Chương 267

Orion looked across the circle of floating obsidian mirrors, feeling the eleven monsters—some in human form, others without even the pretense—staring back at him. He took a slow breath, forcing himself to relax. He needed all his wits about him if he wanted to explain without giving too much away. If he spoke to them about boundary topologies and thermodynamic decay, he would lose them. That might seem positive, but it would only invite further scrutiny. They were beings of faith, blood, and ancient pacts.

He needed to speak their language.

"Uther Katzaet does not wield magic in the same way as Cyril," Orion explained, keeping his voice steady and devoid of flourish.

"Raw power, he has plenty, but even without it, he'd be just as dangerous. Rather than wielding his magic through experience, he crafts spells as one would a woven tapestry. He knows the threads intimately and, much like a seamstress, is aware of every component. That is the true danger he poses. He has ways of interacting with magic that we lack." Seraphina had certainly put him on the back foot, forcing him to flee, but the true power of an Alchemist lay in preparation.

The next time they faced each other, he'd know what to expect. While a part of Orion rebelled at the thought that the High Priestess might lose, he knew nobody was without weaknesses. They need to understand. Now that the scale of the war has grown beyond what mere mortals can handle, it is up to them to deal with the enemy's monsters, and I know for a fact Uther isn't the only one. The creature that had so easily bent Behenien's mind still lurked somewhere.

They'd not seen either hair nor hide of it, as far as he knew, but that only made it more important to prepare for when it would reveal itself. He met the piercing gaze of Xanthurtath, the Dragon Prince, then the shadowed eye sockets of the Death King.

"Despite holding command over the Iron State's force, he isn't a warlord," Orion continued, offering an honest assessment.

"Rather, he is an academic at heart. While I do not know what was offered to bring him here, I know he doesn't care about conquering Cyril for territory or glory. He sees our magic as a flaw in the world's design and is simply trying to correct it. That detachment makes him incredibly dangerous. He won't make mistakes born of pride or anger."

"A spider weaving its web of ruin," Esmeranth Zaulthes murmured from his mirror, the vampire lord tracing his lower lip with a pale finger.

"How remarkably tedious. Give me a foe who fights for passion or blood. Cold men are so exhausting to kill."

"Yet kill him we must," Zeon Silverhand growled, his armored shoulders shifting in the glass, as if he were eager to do so himself.

"If he can brew a poison to rot the Heartwood, no sanctuary is safe. The longer he's allowed free rein, the more damage he'll cause."

"I do not doubt young master Orion's words," Cassian interjected, meeting his eyes with a thin smile.

"But for all his power, he cannot act alone." The Golden Regent leaned back, swirling his wine.

"A man with his ambitions will require supplies. Rare reagents, quiet places to brew, and hands to stir the pots. A genius and a monster he may be, but he is bound by the constraints of logistics." Orion didn't take offense.

"Exactly. He is one man. He cannot be on every front. The concoction he used here was brewed specifically for the Heartwood, and I believe it took him some time to produce, indicating he depends on a network of apprentices and laboratories to manage the rest of the Iron State's forces. To weaken him and force him into the open, we need to cut his supply chains. Our next step should be to track down these people and destroy their laboratories before their products reach the front lines.

Without the Silence, the Iron State poses a much smaller threat, so this should be a priority even without Uther." As he spoke, Orion recognized that he wasn't telling them anything they didn't already know. These were experienced rulers and generals who understood warfare better than he did. However, in the High Council's theater, they wanted someone with firsthand experience of the enemy's tactics to confirm the strategy. They needed proof to justify the doctrinal change. Or maybe they just wanted to see me.

Or it's all a political game they're playing against each other, and I'm an unwitting pawn. Or all of them combined. As Orion concluded his assessment, Antares' lips briefly curled into a fleeting, almost imperceptible smile of pride, which disappeared as swiftly as it came.

"He speaks the truth," Antares declared, silencing further questions.

"Theater-wide engagements should be paused. We cannot risk our main armies against this Uther, especially if we do not know where he resides, beyond knowing that he prefers this northern front. The war will shift to the shadows." You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"If, as we suspect, they have more fighters of his caliber, it will be useful to have more actors in the play capable of action," Amarillis noted smoothly. His serene eyes shifted toward the Death King's dark throne.

"To that end, the Greenwood Enclave shall extend its hand in peace." The lich's jaw clicked, and emerald soul-fire flared in the mirror.

"See that your rangers do not mistake my forces for the enemy, Prince. My knights will serve as the shield, but I expect your arrows to find their marks." Amarillis replied with a velvet tone, "You have my word, corpse-lord, which is worth much. Our truce will last until the Iron State is eradicated."

