A blinding flash of light tore through the darkness, veiling the sky above.

The soldiers, moments before enjoying their meal in high spirits, snapped their heads toward the sky. An instant later, they moved with instinctive precision. Some rushed toward the point of attack, others sprinted to the weapons cache, and still others ran to establish defensive barriers. Any trace of intoxication from their revelry evaporated.

In contrast, the disciples hesitated, their faces a mixture of confusion and shock. The ferocity they showed in internal squabbles was useless here; faced with true large-scale combat, they were disoriented.

"Form up!" Zeryn roared from across the camp.

Nathan abandoned all his cooking equipment and rushed toward the distant explosions. A mana barrier flickered as shockwaves and debris struck it. The bombardment continued without pause, yet Nathan couldn't see the attackers anywhere. The projectiles seemed to appear out of nowhere.

The army had equipped themselves and immediately charged forward, forming ranks at the edge of the protective formation.

Only then did Nathan spot a figure in purple robes hovering in mid-air. Gravity manipulation spread through the atmosphere. Nathan looked again at the incoming projectiles. The bombs curved away from their paths, as if pulled downward, creating deep craters in the earth. The sound that reached them was muffled by the barrier's interference.

A beam of energy flashed, striking directly at Lachlan's camp. In an instant, the protective layer shattered, becoming tiny blue sparks in everyone's eyes.

Lachlan appeared at the forefront, taking the vanguard position.

"Charge!" the Major commanded with complete confidence.

A roar of boundless fighting spirit erupted from the soldiers. Weapons in hand, they charged, their flying boots launching them skyward.

Zeryn and Nathan waited.

"Stand aside, you two," Lachlan said.

"You're sure?" Zeryn raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure. This is not your battlefield yet."

Zeryn nodded without protest.

The gravity user swept overhead, surrounded by a halo of spinning discs. With a swing of his arms, he shot forward, transforming the discs into a network of shimmering gravity wells. The elusive attacks that had been appearing and disappearing were bent away, firing in different directions and exploding far from the camp.

The soldiers nimbly vaulted into the gravity wells, using the centrifugal force to slingshot themselves toward their unseen enemies. The light of drawn swords and firing guns blazed in the darkness as they attacked.

"Learning from you, Nathan," Lachlan smiled.

For a moment, memories of the gravity battle from The Shifting Trials surfaced, but the chaos unfolding before him quickly banished the thought.

The enemy revealed themselves in a ripple of distorted air as their stealth technology deactivated, exposing humanoid figures in tight-fitting suits. They raised their weapons, firing at Lachlan's soldiers. Mana barriers flared to life between the cultivators as a flurry of Aspects were deployed. Earthen walls erupted, torrents of water coalesced, and fire blazed into existence, joined by esoteric powers like momentum and acceleration. Mana bullets and punches faster than the eye could track created chaos everywhere.

Blood splattered as the first casualties fell. A man from Maelivar crumpled, clutching his stomach in a futile attempt to hold in his spilling entrails. On the other side, a head rolled away, its expression hidden behind a mask. A figure pierced by a sword was lifted into the clouds. The swordsman following Lachlan carved through the enemy formation.

The army wasn't entirely Tier 2—half were Tier 1. These individuals, while their superiors engaged in fierce combat, successfully established a rampart. They brought out bows, arrows, and guns, aiming and firing to disrupt the opposition.

A high-energy beam, potent enough to shatter mana barriers, tore through the air. In the same instant, Lachlan vanished from beside Nathan, leaving only a thunderclap in his wake. When he reappeared, the Major was hovering directly in the path of the attack. Lachlan pointed forward, and the energy beam split in two, shooting toward the hill behind them and detonating a large section, dirt and debris raining down like a storm.

"My men are not weak," Lachlan said, pride shining in his expression. "Combined with your cooking, they're fighting better than ever."

The Major's precise control of his speed was staggering. Nathan's own experience with the Lightning Aspect had taught him the harsh limitations of such power. Enhancing speed was one thing, but mastering its distance and intensity was a razor's edge. A single miscalculation could send a user hurtling past their target, their techniques dissolving into chaos.

Nathan turned his attention to the ongoing battle.

"Did you predict this?" he asked.

