brim with precious materials, millions of gold worth of everything needed to expand the ship in any direction. And mundane resources posed even less of a problem; the Anchor could produce anything that did not require Mana in limitless quantities.

No. For Zeke, the true objective of this early campaign was to amass as many survivors as possible before the Empire realized what he was doing. By then, he would have enough manpower to become unstoppable.

Let them try to predict his next move while he continued to surpass every expectation. There was no worse enemy for an analytical mind than the incomprehensible, something that changed every time you encountered it, growing in strength and capability without pattern or limit.

But to achieve that, he needed to move quickly. With every passing moment, the chance of finding elven survivors grew slimmer. He did not know exactly what the Empire was doing inside those camps, but it was not hard to guess that their ultimate goal was to turn the captured Mages into puppets.

Such a deep invasion of the mind could not be completed in a day or two, but that was little comfort. Continuous damage to the prisoners' psyche would eventually reduce them to mere flesh suits. There was likely no coming back from that, even if he managed to take the fortress.

It was, in many ways, a fate worse than death. Trapped within their own bodies while an alien will controlled everything... He shuddered at the thought.

Zeke's gaze hardened. Despite his callous words to Lady Rowael, if he had the chance, he would save as many natives as possible. The atrocities committed by the Ehrenlegion were enough to unsettle even his hardened stomach. He had simply not wanted her to use their suffering as a tool to manipulate him.

That did not mean he did not care. It had not been so long ago that he, too, had dreamed of becoming the kind of hero who would save the oppressed half-elves from their cruel fate. But life was seldom so kind, seldom so simple.

His eyes moved across the eager faces of his followers, the people who had sworn loyalty to him. The people whose lives he was responsible for.

A tired sigh escaped him. He would do what he could. Save as many as he could. But not at the cost of their lives.

"Tonight, we will offload any of the rescued elves who do not agree to my terms. By morning, we begin the siege."

B8 - Chapter 35: Terms of Allegiance

"That is a blatant lie!" an elderly woman exclaimed. "I have seen what you can do. With the forces gathered here, it would be a piece of cake to take Thalebrook, maybe even Gwyrel Ford."

"...To what end?" Linus asked. "They have no strategic value."

Zeke listened quietly. He had called several key figures among his allies to his study to discuss their next steps. But ever since the leaders of the newly rescued half-elves had arrived, the arguing had not stopped.

"To save lives!" the same woman said, her outrage unmistakable. "Or is that not something that matters to you, human?"

Linus bit his tongue. Not because he lacked arguments, but because he likely would have regretted saying what came to mind.

In war, hard choices often had to be made. Especially when resources were scarce, and you were already behind. That usually meant not being weighed down by sentimentality. Logic and cunning won battles, not heartfelt wishes.

Even so, it was rarely wise to tell a civilian that outright.

And that was what these people were. Though they called themselves the Resistance, they were little more than farmers forced to defend themselves against a force they could never hope to match. Their peaceful pasts were written plainly across their faces. Not a single hard line between them.

"Calm yourself, Lady Rowael," Leo interjected. "Let us not make hasty accusations against the people who came to save us, yes?"

Leo's voice seemed to steady the half-elf leader. Clearly, she had developed a certain level of fondness for him.

"...I have been patient," she said, her tone more controlled. "We all have. But it has been days since the battle, and there has been no effort to further intervene in the war. Do you expect us to stand by while our people are slaughtered?"

Lady Rowael turned to Raileh, who stood in the corner with her arms crossed. "Your Excellency, please. Speak some sense to these humans. They do not seem to hear our pleas."

Raileh met the elderly woman's gaze for a brief moment before simply closing her eyes.

Zeke inwardly shook his head. Out of everyone here, Raileh was the least likely to speak on behalf of her distant cousins. And even if she did, her word would carry no weight. She had not come here willingly; she was a bartered piece he had won. Whether she agreed or disagreed with his choices meant nothing, and her opinion would never sway him. Even so, the half-elf clearly assumed she held influence here.

"Lord David," Lady Rowael asked hopefully. "You must see the need to act quickly, do you not?"

David shook his head. "...It is not my decision to make."

His gaze shifted slightly to his left, clearly indicating where she should direct her concerns.

Lady Rowael followed his eyes. However, she did not settle on the figure David meant, but instead on the person standing two steps behind.

"Lady Zelkara..." Rowael tried next. "Surely you support a swift battle?"

Zeke nearly winced. Out of everyone she could have asked... Not only would Zelkara refuse anything he had not ordered, but addressing her while bypassing him was already a considerable insult.

As expected, Zelkara's indifferent eyes turned sharp. Instead of answering, she stared the woman down with a murderous glare.

"W-who?" Lady Rowael stammered, quickly looking away. Her eyes slid over Zeke once more. "Who am I to address?"

Zeke sighed. He had deliberately stayed out of the discussion to gauge the nature of his newfound allies. But now, he had seen all he needed to see.

"You address me," he said calmly, not even rising from his chair.

Lady Rowael's gaze fixed on him, weighing him. A faint frown formed on her face, likely because of his age and perceived weakness. "Young human... Why have we kept hiding these past few days? Do you not care that our people are dying?"

Zeke met her eyes evenly. "I do not."

Her mouth opened, yet no words followed. 

"As for why we have been hiding: WE, meaning my people and I, have remained out of sight to measure the Legion's response, assess the situation, and establish contact with our allies. Why have YOU been hiding?"

"I..." Her words faltered. "What could we even have done alone?!"

Zeke nodded. "Not much. Your people lack the basic requirements to function as an effective force. Cohesion, training, discipline, and most importantly, a competent leader."

Lady Rowael bristled. "What do you know about my qualities as a leader? I have guided my people through darker times than you can imagine, you insolent brat...!"

Zeke raised his hand. 

Zelkara's spear, which had shot forward like lightning, stopped less than a hand's breadth from the half-elf's throat. Lady Rowael looked down at the blade. A bead of sweat formed as she realized just how narrowly she had escaped death.

"You speak without thought, Lady Rowael," Zeke said calmly. "But that is the least of your failings."

This time, the woman kept silent. She clearly did not dare to speak with a blade at her neck.

"First, you did not bother to question your standing here. Seeing Raileh, an elf, you assumed we were allies. A misstep that could have gotten you killed."

Zeke turned to the elven healer. "You are dismissed. Your presence does more harm than good here."

Raileh opened her eyes at his command. "As you wish." With those simple words, she left the room.

Lady Rowael's gaze followed her all the way, disbelief growing with each step until the door finally closed behind her.

"Second, you failed to gauge the power structure of your new allies. Yes, David and Raileh are Archmages, but did you not question why I am the only one seated while even they remain standing? Clearly, you lack even the most basic grasp of power dynamics. Yet another misstep that could have gotten you killed."

Lady Rowael's eyes widened. For the first time, she seemed to truly see him.

"...You complained about your saviors, gave unwanted strategic input, and tried to use guilt and responsibility as weapons. Do I need to go on? Because I can," Zeke said, his voice still calm.

Lady Rowael shook her head.

"Good."

With a small gesture, he ordered Zelkara to withdraw her spear. She obeyed immediately, returning to her place behind him.

"If..." Lady Rowael stuttered, "If I am so useless, why even call me to this meeting?"

Zeke smiled. At last, a sensible question. "You are not prisoners. You and your people are free to leave my fortress at any time. However, if your goal is to stay with us, that comes with obligations. That is why I called you here. As crude as it sounds, we cannot afford to house any freeloaders right now."

"What... what obligations?"

"Before I get to that, I want you to clearly understand the situation you find yourself in. Will you listen?"

Lady Rowael nodded.

"Then let me introduce myself formally. I am Ezekiel von Hohenheim, leader of the Hohenheim Mercenary Company. I have been hired by Matriarch Goldleaf to drive the Empire from Rukia. That is the only mission I was officially entrusted with. Do you understand?"

"I..." Lady Rowael began, then paused. She took a moment, thinking through his words. It was a promising sign. "You were not asked to save us."

Zeke nodded. "I was not."

"Then... why did you?"

Zeke smiled. "Because I believed that under the right circumstances, you and your people could become an important factor in this war."

"...as disposable pawns?"

Zeke shook his head. "No offense, lady, but your people do not make for great soldiers. Not even as disposable pawns."

"Speak clearly... please. What is it that you want us to do?"

"Very well," Zeke said. "I want everyone with a Life affinity to report to Raileh. No matter her strength, she cannot handle everything alone."

"...What about the rest?"

Zeke pointed at the floor. "This fortress is powered by Mana. I brought a few Mages with me, but they are far from enough to activate its full capabilities. I want your people to provide the Mana needed to power all systems."

He met her eyes. "If you truly want to strike fear into the Legion and save as many of your people as possible, there is no better way."

"What... what about those who do not know how to wield Mana? What about the children?"

Zeke shook his head, and he saw her heart sink.

"Do you take me for a monster? I would not let the children participate even if they begged me. They are, naturally, excluded from these provisions. As for the adults, I'll find ways for them to contribute that will not put them into harm's way.

He saw the relief flash through Lady Rowael's eyes, though she hid it quickly. Good. It seemed she was learning.

"What... what can we expect in return?" she asked.

Another sensible question. Maybe there was hope for her yet.

"Protection, safety, three good meals a day, and the opportunity to strike fear into the heart of those Legion bastards."

A vicious light flared behind her old eyes, and Zeke knew she had already made her decision. Still, there was one more sentiment he wanted to plant in her mind.

"Remember: The better you perform, the more incentive to save as many of your people as possible. I can never have too many capable helpers, after all."

That was the final nail. Lady Rowael nodded decisively. "I will talk to them. But I can already tell you that most will take you up on this offer."

Zeke smiled. This unreliable woman had transformed in such a short time. It was clear she was not wholly incapable, only hopelessly out of her depth. With just a bit of guidance, she had changed drastically.

"Find me an answer before tonight. At that time, we will place anyone unwilling to agree in a safe location before commencing our next attack."

