Quite a couple complaints were raised at Gunlaug, claiming Sasrir was overstepping his boundsand planning something unsavory, but Sasrir was quick to put those people down-after the fourth corpse was thrown into the burial pit, most learnt to keep their mouths shut. The Bright Lord didn't really care either, since Sasrir was careful never to push those he actually valued too hard.
By the third month, the Guards had become a semblance of a real fighting force. They still grumbled, still flexed power in subtle ways, but Sasrir had them performing maneuvers, patrols, and sparring drills that were far beyond what they'd attempted under Tessai. He rewarded initiative selectively, punishing mistakes without mercy, and in that delicate balance, fear and respect merged into obedience. Watching him, I realized that the Primarch was more than a soldier—he was an architect of loyalty, turning raw chaos into a tool sharp enough to cut steel.
Let me tell you, I was quite proud my little shadow had grown up so much.
Meanwhile, my own life was a study in patience, subtlety, and survival. For three months, I was a sort of living ornament to Gunlaug and Harus—essentially their squire. I fetched documents, delivered messages, carried supplies, and attended meetings I had no say in. Any misstep, any hesitation, could have been noted and punished.
At first, it felt like being trapped under a microscope. Every glance, every motion had to be precise. I learned the order of the Castle, the quietest paths, when to bow, when to speak, and when to stay silent. Serving under Harus was particularly educational; the hunchback's presence alone reminded me that any lapse could mean physical reprisal, and Gunlaug's scrutiny kept my mind sharp even while performing menial tasks.
But I wasn't completely idle. Every few days, I snuck out with Effie and Kai. These excursions were honestly some of my best moments in the Forgotten Shore. We hunted in the edges of theCoral Labyrinth, never staying in the City where we might be chanced upon by other Hunters, honing our combat instincts and building our repertoire of Memories. Tracking, trapping, learning the nuances of prey behavior, refining our offensive and defensive techniques—it was all preparation, all part of the quiet accumulation of power that the Bright Castle demanded I postpone for formal recognition.
During these trips, we also gathered Soul Shards, reinforcing our capabilities bit by bit. Every shard was a resource, a tool, a reminder that while the Castle may have claimed our freedom, our potential remained ours to cultivate. The outside world—still dangerous, still unpredictable—became our secret training ground, a place where we could move freely, and where our strength quietly grew, unnoticed by the tyrants within the Castle.
Sasrir and I were slowly inching towards our next Class, though progress was miniscule: as a Devil, the Soul Shards of primarily Awakened and Dormant monsters were too light for my appetite, so the majority of the Shards just went to Sasrir, helping him inch towards becoming a Demon. With the way things were going now, I wouldn't become a Tyrant before leaving the Forgotten Shore.
Now, sitting here in the Corpse Cathedral, I could tell Sasrir was reflecting on his own three-month crucible. He didn't speak at first, letting the silence hang heavy like the weight of memories. When he finally spoke, his words were careful, precise:
"The Guards are… functional now. Not perfect, but no longer a threat to themselves or us. Their obedience is secured, their chaos contained. What remains is their loyalty, and even that is a matter of time."
I nodded, understanding fully. "You molded them into soldiers, while I… just danced around the two tyrants, keeping my head down, sneaking out to hunt and collect Shards."
He glanced at me sideways, expression neutral. "You acquired resources, built experience, and avoided unnecessary exposure. That is… acceptable."
I smirked, stretching again. "Acceptable? I was practically a lapdog for those two and risked my neck sneaking out to galivant through the Labyrinth."
Sasrir's lips twitched in the faintest shadow of a smile. "The lapdog lives to fight another day. And I know youenjoyed hanging out with Athena and Kai."
I leaned back, letting the truth sink in. For three months, we had both endured trials of very different kinds. One of us commanded, disciplined, and punished. The other obeyed, survived, and accumulated strength in secret. And yet, both paths converged here—preparing us for the next stage, for the long game that was only beginning.
I leaned against the pew, letting the cold stone press into my back, while Sasrir remained upright, arms crossed, observing the blurred statue and flickering torches. "So," I started, "three months from now, the next batch hits the Forgotten Shore. Any guesses on the numbers?"
Sasrir's eyes, cold and calculating, didn't move from the statue. "Depends on the source. If Gunlaug's calculations are correct, about forty to fifty newcomers will be tossed here by the Spell. Of those, roughly half will reach the City alive."
I raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Half? That seems generous. The Labyrinth alone would kill most of them if the Pathfinders don't do their job properly."
"Precisely," Sasrir replied evenly. "Gemma and the Hunters are already moving. They'll sweep the City and clear the Labyrinth in advance—nothing to slow down the newcomers. Those who make it alive with either be the smartest or the strongest."
I hummed, tapping a finger against the pew. "So basically, just like any other place in the Dream Realm?"
"Exactly," Sasrir said, voice calm but firm. "The Forgotten Shore may be a deadzone, but that's only for Sleepers like us. If every Dormant here was replaced by an Awakened, the Forgotten Shore would have been cracked open ages ago."
I leaned back further, letting the plan swirl in my head. "Three months to prep, and then we have the perfect stage. I'm curious, though—how many of them do you think will actually make it to the Castle gates?"
Sasrir's lips curved slightly, almost imperceptibly. "A handful, if they're lucky. Ten, maybe fifteen. The rest will be casualties—either the Labyrinth will claim them, or the Dark Sea will. Maybe an unlucky few will be snapped up by the Soul Devourer. And of those that survive, half will be too weak to matter."
I let out a low whistle. "Harsh, but realistic. You think they'll adapt quickly to the City, or will the strain of survival break them?"
"They'll adapt," Sasrir said matter-of-factly. "The environment is brutal, but only those who can endure will survive long enough to challenge anyone. This is not a game for the naïve or the slow. And any mistake—any hesitation—will be fatal. I trust the Shore and Spell will do their work."
I laughed softly, shaking my head. "You're worse than Gemma. At least the Hunters leave a few crumbs for the newbies to fight over. You're talking about winnowing them down like livestock before they even arrive."
Sasrir's head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing. "I deal in efficiency, Adam. Survivors must be strong, or they are irrelevant. We have no need for the weak, and Gunlaug certainly won't tolerate inefficiency."
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, grinning. "Fair enough. So, when the newbies show up, the City will be cleaned, the Labyrinth cleared, and Gemma's already itching to sweep in. You, me, and maybe the others will just watch… or pick the most favourable looking survivors to recruit?"
Sasrir's gaze finally flicked toward me. "Observe first. Evaluate second. Intervene only when necessary. Let them make mistakes—they will, inevitably. And when they do, we take advantage. Make them own us something, make them more open to listen to us."
I nodded slowly, letting the implications sink in. "Three months. Plenty of time to sharpen the blade, then. And by the time they arrive, we'll know exactly what—or who—we're dealing with."
Sasrir said nothing, only turned back to the flickering torches and blurred figure of the man with the cross. His silence was agreement enough, and I could feel the weight of the coming months pressing against the Soul Sea walls. Chaos was on the horizon, and we would be ready.
I stretched my arms behind my head again, letting the springs of the pew groan under my weight. "But after the next batch...only one year from now, the big characters shows up. Sunny and the rest of the Cohort finally arrive. Then, at last, the main story starts." I said it with a lightness that didn't match the weight of the words, like I was discussing the weather instead of the entire Fate of the Forgotten Shore.
Sasrir's eyes, dark and steady as always, lifted from the statue. "And what of Caster?" he asked, voice low and measured. "Changing Star? They are likely to stir rebellion in the Settlement just as they did in the novel. Do you intend to ignore them?"
I let out a soft laugh, tilting my head back. "Ignore? Not exactly. I just… don't see the point in stressing over it right now. Fate has a funny way of sorting itself out." I waved a hand, as though dismissing some invisible nuisance. "Let the Settlement churn. Let the Lords squabble. As long as Nephis goes on her little scavenger hunt across the Forgotten Shore and collects the remaining Lord Shards for us, we can step in later and—bam—bring her to the table."
Sasrir didn't shift, didn't blink. His expression was calm, but I could feel the subtle edge in his tone when he replied. "You trust Fate too easily. Caster and Changing Star are not fools, and they might not play into your hands so smoothly. Besides, how do you plan to take the Shard Memories from her once she acquires them? The Shield and Sword are fine, but the Dawn Shard is way too powerful for her to hand over willingly."
"Maybe," I admitted, shrugging. "But consider this: Nephis is a man-child with an attitude problem. Unless Sunny randomly decides to give her lessons on how to be a proper scumbag, she won't notice anything wrong even if I strip her down to her underwear. I might not be Amon, but I can still swindle a fool like her."
"That arrogance will get you killed."
"Nonsense, I have you here!"