"Either we attack or they do. It's that simple," Lachlan said. "The main question was whether we could lure them into attacking. At least now we've eliminated one of their special corps."

"This stealth technology is truly dangerous," Zeryn observed.

"Three other Caelindor positions were attacked like this and fell during the night," Lachlan said. "This technology is much harder to use during the day, so we let them think we were careless while hosting the feast."

"Everything's in your calculations, isn't it?" Nathan said.

"Even so, it's still not enough." Lachlan narrowed his eyes.

On the battlefield, the tide turned. Just as the Maelivar forces were being pushed back, they surged forward again. The suits of their fallen comrades disassembled, metallic plates flying toward the survivors to graft onto their existing armor. The true horror, however, was the humanoid robot that materialized in their midst. It raised its arms, and multicolored lasers tore through Lachlan's formation. Casualties mounted.

"Are you just going to let them die?" Nathan asked, his voice heavy.

Lachlan's eyes darkened, not answering immediately. After a moment, he looked up and ordered, "End it!"

The gravity aspect user nodded. Several soldiers broke away from the battlefield, forming an arrow formation. They launched themselves upward, using the gravity wells to propel themselves high. Wind whipped their hair as this formation tilted downward from the sky. Weapons in hand, they fell faster than artillery shells toward the enemy. They were covered in specialized armor similar to the Maelivar forces. These meteors tore through the air as they descended.

Chaos erupted in the Maelivar formation as soldiers tried to scatter, only to discover they were trapped in Lachlan's encirclement. Even retreat was impossible now, as the further back they went, the heavier they became. The gravity-enhancing formation that had bent the projectiles was reactivated, since its core remained unreachable. During The Shifting Trials, this purple-robed figure had shown everyone just how troublesome gravity could be.

The human meteors struck the ground, triggering a series of deafening explosions. Shockwaves rippled back, shaking the very foundations of the camp, and the Maelivar force shattered.

The humanoid robot clasped its hands together, firing a massive energy beam at an angle. A meteor shot straight into it, causing energy to spray in arcs around them. The soldier's defiant roar was the only sound left on the battlefield as he met the blast, his sword aimed true.

A clear sound rang out, followed by the thud of something hitting the ground. The robot fell, its chest a tangle of crackling electricity, the lifeless light in its cold eyes extinguished.

The surviving Maelivar forces raised their hands in surrender. The Unwinged Dragon battalion had won their first victory. Swords and guns raised high, victory cries welcomed the dawn.

"We need to talk," Lachlan said, turning toward the camp.

Nathan lingered, his gaze sweeping over the ravaged landscape. Where lush grass and rolling hills had been, now only wisps of smoke curled from the lips of deep craters. Blood stained the earth, indistinguishable from the churned mud. Charred body parts lay scattered, the lifeless eyes of the fallen—men who had only followed orders—staring blankly at the sky.

On his side, he saw several soldiers from the battalion kneeling beside their comrades, faces grief-stricken. Just hours before, everyone had been raising cups together, making promises to each other that were now separated by an unbridgeable gulf. In the distance, the first light of dawn outlined Maelivar, revealing it not as a bastion, but as a black gate to hell, patiently waiting for the next sacrifice.

The Verdant Spire Sect disciples also stood in stunned silence. Zeryn sighed.

"This is the consequence of the Sect Leader's peace policy."

Every disciple's head snapped toward the senior brother who had dared to criticize their supreme leader.

"In terms of combat experience, they might be inferior to you." Zeryn pointed toward the soldiers cleaning the battlefield. "But in terms of willingness to die or kill their own kind, you're nowhere near their level. Either you desert now, or you steel your spirits. Since you're not regular military, no one will punish you for leaving. But in this world, every choice has its price."

A pang of sympathy went through Nathan as he met his friend's gaze. Zeryn gave him a subtle nod, and the two broke away from the tense cluster of Verdant Spire Sect disciples.

"You really are a smooth-talking devil," Nathan said.

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"Can't be helped." Zeryn scratched his head. "I don't want to watch them run headfirst into death either. Humiliation is fine, as long as they survive. Life is too complex for someone who only wants simple things like me."

