The war council convened that evening in the castle's map room. Kaelen was not invited—he was a mere sworn sword, Tier 2 in the eyes of the world—but Caspian brought him as an attendant, and no one questioned the heir of House Vane. Kaelen stood against the wall, silent and forgettable, while the powerful men and women of Thornwick argued over strategy.
King Aldric sat at the head of the table, his jowls trembling. To his right was Ser Godfrey, the Tier 4 champion—a mountain of a man with a shaved head and a scar across his throat. To his left sat Duke Alaric Vane, who had miraculously recovered from his illness. The duke's cold blue eyes swept the room, calculating. Other lords filled the remaining chairs: Lord Hayworth (Gerold's father), a fat merchant-noble with Tier 2 cultivation; Lady Morwen of the Eastern Marches, a grizzled Tier 3 warrior; Magister Elora of the mage's circle; and a dozen lesser nobles.
The Veridian Empire's demand was simple: ten thousand gold crowns annually, plus the right to station a garrison of five hundred soldiers in Thornwick's capital. In exchange, the Empire would "protect" the kingdom from external threats. In practice, it was annexation by another name.
"We cannot pay," Duke Alaric said. "Our treasury is already stretched thin by the border patrols and the cult activity."
"We cannot fight," Lord Hayworth countered. "The Empire has Tier 6 champions. We have Tier 4 at best. Ser Godfrey is powerful, but against a Tier 6? He would last ten seconds."
Ser Godfrey's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He knew it was true.
"Then we negotiate," Lady Morwen said. "Offer five thousand. Delay. Send emissaries to the Free Cities for aid."
"The Free Cities will not help," Magister Elora said. "They are terrified of the Empire. They would sooner hand us over than risk war."
The argument spiraled. Kaelen listened, absorbing every word. The Empire's army was massing at the Three Sisters Pass, about fifty miles east of Thornwick. They would march within the week unless tribute was paid. The kingdom's only hope was a miracle—or betrayal.
Caspian leaned close to Kaelen and whispered, "What do you think?"
It was a test. Kaelen chose his words carefully. "The Empire does not want tribute, my lord. They want an excuse to invade. If you pay, they will demand more next year. If you fight, you lose. The only way to win is to make the cost of invasion higher than the value of conquest."
"And how do we do that?"
"Kill their Tier 6 champion."
Caspian stared. "That's impossible. No one in Thornwick can match a Tier 6."
No one they know of, Kaelen thought. But he said, "Then we must find someone who can. Or create one."
The council ended with no decision. The king would sleep on it and announce his choice in the morning. As the nobles filed out, Duke Alaric caught Kaelen's eye. The duke gestured for him to approach.
"Voss. My son speaks highly of you. What did you whisper to him during the council?"
Kaelen bowed. "I told him the truth, my lord. That the only way to win is to make invasion costly."
The duke studied him for a long moment. "You are Tier 2, yet you speak like a general. Interesting." He turned to Caspian. "Keep him close. He may be useful."
That night, Kaelen returned to the sewers. He sat in his hidden cistern, the Shard pulsing, and focused on the barrier between Tier 3 and Tier 4. It was a wall of crystalline light, shimmering and unbreakable. He had been pounding against it for weeks, but it held firm.
You need essence, the Shard whispered. Pure, concentrated essence. The kind found in living cultivators.
Kaelen thought of the war. The coming battle. The corpses that would litter the field. Soon, he promised himself. Soon I will feed.
He rose and returned to Vane Manor before dawn. As he entered the servants' entrance, a hand grabbed his arm. He spun, his black blade half-drawn, and found himself face to face with Lady Seraphine Vane.
"I know you're not what you seem," she said, her voice low. "I've been watching you. You move like a predator, not a Tier 2."
Kaelen's heart slammed against his ribs. He considered killing her—a quick slash across the throat, her essence absorbed, her body hidden in the sewers. But no. Too risky. Too soon.
Instead, he smiled his ordinary smile. "I don't know what you mean, my lady. I am just a commoner who got lucky."
"Lucky." She snorted. "My brother is a fool. My father is desperate. But I am neither." She released his arm. "I don't know what you're planning, Voss. But if you harm my family, I will find a way to kill you. Even if it takes the rest of my life."
She walked away. Kaelen watched her go, his smile fading.
That one is dangerous, the Shard observed. More dangerous than the duke. More dangerous than the king.
I know, Kaelen thought. I will deal with her when the time comes.
He went to his room and slept for the first time in three days. In his dreams, the black ocean rose, and the red sky bled.