"Why are they taking so long?" Ichiro snapped. "How long am I supposed to wait?"
"Your Majesty," the communications mage said carefully, "we've received word. They were attacked near the capital. The engagement has already begun."
Ichiro's eyes narrowed.
"When did that whelp manage to send an army?" he demanded. "And why didn't our scouts detect it?"
"There was no army detected, Your Majesty. The attack was… sudden."
A hesitation.
"The mage reports that they were struck by… a ghost."
Ichiro went still.
Then—
"What kind of idiocy is this?" he barked. "Have they all gone mad?!"
"I can only repeat what was reported, my king. The witness claims the ground began to move like a storming sea. Then dust rose without wind. Soldiers fell one after another with stab wounds—yet no attacker was visible."
Silence.
"You said the earth moved," Ichiro muttered.
A pause.
"No… no."
His expression twisted.
"It can't be August. He died two years ago."
Another pause.
"Then who the hell can use earth magic like that?"
"I do not know, Your Majesty."
Ichiro's gaze snapped to him.
"What do you know?" he said, voice dropping into something far more dangerous. "Lately you've been nothing but a useless slave, bringing me one failure after another."
The man flinched.
"Send three hundred soldiers," Ichiro continued sharply. "Reinforce them. I don't care how strong that mage is—no one has infinite power. Grind him down. Don't let him breathe."
A thin, ugly smile.
"And tell them this: I want that brave fool delivered to me alive."
"Yes, my king."
The door closed.
Ichiro swept everything from his desk in one violent motion.
Papers scattered.
Ink splashed across the floor.
Still not enough.
His chest heaved.
Rage clawed up his throat.
Since Klaus's declaration—
the messages hadn't stopped.
Demands.
Questions.
Pressure.
Relentless.
He was the king.
He owed them nothing.
That had always been the truth.
Until that bastard gave them a choice.
Ichiro's jaw tightened hard enough to ache.
He had intercepted some of the letters at the queen's estate.
Some.
How many had slipped past him?
How many had answered Klaus?
How much power had that brat gathered in a single week while he waited?
At least the royal army was still the largest force.
Only one faction could rival it.
Slash Digger.
Ichiro picked up the letter again.
No questions.
No demands.
Just a statement:
He would arrive in three days.
To hear the truth.
Ichiro had one day left.
One.
He had to break Klaus.
Force him to submit.
And Abel—
Abel was bringing him exactly what he needed.
Leverage.
Victory was right there.
Close enough to touch.
He would not lose it.
Not now.
Klaus knew.
He had known from the beginning that something was wrong.
And still—
he had trusted him.
His advisor.
His brother.
Now—
he wanted to tear his head off with his bare hands.
"How did this happen?" Klaus demanded.
His voice cut through the barracks like a blade.
The air around him snapped with electricity.
No one dared step closer.
"I asked you a question."
Slow.
Controlled.
Barely contained.
"Why was I not informed?"
"A-After the captain left," a young soldier stammered, barely sixteen, shaking, "he ordered us not to tell you…"
Klaus's gaze darkened.
"You swore loyalty to me," he said quietly.
Too quietly.
"So explain to me—why his orders matter more than mine."
"Y-Your Majesty—we didn't—we just—he's your right hand—"
"Listen."
Klaus stepped forward.
The air cracked.
A spark jumped across the floor.
From his boots.
To the walls.
"To all of you," he continued, voice dropping lower, sharper, "from this moment on—nothing is hidden from me."
Each word landed like a strike.
"If anyone orders you to conceal information—anyone—"
A pause.
"Even the gods themselves—"
His eyes burned.
"You report it to me immediately."
Silence crushed the room.
"Where did he go?"
"A village portal, near the capital."
"What's the closest portal to Anatodom?"
"Near the gates."
"And the next?"
"At the forest edge."
"On the road?"
"Yes."
"Good."
Klaus turned sharply.
"I'm going."
"Who's coming with you?"
"No one."
"You will not go alone."
Horalde's voice.
Low.
Firm.
Behind him.
"I am," Klaus said.
"You're not thinking clearly."
"I don't need to."
A step forward.
"I need to move."
"Your life matters," Horalde pressed. "I won't let you—"
"That was not a request."
Klaus turned.
And for a moment—
there was nothing human left in his eyes.
"That was an order."
Silence.
"…Klaus—"
"Stay here."
Cut clean.
"Take my place. Handle the nobles."