Nathan turned back to see several heads huddled together in discussion. Zeryn had suggested refusing this mission earlier, but they had still decided to follow. Only now, seeing real casualties, did they waver.

With a shake of his head at their indecision, Nathan opened the door to Lachlan's meeting room and stepped inside.

Lachlan was speaking with several of his subordinates. After they left, Nathan and Zeryn approached.

"War is hard," Lachlan said, and for the first time, Nathan saw the Major's usual confidence waver. "The soldiers need to be able to manage without me."

Lachlan looked up from the maps and reports on his desk, staring intently at Nathan. "You're wondering why I didn't intervene, or send Zeryn, or even you. Any of us could have prevented many of those deaths. And then what? You just successfully created a bunch of useless people, just waiting for help. What happens when all three of us aren't there to support them? They'll give up even when there's still a glimmer of hope. Do you want to see that?"

Nathan remained silent, letting Lachlan vent. The Major wasn't really talking to them; he was reinforcing his own brutal decision. While Nathan's philosophy recoiled from the logic, he couldn't deny understanding the motivation behind it—a resolve he knew he lacked.

Lachlan slumped back in his chair, the weight of command pressing down on him, rounding his shoulders. The arrogant troublemaker Nathan had met months ago in Maelivar was gone. He didn't even have space for levity anymore.

"All operations have failed," Lachlan said, trying to maintain composure but betraying his exhaustion. The Major pointed to the east, north, and northwest on the Maelivar map. "Sigrid failed alongside a battalion that was completely wiped out. Adrian was pushed back—though not seriously injured, it was still a failure nonetheless. Worse, your Xander lost an arm to Entropy protecting Zahra. They survived, but none of the five hundred soldiers made it back."

Zeryn and Nathan simultaneously clenched their fists, jaws tight from grinding their teeth.

"The campaigns only yielded one piece of good news," Lachlan continued. "House Nyralith is truly our ally. They're bravely resisting oppression from the other three houses and Duke Kael Voss."

Silence blanketed the room. When the information had sunk in, Nathan spoke.

"Even Adrian failed. What basis do we have for success?"

Rarely did Lachlan fail to respond with opposition, still hunched over the map.

After a while, Lachlan said heavily, "Because we are their last hope."

The words, meant to be encouraging, felt hollow, doing nothing to lift the weight in Nathan's gut.

"Which ones, Lachlan? Is there really such a thing?"

Lachlan whipped his head up, eyes sharp as blades. "What do you mean?"

Nathan met his gaze without flinching. "Is this what the people want? They might even be hoping Caelindor fails. Any side that rules is the same, so why not get it over with?"

"Are you testing me, Nathan?" Lachlan frowned. "Or are you stupid to ask those questions?"

"Answer me then. Convince me then."

"Mirothea will tear them apart," Lachlan snarled, his voice rising with a raw, harsh edge. "I've seen what they do to border populations. They're savages hungry for resources. Once they land in that city, Maelivar will no longer be Maelivar. It will become a hell of destruction. People, culture, history. All gone. There will only be blood. Can you imagine what those monsters will do to the women and children?"

"No, I cannot," Nathan replied.

"I bet you don't, because you don't give a shit about this country. Oh, I know that."

"I will not deny that also."

"This war will continue. There is no way I'm letting them take Maelivar."

Nathan nodded, relieved to see the young Major's determination return.

"There are thousands of reasons for you to fight," Nathan said.

"Yes," Lachlan said, eyes brightening.

"So what do we need to do? A few deaths are better than everyone in the grave, right?"

Lachlan refocused intently.

Zeryn gave Nathan an approving nod. Nathan simply shrugged, keeping Vincent's influence on his words to himself. A quiet sense of relief settled in him for having eased the Major's burden, if only for a moment. He truly couldn't imagine the psychological burden Lachlan was carrying. The country was falling into danger, people suffering from war, comrades facing death. Add to that the discouraging intelligence and failure after failure. An ordinary person under such negativity would collapse instantly, like himself.

But Lachlan was forged for this crucible. A creature hammered on the anvil of a mad world.

Lachlan traced several lines on the Maelivar map.