"Where will we attack?" she asked, her eyes shining slightly.

Zeke grinned. "I will tell you once you have officially joined us. Now go."

"I will do my part, Lord Hohenheim," Lady Rowael said, raising her fist to her chest in a clumsy imitation of an Alliance salute.

Zeke stood and returned the salute.

Satisfied, Lady Rowael departed, leaving him alone with his people.

"That... she... did you use Mind Magic?" Leo asked from his spot near the door. Out of everyone present, he seemed the most shocked by the transformation he had witnessed.

Zeke chuckled. "Mind Magic? That is such an inefficient way to convince people. Why use Magic when a few words can do the job just as well?"

"A few words, he says..." Leo muttered, shaking his head. "Do you even know she was called Granny Granite because of her stubbornness?"

Zeke grinned. "It does have a nice ring to it."

His expression slowly turned somber. "That being said, I did not call you here just to witness that." He met the eyes of his people one by one. "I have decided on our next target."

The mood in the room shifted. The joking, relaxed expressions vanished, replaced by focus and tension. Many had already speculated about their next objective. It was a decision that could mean life or death. This would be their first true test against the Legion. Now, without the element of surprise, they would face a foe who had taken the time to prepare a response.

In a sense, this next strike would determine how far they could push in this war.

That was also the reason Zeke had taken his time with the decision. 

"Our next target will be..."

B8 - Chapter 34: Whispers Before Dawn

Pitter patter, pitter patter.

Viola buried her head deeper into the pillow.

Pitter patter, pitter patter.

Just a little bit longer...

Pitter patter, pitter patter.

"Fuck!"

The pillow sailed across the room, struck the door, and dropped to the floor.

Pitter patter, pitter patter.

Her tired eyes cracked open and drifted to the small window. The sky was still dark. What was it now? What had these lunatics in such a frenzy this early in the morning?

She pushed herself off the mattress. Her body felt heavy. It wasn't just the lethargy that clung to her lately, but a sensation as if her feet were glued to the floor. It was the first time in her life she had felt anything like it.

For a Wind Mage, there was no worse feeling.

But there seemed to be no remedy. For months now, sleep had been scarce. Her body felt weighed down by the heavy thoughts she could not shake since arriving in this dreadful place.

Viola took one weary step after another and finally reached her door, opening it a fraction. A figure rushed past, then another, and another. She had found the source of the commotion.

Her sleepy mind began to stir. Something was off. There were too many people about. Not just because of the hour, but because it was rare to see this much activity even during peak times.

Something had happened.

Her eyes sharpened, identifying the people rushing past. Dark armor, spears on their backs. Drones. They wouldn't know anything even if she asked.

Viola closed the door and struggled to pull her robes over her night gown, the flowing fabric making her look somewhat presentable. It would have to do.

Instead of leaving through the door, she vaulted through the tiny window. Despite the heaviness she felt, the air caught her eagerly. No matter her state of mind, the caress of the wind always managed to lift her spirits.

[Wind Dance]

In an instant, she was hovering dozens of feet in the air, looking down on the fortress. It seemed to have grown again.

Their tunnel, once nothing more than a small opening in the side of a mountain, had transformed beyond recognition. The mountain had been shaped into a citadel that looked as if it had grown from the very rock. Below, a vast city sprawled outward, monstrous walls encircling the outermost districts.

The core of the city had been built in a matter of weeks. It had been a sight to behold. A full corps of Earth Mages working in unison, guided by no fewer than four Archmages. The outline of the city had taken shape in hours. They could have finished in a single day if not for the dozens of hardening procedures required.

Despite her conflicting thoughts, a flicker of pride rose in her chest as she gazed down. The military might of the Empire was beyond reproach. No one, perhaps with the sole exception of the dwarves, could have even built what her people completed in mere days.

Her gaze traveled upward to the highest chambers of the fortress. If she wanted information, that was where she needed to be.

The wind obliged, carrying her higher, but not toward the command center. She knew better than that.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a familiar figure. Adjusting her course, she matched their flight path.

"Lidi," Viola called out.

The figure slowed and came to a halt in the air before her.

"...Lady Windtänzer." The woman dipped her head respectfully. Though Lidi was technically a superior in the legion, her title carried weight that could not be ignored, especially by a Wind Mage.

"What is going on?"

The woman frowned, clearly debating how much she should say.

"...We have run into resistance," she said at last. "Command has expedited the delivery of supplies and reinforcements."

"Is that where all this commotion is coming from?"

Lidi nodded.

"What kind of resistance?" Viola asked.

Lidi shook her head. "I do not know."

"Nothing at all?"

Another shrug. "You know how it is here, Lady Windtänzer. I only know as much as we need to."

Viola frowned. "Officially, yes. But do not tell me you haven't heard any rumors."

Lidi shook her head again. "Nobody knows. At least not at my level. You would have to go higher if you want the truth."

"How high?"

Lidi wiggled her hand. "High command, probably."

Viola scowled. That was not helpful. High command never revealed anything they did not have to. Even her title meant nothing to those people. What was a Windtänzer compared to a Geistreich?

And her usual tactic, using the wind to eavesdrop, was useless here. The Mind Mages never spoke aloud, preferring to communicate directly through thought. No. If she wanted answers, she would have to find another way.

"Thank you. I will let you know if I learn anything."

Lidi smiled. "I would appreciate it, Lady Windtänzer."

Lidi left to carry out whatever assignment she had been given. That left Viola to consider her next move. She could stay here and wait for another Wind Mage to pass by. Given her position, most would not deny her information. Most did not mean all, though. Anyone who knew what was truly happening would not be intimidated by her title in the slightest.

This would not work.

Should she try asking high command? They rarely revealed more than they intended to, but there was always a chance the information was not confidential.

...

Fat chance.

These freaks seemed to have it out for her. They sometimes appeared to keep her in the dark on purpose, as if turning ignorance into a game. It was as though they enjoyed giving her as little information as possible.

That was where her drive to investigate everything herself had come from in the first place. If she'd relied on high command, she likely would not even know what country she was in.

That only left a single choice...

Viola flew higher, keeping well away from the area around high command. She did not dare get too close for fear of being discovered. Her mind would give her away even if she stayed out of sight. Another reason she could not spy on them even if they were to speak aloud.

Instead, she flew to the far side of the citadel. Her quarters were in the Wind Tower, and her target was on the opposite end: the Earth Tower.

She circled the highest level. Only Arch Mages were allowed to stay here. The first two rooms she passed were empty. That did not discourage her. If anything, it was a good sign.

As expected, when she approached the top floor, faint voices drifted through an open window. Viola aimed for the space just beneath it. She did not dare fly too quickly, nor did she dare land. Any contact with the structure would expose her immediately.

Some Earth Mages were so sensitive to disturbances in the ground that they could even feel it if she flew past the tower too fast.

For the final stretch, she practically crawled through the air, taking no risks at all.

"...It doesn't matter. We have been ordered to speed up the project," a somewhat familiar voice said as she approached. She recognized him as a Steiner and the leader of the Earth Mages in the citadel.

"What is this hurry all of a sudden?" another, clearly disgruntled voice asked. "We have been ahead of schedule the entire time, and now even that is too slow?"

The leader sighed. "What do you want me to do about it? I get my orders just like the rest of you."

"That is bull," a second Archmage interjected. "Aren't we just being ordered to cover their failure now?"

"...Do not say such things too loudly," the leader admonished, though it was clear from his tone that he was not pleased with the orders either.

"Why shouldn't I speak my mind when I am only saying the truth? These fools have been acting all high and mighty, as if they were more knowledgeable than the Seers themselves, and now look. A small counterattack by some mercenaries and all our plans fall apart?"

"You know that is not how it is, Keiler," the leader said with a sigh. "This is clearly the elven response to our presence. And these are not random mercenaries either. The elves have convinced several prominent houses to send their elites. I have heard there are more than two dozen Archmages among them."

Silence fell over the room.

"...Numbers alone do not mean much," the second man, Keiler, replied. "I bet any one of us could take two of them."

"Maybe," the leader said, though his tone lacked confidence. "Then again, I have heard some disturbing things."

"What have you heard?" a third voice asked.

The leader sighed audibly. "Do not go spreading this, all right?" There was a brief pause before he continued. "We have already lost two of ours."

"WHAT?"

"HOW?"

"WHO DIED?"

Even Viola nearly gasped. She had to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep from making a sound. What was happening? Had they really lost two Archmages? Practically overnight?

The leader waited for the others to calm down before continuing.

"Marvin is dead. Apparently, it was an assassination. Somebody infiltrated his camp and killed him in his sleep."

"How did they get past the checkpoints? Should the commander not have sensed his Mind?"

"...That is all I know," the leader said. "The exact details are known only to high command. However, it seems they found a way to bypass our defenses. That alone should tell you this is not some random band of pests. These are elite Mages we are facing."

This time, no voice rose in protest. The death of one of their own had sobered them.

"Who is the second?" one of them asked after a moment.

"Baldwin is also dead."

"...Even a Feuerkranz was killed?"

"Seems so," the leader confirmed. "Not only that, the entire battalion died with him. There was not a single survivor as far as we know."

"No survivors? Did they run into an Exarch or something?"

"That is just it. They were defeated by a force of similar size. With minimal casualties on the enemy side, from what I heard."

"Is that even possible?"

"I do not know," the leader said, echoing the others' disbelief. "But high command is usually correct about these things."

Another stretch of silence followed, even heavier than before. It seemed they had stopped breathing.

"...We might need to speed up our work after all," someone said at last.

"No helping it, I guess," another echoed.

"A bit less sleep will not kill me," the last one agreed.

Viola did not blame them for changing their tune so quickly. Nothing was more motivating than the threat of an overwhelming enemy hiding in the dark. She would be lying if she said a thicker wall would not help her sleep better, too.

The harder these men worked, the easier she could rest.

She heard the scraping of chairs. A clear sign the meeting was ending. It was time for her to leave as well. She had learned what she needed. Now she only had to escape without being caught.

