Duke Alama stepped out of the communication room, the complex magical devices behind him dimming as he left, fading into silence with only a faint hum of lingering magic.
The heated council debate about integrating the “Puffshroom Master” system into the army? He wasn’t sold.
Not like some colleagues fretting over “parasite” risks—his concerns were pure pragmatism.
Sure, Puffshroom Masters could control a ton of Puffshrooms, but their individual strength was weak, barely filling the army’s lowest ranks.
Filling grunt gaps wasn’t bad. Problem was, Puffshrooms came with headaches.
The biggest? The mycelium network.
Outside its range, these handy critters ran out of magic and dropped dead fast.
That made them defensive units only, useless for offensives or far-off deployments.
And everyone knew Mushroom Capital, the network’s hub, sat at the kingdom’s southern tip, while his Highfort Bastion guarded the north’s choke point.
Miles apart, with the kingdom’s heart and a potential empire army in between. No help there.
So, during the long council, Alama was bored, barely engaged.
He paced onto Highfort Bastion’s thick walls.
His gaze swept the war-scarred plain, locking on the grim, dark-red Scarlet Spire on the horizon.
A sword over the kingdom’s head, forcing Alama to hold this post year-round.
“Any updates?” he asked.
“My lord!” His aide saluted, voice muffled by the wind. “Just routine skirmishes. Scouts and scrying crystals show no signs of major empire troop movements.”
Alama’s brow furrowed tighter.
No movement wasn’t good news—it didn’t add up.
He knew Vampire Duchess Eleanor had been sent to aid Sigmund on the front, her army camped west of the Spire, clear from the sun-blocking canopy it cast.
With her reinforcements, Sigmund’s style should’ve meant a fierce push.
Alama was ready! Seven towering magic towers outside the fort, cores brimming; stockpiles of food, arrows, and potions for months of siege; even fresh troops pulled from a strained northern line, braced for a bloody defense.
And yet?
The other side was quiet as a graveyard.
This eerie calm unnerved Alama more than war drums.
He knew Sigmund too well, just as Sigmund knew him.
That enemy—vile, cunning, ruthless—never backed down or shied from battle.
The empire’s stillness screamed hidden currents beneath a calm sea.
Sigmund was planning something, a deadly storm brewing in the Spire’s shadow.
“Send the order,” Alama told his aide. “All outposts to max alert. Tell the mages to scan every inch around the fort, especially underground, no holding back magic. Knights, prep for action!”
The aide looked stunned. “My lord, are you… planning a strike?”
“I’m testing that new vampire duchess’s depth!” Alama said firmly.
“My lord, it could be a trap!” the aide urged.
“Better than sitting blind to their plans.” Alama gave no room for debate, striding off the wall.
Midnight, when vampires peaked but slacked, Alama led his elite Ironthorn Knights, cloaked by major magic, to raid Eleanor’s camp.
And…
Big win!
Eleanor’s forces didn’t expect the attackers to be attacked!
Alama and his knights tore through the outer lines of slaves and half-vampires, charging deep.
They rampaged twice through, dodging the strongest core camp but flipping half the site upside down, cutting down countless demons.
After a brief, fierce clash with the Spire’s late-arriving Blood Knights, Alama led an orderly retreat to the fort.
Watching the triumphant, pumped-up knights return, the aide smacked his lips, a bit sheepish.
But Alama’s face showed no joy.
Ironthorn Knights were few—this raid stung but didn’t cripple the enemy.
Worse, it deepened his doubts.
Eleanor’s personal strength was unclear, but her command? Rookie-level. He’d sussed that out.
Future moves could target her—she was both Sigmund’s aid and his weak spot!
What really bugged Alama was… what was up with Sigmund?
Why so slow?
He’d expected the Blood Knights to intercept fast, leaving a tight retreat window.
Nope!
In that short clash, the Blood Knights seemed leaderless, sluggish, like Sigmund wasn’t even there calling shots.
Given Sigmund’s history of posing as a grunt for sneak attacks, Alama played it safe and didn’t linger.
Still, the mystery grew.
It might be a trap, but after weighing it, he decided to ramp up clashes to force their hand.
“Sigmund!” Inside Scarlet Spire, Eleanor’s furious roar nearly shattered the blood-soaked air!
She stormed to Sigmund, who hadn’t left the Spire all along.
(End of Chapter)
Comments