"Reinforcements from all factions are already deploying to the three primary fronts," Seraphina murmured to him, then turned her veiled face to address the circle.

"These elites will be our true spear. They will be cross-factional, composed of our finest, built to infiltrate, sabotage, and exfiltrate without engaging their main legions."

"I have many paladins ready to purge these invaders," Silverhand confirmed.

"And my Court is eager to taste new blood," Esmeranth added with a cruel glint in his eye.

"The teams will be approved by this Council before deployment and will consist of the best of the best," Antares said, bringing the focus back to the center of the room. He looked at Orion.

"But such a group would be useless if it could not find the target. The Iron State cloaks its laboratories well. Young Orion, you have proven your ability to follow their traces. You will serve as the primary tracker and arcane analyst for one of the foremost teams." Orion's chest tightened with anticipation. He had hoped for direct command of a squad, but it was understandable that a seasoned veteran would lead, even though he would still play a role in the war.

Another part of him had almost thought his part was done. He had already done a lot to help and had much to study before taking the next step, but he wasn't being given a choice. The decision had already been made for him. Without him, he suspected the team assigned to the northern theater might flounder. Given that he'd proven himself capable of following traces no one else could sense, he trusted they would assign him to a team capable of keeping him alive while he worked.

"I will not fail the Council," he answered evenly, despite his suddenly sweaty palms.

"See that you do not," Xanthurtath rumbled, the dragon's slit pupils narrowing.

"Many will question your involvement, and more will view it as favoritism." That was clearly a jab at his father rather than at him. Antares took it without comment, but Orion suspected an answer would come sooner rather than later.

"The boy has survived a conversation with the architect of our current misery," the Guildmaster General interjected, flashing him a spirited grin.

"I wager his chances are better than most. We look forward to the results, kid."

"You are free to go," Antares said, dismissing him.

"The Council has other matters to discuss." Orion bowed to the Speaker, then to Seraphina, and turned on his heel, despite very much wanting to stay behind and listen in. He walked out of the command tent, feeling the mighty wards wash over his skin like cool water as he stepped back into the warm air. He let out a long, ragged breath. The tension inside the tent had been almost as suffocating as standing before Uther. He looked up and saw Asteria waiting for him near a group of woven huts.

She stood tall, her posture showing determination. It was clear she had made an important decision, though he couldn't guess what it was.

"It is done," he said as he approached.

"I am to be assigned to a cross-faction strike team as a tracker while we hunt for laboratories and production facilities."

"I know," Asteria replied.

"Antares and Seraphina decided on it before the mirrors even connected. It is the only logical place for you." Orion blinked, surprised that the confirmation of his earlier suspicions came so quickly. He'd known that much of the council's decisions were already made, but he'd thought there would be more deliberation over the details. I suppose this is how things are always done. Agreements are struck in secret, and only when everyone is on board are they discussed in the High Council.

This is just too important a matter to leave to the representatives. He was still surprised to see his mother go along with such a plan without resistance. That must have been obvious from his expression, for Asteria chuckled lightly and smoothed out his white locks.

"Even though I might wish to, I realize that wrapping you in silk and hiding you in the Sanctum will only lead to suffocation, and ultimately, the world will still be consumed," she whispered, meeting his eyes.

"Uther has revealed to you how deadly this war really is. You've seen the lengths you need to go to survive, and I can feel your resolve to reach that goal. I won't stop you from climbing toward it." Something beyond maternal warmth entered her expression, something cold and unyielding.

"The teams will convene in one week," she said.

"The Council needs time to assemble the rosters and position the pieces. During these seven days, you are mine." Orion swallowed hard, recognizing the dangerous glint in his mother's eyes.

"Training?"

"Indeed," Asteria murmured.

"You rely too heavily on your mind, Orion. Your spellwork is flawless, and your mind is keen enough to devise solutions on the fly, but when it fails. and it will fail you, you must know how to survive. I am going to push you to the breaking point. We will train from sunrise until you can no longer stand. I will teach you the cruelest tricks in the book, how to fight dirty, and how to survive at all costs." They'd done this once or twice.

His first memory of real training, rather than his own experimenting, was Asteria showing him how far he had to go after the ghoul incident, using nothing but harmless blasts of silver light to overwhelm him. Later, she'd become more involved, dueling him, but she'd never really gone all out, content to let him grow at his own pace. That, it seemed, had changed. He didn't know whether to be grateful that she no longer seemed terrified for his fate or to be worried about what it would mean for him.

He suspected he would regret the next words to come out of his mouth for some time, but when an opportunity like this arose, he couldn't help but grab it with both hands.

"Let's do this," he said, and her expression settled into a fierce, ominous grin.