"...One more thing," the leader said just as she was about to leave. Viola paused, her ears perking up.

"We actually know the identity of the man who killed Baldwin. In his arrogance, he deliberately allowed high command to see his face."

"That is bold. Who is it?"

Viola drifted closer again, eager to hear the answer.

"It was Maximillian's boy... Ezekiel the traitor."

B8 - Chapter 33: The Price of War

Zeke watched the pitiful sight of the once high and mighty Fire Mage rolling in the dirt, desperately trying to avoid another strike from his blind spot.
Ungraceful as it was, the maneuver worked—Elder Tiger sailed past without landing a hit. Zelkara, however, had been waiting for exactly that dodge.

Her spear didn’t pierce deeply, but it carved another shallow cut into the man’s nearly indestructible body.

It didn’t matter.

This was never about landing a lethal blow. It was about draining his reserves until he could no longer use his magic.

Only then would it be safe to deliver the killing strike.

The moment wasn’t far off anymore. The man was already gasping for breath, his movements noticeably slower. Where he had once fought with controlled ferocity, now he moved only on desperate instinct.

Zeke no longer involved himself directly, leaving Akasha to command the forces as she saw fit. His main objective had already been achieved, proven by the sudden absence of light from the surrounding area.

While his strongest fighters kept the Fire Mage occupied, the rest of the Bloodguard had focused on another task: dousing the flames.

The burning forest, once the Mage’s greatest strength, had now become his greatest enemy. The trees stood silent, coated in frost. The flames that had once answered his call had been snuffed out entirely.

That was the advantage of controlling the battlefield: turning hostile terrain into favorable ground.

It had forced the Fire Mage to draw upon his own reserves instead of relying on the inferno around him.

It had been a masterclass in diversion, with even Zeke himself acting as bait to draw the enemy’s attention away from what he was truly doing.

Meanwhile, Akasha had managed the tactical execution: who should move where, and what to do in each scenario. 

Her ability to process vast amounts of information in an instant let her shift tactics the moment the enemy changed theirs, always selecting the optimal response from dozens of contingencies.

Truth be told, the fight had been a foregone conclusion from the moment he had arrived.

Even so, Zeke felt no joy in this victory. No satisfaction at seeing one of his sworn enemies humbled. If anything, it was the opposite. 

Zeke’s eyes stayed fixed on the Archmage’s desperate struggle. Baldwin Feuerkranz, Akasha had identified him as. A man officially reported dead decades ago, his 'death' merely a cover to conceal his induction into the Ehrenlegion.

It was this man who had taught Zeke that newfound respect.

Though it looked as if Baldwin was being one-sidedly overwhelmed, the truth was far different. Every retaliation he made left at least one member of Zeke’s warband with grievous injuries. Every counter he delivered required only minimal effort.

If this battle had been even remotely fair, Zeke’s forces would have been annihilated several times over. From Baldwin’s perspective, he wasn’t fighting an army—he was fighting a swarm of undying pests that kept getting back up no matter how many times he crushed them.

And it was all thanks to one person.

Raileh was the most focused of them all. Under Akasha’s direction, she tirelessly mended each member of the warband, keeping them battle-ready while reinforcing their bodies at just the right moments to maximize the impact of their strikes.

In a sense, this fight had become a contest between Raileh and Baldwin: a battle of stamina.

Even now, in his weakened state, Baldwin could likely still win if Raileh stopped healing her allies. That was the extent of his power, the depth of his reserves, and the reason Zeke felt a newfound respect for the Ehrenlegion.

Even combined, all his forces could barely match a single elite of their order. A sobering realization. Humbling, really.

Though he had spoken boldly earlier, the true threat of the Empire had never been clearer. Even two Archmages would force him to flee. Three? He might not escape at all.

Thankfully, Archmages were not cabbages.

Even an elite force like the Ehrenlegion would have no more than a dozen—two dozen at most.

It would be wasteful to send that many just to stop him.

Then again… he had just killed a member of the Emperor’s family.

Zeke didn’t regret his actions, not even slightly. Still, it might draw unwanted attention—perhaps even a wildly disproportionate retaliation. But that was a price he was willing to pay.

Why go to war at all if he lacked the resolve to kill his enemies?

Just then, Zeke saw David emerge from a shadow and strike Baldwin’s unprotected back. It was a devastating blow.

Akasha had chosen well by keeping David out of the fight until now. It had created a false sense of security in their opponent, who had likely assumed David had fled. Only now, in this final, crucial moment, did they remind him that he was not only facing one Archmage—but two.

Baldwin glared at David from his prone position, blood running down his back and staining his robes a deep crimson. 

All attacks had halted—not by Akasha’s command, but by Zeke’s.

He recognized the look in Baldwin’s eyes. No panic, no haste, no fear. It was the look of a cornered beast, a man with his back against the wall. The look of someone who knew he was going to die.

There was no more terrifying foe.

At this moment, Baldwin likely had only a single thought left: How can I inflict the most damage?

Zeke could almost see the calculations unfolding behind the Fire Mage’s eyes. First, he looked at David—but discarded the idea just as quickly. He wouldn’t kill David fast enough. Next came a sweeping glance for the Chimeroi who had harassed him endlessly, but they had already withdrawn.

His gaze shifted upward toward the Alexandria. Could he destroy it with what strength remained? Probably not.

And so, inevitably, his eyes settled on the only enemy still within his immediate reach.

Zeke met his gaze head-on.

Just as promised, he had not moved a single step. That left him facing the Feuerkranz Mage once more, the same confrontation as before.

Only now, the once proud Fire Mage was a ruin of wounds and burns, battered bloody and blue, bleeding freely from the gash across his back.

Meanwhile, Zeke stood untouched, looking exactly as he had at the start.

“Not… bad…” the man rasped, dragging in air like a drowning man.

Zeke nodded. “You too.”

“Still… still not going to move?” he managed, lifting both hands, palms forward.

Zeke smiled. “Didn’t I say it? If you can make me move, I’ll consider it your victory.”

The Fire Mage answered with a shaky smile of his own—one laced with madness. “Good… I’ll… hold you to… that.”

He steadied himself, inhaled deeply, and whispered, “Behold… my life’s work…”

[Phoenix’s Caress]

A thin tongue of flame erupted from between his overlapping palms. It wasn’t wide, nor large, nor even fast. Yet the instant it appeared, everyone felt a primal, suffocating dread.

This was no ordinary fire.

It was like the heart-flame of a dormant volcano—so pure it felt capable of melting the world.

There was no heat, and yet trees dozens of steps away began to thaw. It was as if summer had bloomed in the middle of winter—an attack so beautiful it stole one’s breath.

Zeke could sense the presence of a concept. It was so far beyond his own idea of [Return] that comparing the two would have been an insult. This was a spell an Archmage had spent a lifetime perfecting.

He couldn’t even place it. He knew more abstract concepts were possible, but he couldn’t begin to guess its inspiration—Purity? Summer? Grace?

The spell didn’t advance. Instead, it branched outward in every direction, like veins spreading through a leaf or lightning forking across the sky. Most of those branches faded, leaving behind only a faint impression in the air.

All the while, the Fire Mage watched his creation with an entranced expression. This was the pinnacle of his life’s work, the final time he would ever cast this spell. He was burning the sight into his mind.

It didn't even seem to bother him as the exertion took a visible toll on him. Limbs that had been as thick and strong as an ox’s began to wither and shrink. It was eerie—watching a man decay in real time.

Before the spell reached its target, it changed once more.

The branching flame condensed into a single visible form: a bird of fire, wings shimmering in shifting hues, its outline hazy and flickering with each movement.

It moved with impossible contradiction: slow enough to perceive, yet giving no time to react.

The bird wrapped its wings around Zeke, engulfing the space. From the outside, it looked like a gentle embrace. Inside, the temperature soared to the point where even air began to burn.

Even dwarven-forged metals would have melted—perhaps even vaporized. It was the most destructive spell he had ever seen. If the Mage had aimed it at the Alexandria, the ship would have been obliterated.

The fiery bird collapsed inward, melting into its own embrace and turning the space into a cocoon of feathers and flame. It seemed to last an eternity and yet be over in an instant.

When the flames finally receded, nothing remained where Zeke had stood. Even the ground was gone, leaving a perfectly spherical indentation several steps wide.

There was simply… nothing left.

Baldwin Feuerkranz, who had been holding his breath, exhaled at last. It was not the greedy, frantic gasping from earlier, but the faint, trembling breath of a man on his deathbed.

His body had deteriorated. The severe overdraw of mana had withered him into a husk, as though he had aged centuries in the span of moments.

Even so, there was no regret on his face. Quite the opposite. His lips curved in a soft smile, and the light in his eyes burned brighter than it ever had in his prime.

Whether he was pleased with his final, perfected spell—or with his apparent victory—was impossible to say.

Whatever the case, Zeke allowed him a moment longer. The man had earned at least that much for showing him such a sight.

Then, as gently as if touching a delicate flower, Zeke placed his hand on Baldwin's shoulder. The man didn’t flinch, didn’t move—didn’t even react. Zeke leaned in, his lips almost brushing the man’s ear.

“Congratulations…” he whispered. "You've made me move." 

The soft voice jolted Baldwin from his trance, but he couldn’t move. Zeke’s other hand held his head firmly in place.

“…I will consider this your victory. When you reach the afterlife, you may brag about the time you defeated Ezekiel von Hohenheim.”

Zeke tightened his grip around the man’s neck. Even with his prodigious strength and Baldwin’s deteriorated body, it still required all his might. But it was enough. Bones creaked, bent, and finally broke. The Archmage’s spine shattered just below the skull.

With great care, Zeke lowered the fallen man to the ground. Whatever else Baldwin Feuerkranz had been, he deserved that much respect. He was an exceptional Mage who had carved his own path and pioneered his own Magic.

Despite Zeke’s hatred for the Feuerkranz family and the Empire at large, he still felt the weight of the loss. The world had been robbed of a unique branch of magic forever.

