“Fledgling, you’re here?” a voice called from behind.

  Marius stepped into the tent. “More news, General.” He pulled up a chair and sat beside them.

  “Please tell me they’re good news,” Ragnar sighed, gathering Shayara’s notes from the table.

  “Some are,” Marius said.

  “Commander Farlow and his troop have managed to drive back Moloch’s cavalry. Boris and Johan are pressing the enemy as well. My vice-commander is handling reinforcement checks now.”

  Ragnar’s eyes lit up. “That’s good news. What about the Diablo?”

  “The charge was successful. The beast is confirmed to be charging straight toward Moloch—they should have met by now. However… we have one casualty.”

  News of a casualty never sat well with Ragnar, no matter the scale of the victory.

  A voice called from outside the tent. “General Ragnar. Commander Marius.”

  “Enter,” Marius said.

  A soldier wearing the Fifth Wing insignia stepped inside. She handed Marius what appeared to be a blank note, bowed, and left.

  Marius’s fingers flicked once, and hidden words bled into view.

  “Oh… shit. Okay, this can still work,” he muttered.

  Ragnar leaned forward. “What happened?”

  “The fight’s over, between Moloch and Diablo.”

  Shayara, who had been listening intently, couldn’t hold back her question. “Who won?”

  Marius’s tone turned grave. “The demigod did.”

  “This was expected… but isn’t it a bit too soon?” Ragnar asked.

  “Yeah,” Marius admitted. “Which means we underestimated Moloch. We underestimated the power of a demigod.” He glanced at the note. “Here, it says Moloch fought the beast alone while the rest of his forces stood back. He summoned lightning from the heavens, splitting the ground, and at his command, a hundred spears, each filled with an aura of dread and despair and it fell from the sky. Just like that.”

  Silence filled the tent.

  Marius broke it at last. “Still, Moloch will arrive late. Apparently, he decided to celebrate his new power by roasting the drake. He’s not thinking about the war. He knows he’ll win.”

  Ragnar slammed his fist onto the table.

  The lantern rattled. A pile of notes scattered to the floor.

  For the first time in days, his composure slipped. The usual stoicism in his eyes was gone, replaced by frustration, and something far rarer in the Crimson General.

  Doubt.

  His mind raced.

  Should he relay the truth to the army, to prepare them for what’s coming? But how does one prepare for a demi-god?

  Should he send word to the capital? Ask for reinforcements? Would the Council even believe him? Demi-gods existed only in legend… until now.

  And what of Arabus? Of the Prophet?

  Are they with Moloch?

  Did I make a mistake not rallying the kingdom sooner? Should I have pushed harder, gained more ground before this monster arrived?

  The questions screamed in his head, louder than the rain hammering the canvas above.

  A hand came down on his shoulder.

  Ragnar looked up.

  Marius stood beside him, steady and certain.

  “Hey,” he said softly. “We’ll find a way. We always have.”

  “General.” Shayara’s voice rang out with quiet strength. “We will win, sir.”

  Ragnar looked at her. Her eyes, once filled with uncertainty, now burned with resolve.

  The same woman who had once stood trembling before him was now the one consoling him.

  He smiled. Genuine. Proud.

  “Very well,” Ragnar said, straightening his shoulders. “It’s not over yet. We still have a chance.”

  Both Marius and Shayara nodded, the weight of belief settling in the tent like a new kind of armor.

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  “We only have one shot,” Ragnar continued, his voice steady. “To face a monster like Moloch, we must be prepared. Common magic might not bring him down, but it won’t be useless. Especially enhancement magic. If we can find a way to turn his own power against him…”

  “How?” Marius asked.

  “By reversing the flow,” Ragnar replied, eyes narrowing. “I realized something. Do you remember the old Book of Laws?”

  Both Marius and Shayara nodded. Marius shot Shayara a surprised glance, but before he could speak, Ragnar pressed on.

  “It was banned long ago, but I had a copy. Most of it was about the Laws granted by Holy Amun—Radiance and Regression. But there were traces, fragments, about other Laws. Other gods. A brief passage mentioned the Law of Reversal and Causality. That’s when I began my own research.”

  Marius leaned forward, the wheels turning. “So you’re saying… if we study the teachings of other gods, we might uncover new Laws?”

  “Exactly. Laws that might be able to counter Moloch.”

  “But where do we even find that kind of information?” Marius asked.

  Ragnar glanced at Shayara.

  She gave a quiet nod.

  “We already have access to two,” Ragnar said. “The teachings of Aver—” He turned to Shayara, who lifted her chin. “And Selen.”

