"Just as I thought," Lucia mused.
The massive army that originated in Leyndell during the War of Unification was the precursor to the Tarnished. It was an invincible force that swept north to shatter the Giant Dynasty, south to conquer Stormveil, and east to pacify Caelid. Only such a legend-forged army could produce the shooting stars of the future—heroic figures like the Tarnished who would one day return to challenge the gods.
Combining Elder Muriel's account with his own ta-knowledge, Lucia caught a glimpse of a buried truth: the exile in Caelid, though sudden, was t with an eerie calm by Queen Marika and the Warlord Godfrey. It was less a betrayal of a "discarded bow" and more a new, secret mission. The King had chosen to silently bear the burden, abandoning his glorious hegemony to march into the Badlands with his warriors.
Lucia let out a breath of relief. His investigation into the Ofnir lineage had paid off. The "Sir Hundred-Eyes"—Gideon Ofnir—was not currently in the Lands Between. However, the group behind Hectov was firmly entrenched in Radagon's New Faction. They would offer a "hostage" no favors. If Lucia wanted to survive his stay in the capital, he had to clear his own path.
"Aegis, Guilel," he called to his captains.
The two stood at attention. "You depart tonight. Guilel, shadow Clavell. Aegis, watch the Misbegotten coalition."
"Tomorrow morning, the main envoy departs for Dectus as scheduled," Lucia continued, his voice hardening. "I will use a hunting trip as a pretext to separate from the main force with Elder Muriel and a few guards. We will head for the ridge near Sunset Pass. Your tasks are simple: first, ensure Hectov and his guard are wiped out by the demi-humans. Second, after the coalition traitors turn on Clavell, move in. Slaughter the entire allied army, then bring Clavell to ."
Guilel's face paled. "Slaughter the entire army? Is that necessary? If we remove Soreto, Turak, and the chieftains, the rest will scatter."
"We have no choice," Lucia replied, his voice a flat, calm line. "They are unstable variables. They know Clavell is a traitor. They are a pack of beasts whose minds are clouded by bloodlust. If even one survives, they could expose Clavell to the Golden Dynasty later. Or, they scatter and raid the farms we promised to protect, killing every civilian in sight. I will not leave that to chance."
Everyone in the tent knew that the mont the frail Kruger had assembled this desperate host, their fates had been sealed. The old priest had overestimated his control; his people understood only the primal urge to kill, plunder, and devour. After tonight, with Kruger dead, the coalition would be nothing more than a rabid pack.
"I understand," Guilel whispered after a long silence. She offered a somber military salute and turned to execute the order. Aegis followed with a silent, sharp bow.
Once alone, Lucia finalized the "hunting" escort with the remaining commanders. An hour later, he extinguished the lamp and entered the mory Battlefield.
He didn't fight Samuel this ti. Instead, he manifested an armchair and sat beneath the cold, shattered stars of his subconscious. With his ntal processing speed vastly enhanced by the space, he ran the plan through a thousand iterations. He questioned every moral angle, every tactical risk.
No—there is no better way.
Saving Clavell was a surgical strike. He would use the demi-humans to prune the New Faction's influence in Caelid, then appear as the "heroic" Ancient Dragon Demigod to quell the chaos. By writing to Marika to support Clavell—a man of the Old Party with a local reputation—he would plant a Farum Azula "nail" into the heart of the Golden Dynasty. The 20,000 civilians of Caelid would be spared a siege, and a strategic waterway would fall under his silent influence.
The plan was perfect. Yet, it required him to casually sign the death warrants of everyone at Sunset Pass.
Lucia gazed at the dying stars and thought of the Starscourge conflict he had witnessed in his previous life. Beneath the red sands lay the bones of warriors crushed by the wheels of ti. In the Lands Between, the pace of history is dictated by gods and kings. On their path to hegemony, the lives of mortals are rely the ink used to embellish the history books.
Perhaps in another corner of space-ti, soone else felt this sa crushing pressure. But like them, he had no other choice. He was a potential king of the dragons, and his first loyalty was to his own race.
He had not yet donned the physical crown of Farum Azula, but he could already feel its weight—heavy, cold, and stained with blood.
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