Alas, such was the price of war.

B8 - Chapter 32: The Might of Hohenheim

Trying out a new audiobook voice that I like :)

-------------------------------------

The words had barely registered when David caught a flicker of movement.
Even with the sharpened senses of an Archmage, he could hardly follow the streak that flashed past. It moved like a bolt of lightning, reaching its target in the space between heartbeats.

The Feuerkranz Mage reacted instantly, raising both arms in defense. Metal bracers caught the descending tip of the massive pole aimed at his skull. They were the only defensive gear he wore—but clearly not ornamental.

The weapon, swung with the force of a mountain-splitter, was stopped dead in its tracks.

Only now did David recognize who had arrived.

It was the woman who followed his young lord around like a lost puppy.

Zelkara.

But the figure before him now bore none of the docile gentleness he’d grown used to. She looked feral—utterly so. Her white hair was streaked with drying blood, her fur coat singed at the edges, and her expression was that of a predator mid-hunt.

No fear. No hesitation. Only cold, focused intent.

Even after her opening strike was parried, she didn’t falter. A second and third blow followed instantly, each one flowing into the next with the seamless precision of water in motion.

The Feuerkranz met her strikes with his bracers, but it was far from effortless. Inch by inch, he lost ground, forced back from the very spot he had held so confidently while fighting David.

A fact that visibly irked him. After deflecting yet another strike aimed at his vitals, a torrent of flame erupted from his chest, catching Zelkara completely off guard. She didn’t even have time to shield herself.

David grit his teeth as he watched her dash back a beat too late. She had been exposed to the flames for only an instant, yet the damage was catastrophic. The entire left side of her body was charred black. Her cheekbone and several teeth were exposed where the skin had been burned away entirely.

“There must be a nest here somewhere,” the Feuerkranz said, composure returning now that he had regained the upper hand. “No matter. I’ll simply deal with all of—”

The words died in his throat.

Zelkara, who had looked like a walking corpse a moment ago, was recovering. Burned flesh regrew, muscle knit itself back together, and even her singed hair regained its luster.

Behind her, the wolfkin warriors who had been on the brink of death rose as well, completely restored. It was as if time itself had been rewound to before the flames touched them.

“Unlikely,” a voice said—a voice David recognized instantly. This time, it wasn’t a whisper in his mind but a call coming from the far side of the clearing.

Two figures stepped into view: a young man with striking red hair, followed by an elven woman of breathtaking beauty.

“An elf?” the Feuerkranz muttered, his gaze immediately locking onto the woman. It was no surprise; her aura was so overwhelming that the man beside her seemed like a firefly beside the sun.

His view was cut off a moment later as the young man stepped directly into his line of sight.

“How rude,” the newcomer said. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to stare so blatantly at a lady?”

His tone was casual, almost joking—a sharp enough contrast to make the Feuerkranz finally look at him properly.

“That hair… A Blood Mage? I see now. That explains why Maximilian’s lapdog is here. You’re that boy: Ezekiel.”

“Ezekiel von Hohenheim, at your service,” he said with an exaggerated bow.

The Fire Mage scowled, gears turning behind his eyes. “What happened to the commander? There is no way he’d allow someone like you to walk around freely.”

“Dead,” Ezekiel said, as casually as if commenting on the weather.

The Fire Mage’s frown deepened. “You killed a member of the Geistreich family? The Emperor’s kin?”

Ezekiel shrugged. “I would kill the Emperor himself, if I could.”

“That’s quite the statement, boy. But there’s a difference between courage and madness.”

Ezekiel nodded. “I agree. It’s the same line that separates confidence from arrogance. But it isn’t up to us to decide which side we stand on. Only time reveals that.”

The Fire Mage shook his head. “Quite the orator, aren’t you? But words won’t shield you from the storm you’ve provoked by meddling in our affairs this time.”

Ezekiel’s expression remained relaxed. “What difference does it make? Your beloved Emperor has been coming after me for years. So what if he tries a little harder now?”

“You do not understand what you speak of,” the man said, a look of pity crossing his features. “He has not been coming after you. I’d be surprised if he even knew you existed. Because a few bureaucrats put some half-hearted measures in place, you believe you can endure the wrath of the Emperor?”

Ezekiel’s smile didn’t waver.

“What is he going to do, exactly? Send even more people after me?”

The Fire Mage frowned at the flippant answer. “What do you even know? The Emperor is a beast with a thousand faces, acting in ways only he understands, toward a goal only he can see. His influence reaches into every corner of the world. You could be serving his will without even realizing it. And now you’ve drawn the attention of such a figure. I do not envy your fate, boy.”

Ezekiel’s expression finally shifted, becoming thoughtful. “A beast with a thousand faces… that has a nice ring to it. But I suppose it’s 999 now, since I killed one.”

“Insolence,” the Mage spat. “Another sign of your youth and inexperience.”

Ezekiel’s smile sharpened. “I guess we’ll see in a moment.”

At his words, the scene changed. Hundreds of figures stepped into the clearing from every direction, Chimeroi of all kinds, mixed and matched like a menagerie of living weapons.

Then the horn blared again, this time from directly overhead.

David hadn’t even noticed the disappearance of the distant Alexandria. But now, the vessel hung above them, vast and silent, its presence pressing down on the battlefield like a descending mountain.

The Feuerkranz Mage frowned. Even surrounded, he showed no fear.

“So that was your plan? Ramble nonsense while secretly boxing me in?”

Ezekiel gave no reply.

“Well,” the Mage continued, “that’s about what I expected from a child. A half-baked scheme with no understanding of the forces he’s provoked.”

Fire flared from the man’s chest, burning so brightly it scorched the earth black for dozens of steps in every direction.

David felt the heat on his skin. The smell of ash and charred wood flooded the clearing. Every shadow vanished as radiant light washed over them, as if a miniature sun had ignited in their midst.

“You think to defeat me with numbers?” the man said, his voice more imposing than ever. “Come, then. I will burn the flesh from their bones so thoroughly that not even that long-eared bitch will be able to sew them back together.”

The blaze intensified, a light so blinding it hurt to even look at it.

“...And when you inevitably use your Space Magic to run, nothing will remain of your household but burnt corpses.”

Ezekiel took a step forward, then another. He approached the edge of the scorched ground. His skin reddened, his hair whipped by the heat-born winds—yet his golden eyes never left the man before him.

“Run?” Another step. “From you?”

He stopped roughly two dozen steps away.

“You think my confidence comes from being able to flee?” Ezekiel shook his head. “Then how about this: if you make me move a single step from here, I will consider this your victory.”

The Feuerkranz Mage frowned.

“But if you lose,” Ezekiel continued, “I’ll add your head to my collection and place it beside the rest of your wretched kin, you Feuerkranz bastard.”

David’s heart nearly stopped. At this distance, he couldn’t intervene. If Ezekiel didn’t use Space Magic, he would die instantly.

The Fire Mage hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. His hand shot out, and a pillar of flame roared into existence, devouring the space between them.

Before it could reach Ezekiel, a blur streaked past him. Cloaked in pale blue mist, Zelkara met the flames head-on. Her spear spun into a whirling barrier as her body absorbed the rest of the blast.

It charred her completely again, yet she didn’t even flinch. And not a single hair on Ezekiel had been touched.

The Fire Mage’s frown deepened. But before he could act again, dozens of spears rained from the sky. Flames surged to shield him, but the black spears—coated in Frostscale poison—quenched the fire, forcing him to dodge.

He landed—and another figure was already there. A woman with striped fur, moving just as fast as Zelkara. Her claws were reaching for his throat. 

He managed to kick her away just in time—but not fast enough to avoid the mountain of scales and muscle charging a step behind her.

Elder Dragon’s fist slammed into his chest, a blow that could have shattered a boulder. The Archmage only grunted before exhaling a torrent of flame, forcing the Chimeroi elder to retreat in haste.

Before he could pursue, however, a bolt of lightning struck his left shoulder, making his body twitch. It lasted only an instant, but it was enough for Elder Dragon to escape unharmed.

David watched in absolute awe as one attack flowed seamlessly into the next. Zelkara, Ash, Elder Tiger, and Elder Dragon cycled through close combat with relentless precision, while the remaining Chimeroi and the Alexandria’s crew filled every opening with ranged attacks.

This… was the most perfect coordination he had ever witnessed.

There was no gap to exploit. No moment to breathe. A flawless orchestra of violence.

And at the center of that storm, of hundreds of bodies moving in perfect accord, stood a single, unmoving figure.

How was he doing this?

How was this even possible?

The answer came a moment later, when David once again heard Ezekiel’s voice in his mind. “Hide in Elder Dragon’s shadow and strike when I give the signal.”

As if guided by prophecy, Elder Dragon vaulted away from a lance of flame, his long shadow stretching to just a step from David. Without hesitation, David slipped into it.

A metal sphere slammed into the Archmage’s back before he could follow up his attack with something more. 

David traced its path to the blue-skinned woman with the veil. Gravitas was already moving, half a dozen metal spheres orbiting her as she sprinted.

“FUCKING VERMIN!” the man roared, unleashing a wave of fire that consumed the stretch of land Gravitas had stood on. But she was already gone.

Ash materialized from the mist, raking a deep gouge across the man’s back with his bone daggers. Howling in pain, the Archmage lashed out again, but struck nothing but air.

Elder Dragon tried to fill the gap, charging in. The Fire Mage saw him coming, cutting him off with a blazing sphere before he could close the distance. But that was all the time he had. Zelkara was on him the next heartbeat.

“Now.”

David had seen the opportunity even before the voice reached him. The fireball streaking past Elder Dragon elongated his shadow to a point just beneath the enemy—and David was there instantly.

He emerged in utter silence, fist drawn back. But before he struck, something surged into him—a new kind of power. His veins throbbed, his muscles bulged with renewed strength.

Life Magic.

With a wicked smile, David drove his fist into the man’s unprotected back. At the moment of impact, a razor-thin blade of concentrated shadow extended from his knuckles, plunging deep into the Archmage’s flesh.

