Orion felt a chill run down his spine. His gut told him he was being watched. Not just the Foundry Citadel—him.

It was the Unhallowed. The invisible puppeteer had finally shown its face.

"Lost your patience?" Orion muttered, eyes narrowing.

He couldn't be sure if the Doomsday Fire had actually threatened the entity, or if the stalemate had simply become too boring for an ancient horror.

To fight, or not to fight?

Orion's hand twitched toward his weapon. Every instinct screamed at him to go out there, to meet the enemy in the field. But his brain pumped the brakes. The original plan was to turtle—to use the collective power of the Citadel to outlast the siege.

Unknown variables... risks... resource drain... morale...

He ran the calculations in his head. The numbers didn't favor a solo sortie.

Orion forced himself to relax, sinking back onto his throne atop the tower. I was waiting for you before. Now, it's your turn to wait for me.

A mischievous smirk touched his lips. He decided the best strategy was to be annoying.

"Eparus!" his voice boomed. "Condition Red. Full combat readiness."

"And crank the output on the Doomsday Fire. Let's turn up the heat."

Just to be safe, Orion synced his own consciousness with the defensive formation. By using his power as the core processing unit, the barrier would be far more responsive.

The staring contest had begun.

Silverwood Realm. Staghelm City.

The wedding was over. Since it was wartime, the festivities had been muted—nothing like the raucous parties back in Stoneheart City.

The "prank the newlyweds" operation planned by Kraken and the boys had failed miserably. Mostly because Orion and the Deputy Commander had ghosted the reception immediately after the vows to head back to the Abyss.

"This round is on me."

The voice came from a stranger sliding onto the stool next to Tangere.

They were in a tavern run by Wood Elves—a popular spot for mercenaries and soldiers looking to unwind. The staff were local, descendants of families who had lived in Staghelm City for generations, surviving off the magic of the Moonwell rather than the wild magic of the Forest of Nature.

Tangere loved the vibe here. The booze was a unique blend of spirits cut with moonwater, smooth but potent.

He had just seen off Caesar and Aerin. Their territories were way up north, and they had to rush back to manage their reconstruction efforts. Tangere was in the same boat, but he had stopped here for a specific purpose: recruiting. He needed manpower for his swamp territory.

"Thanks," Tangere replied politely, glancing at the stranger.

A free drink was a free drink. In a mercenary bar, it was standard etiquette.

"Not bad. A bit watery, though."

The stranger's comment—and his method of drinking—caught Tangere's attention.

The man wasn't using his mouth. Instead, a small octopus perched on his head had extended a tentacle into the mug, draining the liquid in seconds.

"Watery?" Tangere raised an eyebrow. "This is 100 proof. It might not be rocket fuel, but it's hardly water."

The tavern catered to soldiers. They didn't sell weak stuff.

"You misunderstand," the stranger said with a grin. "I don't mean the alcohol content. I mean the salt content."

Okay, Tangere thought. We are definitely operating on different wavelengths.

"So, I bought you a round. How about you buy me one back?"

Kraken flipped his empty goblet upside down. Not a drop remained.

"Fair is fair," Tangere agreed.

As soon as the words left his mouth, Kraken flicked his wrist. The standard glass goblet vanished.

In its place, Kraken produced a glass vessel that looked suspiciously like a fishbowl.

"Miss? Fill this up, please," Kraken said to the stunning Wood Elf waitress, flashing a charming smile. "This gentleman is buying."

He turned back to Tangere, eyes twinkling. "The standard cups are too small. You don't mind if I upgrade, do you?"

Tangere shook his head, amused. He thought he'd met an eccentric, but apparently, he'd just met a high-functioning alcoholic.

"Be my guest."

Tangere shrugged. He could afford a drink.

But his expression froze when the waitress brought over a large jug of wine and started pouring.

She emptied the entire jug. The liquid barely covered the bottom of the fishbowl.

"Sir?"

The waitress looked at Kraken. Kraken looked at Tangere. The waitress looked at Tangere.

Tangere looked at the fishbowl, then back at Kraken. He let out a laugh.

"Fill him up," Tangere said, tossing a pouch of Mana Cores onto the counter.

He didn't have local currency, but Mana Cores were the gold standard across the multiverse.

"Right away, sir!"

Eyeing the heavy pouch, the waitress beamed and hurried off to fetch more kegs.

"Thanks, friend. My cup is just a little bigger than average," Kraken said, a strange, knowing smile playing on his lips.

"Don't mention it. It's just booze," Tangere replied, sipping his own drink calmly.

He wasn't angry about being hustled. He knew Kraken had to be part of the coalition—either from another faction or a local heavy hitter. Tangere was new to the Silverwood Realm; making friends, even weird ones, was a smart investment.

Who knew? Tangere mused. Maybe this drunk has skills. Maybe he knows people.

So, Tangere kept his cool.

However, he had severely underestimated the physics of Kraken's "cup."

It took every drop of liquor in the tavern and two more bags of Mana Cores from Tangere before the fishbowl was finally full.

"Much appreciated, friend!"

Kraken nodded at Tangere. No gushing thanks, no introduction. He simply picked up his fishbowl with both hands and walked out of the tavern.

"What a weirdo," Tangere muttered, watching Kraken disappear into the night.

He shook his head, chalking it up to an interesting anecdote, and went back to his drink. He had no idea what he had just financed.

Tangere signaled the waitress. "Hit me again." He downed the fresh glass in one smooth motion, letting the burn wash away the confusion.

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