The reaction came sharp and almost in unison.
Samantha's expression darkened immediately, her lips curling slightly like she had tasted something foul. Shane didn't speak, but his brows drew together, his fingers interlocking as he leaned back, already calculating.
Rio blinked once—then grinned.
Eason, meanwhile, simply looked around the table, reading every face like an old gambler reading cards. Then he exhaled and shook his head lightly.
"It is within our arrangement," Eason said, voice smooth and composed. "He requires manpower. I provide it. The terms… are his to shape."
Klaus didn't move.
Let them chew on that.
Rio leaned forward, resting both elbows on his knees.
"But what's the point?" he said, scratching his head. "Those people? They're barely useful. Carry things, maybe cook, maybe get whipped when they slow down. That's it."
Klaus' eyes furrowed.
Honest idiot.
Before he could respond, Shane spoke.
"Careful with your words, Mr. Falamin," Shane said, tone calm but edged. "I own slaves as well. I do not mistreat them, nor do I starve them."
Rio snorted.
"That's because you're a merchant," he shot back. "You see them as goods. Of course, you keep them in good shape."
Shane's eyes narrowed slightly—but he didn't bite.
Charles cut in.
"Enough."
The single word dropped like a blade.
His gaze shifted from Rio to the table as a whole.
"The decision has been made," Charles said, voice cold and precise. "Old Duke Eason has already acknowledged the arrangement. The slaves will now fall under Enigma's supervision."
He turned his head slightly toward one of the captains.
"Captain Yeal."
The man in bronze armor straightened immediately.
"Yes, sir."
"Have your men prepare tents for the slaves," Charles continued. "Remove their restraints during rest periods. However—"
His tone sharpened just slightly.
"—make it explicitly clear. Any attempt to flee will be met with immediate pursuit and execution."
Captain Yeal nodded without hesitation.
"Understood."
He pushed his chair back and stood.
"Then I'll get it done."
As he turned to leave, Eason waved a hand lazily.
"Take your time," the old man said. "We shall delay the formal planning until your return."
Then, with a faint smile,
"We will… entertain ourselves in the meantime."
Klaus felt it.
That slight shift again.
Like a room waiting for something stupid to happen.
Rio didn't disappoint.
"So how we entertain ourselves, old man?" he said, already grinning. "Maybe a fight?"
Madlock spoke immediately, still seated, hands resting lightly on his lap.
"No fighting," he said simply.
Rio clicked his tongue.
"Then it's boring."
Samantha scoffed.
"Shut up," she muttered. "You're already annoying enough without adding noise."
Rio turned his head sharply toward her.
"You wanna go?"
"Sit down before I break your jaw," Samantha replied flatly.
Madlock didn't even raise his voice.
"I said, no fighting."
Rio leaned back, exhaling through his nose.
"…Then how about you, Madlock?"
Klaus tilted his head slightly.
Persistent.
Then he spoke.
"How about me, Mr. Falamin?"
All eyes turned again.
Klaus leaned forward just a bit more, shadows around his shoulders shifting like slow smoke.
"I'll indulge your craving for a spar."
Rio froze for half a second.
Then his eyes lit up.
"Seriously?"
Klaus nodded once.
"Yeah."
A small pause.
"But I have one condition."
Rio grinned wider.
"Say it."
Klaus's tone stayed calm.
"We go all out."
For a brief moment—
Even the air tightened.
Elaine's fingers paused where they rested on the table. Shane's eyes sharpened slightly. Orlane let out a quiet breath through his nose.
Rio, however—
He looked delighted.
"That's what I like!" he said, slamming his fist lightly against his palm. "Now that's smokin' hot."
He stood halfway already, like a dog hearing a whistle.
"The desert's wide enough for us."
Klaus leaned back again.
"Far enough for us," he agreed.
Eason shook his head, smiling faintly.
"Young men," he murmured, "so eager to test their mortality."
Helhound, who had been silent the entire time, shifted slightly in his seat—but said nothing. His eyes moved once toward Klaus, then back to the table.
Madlock tapped his finger once against the map.
"Keep it controlled," he said. "We're not losing manpower before the raid."
Rio waved him off.
"I know my limits."
Klaus didn't comment.
No, you don't.
The tent flap opened again.
Captain Yeal returned, a bit of dust on his armor, posture still straight.
"It's done," he said. "Tents are being set. Chains removed for now. Guards posted."
Eason nodded once, satisfied.
"Good."
The soft tap of his cane against the ground echoed under the tent, small but commanding.
"Take your seat, Captain. We begin now."
Chairs shifted. Armor scraped lightly. The last of the murmurs died as everyone settled around the circular table.
At the center, the map of Aegulus was already spread wide—its inked ridges and marked routes glowing faintly under lantern light. A wooden box was opened, and small silver warrior pieces were placed across the map, each one representing a unit.
Klaus watched quietly.
Toy soldiers… deciding how many real ones die.
Eason leaned back slightly and gestured with his cane.
"Mr. Madlock," he said, voice smooth and assured, "You lead the strategy."