This was no minor wound.

Even for someone of this caliber, taking an empowered blow to the spine was as devastating as it sounded.

The Feuerkranz Mage stumbled forward, blood spraying across the scorched earth.

David looked from his bloody fist to the man pitifully rolling in the soot-covered dirt. It was the first real blow he had landed. He had struggled just to stay alive for so long—yet this devastating strike had felt almost effortless now.

It was as if his opponent had been switched out.

No. That wasn’t it. It wasn’t the opponent who had changed...

His gaze shifted to the stationary figure of his young lord. Ezekiel stood there, meeting his eyes with a faint, knowing smile.

B8 - Chapter 31: The Might of Feuerkranz

David’s breath came ragged, the smoke and ash burning his throat with every inhale.

How foolish. How arrogant.

The mere fact that he had asked his young lord why he hadn’t been ordered to kill the enemy Mage now felt like a slap to his own face.

His gaze locked onto the walking inferno before him. Flaming red hair, gently illuminated by a regal crown of docile flames. A man standing in the heart of an inferno with the ease of someone out for a stroll.

This was a true Feuerkranz—the very reason their family could maintain such arrogance while remaining unchallenged. Pure destruction. Unfiltered, undistilled chaos. All-consuming flames that only grew stronger with time.

"Is that your limit?" the man asked, looking at David with a gaze usually reserved for the most pitiful of creatures. "I expected more."

David’s fists clenched, though he couldn’t force out a reply.

"You were always so proud when following behind Maximilian. Like a peacock. I assumed that attitude came from skill. But I was wrong. Even after ascending, you’re still as mediocre as any other lowborn Mage."

David held his composure, but he couldn’t pretend the words didn’t sting. They struck a tender place buried deep in his heart.

Even now, after everything he had achieved, he still couldn’t stand beside the true prodigies of this world. The Feuerkranzes... the Wellenrufers... the Steiners... the Windtänzers... Maximilian... Ezekiel....

He had known it for a long time: he wasn’t like them. Even giving his absolute best only ever let him keep pace. Nothing more.

He would never be one of them, couldn't ever match their brilliance. 

"You've been awfully quiet," the man said. "Have you finally decided to surrender?" 

David straightened his back, meeting his opponent’s gaze with as much composure as he could muster. “Why? Running out of steam already?”

The other man snorted. They both knew it was a bluff. The Fire Mage hadn’t even broken a sweat, while David had been forced to go all out from the very beginning, yet had still struggled to keep up.

The difference between them was obvious at a glance.

“I suppose not,” the man said in his usual, dismissive tone. “But know this: I was willing to let you live.”

It was David’s turn to snort. “You call that mercy? Or are we pretending now that we don’t know what happens to prisoners of the Empire?”

The Fire Mage remained silent. Not even he had the audacity to claim that being taken alive by the Empire was a mercy. Especially for an Archmage. Too valuable to kill, the Empire’s Mind Mages would work day and night to break you, turning you into a weapon to be used against the very people you once sought to protect.

It was a fate worse than death, and one of the many reasons the entire continent had united to halt the Empire’s expansion.

The man nodded once, a minimal gesture of respect, before resuming his attack. Without any outward movement, the fires all around them began to coalesce.

His [Crown of Flames] allowed him to control all fire within a certain area. What was little more than a gimmick for lower-tier Mages revealed its true terror at the Archmage stage. His domain was enormous, and the burning forest served as an endless reservoir of fuel.

No wonder he looked as if he hadn’t even broken a sweat. He had only cast a single spell, one that fed and strengthened itself with the inferno around them.

David dove behind a tree, merging with the ever-shrinking network of shadows, and emerged behind the enemy moments later. Half a dozen [Shadow Puppets] rose with him.

His warriors charged the Fire Mage’s unprotected back without making a sound, not even disturbing the ash-covered ground.

The first puppet reached the Feuerkranz. Its hand thinned into a blade, stabbing toward the man’s neck.

“…This again?”

At a glance, the puppet was vaporized instantly—along with all others trailing behind it.

David had already darted away, hiding himself as best he could. Stealth and speed were his only allies here.

He had accepted long ago that his shadows were nearly useless in this fight. 

Fire, aside from Light, was perhaps the worst possible matchup. Not only did the blazing battlefield cripple half his strength, but the closer his shadows crept toward the heart of the flames, the weaker they became.

And that, unfortunately, was exactly where his opponent stood.

Against a weaker foe, he might have been able to suppress their light with his darkness. Here, he was the one being smothered. Not only was the matchup disadvantageous, but the gap in raw power was crushing as well. The disadvantages stacked atop one another made him feel like a mouse hunted by a cat.

All he could do was run fast enough to stay alive.

Their game of tag dragged on, David growing increasingly winded. As a Grand Mage, mana depletion had felt like a tightening in his chest, a slow, painful squeeze. But for an Archmage, whose Core had already fused with their body, mana depletion manifested as pure exhaustion.

And right now, David felt as if he had been running for days. His limbs were leaden, his breath ragged, his thoughts turning sluggish.

He was reaching his limit.

His only consolation was that the young lord had asked him to stall the enemy Archmage, nothing more. In that sense, he could claim success. A weak comfort, but he would take whatever he could get.

David’s gaze drifted toward the distant silhouette of the Alexandria. How were the other fronts faring? He hoped they had at least made progress in rescuing the elves and holding back the rest of the Legion.

Otherwise, all of this would have been for nothing.

“...Don’t get distracted.”

The voice echoing in his mind was unmistakably his young lord’s. Had Zeke sensed his wandering focus? Was he watching? That was… mildly embarrassing.

“...Hold on a little longer.”

Hold on? For what? There was no path to victory here, and the few remaining minutes he could squeeze out wouldn’t change much. If anything, pushing further would only jeopardize his ability to escape.

But as if hearing his thoughts, Zeke’s voice returned a moment later.

“...Help is on the way.”

Instead of feeling relieved, David only grew more concerned. What help could possibly be coming? He knew exactly what forces they had available. The only one who might have made even a small difference was Vulcanos—and that was the one person who had suddenly vanished during their journey, with no trace of where he’d gone.

David sighed.

Despite his doubts, what choice did he have but to obey? He only hoped his young lord wasn’t making the same mistake he had: underestimating the might of a true Feuerkranz.

Once more, David engaged, driving his shadows to strike from every angle while he stayed out of sight. But it was pointless. Exhausted as he was, his attacks were nothing more than hollow imitations of their former strength.

"...I thought you’d be running by now," the man remarked casually as he turned David’s former hiding spot to ashes.

He emerged at the man’s blindside, hidden behind the charred stump of a once-proud tree. The reprieve lasted only a moment before the Fire Mage’s gaze locked onto his new position as well.

David didn’t hesitate. He dove into the shadows, widening the distance once more.

Not a moment too soon. A pillar of flame descended exactly where he had been standing, turning the stump to ash and banishing every trace of shadow.

I, too, wish I had run, David thought grimly as he struggled to catch his breath. He didn’t know how many more jumps he had left—no more than a dozen, most likely. Maybe enough to stall for another minute, but only if he abandoned all attempts to fight back.

Just then, a figure stepped into the clearing, emerging from the burning forest on the southern side.

It was the Chimeroi, Ash, followed by roughly thirty wolfkin.

David grimaced. Was this his so-called reinforcement? They would be crushed like ants.

The Fire Mage turned to face the small force blocking his path, a slow frown creeping across his face. “How are you here? What is that idiot even doing?”

Ash didn’t respond. Instead, he lifted a hand and pointed forward.

At his command, the thirty soldiers behind him moved as one. Each conjured a lance of ice from thin air, seized it, and hurled it with the power of a siege ballista.

David was mildly impressed. Beyond their shocking physical strength, their discipline and control over their innate abilities matched that of many trained Mages. Maybe… they wouldn’t be entirely useless after all.

He prepared to assist them—only for another voice to echo sharply in his mind.

“Don’t interfere. Use this chance to catch your breath.”

It was his young lord’s voice. David recognized it instantly, though the timing and the flat, almost mechanical tone made it feel strangely distant. Even so, David chose to obey.

He could barely stand as it was, and the chance to breathe, just for a moment, was more than welcome.

The Fire Mage grew visibly annoyed at being ignored, though the dozens of incoming projectiles didn’t seem to concern him at all. From the burning trees around him, tendrils of flame rose into the air, weaving into a corridor of fire.

Before the spears even crossed half the distance, they had already melted—water and ice alike vanishing in an instant.

“You came to challenge me with this level of strength? Whoever commands you clearly has no regard for your lives. If—”

His words were cut short by a second volley, released immediately after the first. The Chimeroi showed no interest in banter.

David’s brows furrowed. Weren’t they supposed to stall him? In their place, he would have taken this chance to drag the fight out as long as possible.

The second volley did little more than the first, and the one after that was just as ineffective.

“You are testing my patience,” the man said after the fourth volley vanished in steam. “If you insist on keeping your silence, then you might as well keep it forever.”

His words were followed by his first true attack.

The corridor of flames that had served as a barrier condensed into a spear: massive, towering, as thick as several grown men standing shoulder to shoulder. It looked like a burning tree ripped from the heart of an inferno.

David tensed, ready to move, ready to save as many as he could—when the voice echoed in his mind again.

“Don’t interfere.”

He clenched his jaw. Every instinct screamed at him to act. If not for his lord’s steady, unshaken tone, he would have already thrown himself into the attack.

A wall of ice surged up from the ground, conjured by the combined might of the wolfkin warriors. A second and third followed instantly, forming a layered bulwark in the spear’s path.

David’s frown deepened. It wouldn’t be enough. Feuerkranz Mages weren’t called Siegebreakers for nothing.

The spear tore through the first wall like a red-hot blade through frost, barely shrinking. The second fared little better, and even the third only managed to slow the blazing projectile for the briefest moment.

The Chimeroi scattered as their defenses crumbled. It did them little good. The projectile detonated like a falling star, bathing the clearing in fire. Every single wolfkin was caught in the blaze.

