Grand Magister Tordal Irangar slammed his fist into the wall, letting out a bestial scream of anger and frustration. He wheeled around, facing the arrayed advisors as well as the messenger who’d just broken the bad news, and demanded, “Gone? How can it be gone?! It was a city of more than twenty thousand!”

And that wasn’t even including the slaves. With them, that number skyrocketed to near fifty thousand. More importantly, Heartwood had been home to one of Adontis’ key border fortresses, and it had been stocked with thousands of knights. That it had been taken was unacceptable.

But it hadn’t simply been taken. Instead, the entire city – every single structure – had been destroyed. Now, according to the messenger, only a crater remained. Moreover, the surrounding fields had been put to the torch, which would have ramifications for the entirety of the kingdom. Heartwood’s farmland hadn’t been the most productive in the kingdom, but the loss would still be keenly felt.

“We suspect the undead,” said one of his advisors. The man was large, bearded, and a former knight himself. As such, he held authority that exceeded even his lofty position. More troublingly, he was Tordal’s chief political opponent, usually opposing the Grand Magister’s plans simply because of their source. If Tordal said up, then Morik would say down, and try to convince others to do so as well. He was a thorn in Tordal’s side, and one that would persist until he was removed entirely.

Fortunately, an invading army large enough to take Heartwood presented a perfect opportunity to rid himself of just such a thorn.

“You always suspect the undead,” Tordal growled. “What evidence do you have to support that suspicion?”

“We need no evidence. They are abominations,” spat Morik to a chorus of agreement from his sycophantic followers. “We should strike back while they think we are vulnerable. Send a spear through to the heart of their kingdom and –”

“Are you volunteering, Counselor?” Tordal asked, cutting the man’s tirade short.

“No, I don’t –”

“So quick to send our young men into such a situation,” Tordal continued. “Perhaps your son would like to be included in such a valorous mission? Tell me, Morik – do you know what happens to those unfortunate enough to perish in the lands of the undead? I discovered that first-hand during my own crusade. I watched my best friend die. Speared through the gut by a zombie’s sword thrust. Back then, I didn’t know what would happen. They never covered that in our training. I buried him, thinking of nothing but revenge…”

He sighed, then ran a hand through his grey hair. “Joral rose that very night. Even as I wept for him, he tore free from the earth and attempted to take me down the path of the undead with him,” Tordal stated. “When they first awaken, they’re quite feral, you see. By comparison, the undead of El’kireth are practically civilized. You must burn your dead, lest they attack you in your sleep.”

“Blasphemous!”

Indeed, the very notion of burning a knight’s remains was against so many of their collective religion’s tenets that it risked the wrath of their gods. Of course, Tordal knew that their gods were merely powerful knights who had ascended to join the Sun Goddess in the battle with the rest of the heavens. But still, the lack of funeral rites for his friend had definitely left him shaken.

That was long ago, though, and the passage of time had dulled his emotions concerning Joral. A little, at least.

“Necessary,” was Tordal’s quiet reply. Despite his subdued voice, the message cut to the heart of everyone there. They knew that, in the realm of piety, he was unmatched, so if he was forced to go against the tenets of the Knights of Adontis, then the threat was undeniable.

He sighed. “This is a different matter,” Tordal said. “It has nothing to do with the undead abominations to our south. Instead, the threat originates from the Mukti Plains to our north. I have word from our scouts that the nomadic beasts have finally defeated their ancestral enemies in the mountains. It does not take a seer to see the message. Now that their enemies are vanquished, the monstrous centaurs have turned their bloodlust toward Adontis.”

“What do you propose?” asked another counselor. He was a young man with ruddy cheeks and a spotty beard.

“War is the only language they will understand,” Tordal said, his voice harsh. He placed his hands on the rectangular table, then leaned forward. Locking eyes with each of the nine counselors, one after the other, he said, “We must avenge Heartwood. To ensure such an atrocity never happens again, we will wipe the monsters from the face of this realm. Only then can we be certain that their lust for violence is contained. Do we have a consensus?”

The counselors – even Morik – raised their voices in agreement, and Tordal knew he had them in the palm of his hand. After that, it was no great feat to push them into supporting his plan of action, and soon enough, the counsel was dismissed. Still, he remained in the counsel chambers for a little while longer before he finally returned to his own quarters. There, he found Marisa Kane, the emissary from the Radiant Host.