"Besides marching directly to attack Arthur Merinor's location, which is at the center of the city, we need to accomplish several side missions. Equal Clash dictates that only Tiers 1, 2, and 3 may engage, but it says nothing about them not using the city's defensive capabilities. That's why the operations failed. So to overcome this defense line, we need assistance."

"House Nyralith?" Zeryn asked.

"Exactly." Lachlan nodded. "We'll approach where House Nyralith is stationed, which is this place."

Three pairs of eyes looked toward the southwest of the city.

"We'll climb into the city from here instead of attacking the gates," Lachlan said. "At this acute angle, we'll face fewer gun emplacements as we get closer. Once we're on the other side, we'll join forces with House Nyralith and march toward the center and north of the city."

Nathan looked toward the area Lachlan had mentioned. As someone who had solved The Shifting Trials puzzle, he immediately remembered what this place held that the Major was targeting.

"You're not planning to destroy the city's farmlands, are you?"

"That's exactly what I'm planning to do," Lachlan confirmed, his tone chillingly devoid of remorse. "This way, the city will lose its food supply, increasing the siege's success rate if we fail."

"Are you even listening to yourself?" This time, Zeryn spoke up. "The campaign hasn't started and you're already planning for failure? Those are civilians. They have no cultivation power. How long can they hold out? Do you think the enemy cares about the people's lives? They're applying a genocidal formation to the city. We're the ones who care about them, no one else. And this will only help Mirothea achieve victory, because they can refill the city with their own people. By then, who will you have left to fight for? Those people! They'll all be dead. There will be no Maelivar for you to conquer back. Doomed because of you!"

Lachlan didn't respond, his hands gripping the table's edge so tightly his knuckles shone white. The brutal truth settled over them: conventional warfare was useless here. A shared look of grim uncertainty passed between the three men.

They had come here with hope, with faith that everything could still be saved. Yet someone as transcendent as Adrian had failed. That information made them hesitate.

Adrian, like Lachlan, was a newly ascended Tier 3. By all logic, his power should have been enough to threaten even a Tier 4 Phase 1. The scrawny genius was supposed to be a measure of absolute power, yet the absolute had lost. The difference wasn't just combat ability but also the disparity in Aspects. The best result might have been Adrian wounding Arthur in battle, but no line suggested this, making Lachlan's battalion seem like the next dessert course.

No one truly grasped how terrifying the Entropy Aspect was. History had buried it, hiding it away alongside legends like Chaos, Void, and Death. Now, they were all stumbling in the dark.

Defeating it had to be possible—Nathan believed that. He had thought about using nora to potentially resist Arthur, but that would bring destruction upon himself. Just because of his Titan bloodline, he was already hunted like prized meat. Revealing the secret of nora would earn him a fate worse than death; he knew all too well how terrifying the hidden Tier 8 and 9 cultivators could be.

Lachlan erased the path to Maelivar's farming district, making the map messy and hard to read, then closed his eyes.

"What about the Tier 3 Phase 9s?" Nathan asked. "Why aren't we using them?"

"Because that would be meaningless," Lachlan answered flatly.

"Do you know how Adrian could exist until now?" Zeryn spoke up. "A being carrying everything a cultivator could hope for, yearn for—to live and grow stronger day by day?"

"He's the investment of all Caelindor?" Nathan's eyes widened.

Zeryn nodded. "Everywhere he goes, someone protects him. He's targeted by both the empire and Divine Tower, not just a small country like Caelindor. To match that investment, Adrian had to become something special, a being that even Tier 4s fear when he's only Tier 3."

"If Adrian had achieved anything," Lachlan said, eyes still fixed on the map, "the military would have sent in the sharks—the Tier 3 Phase 8s and 9s. But none of them have Adrian's unique Divine Flame, and the brass is hesitant to risk cultivators on the cusp of Tier 4. So, we're all that's left."

"Are you saying the leadership has given up?"

Lachlan tried to straighten his back, but an invisible pressure kept his shoulders hunched. "Pretty much so. PsiLink contact is intermittent, and information transmitted through traditional channels is difficult. So I can't request a meeting. They don't place much hope in us and suggest we withdraw, abandoning Maelivar. The battle will only remain at the border."

Nathan and Zeryn exchanged glances, both showing shared concern.