David bit his lip.

Had that really been worth it—sacrificing all these noble warriors just to buy him a moment to recover?

When the worst of the flames receded, he saw that the wolfkin had not died outright. Their icy constitution had kept them alive, but only barely. Severe burns covered every patch of exposed skin. Some areas had blackened entirely—a clear sign of nerve damage.

None of them could fight.

Except for Ash.

Their leader emerged from the smoke as if it parted for him alone, his body entirely unscathed.

“Are you ready to talk now?” the Fire Mage asked, slowly lowering his hand as he admired the destruction he’d caused.

Ash stood firm, face unreadable, despite the state of his warriors.

Just then, David heard his young lord’s voice again, calm, steady, and unbelievably welcome. Though the words themselves left him utterly confused. 

“Your reinforcement has arrived.”

B8 - Chapter 30: First Deployment V

“They’re about to meet.”

Zeke nodded, his gaze fixed on the point where the Bloodguard would soon collide with the Ehrenlegion.

“Young Lord,” Morris said carefully, “was it… wise to send them out without further orders? If we lose the Bloodguard, our options will be limited.”

Zeke didn’t look up. “If we lose them with these odds, then we never had any options to begin with.”

Morris fell silent, though the tension in his jaw made it clear he didn’t fully agree.

“We could have at least sent the healer with them,” Linus said, clearly aligned with Morris’s concerns.

Zeke sighed. He understood why both captains felt this way. The Bloodguard was made up of Chimeroi, after all. Chimeroi had a reputation for being terrible soldiers: directionless, broken, and unmotivated.

But that reputation belonged to slaves—to those raised in chains, beaten into obedience, and thrown into battles they never chose. How could anyone expect loyalty or drive from people who had never been given a reason to care?

Zelkara and the Frostscale tribe were nothing like that.

They had never known collars or whips. They had grown up wild, fierce, and free—and even after undergoing his Ritual, they hadn’t lost that freedom. If anything, they had gained something far more powerful.

Purpose.

And no soldier fought harder than the one who finally knew why they fought.

“Just watch,” Zeke said simply.

Why waste words when reality could explain it better than he ever could?

The Ehrenlegion marched with careless steps and loose formation. Relaxed, unalert. Without their commander, there was no one left to warn them of what approached. Thankfully, Akasha had intercepted every one of his distress calls during their brief confrontation.

In stark contrast, the Bloodguard advanced with deadly purpose. They cut through the forest like a dark flood, serpentine bodies flowing between burning trunks with eerie, fluid grace. They moved more like mounted cavalry than infantry: swift and disciplined.

The clash was moments away.

Zelkara burst through the treeline, shrouded in her poisoned mist.

Zeke smiled when he saw it. A simple maneuver at first glance, yet it had accomplished several goals at once.

First, she had used her frost poison to extinguish the surrounding flames, carving a path through the inferno.
Second, she had closed the distance before the enemy even realized she was there.
And third, she had concealed the approach of her troops, preventing the humans from gauging their numbers or their threat.

This wasn’t the work of a novice. It was the instinct of a commander who sensed the right course of action and acted without hesitation.

Zelkara, without question, was a naturally gifted leader.

Zeke watched as she casually absorbed a blazing projectile, the flames not even slowing her pace. When she finally reached the front line, Zeke felt his own heart quicken in anticipation.

The Pureblood didn’t disappoint.

She hit the enemy’s front line like a sledgehammer striking glass. Dismembered bodies and horrified faces marked her path as she tore through the shield wall as if it were wet paper.

“What in the…”

Morris’ jaw hung open, and Linus didn’t look much more composed.

Only Zeke remained unsurprised. Zelkara’s body likely rivaled that of an Archmage. Her reflexes, kinetic vision, and spear technique were even above that level.

This was like watching a master fight a child. The humans were lacking in every regard. She had many times their strength, many times their speed, and many times their endurance and technique.

It was simply one of the differences between Chimeroi and humans. 

A Grandmage could still be overwhelmed by numbers, spells took time, and their Cores had limits. But Chimeroi were different. Their advantages were innate, woven into every breath and movement. Every swing was empowered. Every strike, a death sentence.

It didn't mean they were stronger than Mages, but their advantage against weaker enemies was far more pronounced. 

“…She’s breaking through,” Linus said, his eyes locked on Zelkara’s form.

Zeke focused as well. He had never doubted she would tear through the shield line; the real test began now, when she faced the Mages of the Ehrenlegion.

Flamecallers, Leo had called them. Grand Mages with a Fire affinity. Most would not have developed their intent. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be serving in such a low function. Middle-of-the-road in both affinity and talent, most likely.

Even so, a Grand Mage was still a Grand Mage.

Zelkara was greeted at once by a barrage of spells. Clearly, these Mages were taking her seriously.

Explosions swallowed her silhouette; the area of her emergence turned into a blazing inferno. They were so frightened they even risked hitting their own troops.

All for nothing.

Zelkara slipped past their barrage, appearing in their midst in the blink of an eye.

The trio watched in silence as she dismantled these elite troops with scarcely more effort than she had shown against the shield wielders. Brutal, efficient, and without a shred of mercy.

“Young lord…” Morris murmured after a moment. “Where did you find this monster?”

Zeke smirked. “Found her lying on the ground, actually. Gravi broke her skull when they fought.”

“Is Gravi the blue one?”

“Yes.”

Morris nodded without another word, but Zeke was certain he had just added Gravitas to his do-not-mess-with list.

They continued watching the battle. Zelkara tore through the backline, while the rest of the Bloodguard shredded the human front line.

Though the Ehrenlegion was considered an elite force, not all of its members were truly Mages. Far from it. Zeke had noticed it earlier when dealing with their soldiers.

The regular troops of the Ehrenlegion all shared the same affinity: Earth. But their Cores were incredibly weak: barely low affinity. Even so, it was enough for their purpose. They were never meant to cast spells. They likely spent most of their training channeling raw Earth Mana into their bodies, hardening their skin like stone and enhancing their strength.

It was a solid strategy.

Combined with expert weapon skills, disciplined formations, and a seasoned commander, they could easily overwhelm regular soldiers, the same way Zelkara was overwhelming them now.

Even Leo, an exceptionally talented fighter and Mage, had struggled to keep up with their coordination.

But in the end, they were still human. They might mimic Chimeroi combat styles, but they could never match the raw physicality of beastkin. Only at the Archmage level, when a Mage’s Core fully fused with their body, could a human approach Chimeroi strength.

Until then, all they could do was secure an edge over ordinary troops.

“What is she doing?” Morris asked.

Zeke refocused on the battle. Zelkara had just slaughtered the last opponent in her immediate vicinity. But instead of pressing forward, she planted her spear in the ground and simply stood there, watching the fighting unfold.

“She’s probably studying their tactics,” Linus said.

Zeke smiled. It seemed Linus had been so impressed by Zelkara that he now interpreted everything she did in the best possible light. But Zeke had a different idea.

“She’s probably bored with the battle.”

“…Bored?”

“That can’t be!”

But as if to prove his point, Zelkara looked away from the battlefield at that exact moment, seemingly trying to pry a bit of dirt from beneath her fingernail.

The commanders watched the scene in silence.

“I think she’s bored,” Morris said after a moment.

Linus grimaced, unable to deny the truth now that she was even fixing her hair, which had grown stiff with blood. That lasted only a moment, though.

“That looks like trouble,” he said. “That one looks like the commander.”

Morris nodded. “That hair color... he’s probably a Feuerkranz.”

Zeke had also been watching the man making his way toward Zelkara. His eyes narrowed at those last words, but even so, he made no move.

“…I think she can handle it,” Linus said after a moment. “From what we’ve seen so far, even if she can’t win, it won’t be an easy victory for that commander either.”

They watched Zelkara charge. But just before she reached her opponent, another figure burst from the ground. The newcomer blocked her path, allowing the Fire Mage to land a hit that sent her flying.

“Dirty bastards!” Linus cursed.

Morris frowned as well. “The way he moved through the earth—is that a Steiner?” He turned to Zeke. “Should we act, young lord? This woman is too talented to risk in such a fight.”

Zeke shook his head. “Just watch.”

The Zelkara of a few days ago might have struggled here, but after repeated use of the Mana Purifying Device, she was no longer the same. It was time to see how far she had come.

Zelkara charged again, once more intercepted by the Earth Mage. But when their hands locked, it became clear he had miscalculated. He was forced to his knees and was about to lose his arm when the Fire Mage intervened. 

Dozens of Fireballs raced toward her.

“That’s the Crown of Flame. He really is a Feuerkranz.”

Zeke recognized it as well. The signature spell of the Feuerkranz family allowed them to control all fire in an area, merging smaller spells into one devastating attack. That very crown now burned above the Mage’s head.

The dozens of flaming orbs merged into a single massive sphere and hurtled toward where Zelkara and the Earth Mage struggled. But instead of retreating, Zelkara exhaled a breath of condensed mist toward the spell. At first, it didn’t seem to do anything—but then the orb began to shrink. Rapidly.

By the time it reached her, it wasn’t even a spark.

“That— I—”

Linus had no words left, too shocked by what he’d just seen.

Even Zeke felt a flicker of surprise. Wasn’t that a bit much?

But the surprises didn’t end there. While blocking the spell with her mist, Zelkara had also prevented the Earth Mage from escaping. It was becoming a clear pattern: One move, multiple objectives.

With a kick, she shattered the frozen body of the Earth Mage, and the fragments tore apart the Fire Mage hiding behind him as well.

Zeke’s grin widened.

Zelkara was truly a treasure. Her instinctual grasp of tactics was something not often seen. Gravitas had been lucky to face her when she had. A couple of years later, their fight might have gone very differently. 

“…She won,” Morris said at last, breaking the long silence.

Linus nodded. “With all their commanders dead, this division of the Legion is as good as finished.”

“Not quite,” Zeke said, finally tearing his gaze from the west and turning it north, where David was locked in combat with the enemy Archmage.