Madlock inclined his head and stepped forward. His fingers moved gently across the board, adjusting the silver pieces with care, like arranging something fragile.
"We go with the old formation," he said in a calm, simple tone. "Slaves take the front. Two ranks."
He placed two lines of pieces.
"Subjugators and soldiers mix together. Three clusters."
More pieces shifted.
"Horsemen go wide. They take the flanks."
He glanced toward the captains.
"You lead the sides."
Captain Yeal and Captain Humprey both gave short nods. Orlane crossed his arms, studying the formation without speaking. Elaine remained still, but her eyes followed every movement.
Klaus tapped his fingers lightly on the table.
Once. Twice.
Then—
"That won't do."
The words were quiet, but they cut through the room.
Heads turned again.
Madlock looked at him, not offended—only curious.
"If you see something better," he said, "you can tell."
Klaus leaned forward slightly, shadows around his shoulders shifting.
He pointed at the front lines.
"Mixing them like that… it's messy," he said. "Subjugators fight different. They move fast, rely on skills and coordination. Soldiers hold lines, rely on formation and discipline."
He tapped the table lightly.
"You mix them, they'll get in each other's way."
Charles' gaze sharpened.
Shane leaned back, fingers steepled.
He's testing it, Klaus thought. Good.
Klaus reached out and moved the silver pieces.
"We go arrowhead."
The formation shifted under his hand.
"Slaves in the center. Five ranks. Thick enough so they don't break fast."
He moved two groups outward.
"Subjugators on the left. Let them move freely. Soldiers on the right. Keep their formations in line."
Then he tapped the rear.
"Horsemen stay back first. Don't waste them early. Use them when the line breaks—or when we need to push."
Silence followed.
Not rejection.
Consideration.
Madlock nodded slowly.
"That is… clearer," he said. "Less conflict between styles."
Charles spoke next, voice measured and precise.
"Your proposal improves cohesion," he said. "However, it places significant pressure on the slave center. Should they collapse prematurely, the entire formation risks fragmentation."
Klaus shrugged.
"They might collapse," he said. "That's why you don't rely on them."
A pause.
"Use them to buy time."
Samantha let out a short, dry laugh.
"Finally, someone honest," she muttered. "They're meat. Use them like meat."
Elaine's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Crude," she said, voice refined and cold, "yet not entirely inaccurate."
Orlane rubbed his chin.
"The arrowhead gives better push," he said. "And clearer roles. Less confusion when things get ugly."
Shane finally spoke, his tone calm but sharp.
"It also gives us control," he said. "Subjugators won't be restricted by soldier commands. That alone is worth it."
Helhound remained silent—but his eyes shifted once toward Klaus, then to the formation.
Then back to Klaus.
"I thought you were different."
Eason chuckled softly.
"Well now," he said, "it seems our mysterious friend has an eye for war."
He tapped his cane lightly against the map.
"A fine suggestion. But—"
He glanced around the table.
"—we refine it."
And so they did.
Voices rose and fell.
Positions adjusted. Routes argued. Timings corrected.
The bronze captain spoke about terrain risks. The silver one pointed out supply delays. Shane recalculated retreat plan. Charles corrected weak points with precise detail. Elaine refined defensive rotations for subjugators. Madlock kept the structure balanced. Even Samantha threw in blunt remarks that somehow made sense.
Klaus mostly listened and watched.
His thought lingered on Hellhound's comment.
No, I'm different from them. I won't let their deaths be in vain.
Two hours passed.
By the end, the map no longer looked like a plan—
It looked like a gamble shaped carefully to avoid disaster.
Eason finally tapped his cane again.
"That will suffice," he said. "We proceed with this."
The meeting was over.
Chairs shifted. Tension eased—just a little.
Then—
Rio slammed his hands on the table and stood up.
"Well then," he said, grinning wide, "it's time, Enigma. Don't tell me you backed out."
Klaus leaned back lazily.
"You're still excited," he said. "Good."
He stood up slowly.
"After you."
Rio laughed loudly.
"That's what I'm talking about!" he said. "This is smokin' hot!"
Samantha rolled her eyes.
"Are they serious?" she muttered. "Right before a raid? Idiots."
Orlane chuckled.
"Ah… youth," he said. "I miss that kind of stupidity."
Eason glanced at him.
"You speak as though you are ancient," he said lightly. "You are not that old."
Orlane grinned.
"My bones say otherwise."
Elaine stood gracefully, brushing invisible dust from her sleeve.
"If they insist on this… spectacle," she said, "then at least ensure they do not cripple themselves."
Eason exhaled quietly.
"Keep it short," he said to Klaus. "We still need you alive."
Klaus gave a small nod.
"I'll try."
Helhound rose with a word and followed toward the exit.
"Stupidity."
The captains exchanged glances, then stood as well.
Rio was already outside.
Waiting.
Grinning.
Klaus stepped out of the tent, the cool desert air brushing against his face beneath the cloak.
The open sands stretched wide under the fading light.
He rolled his shoulder once.
Alright… let's see what kind of monster you are.