Ragnar stood outside his tent, watching. This could be his last day, but he had promised to try, try to win without dying.

  Through the bustle, Elof Moongrum emerged, his limp more pronounced in the morning chill.

  “General,” Elof called. His voice carried urgency. “Is it true?”

  Ragnar turned. “What is?”

  “Shayara... Is it true she's going to face Moloch?”

  Ragnar’s expression hardened. “Yes. Even though I don’t want it, we need her.”

  Elof stepped closer, breath quickened. “Then take me instead. I may not match her raw talent, but I can make up for it with experience and strategy.”

  Ragnar shook his head. “Not possible, Elof. She is required, and she has chosen this path herself. Trust her.”

  “But she is not a soldier, Sir,” Elof said, his tone heavy with despair.

  “I know,” Ragnar admitted. “I can promise you this: once the real battle begins, she will be taken to safety. Until then, we must trust her.”

  Elof straightened, jaw tight. “Then let me come as well.”

  Ragnar studied him carefully. “This battle will be brutal. None of us will walk away unscathed, and for you, the likelihood is death. Will you still come?”

  “Yes,” Elof answered without hesitation. “I cannot sit idle while my student goes to face a demigod. What kind of teacher would that make me?”

  Ragnar’s stern face softened. He extended his arm. “You are of House Kino, and that honor is yours. But today, I would be honored if you bore the crest of the Crimson Knight beside it.”

  Elof clasped his hand and bowed. “It will be my honor, General.”

  “General!” a voice boomed across the camp. Ragnar turned to see Marius pushing through the crowd, one hand keeping his spectacles in place.

  “Gray can handle the rest. Just an hour more and the war-machines will be set. I’ve got three men scouting ahead.” Marius’s words came quickly as always. He nodded toward Elof. “Hello, Elof. You’re here about Shayara, I presume?”

  Elof straightened. “I was, Sir Marius. But I have decided to join the General’s troop… to face the demigod.”

  For once, Marius’s tone lost its usual bite. “Thank you for your courage and honor.” He inclined his head slightly. “A man willing to die for the kingdom deserves respect.”

  Then, with a brisk clap of his hands, Marius’s energy surged back. “Alright. Let’s keep moving. Shayara and Arin should be here soon.”

  Marius passed a folded note into Ragnar’s hand, lowering his voice. “Read this. They’re Arin’s thoughts… on the theory. Best to keep it quiet until we’re inside.”

  Ragnar told the others to wait in the tent while he went to inspect the camp.

  “General!” Darrius came running up, half out of breath. “Is it true?”

  “What is?” Ragnar asked. He wasn’t sure how much the ordinary soldiers had been told. Marius hadn’t mentioned what he’d shared, and Ragnar realized he should’ve asked.

  “That you’re gonna kill a bloody demigod.” Darrius’s eyes shone with a mix of fear and excitement. “The commanders gave a rousing speech this morning. Said Moloch’s a demi-god and we’re setting a trap to take him down. First time in history something like this’ll be done.”

  His spirit was high, Ragnar noted. Perhaps the commanders had oversold the fight a little, but morale demanded it.

  Darrius hesitated before speaking again. “And… is it true? The new lass, the one with the star insignia, she’s going too?”

  “Yes,” Ragnar said simply.

  Darrius’s jaw tightened. “I see. Then I need to find her and apologize proper this time. I realize my mistake now. She’s Crimson blood, through and through.”

  “She’ll be coming this way,” Ragnar told him. “I need to finish the inspection.”

  “Apologies for holding you up, General. Thank you.” Darrius saluted before hurrying off.

  Ragnar reached the second camp. Along the way, soldiers tried to step forward, asking to march with him, but he turned them back. This battle would not be won by sheer numbers.

  Before him stood forty-four chosen soldiers: twenty mages split between shield-bearers and attackers, infantry armed with heavy shields and spears, and four healers. Among them, Ragnar’s eyes found Grahm. The young man snapped a salute, and the rest followed in unison.

  Borris turned from the line and approached. “General. Johan and Farlow are already leading their troops. You asked for forty, but I’ve added healers. We’ll need them this time.”

  Ragnar gave a slow nod. Normally he would not take healers into such a mission. But today, he knew many here would bleed—and perhaps not return.

  Ragnar stepped forward, his eyes sweeping over the assembled soldiers. Their armor was battered, their faces lined with exhaustion, yet every gaze was locked on him with fierce expectation.

