In the camp, Ragnar observed his surroundings. Healers moved swiftly between the wounded, tending to the broken and the burned. Soldiers carried the fallen with quiet reverence, the dead wrapped in bloodstained cloth. Grahm was among them, gently guiding his brother’s lifeless body back to the camp.

  Ragnar’s gaze shifted. He noticed Shayara standing nearby, her eyes repeatedly glancing toward a resting figure, a wounded mage. The man looked older, with a greying beard and the insignia of House Kino stitched into his robes: a tree rising from an open book, the hallmark of Arcadia’s Mage Academy. Known for producing some of the most gifted support-class mages, House Kino was revered across the kingdom.

  The man looked like a seasoned veteran, yet Ragnar didn’t recognize him.

  “Who is he?” Ragnar asked.

  “Who, Sir?” Shayara replied, startled.

  Ragnar gestured toward the man.

  “That’s Sir Elof,” she said quietly. “He was my mentor during my early days at the academy. He taught us how to enhance physical strength and endurance. Also…”

  “I see,” Ragnar interrupted. “Follow me.”

  They approached the injured veteran.

  “Welcome to the western camp,” Ragnar said. “I wish we had met under better circumstances. Still, I’m honored to receive the aid of a master from House Kino.”

  Sir Elof looked up and made an effort to rise, but Ragnar motioned for him to remain seated.

  “General Ragnar,” he said, voice weary but composed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. I’m Elof Moongrum the Fourth. I taught enhancement magic at the academy for years.”

  His eyes drifted past Ragnar to the young woman standing behind him.

  “Shayara? Is that you?” His voice grew solemn. “So even you’ve been sent to the front.”

  Shayara hesitated, unsure how to respond, and simply nodded.

  Ragnar turned back to Elof. “Is it true that Arabus commissioned your group into battle?”

  “Yes, Sir. That’s what I was told. Fifty sent to the eastern front, thirty to the central line, and twenty of us here in the west. I happened to be at the southern camp when I received the summons. Figured I’d be more useful on the front lines than hiding behind academy walls—especially when even students are enlisting.”

  Honor and courage, Ragnar thought. Such people are always needed in the kingdom.

  “I thank you for joining us. Please, rest for now. Your skills will be crucial in the battles to come.”

  Elof gave a faint smile. “I’ve heard much about the Crimson Lord. Today, I understand why. May this old man make a request of you, Sir?”

  Ragnar nodded.

  Elof motioned toward Shayara. “What she lacks in confidence, she makes up for in raw talent and heart. She hasn’t graduated yet but she chose to follow us into the most brutal conflict in Arcadia’s history. Please… guide her, if you can.”

  Ragnar raised an eyebrow. He had known she was a novice, but volunteering for a war of this scale was no small thing.

  “You haven’t completed your studies?” he asked, turning to her.

  Shayara looked down, her voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to deceive you, Sir. I just… wanted to help. That’s all.”

  Ragnar studied her for a long moment.

  “You have guts,” he said finally. “From this moment on, you are part of the Crimson Knights. I’ll see to it you’re issued a Crimson Enhancer’s cloak.”

  He turned back to Elof. “I take it you’re alright with this?”

  Elof smiled. “How could I not be? If the General himself has accepted her, then who am I to disagree?”

  The Crimson Knights, one of Arcadia’s most formidable units. Each warrior was hand-picked either by the Crimson Lord himself or his commanders. Being chosen was more than an honor. It was a vow.

  “General!”

  The voice rang over the camp’s din.

  “General!”

  It came again, louder and closer. A tall, lean man pushed through the crowd, holding a hand to his spectacles to keep them from falling off his nose. Breathless and flushed, he finally reached Ragnar.

  “Here you are! Good news or bad news first?” he asked hurriedly.

  “Slow down, Marius,” Ragnar said, holding up a hand. “Take a breath. Give me the good news first, so we can focus on fixing the bad.”

  Marius drew in a deep breath, then began, “Our scouts successfully infiltrated the enemy camp. They sent back some valuable intelligence.”