A pause.
"You're not stupid. You'll figure something out."
"Horalde—"
"I said enough."
Klaus didn't wait.
He grabbed the sphere—
and left.
He couldn't think.
Didn't want to.
Two people—
the only two that mattered—
were in danger.
And he had been sitting in a room—
listening to nobles talk.
No.
He would bring Egor back.
He would save August.
And then—
he would break his neck with his own hands.
Klaus emerged at the forest's edge.
He didn't need to think about direction.
Didn't need to remember.
A dark cloud hung in the distance.
He knew exactly who that was.
He spurred the horse forward.
The camouflage failed.
Most of the enemy were already down.
Still—
August hadn't reached Abel.
The coward had panicked.
Enslaved every non-mage soldier.
Turned them into shields.
They didn't hesitate.
Didn't feel fear.
Didn't even try to survive.
They just obeyed.
And that made them worse than any trained soldier.
August's reserves were almost gone.
His body felt wrong.
Heavy.
Slow.
Every breath scraped his throat raw.
He had forgotten the stimulant orbs.
A mistake.
A fatal one.
Of the four soldiers he brought—
two remained.
Once the camouflage dropped—
their advantage vanished.
The dust choked them.
Blurred vision.
Burned lungs.
Useless now.
August dismissed it.
No point wasting what little he had left.
He moved forward.
Direct.
Brutal.
Every step heavier than the last.
Blades pierced him.
Cut him.
Didn't matter.
His body ignored it.
Forced forward.
Enemy mages—
few.
Cautious.
Afraid.
Good.
One less problem.
The one he had expected—
came anyway.
No reinforcements.
None.
So that was it.
He would fight.
Until the end.
Buy time.
Nothing more.
"Hey!" he shouted.
"Take him and run!"
He threw the sphere blindly.
"Forest edge—you'll make it!"
"But Captain—!"
"Don't argue!" August snapped. "It's over!"
A beat.
"You see that, don't you?!"
The soldier obeyed.
Good.
August exhaled.
Shaky.
Uneven.
Then gathered everything he had left.
Forced it down.
Into the ground.
And released it.
The earth surged.
Violent.
Unstable.
Cracking.
Splitting.
He had done this before.
Never alone.
After this—
nothing would be left.
Didn't matter.
The path opened.
Abel.
There.
Fear.
Real.
Alive.
August smiled.
Slow.
Almost delirious.
"Well, little brother…"
A step forward.
"…shall we die together?"
"Fuck you!" Abel screamed. "I'm not dying! His Majesty will save me!"
Hoofbeats thundered behind him.
Arrows struck.
One lodged in his side.
Another in his shoulder.
August didn't even flinch.
Didn't stop.
Fire forced him sideways.
Heat scorched his skin.
Then—
they surrounded him.
Hundreds.
Weapons raised.
"Surrender."
"Kill him!" Abel shrieked. "Kill him now!"
"The king wants him alive."
August laughed.
Low.
Broken.
"And who said I'd let you take me alive?"
"You're alone! The boy's already taken—we killed the soldier with him! Surrender!"
August turned his head.
Slowly.
Egor.
Thrown across a horse.
Limp.
Not moving.
Alive?
He couldn't tell.
"Then I'll kill him myself!" Abel shouted.
August turned back—
and froze.
A pistol.
Wrong.
Impossible.
"Where did you—"
The shot cracked.
Time broke.
Slowed.
Stretched.
He saw it—
clearly—
a small piece of metal tearing through the air toward him.
Too fast.
Too close.
Impact.
For a second—
nothing.
Then—
fire.
It ripped through his stomach.
Tore him open.
August staggered.
Looked down.
Blood.
Too much.
Too fast.
Hot.
Pouring between his fingers.
"No…"
That wasn't possible.
His body—
shouldn't—
couldn't—
He swayed.
Vision flickering.
Sound warping.
Abel stared at the weapon.
Shocked.
Then—
understanding.
He threw it away.
Scrambled onto a horse.
And ran.
No one stopped him.
No one even tried.
August dropped to his knees.
Blood filled his mouth.
Spilled over his lips.
His strength—
gone.
Magic—
gone.
Everything—
gone.
Footsteps.
Closing in.
No.
Not like this.
Not in chains.
Not helpless.
Not broken.
His hand moved.
Slow.
Heavy.
A knife.
From inside his coat.
His fingers barely held it.
He lifted it.
Shaking.
To his throat.