  “You’ve stood through blood and fire,” Ragnar began, his voice carrying over the camp. “You’ve buried friends, carried brothers, and still you raise your spears. Today, I will not lie to you. We face no ordinary foe. Moloch is not just a warlord, he is something more, something the world has not seen in generations. To face him is to step into the maw of despair itself.”

  He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. “But despair is not stronger than men who refuse to break. Shields will hold. Spears will strike. Magic will roar. And together, we will carve proof into this battlefield that Arcadia does not bow, not to false kings, not to false gods, not to their demi-gods.”

  Ragnar lifted his sword, its crimson edge catching the light. “We fight for Arcadia. We fight for those who fell before us. And we fight for the ones who will come after. Stand proud—today you are Crimson Knights. And when we march, we march as one.”

  His voice rose, sharp as steel. “Now raise your voices with me. With red wings on our back, with golden sword in hand—”

  The soldiers roared in unison, “We drive away the darkness that befalls our land! Our enemies tremble at our might—behold the power of the Crimson Knight!”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Ragnar returned to his tent. Time was short. Inside, Marius and Elof were already waiting, and now Shayara and Arin stood as well.

  Everyone rose as he entered.

  “Sit,” Ragnar said. “Any findings?”

  Marius leaned forward, eyes sharp behind his spectacles. “We’ve been discussing the setup for the Radiant Son. You’ll unleash a full-powered Law. I’ll have Farlow steer a cluster of enemy troops into range and you can use them to absorb the impact. Shayara and Elof will reinforce the illusion, amplifying the destruction and casting a projection as far as their strength allows. The combination should draw Moloch’s attention. Then I’ll send a crow to taunt him, challenge him directly. We’ll keep rejuvenation potions on hand so you can recover quickly after burning yourself out.”

  Ragnar blinked once. Sometimes Marius’s foresight was frightening.

  “Along the way,” Marius continued without pause, “our attackers will hammer him with artillery spells, and we’ll fire one of the ballista bolts. It’s a test. We’ll see how he reacts.”

  “I see,” Ragnar muttered, pointing to a marked position on the map. “I’ll take my stand here. The troops will hold this ridge. It offers some cover from boulders and a vantage point for their disruption. Arin, you’ll lead them. Shayara, Elof, you’ll start beside me, then fall back to the ridge once Moloch turns toward us.”

  “General, you’ll need constant support,” Elof warned.

  “That’s where the switch comes in,” Ragnar explained. “I’ll signal when it’s time. Arin, you’ll strike with the troops and the boltsmen, giving me a window to recover and strengthen myself again. But this cannot drag on. We finish fast or we die slow.”

  Marius added, almost too casually, “I’ve also deployed fifteen assassins. Ten will strike at any opening, unseen. The other five will hang back to watch. If luck favors us, they’ll wound him. If not, they’ll at least remind Moloch he can bleed.”

  “Everyone, start preparing,” Ragnar ordered. Then, glancing at Shayara, he added, “You stay. I’ll need your help uncovering any symbols of Law.” He unfolded the note Marius had passed him earlier.

  The others filed out, leaving only Ragnar and Shayara in the tent.

  “Darrius apologized to me again,” Shayara said suddenly, her smile bright. “This time, it felt sincere.”

  “He’s not a bad man,” Ragnar replied, setting the note aside. He turned to her fully. “Are you alright?”

  “Why do you ask, Sir?”

  “You’re about to face a demigod. It’s natural to panic. To feel the weight of it.”

  Shayara straightened her back. “I was afraid yesterday. I’m not anymore. I vowed I would fight to my last breath, and I meant it. But I have no intention of dying. I want us to win by living.”

  Her eyes glistened, but the resolve behind them was unmistakable. Fate was cruel, Ragnar thought, to test her so harshly.

  Shayara gathered the notes and began studying them in silence.

  Ragnar closed his eyes. The memory of their first meeting flickered in his mind. Had he made the right choice, bringing her to his side? If he hadn’t… No. He shook the doubt away. There was no room for it now.

  Time passed, broken only by the distant thrum of war-drums and the crash of artillery. Shayara sat cross-legged, poring over the notes, her brow furrowed in thought. At last, she set them down and pushed them toward Ragnar.

  “I think I see a pattern,” she said softly, yet with a flicker of certainty. “Aver isn’t only about heat. He could take the fire away and make it cold. The law must be about duality—the tension between hot and cold. The notes suggest they don’t cancel each other, but instead seek balance. And the Law… the Law has the power to disrupt that balance. That’s what makes it divine.”