"I chose to continue the campaign to retake Maelivar," Lachlan said. "It still has a chance of success. The leadership agreed but won't send additional support. Most resources were already allocated to Adrian."

Bitterness laced the Major's final words. But then, as if a decision had finally solidified in his mind, his back straightened, and the familiar, confident resolve returned to his face.

"We'll depart at sunset," Lachlan said. "I called you two here to ensure you know the ultimate objective. Defeat Arthur Merinor at his own home. You two must stay close to me. Whatever happens, you must focus on that. This is an order. If you can't follow it, leave now."

"Don't add that last part." Zeryn smirked. "You need all the help you can get."

"Should I kneel and beg you?" Lachlan raised an eyebrow.

"There you are, arrogant bitch." Zeryn laughed loudly.

"Piss off. And be prepared."

Zeryn and Nathan returned to the Verdant Spire Sect area. The disciples all avoided their eyes. A quick count revealed only twelve of their own remained; the ranks of the other sects had thinned as well. Notably, Prince Daniel Caelen's group was still present.

Zeryn shook his head and approached to reorganize the formation. Frank nodded at Nathan, smiling as he joined the preparation process. Elen beside him silently followed his teammates.

Nathan remained alone, looking back toward the battlefield from the night and dawn. The smoke had cleared, leaving only devastation. Enemy corpses had been collected and taken behind the camp for burial preparation.

He went to the wounded, distributing recovery food he kept in his spatial ring.

"Thank you, sir." A soldier with the rank of Captain bowed to Nathan. "The men are saying they've never fought with so much spirit. We owe you our thanks."

"What's your name?" Nathan asked.

"I'm Captain Aotian."

"Aotian, bring these to your soldiers."

Before the man's puzzled eyes, Nathan produced a pile of jars containing candy and various dried cakes.

Aotian blinked, then his expression hardened with resolve and he dropped to one knee. "Sir, I don't know if we'll have the chance to speak again. So, on behalf of every soldier here, thank you."

Nathan shook his head, helping Aotian up. He didn't know what to say, as his intended words felt hollow and embarrassing. He gestured for Aotian to continue his work and moved on.

He surveyed the scattered corpses, most mangled and burned black. The butcher's bill: over two hundred Maelivar invaders for twenty of Lachlan's own. A ten-to-one ratio—a victory by any military metric. But this figure was more fragile than their current hope, liable to change in a heartbeat.

Nathan saw a familiar face and stopped, drawing closer. He sat down to observe, reaching out to turn the chin of the body that was only half there, hair missing a section, burn marks extending from the temple. Recognition sent a chill through him, and his fists clenched at his sides.

"Who was he?" Lachlan asked, standing beside him.

Nathan didn't startle, answering quietly, "George. A city guard in Maelivar. He guided me on the day I came to participate in The Shifting Trials."

Lachlan stood before the corpses. The smell of burnt flesh hung heavy in the air. A cold feeling pervaded the space.

"This is your people, isn't it?" Nathan asked.

"Yes," Lachlan said.

"So we're killing your people for your people."

"That's how war works."

"George was probably just following orders. His parents, children, or wife might be held hostage. If he didn't act, they would die."

"Nathan," Lachlan said coldly, "if you're looking for someone to answer moral questions, I'm not that person. I'm only here to mourn my soldiers. One of them might have been killed by this George. For me, that's reason enough. Then why are you still here, asking these questions?" Lachlan's voice was sharp as flint. "You could have deserted with the others from your sect."

Nathan lowered his head, looking at George's disfigured face, thinking of Vincent. He was targeted by Mirothea, and that motivated his desire for revenge, for them to fail. He couldn't tell Lachlan about the deeper reason—his need to escape high-tier cultivators. More frightening was that he truly didn't care. To him, these were just strangers. The questions were a desperate scream from a part of him that was dying—the last vestiges of his old morality fighting a losing battle against the cold, pragmatic stranger taking root in his soul.

Lachlan walked past him, kneeling beside the fallen soldiers. The Major murmured, then smiled, then continued, moving from person to person, talking as if they could still hear.

Nathan stood up and left this area, passing through soldiers packing up their quarters.

Hours later, they would launch their assault on Maelivar.

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