  He paused for another breath before continuing. “That was the good news. The bad news is… Moloch is expected to arrive in two days. And there are whispers among his followers, claims that he’s received another blessing from Shraak. They say he’s no longer just a champion… he’s now practically a Demigod.”

  Ragnar’s expression darkened.” A Demigod.”, he murmured. The word itself shouldn’t be used lightly. In this world, when a mortal was granted even a sliver of true divinity, they transcended. Their power eclipsed even the highest arch-mages, like Ragnar himself.

  “Uhm… is a Demigod really that powerful?” Shayara asked, hesitantly.

  Ragnar remained silent, still deep in thought.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Elof answered, his voice calm but firm.

  “A demigod can wield Laws, not mere spells or fragments of magic, but the very foundations upon which reality is built. These truths are difficult for most mortals to fully comprehend, let alone command.”

  Marius cut in, his tone quick and slightly sardonic.

  “Mortals like Ragnar, and that cunning bastard Arabus, can tap into those powers, sure, but only in diluted form. A true demigod has no such limits. They bend reality as easily as others draw breath. It’s a different league altogether. They change the rules of combat. Hard for even us to stand a chance.”

  Ragnar’s eyes narrowed. “Have you told anyone else?”

  “Nope,” Marius replied. “Why?”

  “Don’t,” Ragnar said firmly. “Announce that Moloch is arriving, but say nothing about this demigod nonsense.”

  “But General… shouldn’t people know how strong he might be?” Marius asked, uncertain.

  “This is still just camp talk,” Ragnar replied. “It could be a deliberate ploy. The Despairing Army thrives on fear. If they wanted to shatter morale before the fight, they’d plant whispers like this. Until we see Moloch with our own eyes, we treat it as unconfirmed.”

  “I agree,” Elof said. “Spreading that kind of rumor will only break our lines before a single sword is drawn.”

  “Do you think Arabus’s scouts know?” Ragnar asked.

  “Doubt it,” Marius shrugged. “Infiltrating the Despairing Army is no small feat. It takes good scouts, and that bastard Arabus doesn’t have any.”

  Then he turned to Shayara with mock seriousness. “You there! if you tell anyone I called Arabus a bastard, I’ll curse you into a fish.”

  Shayara blinked, eyes wide in horror. “I—I’m sorry, sir! I swear I won’t tell a single soul!”

  Ragnar interjected with a sigh, “It’s alright, Shayara. He’s teasing. There’s no such spell.”

  Then turning to Marius, his tone grew stern, “Also, Shayara is now a member of the Crimson Knights. So stop threatening her.”

  Marius raised an eyebrow. “Really? Hmm. Well, in that case, welcome to the Crimson Knights, fledgling. Now, to complete your initiation, you must slay an enemy and drink their blood.”

  Shayara shot a horrified look at Ragnar.

  “Enough,” Ragnar said sharply. “Stop wasting time, Marius. Demigod or not, the threat is real. Focus.”

  Marius nodded, this time serious. “I know. But I might have a way to delay Moloch’s arrival, and maybe even tip the scales in our favor.”

  “Then follow me. We shouldn’t be discussing this out in the open,” Ragnar said. He gestured for Elof and Shayara to come along.

  They made their way through the camp and entered Ragnar’s command tent. Shayara glanced around, his tent was larger than any other officer’s she’d seen. A wooden table at the side was cluttered with scrolls, inkpots, and half-burned candles. At the center stood a circular war table displaying a map of the region, and before it, a totem-like structure carved with red wings and a golden sword pointing skyward.

  Ragnar reached out and placed his hand on it. A faint glow pulsed from the structure.

  “No one can hear us now. Marius, continue.”

  Marius straightened. “Right. So, our scouts have learned that Moloch plans to approach via the Silent Road. And you know why it’s called that, don’t you?”

  He glanced at Shayara.

  “Because… no one travels it?” she offered cautiously.

  “Exactly,” Marius nodded. “And that’s because of Diablos , the famed ’Lord of the Abyss’ in the old Bor tongue.”

  Shayara’s eyes widened. “Are they from the Abyssal realms ?”