What had once been lush forest now resembled the aftermath of a catastrophe. From afar, the clash between David and the Fire Mage was almost surreal, more storm than duel.

Shadows rippled across the scorched clearing like living ink, stretching unnaturally far before snapping back into place. David’s silhouette flickered in and out of existence, as if reality itself struggled to hold him. 

Opposite him, the Fire Mage blazed like a bonfire given legs and fury. Every gesture tore open new fountains of flame, the air warping with heat.

Again and again, the two forces collided. When David struck, shadows folded inward, condensing into razor-thin crescents that carved through smoke. When the Fire Mage answered, swathes of remaining trees burst into incandescent pillars, their trunks popping like firecrackers.

For a heartbeat, darkness swallowed the clearing whole.

Then a sun-bright explosion flared, ripping the shadows apart and sending embers spiraling into the sky like fiery snow. David reappeared on the far edge of the battlefield, cloak torn, breath ragged—but standing.

Zeke exhaled slowly, his eyes turning serious.

“That might be a bit more troublesome.”

B8 - Chapter 29: First Deployment IV

Zelkara kicked off the ground, the world turning into a blur.
She did not hold back—something about the man before her told her this fight required seriousness.

The distance between them vanished. Zelkara already pictured her spear carving into his neck. He was late in his defense; the flames in his hands had only begun to rise when she was nearly upon him.

But just before she could draw blood, the earth itself responded.

A thick slab of stone burst upward, blocking her spear’s path, and an earthen spike shot straight toward her midsection.

Zelkara’s knee shot out on instinct, shattering the earthen spike into powder with sheer physical force. Her weapon punched through the rising slab as well: earth and stone no match for forged metal.

But her momentum was gone.

Her stance broken and her speed reduced, Zelkara shifted into a windmill guard, spinning her spear before her. Not a moment too soon. A massive glob of fire slammed into her position an instant later.

The impact lifted her off her feet, hurling her backward as flames gnawed at her skin. She buried the tip of her spear into the ground, using it as a rudder to turn the uncontrolled blast into a controlled retreat.

She landed lightly and hefted the weapon over her shoulder.

Her eyes swept the battlefield.

The same pattern she had just encountered was unfolding everywhere. The Fire Mages, seconds from collapse, now found their ranks reinforced by dozens of newcomers bursting from the earth like weeds after spring rain.

Beside her own opponent, another figure rose from the ground: an elderly man built like a bear. Despite his graying hair, his posture was unbent—a mountain of muscle and strength.

Zelkara licked her lips. This had just become far more interesting.

Unlike her excited expression, the two humans' faces looked grim. 

“…A second later and I would have been dead,” the Fire Mage muttered, eyes never leaving her.

“I acted as fast as I could,” the bear-like man replied, equally focused on Zelkara.

Unlike the Fire Mage, this newcomer carried a weapon—a massive cudgel as thick as Zelkara’s torso, reinforced with metal spikes the length of a finger. A brutal tool, but deadly only in the hands of someone strong enough to wield it.

Zelkara stepped forward. Both men tensed.

“...Is it just the two of you,” she asked, “or do you have more friends hiding somewhere?”

“There are only the two of us, girl,” the bear-man said. “But that will be enough.”

Zelkara grinned. “I highly doubt that.”

Her spear spun around her, fluid and alive, making the heavy metal shaft look light as air.

The man shook his head. “Even if we only stall you, that alone will be a victory.”

Zelkara paused, brow creasing. What was that supposed to mean?

“…Most of the threat your troops pose comes from your own strength. Your men, by comparison, are far more ordinary.”

Zelkara’s eyes flicked across the battlefield. The Bloodguard still held the advantage, but the man wasn’t wrong. The arrival of the Earth Mages had given the Fire Mages exactly what they needed: cover. With sturdy walls and sudden barriers springing up beneath them, the robed casters finally had room to unleash their strength properly.

Worse, more and more humans were converging on the area. Scattered pockets of soldiers were regrouping, forming a single, unified front. The chaos caused by their commander’s death hadn’t lasted long at all.

“...It is not too late to retreat, girl,” the bear-like man continued. “If you value the lives of your warriors, leave now—before it’s too late.”

Zelkara watched the battle a moment longer, noting how the humans were adapting—layering earth over flame, forming shielded pockets, drawing scattered forces into a single front. She was taking note of all their tactics. 

“Your thinking is wrong, old man,” she said at last, turning her focus back to her opponents. “I do value them. And that is exactly why I will never call a retreat. I will give them the chance to prove their worth. If they die while doing so, then it is better that way. It means they will never shame the Progenitor's name again.”

The old man’s expression didn’t budge. “It seems your Progenitor is quite the harsh master.”

Zelkara smiled, amused—as if a child had said something silly. “This is not his wish. It is mine. It is ours.”

“You would rather die than retreat, all to avoid shaming your master?”

Zelkara shook her head, baffled by how difficult this was for humans to grasp.

“I am a spear,” she said, leveling her weapon at the man’s chest. “What use is a spear that bends?”

The old man sighed, hefting his weapon onto his shoulder. “As you wish. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Zelkara grinned. “Please don’t die too quickly.”

Without another word, she charged again, spear angled low. Her target was once more the Fire Mage—but she held no illusions about reaching him unopposed.

As expected, the old man stepped in front of him an instant later, already mid-swing with his massive cudgel, drawing a wide arc.

Too early. Far too early. He would miss her by a mile.

But it became clear a heartbeat later that he had never been aiming for her.
The ground surged upward—a thick slab of stone rising perfectly along the path of his swing. At the apex, his cudgel struck the slab, shattering it into a storm of razor-sharp fragments.

Zelkara shielded her eyes as hundreds of stone splinters tore through the air. She felt them bite into her skin like tiny arrows, peppering her from head to toe. The attack was unexpectedly potent—strong enough to kill dozens of human soldiers outright if they were caught unprepared.

To her, though? Paper cuts on hardened flesh.

She didn’t even slow, closing the distance in moments. The bear-like man hadn’t recovered his stance—he had no time to ready another swing. As expected, his weapon was too heavy to wield quickly.

Zelkara struck, the spear tip arcing upward toward his throat.

Realizing he was too late, the man abandoned his weapon and raised his forearm to block. A foolish choice. How could human flesh contend with steel?

Yet when the two met, Zelkara felt unexpected resistance. It was like striking something just as hard as her spear. A sharp ring echoed through the air.

She flowed with the motion, turning the upward stroke into a spin, driving the butt of her spear into his core. Again, the sound was the same: steel on stone.

Her eyes narrowed as she finally saw it: a rapidly spreading layer of black rock crawling across the man’s skin. A moment ago he had been flesh and blood. Now he stood before her like a living statue carved from obsidian.

"Surprised?" Even his voice sounded like gravel moving. 

His hand shot out, aiming for her face. His palm was nearly the size of her head—clearly meant to crush it in his stone grip.

Zelkara met his hand with one of her own. Her slender, snow-white fingers intertwined with his massive stone ones. It looked like a child clasping a parent’s hand… yet when their fingers locked, it wasn’t the child who yielded.

Zelkara tightened her grip. With a grunt of pain, the towering statue of a man was forced down onto one knee.

“...Surprised?” she asked, grinning down at him. Even kneeling, he nearly reached her height.

She didn’t wait for an answer. Her spear was already descending, the blade dropping toward his shoulder like a guillotine.

“…Did you forget about me?”

Zelkara didn’t halt her strike, but her eyes flicked toward the Fire Mage. He stood a dozen steps away, a triumphant grin plastered across his face. A blazing crown hovered above his head, and dozens of flaming spheres spun in the air around him.

“DIE!”

At his shout, all the projectiles surged together, merging into a single massive sphere of fire that roared toward her. He didn't seem to care about the life of his comrade at all. 

Ah. Now she understood their plan. 

The Earth Mage had already sunk halfway into the ground—clearly intending to escape the blast below the surface.

Her grin widened. Not a bad tactic. Not bad at all… 

If they were dealing with a mere spear-wielder, that was.

Zelkara drew a long breath, pulling on every ounce of strength in her blood. Then she exhaled—not just through her mouth, but through every pore of her body. A mist, denser and colder than anything she had produced before, poured off her skin in a rolling wave.

The flaming orb, several times larger than her, collided with the spreading mist.
There was no explosion. No impact. No clash of power.

The massive sphere of fire simply passed through the cloud as though it were ordinary fog.

But the moment it touched the mist, something extraordinary happened.
The fire began to shrink. Rapidly.
From the size of a carriage… to a horse… to a crate… to a fist.

By the time it reached Zelkara, only the faintest spark remained.

It brushed her cheek, leaving behind nothing more than a smudge of ash beneath her right eye.

“…M-monster,” the bear-like man muttered.

His torso still protruded from the ground—not because he had stopped trying to flee, but because he couldn’t. The soil around him had frozen solid, and so had his body. A single moment of exposure had drained all warmth, locking him in place as if time itself had frozen.

The stutter in his voice didn’t come from fear.

It came from the unbearable cold consuming him alive.

Zelkara kicked out, her heel slamming into the Earth Mage’s torso with earth-shattering force. His calcified, frozen body shattered into countless shards—ironically mirroring his opening attack.

Only now, he had become the projectile.

The fragments tore into the Fire Mage behind him. A strangled scream escaped the man before one of the larger pieces sliced across his neck, severing his windpipe. He collapsed, blood pulsing from ruptured arteries. 

Zelkara watched him gasp, struggling to breathe, while his body quickly grew cold. He died within seconds. 

How disappointing. 

Only then did she glance down at what she still held in her hand—the severed arm of the Earth Mage. His fingers remained locked around her own.
Of course they did. The flesh had frozen solid.

She studied the limb for a moment. The black stone that had once been his skin gleamed faintly in the firelight. It was… almost beautiful. A fine trophy.

Would the Progenitor want it?
Would he be pleased?

Zelkara immediately shook her head. Foolish. How could someone like him take pride in such a trivial kill?

