The reports arrived one after another.
Three battlefields.
Three costly engagements.
Three tactical withdrawals.
And in every single report, one detail stood out above all others.
No sighting of Jax Darquebane.
No giant double-bladed sword.
No impossible displays of strength.
No army of thousands of shadows.
No black tide swallowing entire regiments whole.
The name that had haunted the Empire for nearly two years was absent.
And to many in the Imperial War Council, that was the greatest victory of all.
The massive strategy chamber in Alexandria was filled with a very different energy than it had held only weeks earlier.
Then, the room had been tense.
Fearful.
Uncertain.
Now?
There was laughter.
Wine.
Boasting.
Several generals spoke over one another, each trying to spin the reports into proof that final victory was inevitable.
The architect of the curse ritual, the senior mage who had overseen the attack on Jax, stood proudly near the center of the room.
She held a crystal goblet in one hand and wore a smile that bordered on smug.
"I believe this settles the matter," she said, savoring every word. "Three battles. Three retreats. And not one mention of Jax Darquebane."
Several officers nodded.
The mage lifted her chin.
"Our ritual was successful."
One of the generals laughed.
"So the great hero finally bleeds like any other man."
Another raised his glass.
"To the end of the Necromancer."
The room echoed the toast.
Only one man remained silent.
The Empire's spymaster.
He stood near the edge of the room, arms folded, his expression unreadable.
He had spent too much time studying Jax Darquebane to celebrate too quickly.
No sighting was good news.
But no sighting was not proof of death.
Still…
Even he had to admit the evidence was compelling.
Three major battles.
No intervention.
No shadows.
No Jax.
For the first time, doubt crept into his certainty.
Had the curse truly succeeded?
On the raised platform at the head of the chamber, the King was in excellent spirits.
He paced before the map table with all the confidence of a man who believed history was about to vindicate him.
"Excellent," he declared. "Exactly as I anticipated."
The generals exchanged subtle glances.
No one challenged him.
They had long since learned that correcting the King was rarely worth the effort.
The Queen, seated gracefully beside him, wore a serene smile.
Beautiful.
Poised.
Ageless.
Her dark eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
The deaths of tens of thousands—enemy and ally alike—had fed her hidden master well.
And now, if Jax Darquebane was truly neutralized, nothing stood between her and total victory.
The King swept his arm over the map.
"We have forced them to abandon their outer defenses."
He tapped Solmere.
"Their capital. Their pride. Their symbol."
He grinned.
"We will crush it."
The Queen inclined her head.
"A brilliant conclusion, my lord."
The King's chest visibly swelled.
The spymaster finally spoke.
"Caution is still warranted."
The room quieted.
The King turned, clearly annoyed.
"Caution? We have them cornered."
The spymaster's tone remained calm.
"We have defeated their outer positions, yes. But every retreat led them toward Solmere. That suggests preparation."
The mage responsible for the curse scoffed.
"You worry too much."
She stepped forward.
"The only reason they have survived this long is because of one man."
She spread her hands dramatically.
"That man is gone."
The King nodded vigorously.
"Exactly."
The Queen's smile never wavered, though her eyes flicked briefly to the spymaster.
A warning.
Enough.
The spymaster bowed slightly.
"As you wish."
But inwardly, his unease remained.
Jax Darquebane was not a man he believed dead until he saw the body.
And even then, he might want to see it twice.
The King's excitement became impossible to contain.
He slammed both hands onto the table.
"I will be there."
Several generals blinked.
"My lord?"
"I will personally witness the destruction of Solmere."
The Queen immediately rose.
"Then naturally, I shall accompany you."
One by one, the generals began volunteering.
If the King was going, none wanted to be absent from what they believed would be the final triumph.
The decision was made.
The armies would take approximately one week to reach Solmere.
The royal entourage would depart separately and arrive in time to watch the city fall.
The King was positively giddy.
"This will be remembered as the day the Empire restored order to the continent."
That evening, the capital square overflowed with citizens.
Thousands gathered to hear the King's proclamation.
Banners waved.
Trumpets sounded.
The King strode onto the balcony to thunderous applause from his most loyal supporters.
He raised both arms.
"My people!"
The crowd roared.
He launched into a speech that wandered in every direction, more passion than structure.
Yet to his followers, every word was gospel.
"Once we realized that the greatest threat to this world no longer stood beside the rebels, we adapted."
Cheers erupted.
"We consolidated our forces."
More cheers.
"And now we march on Solmere!"
The square shook with applause.
The King pointed dramatically toward the horizon.
"We will obliterate these traitors and erase them from history!"
His voice rose to a fever pitch.
"These so-called United Kingdoms are allies of necromancers."
Boos spread through the crowd.
"They raise the dead."
"They bind the souls of your loved ones!"
"They consort with demons and monsters!"
The King's face twisted with zeal.
"It is time for humanity to reclaim its rightful place as the rulers of this world."
The loudest section of the crowd exploded in approval.
For them, this was exactly what they wanted to hear.
But not everyone cheered.
Across the square, many listened in uneasy silence.
Shopkeepers.
Laborers.
Families.
Ordinary people who had grown weary of war.
Some whispered among themselves.
"If we're winning, why did we abandon the other cities?"
"Why gather everyone in one place?"
"Why does the King need to watch personally?"
Others exchanged worried glances.
The official story claimed victory.
But the decision to bring the King, Queen, and every senior general to Solmere suggested something else.
Either they expected a historic triumph…
Or they feared one final, desperate battle.
In taverns and homes throughout the Empire, speculation spread late into the night.
Some citizens celebrated.
Others prayed.
And many quietly wondered if the Kingdom was more fragile than it appeared.
Still, the prevailing mood among the loyalists was optimism.
The hated city of Solmere would soon be reduced to rubble.
The rebellion would end.
The human Empire would stand supreme once more.
And if the rumors were true…
If Jax Darquebane was indeed dead…
Then nothing could stop what came next.
Far away, in the city they intended to destroy, Jax Darquebane was very much alive.
And waiting.