  “No” Ragnar said flatly. “It’s a drake nest.”

  Drakes are massive, earth-born beasts descended from draconic bloodlines. Covered in thick, scale-like hide, they were nearly immune to both blade and spell. Their molten breath could melt stone, which they often regurgitated as molten projectiles.

  “Not just any drake,” Marius replied. “The drake. Diablos. Lord of the drakes. Even if it doesn’t stop Moloch, it might slow him down. My scouts are monitoring the Silent Road now. They’ll plant charges near the creature’s habitat to draw it out.”

  Ragnar’s expression tightened. “Have you gone insane? You’d risk scout lives triggering an apex predator to stop a demigod? One wrong step in camouflage and they’re ash.”

  “Not to stop him,” Marius said seriously, “to delay him. General, the scouts know the risks. These are the same people who infiltrated the Despairing Army, some of the best we have. Many of our comrades have already died on the frontlines. These men and women are willing to risk everything, for their kingdom… and for their commander.”

  Ragnar exhaled slowly. “You’re right. I spoke too harshly. I dismissed their courage. Go on.”

  Marius nodded and continued. “As I was saying, Diablos is no ordinary drake. It wiped out an elite squad of mages and hunters five years ago. And remember, Moloch may be a demigod now, but he’s still new to that power. Even for him, taking on Diablos won’t be simple. He’s arrogant enough to take the Silent Road… let him prove it.”

  “Alright,” Elof interjected. “But what if you’re wrong, Sir Marius? We don’t know the full extent of a demigod’s power. What if he incinerates the drake like they were a green ant?”

  “Then we’re dead,” Marius said bluntly. “So let’s pray that doesn’t happen. Now, onto the second part of my grand plan.”

  Ragnar raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”

  “The reason the tides are turning against us is because Moloch has become a demigod,” Marius said. “So what if… we make one of our own?”

  Ragnar sighed. “That’s your grand plan, Marius? Didn’t you study at the Academy? A demigod requires divine blessing, a shard of true divinity. In our kingdom…”

  “Are you really giving me a lecture on demigods now?” Marius interrupted. “It’s outdated thinking. A mortal can ascend without the gods” with a pause, “if they master the Laws. With the right knowledge, humans can become gods.”

  “You’re lucky this tent is soundproof,” Ragnar chuckled. “Say that in the wrong place and the people would burn you as a heretic.”

  “If they do, I’ll expose your secret experiments on the Law of Causality,” Marius grinned. “We’ll go down together.”

  Shayara and Elof exchanged a glance. They both knew they were hearing things they definitely shouldn’t be hearing.

  Humans can become gods through sheer knowledge…

  In any other setting, such words would mean execution.

  This was the Holy Kingdom of Arcadia, ruled by a mortal king, yes, but governed by the divine decrees of the Crown of Radiance, the voice of His High Holiness, God-King Amun, ruler of the Five Realms.

  “Will they be a problem?” Marius asked, frowning slightly as he looked between Elof and Shayara.

  Elof caught the implication immediately and responded before Ragnar could speak.

  “No, Sir. I swear upon the honor of House Moongrum, I will not repeat a word spoken here.”

  Shayara stood still for a moment, then nodded with visible anxiety. “I vow as well, Sir… not a word.”

  “They’ll be fine,” Ragnar said calmly.

  “But your theory breaks on one key point, Marius,” he continued. “The Law of Causality is still incomplete. And even if it weren’t, using it practically would require diluting the Law so much that it loses its divine potency. That alone collapses your plan.”

  “If anyone can make it work, it’s you,” Marius insisted. “Even diluted, if you can wield two Laws, we might stand a chance. That bastard prophet isn’t helping us. If we can’t stop Moloch, we don’t just lose this camp, we lose the entire kingdom.”

  Elof and Shayara both tensed again.

  That bastard prophet…

  The accusation was blasphemous. Shayara’s mind reeled. She had grown up hearing stories about men like Marius who were known as the defiers of divine order, known as the Damned.

  And yet here he stood, in the Crimson Lord’s war tent… being taken seriously.