Her gaze drifted back to the battlefield. The Bloodguard still clashed with the Ehrenlegion, but victory was assured. She could already see it in the movements of her troops. They were slowly adapting to the enemy tactics. 

There was no true need for her to intervene.

Then again… Perhaps the Progenitor would be pleased if they won faster.
She didn’t want to steal glory from her warriors, but if it was his will, she had no choice.

Licking her lips, Zelkara fixed her eyes on the most heavily fortified enemy position. Her blood was still boiling, and she felt far from satisfied. 

If she were careful…
If she were selective…

It should be fine if she just took a few.

Right? Right!

B8 - Chapter 28: First Deployment III

Several rows of shield-wielding soldiers in heavy armor marched at the front, followed by a line of robed humans whose hands glowed with arcane power. These were their targets—the ones turning the forest to ash.

Zelkara spotted them from afar. The light of the burning trees illuminated their formation, and they allowed it willingly. It was the mark of a predator so confident that they no longer deemed it necessary to hide from anything.

She licked her lips, a sharp gleam in her eyes. This would be her first time fighting humans.

The stories among the tribes painted them as monsters: beings with impossible power who could toy with even their greatest warriors.

Once, she had believed those tales. But she knew better now. She had seen, she had listened, and she had learned. Humans were not stronger than Chimeroi; they were simply different.

Their bodies were as fragile as paper, and their magic didn’t necessarily overshadow her kind’s. No. What made them truly dangerous was their adaptability, their planning, their tactics...

But why should she fear being outsmarted?

She served the Progenitor of the ancient blood. 

One move, and he had killed the enemy strategist. A second, and he had claimed the sky. His words were like prophecy: every one of them came true.

Zelkara didn’t need to think, didn’t need to doubt, didn’t need to question.

The Progenitor told her to charge.

That alone was enough to guarantee victory.

The grip on her spear tightened as she dashed into the light of the burning trees. Now she could see individual faces among the enemy ranks, could feel the blistering heat licking her skin.

These were no ordinary flames: hotter, harsher, consuming entire trees in moments where normal fire would take hours.

Before she entered the inferno, Zelkara lifted one hand. A pale blue mist burst outward.

Once, her eldest brother, the pride of the Frostscale tribe, had been the only one capable of this technique. But much had changed since then. She had learned to command the mist and had long since surpassed even her brother at his peak.

The cloud swept forward in an instant, enveloping the burning trees. The flames fought for a heartbeat, then sputtered out like candles in a storm. Deprived of heat by the Frostscale poison, even these conjured fires had only one fate.

They died.

Zelkara felt the pleasant cool of evening return as she ran blindly through the cloud of her own making.

Confused shouts echoed ahead: muttered questions, startled curses. None of them reacted in time.

Fools.

The world opened before her as she burst out of the mist. Thirty steps. That was the distance between her and the enemy formation.

Everything slowed.

She saw the shock on the faces of the spear-wielding defenders, the dawning alarm on the Mages. The sluggish realization that they were under attack.

Twenty steps.

The first spell flew toward her—a compact sphere of fire, so dense it looked solid. It cut through the air like an arrow aimed at her heart.

Zelkara swung her spear. Adamantine and Voidiron clashed against conjured flame. The fireball burst, swallowing her in an instant. For a heartbeat, she vanished behind a curtain of blazing heat.

Then the flames sputtered and died, unable to bite into her frost-hardened flesh. Burning her was like trying to set fire to ice.

Ten more steps. 

Alarm rippled across the enemy line as their eyes darted past her—no doubt spotting her tribesmen pouring from the mist.

Even so, it had been foolish to look away from her.

Zelkara raised her spear high. She locked eyes with the first defender—a man built like a brick wall, a full head taller, twice her width, a mountain of muscle.

Human muscle...

Her spear swept forward in a wide arc.

The man raised his shield, a metal-studded slab of hardwood nearly as tall as she was.

Zelkara planted her feet, pouring the full momentum of her sprint into the swing.

Spear and shield collided.

Or rather, they should have. Zelkara felt no resistance at all—only a faint vibration through the shaft as the foot-long blade tore through wood, steel, and flesh as if they were nothing.

The weapon kept going, cutting through a second, third, and fourth defender before her swing finally reached its end. Zelkara twisted with the leftover force, letting it carry her into a smooth spin as she slid the spear back under her arm.

Her eyes swept the carnage.

Four defenders lay cleanly bisected at the waist. Two more writhed on the ground—one missing an arm, the other a leg.

Zelkara grinned.

A spell arced toward her, and she stepped aside with effortless grace. Even at this distance, their attacks were far too slow.

Her gaze snapped to the Mage who had fired. They would be the first to die.

But not yet.

She flicked her spear forward—an order, not a strike. A heartbeat later, she heard the hiss of air as several dozen javelins filled the sky behind her.

Then she surged forward again, her weapon weaving a deadly dance as she plunged deeper into enemy lines. It was exactly as she’d suspected: these humans couldn’t keep up with her at all.

With their commander gone, they hadn’t even sensed her coming until she was already among them.

Their reliance on him had made them deaf and blind.

Zelkara tore through the last line of defenders and finally reached the Mages. By now, her entire body was slick with blood. It soaked her hair, turning it a deep crimson.

Just like her Progenitor.

Several pillars of flame roared toward her the moment she appeared.

Zelkara snatched up a corpse and hurled it left, its bulk absorbing two streams of fire. She ducked under a third and slid across the scorched earth.

These humans…

Their spells could harm her; she wasn’t arrogant enough to deny that, but their reactions were painfully slow. It was like watching a child swing a sword: dangerous in theory, but no real threat to a seasoned warrior.

Never had she felt more like a wolf among sheep.

Her spear flashed, carving a Mage cleanly from groin to skull before she rolled aside, already lunging for the next.

Inferior stock.

These were supposed to be equals to her Progenitor?

Then why was it that his eyes followed her effortlessly, even at full speed, while these humans couldn’t keep her in their sights for more than a heartbeat?

The spear’s shaft cracked into another Mage’s legs, the blow shattering both knees. Zelkara kicked her in the back, feeling vertebrae snap as the woman’s body rose just high enough to intercept another spell.

Then the javelins fell.

Every single one had targeted the Mage line. Even without orders, her people had understood the battlefield perfectly.

One javelin streaked toward her. She caught it, spun it around her body, and hurled it forward. It hit the nearest Mage like a ballista bolt, punching through him in a spray of gore—a gut wound that would normally take minutes to kill.

Not this time.

She watched the flesh around the impact frost over, veins darkening to an icy blue. The man died in seconds.

Of course he did. The poison had been refined specifically to kill Chimeroi, and even Icefang warriors, renowned for their resistance to cold, had fallen to it.

What chance did these soft-bellied humans have?

As if the world itself wished to confirm her thoughts, startled cries rose from all around. The Mage line had lost a full third of its number. Even those fast enough to avoid a direct hit were doomed. A single graze from a javelin was a death sentence. And even if they somehow clung to life, how were they to conjure flames while their bodies froze from the inside out?

A single wound was already crippling for their fragile, human flesh.

Zelkara’s grin stretched wider as she turned to glance behind her.

Rows upon rows of Frostscale warriors crashed into the Ehrenlegion’s front line.

Calling it a massacre would have been generous.

Even the weakest of her people possessed twice the strength of these humans. Every one of them had learned the spear before they could walk. And on top of raw strength and discipline, their weapons dripped with venom that made even a scratch fatal.

The result… was exactly what she expected.

Her people didn’t even slow. Serpentine tails lashed out, shattering bones or coiling around limbs to drag enemies down.

Zelkara planted her spear in the ground and watched the battle unfold. She had already grown bored with this fight. No Mages were left alive near her, and those farther away showed no desire to attack. 

Fools. 

How did they expect to win with so much fear in their hearts? Were they waiting for their commander to speak to them again? Or did they have something else to rely on?

It took less than a minute for the defensive lines to collapse entirely, leaving the Mages to fend for themselves.

They held out better. One Mage could keep three or four of her warriors at bay—but only barely. Their flames struggled to bite through Frostscale hides and venom-hardened blood, while even a single misstep on their part meant death.

One by one, they fell, each tiny mistake punished with finality.

Just then, she noticed a figure walking toward her. Like many of the humans here, he had red hair—but not the vivid crimson of her Progenitor. His was a muddied orange, dull and unremarkable by comparison.

"Beast," he called out from several paces away, "what gives you the confidence to interfere in our affairs? Do you not know who you’ve attacked?"

Zelkara frowned. "Who are you calling a beast when you yourself are the scum of the continent?"

"…Scum of the continent?" His expression darkened. "We are the Ehrenlegion, first sword of the—"

"I know who you are," Zelkara cut in. "Dogs of Arkanheim. Enemies of my Progenitor."

"And who is that? Who is this so-called Progenitor bold enough to meddle in our business?"

"Ezekiel von Hohenheim."

Zelkara watched the man’s face shift. Her Progenitor’s name alone was enough to silence even his enemies.

"…Impossible," the man muttered. "Ezekiel von Hohenheim is bound to neutrality."

Zelkara didn’t bother answering. She had no interest in explaining herself to this man—this walking corpse. The only reason he still drew breath was because he hadn’t attacked yet. But his arrogant tone was starting to test her patience.

"When the commander learns of this, there will be no place left for you—"

"He knows," Zelkara interrupted.

"What?"

"Your commander already knows," she repeated. "He learned of our presence when my Progenitor stomped him to death."

The Fire Mage went still a second time. Then he shook his head slowly. "Then you’re living on borrowed time. If I were you, I’d run as fast as I could."

"Funny," Zelkara said, reaching out to once again grip her spear. "I was about to say the same."

His expression turned serious, but no fear showed. Flames bloomed in both hands as he slipped into a defensive stance. "Don’t think you’ll handle me so easily, beast. You’ve yet to see the true might of the Ehrenlegion."

Zelkara angled her spear. Humans really did love to talk. 

Not for much longer, though.