  “Selen?” Marius asked, turning toward Shayara with raised brows.

  “I’m from the Syr tribe,” she replied quietly. “We worship Selen.”

  Marius’s face shifted to one of genuine surprise.

  “Selen, as in the goddess who vanished during the Night of the Great Betrayal, when Holy Amun was attacked by Shraak? I thought her followers were… wiped out.”

  “There were survivors,” Shayara said, calm but firm. “I carry that blood.”

  Marius narrowed his eyes.

  “How did you get past our intelligence?”

  Before Shayara could respond, Ragnar cut in.

  “You’ll have time for questions later. For now, let’s focus on surviving. If we don’t, none of this will matter.”

  Marius sighed, half-smiling.

  “Then when this is over, you better pay me more. Our intelligence division clearly needs an upgrade.”

  Ragnar moved on, his tone shifting into command.

  “Marius, we need to bring Arin here.”

  “You shouldn’t have given him a choice in the first place,” Marius muttered.

  Ragnar ignored the jab.

  “Our best plan is to isolate Moloch is to draw him away from the main battlefield so he can’t wreak havoc. Once he’s alone, we strike with everything we have.”

  Marius leaned back, thinking.

  “And how exactly do we manage that?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Still piecing the plan together,” Ragnar admitted, his fingers drumming against the table.

  “Maybe… the simplest approach works. Just call him out, lead him to the isolated path.”

  Marius snorted.

  “And like a puppy, he’ll come running? Gods, you really aren’t thinking straight.”

  “Why not?” Ragnar countered. “I’m a general in the enemy’s ranks. That has weight—”

  “He’s a Demigod, Ragnar,” Marius interrupted. “You think he will respect anyone beneath him? Especially mortals?”

  Before Ragnar could respond, Shayara’s voice cut in, quite but calm:

  “Maybe… if we add some intrigue to the call.”

  Both men turned toward her. Marius raised an eyebrow.

  “Go on. Speak your mind.”

  “What if Moloch believed you were a Demigod?” Shayara said softly, eyes fixed on Ragnar. “Wouldn’t that draw his attention?”

  A silence fell for a beat, then Marius grinned, wickedly amused.

  “A cunning ploy. I like it. Much better than your noble invitation.”

  “What if he senses I’m not a Demigod?” Ragnar asked, his tone grim.

  Shayara straightened. There was no hesitation this time.

  “I can help with that. The Syr people… we’re skilled in enhancement magic, especially when it comes to perception. It’s how we avoided Templars and Inquisitors. It helped us survive.”

  “How?” Ragnar asked, his gaze narrowing.

  “I can try to alter his perception, make him believe what we want him to believe.”

  Before Ragnar could respond, Marius let out a low whistle.

  “I like your passion, little one, but this won’t work. You’re talking about deceiving a Demigod. Altering his perception?” He scoffed.

  “That’s not a spell, it’s suicide.”

  “I can try.” Shayara’s voice was quieter now, but not uncertain.

  Marius leaned forward, voice serious.

  “And if you fail?”

  This time, Ragnar spoke, his tone sharper.

  “Yes. If it fails, what then?”

  A silence hung between them.

  After a long pause, Marius broke the silence.

  “I think you’re both right, in your own way. But let’s take a step back. What does Moloch hate most? What truly drives this war?”

  “Arcadia,” Shayara offered.

  “No. Amun,” Ragnar said quietly.

  Marius snapped his fingers. “Exactly. His hatred for Arcadia is just the surface. Beneath it is a deeper loathing, for the Crown of Radiance. For Holy Amun. For being hunted by His light for over a century. This isn’t just war. It’s vengeance.”

  He stood and dramatically pointed a finger at Ragnar.

  “So… what if we give him exactly what he wants? Present him with the champion of the light. The Radiant Son.”

  Ragnar raised an eyebrow. “You want me to pose as Amun’s champion? I’ve never been directly blessed by Him.”

  “You were blessed by the Prophet once. That’s close enough for a zealot like Moloch,” Marius replied smoothly. “He won’t care about the details. Just the symbol.”

  “You want to turn his hatred into bait,” Ragnar murmured.

  “We’ll make it personal. Let him believe you’re everything he despises. He’ll chase you down. He’ll want to destroy you himself.”

  Ragnar nodded slowly. “And while he’s focused on me… we trap him.”

  “Exactly. We use his arrogance. His need to be seen. To make a spectacle. We make him walk right into our hands.”

  “And if it doesn’t work?” Ragnar asked.

  Marius smirked. “Then we fight. Just like we always have.”