  “Very close to causality… but not quite the same,” Ragnar murmured, frowning over the notes. “Cold is only ever a side-effect of fire magic. To wield both at once should be impossible.”

  “That’s what makes it divine,” Shayara countered. She pointed at a line in the margin. “Arin even wrote here that he couldn’t grasp it himself.”

  Ragnar leaned in. “What else?”

  “There are notes comparing fire to chaos… and cold to order,” Shayara said thoughtfully.

  Ragnar’s eyes lit with sudden clarity. “Order and chaos. That’s the true duality.”

  Shayara looked at him expectantly.

  Ragnar spoke slowly, the pieces fitting together in his mind. “The laws of Amun are spells of Order. I can wield Regression. The Prophet alone could cast Radiance. But if this is true, then there exists another law, still bound to Order, yet twined with Chaos. A balance. No wonder it was banned; it undermines Amun’s authority.”

  “You… understand this?” Shayara asked.

  “Not fully,” Ragnar admitted. “But I can sense the shape of it. Perhaps I can weave fragments of it into the law of Causality. If only we had more time.” He exhaled, then straightened. “Go prepare. We enter the field at noon. Moloch will come not long after.”

  Shayara looked earnestly at Ragnar. “Remember our promise.” She bowed deeply, then left the tent.

  Some time later, Marius slipped back in, spectacles slightly askew. “So, figured out anything?”

  “Yes,” Ragnar replied, recounting what he and Shayara had uncovered in Marius’s absence.

  Marius whistled low. “If only we’d thought of this sooner. No matter. Get ready, this is it.” His tone shifted, the usual levity dulled. “I’ll coordinate from here as always. On the battlefield I’d just be… useless.”

  “You’re not useless,” Ragnar said firmly. Then, after a pause, his voice lowered. “If anything happens to me, promise me you’ll look after her.”

  “You don’t need to say it,” Marius replied, unusually serious. “I care about the fledgling in my own way.” A flicker of a grin returned. “And besides, if we survive this, I’m starting a new organization.”

  Ragnar arched a brow. “You already have one.”

  “True,” Marius admitted, eyes glinting. “But this one will be different. A circle for seekers, mages who want to pierce the Weave itself. Our own mission, to learn the truth the prophets and kings won’t give us.”

  For once, Ragnar didn’t laugh at the audacity. He only nodded.

  It was noon when Ragnar and his troops set out for their marked position.

  Back at camp, Marius stood before Ragnar’s tent, watching the sky. A thundering voice broke the air.

  “Where is that filthy bastard Ragnar? Get out here!” Arabus approached with a knot of armed men.

  “The General is on the battlefield, unlike someone else,” Marius replied coolly.

  “You dare speak to me in that tone?” Arabus snarled. “Where are you hiding Arin? You take one of my men without permission? You filth dare cross me?”

  “I recall the Holy Prophet granting that permission, Lord Arabus,” Marius said, his tone still calm.

  “I don’t care what scheming you’ve done, you conniving rat. I’ll crush you. Today Moloch arrives. Ragnar will rot in the dirt, and all your blood will spill. Afterward, I’ll be the one to finish him. It’s all been prophesied. And if you survive, I’ll rip your guts out myself.”

  Marius’s eyes narrowed. His playful tone was gone. “Behind his stern exterior, Ragnar is a good man. I, however, am not. Threaten the General or any Crimson Knight again, and I will give you such a fate even your Prophet won’t save you from it.”

  “You dare, you filthy rat!” Arabus’s face flushed red.

  Marius raised a finger. “Careful. I’d hate for certain things to become public. The crippled brother your family keeps locked in a cellar. Your favorite mistresses, the red-haired one, the blonde, the one with the mark on her waist. Even your bastard child on Felmis Street. Shall I keep going?”

  Arabus trembled with fury. He tried to summon his magic, but nothing came.

  “Not working, is it? Happens,” Marius said with a smirk.

  “Men!” Arabus barked.

  His soldiers unsheathed their blades. In response, ten assassins shimmered into view, breaking camouflage, their weapons drawn. Other Crimson Knights in the camp followed suit, steel ringing in the air.

  Marius’s grin widened. “No need for anger, Lord Arabus. We’re just having a conversation. And I’m sure you wouldn’t want all your little secrets made public, would you?”

  Far in the distance, Moloch advanced with his army. With each step, the sky darkened to grey. Plants withered, the ground itself decayed.

  Ragnar stood in position, waiting for the signal. Farlow would bring forth the troops. Then it would begin.

  It was time.