She was dressed simply in an austere, white gown. Like many among her order – especially the women – she was entirely bald. However, that did nothing to disguise her loveliness, and not for the first time, Tordal’s thoughts trended toward the intimate. Not that she had ever demonstrated an interest in such things. Not with him as a partner, at least, but it was a pleasant fantasy nonetheless.

He sighed as he entered, then unclipped his white tabard. It fell away, revealing his armor. As he tossed it aside, Marisa asked, “Did they fall into line?”

“Enthusiastically.”

“Good,” she said with a nod. “Very good.”

“Are we certain it wasn’t the undead? They have been restless of late.”

“The armies of El’kireth are contained,” Marisa stated, her voice leaving no room for doubt. “Most cannot wander far from their lands, and those who are strong enough, remain fearful of doing so. No – there is nothing to fear.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Tordal said, “Why do you want a war with the centaurs?”

“They are abominations,” Marisa said, gliding forward. Tordal had difficulty concentrating on anything but the way her hips moved. The gown clung to her every curve, enticing enough to garner the attention of any man. “Need I another reason?”

She’d stopped only a foot away, tilting her delicate-featured face toward his own rugged visage. He swallowed hard, then said, “Need? Never. But you and yours seldom do anything for a single reason. I would know yours, my lady.”

She rolled her eyes and gave a playful scoff that seemed out of place for such a staunchly devout woman. She twisted away, saying, “I am no lady, your eminence. A simple servant of the Sun Goddess. No more. No less.”

“I think you are quite a bit more than a simple servant.”

“If you say so,” she acknowledged. “You ask what we gain from a war with the abominations, and my official answer has already been stated. However, if you wish me to answer more personally, then I shall do so. Is that what you want, Grand Magister? Do you want to get personal?”

“I do.”

“Then I will tell you that, personally, I wish for the centaurs’ destruction so that my people can take advantage of two dungeons in their territory. One is in the mountains, hidden from all but the most observant. The other is in the center of the Mukti Plains, where only the centaurs can access it. They misuse them both, one sin among many.”

Dungeons. They were the linchpin of any kingdom, largely because they were the most expedient means for people to gain power through levels. Every kingdom of any worth was built around one of those pocket realms. And now, it looked as if the centaurs had access to two.

“Two? How are they not more powerful?”

“The first is only used by their leaders. The second was within their enemies’ territory until very recently. The hill giants allowed a select few outsiders to access this dungeon. The Radiant Host counted ourselves among those lucky few. However, now that the giants have been defeated, that will no longer be the case. The centaurs count us as enemies, and no amount of goodwill will change that.”

“So, you want them removed.”

“Indeed. Think of it this way – if we get what we want, then you will gain another dungeon for Adontis,” she said.

That was enough incentive to justify Adontis’s involvement. Dungeons were valuable commodities, and not least because one only received full rewards the first time they were conquered by any individual. Subsequent forays into a dungeon were still worthwhile, but more for training than for progression. So, having two chances to gain those first-time rewards was invaluable enough that they could change a nation’s fate.

With two dungeons within their borders, Adontis could steadily grow more powerful until they were strong enough to take El’kireth as well. And that, in turn, would open up the possibility of taking more dungeons. Eventually, they might even rival the might of the Radiant Host.

“I see,” Tordal said, tapping his finger against his lip.

“So you do,” Marisa responded.

“Permit me one question, though,” he said.

“Go ahead.”

“Why not attack the centaurs yourselves?” he asked.

“If we did, the hill giants would have seen our true intent,” the emissary replied. “If they had, then we would have had to fight a war on two fronts. They might have even brokered an alliance with the centaurs.”

“But now that Berghem has fallen…”

“We have the chance to get everything we want,” she finished for him. “You only need to take it, Grand Magister.”

Tordal nodded. He liked the sound of that.

* * *

“Do you want to talk about it?” asked Pudge, walking alongside Sasha through the manor grounds. The expansive garden was well-curated by the tower, but there was just enough wildness to make Pudge feel at home.

For a few moments, Sasha didn’t answer, and Pudge could understand the reason. She hadn’t wanted to destroy the city, but she’d done it anyway because it was Pudge who had done the asking. If it had been anyone else, he didn’t doubt that she would have outright refused. However, she had gone through with it, and though it had taken three days to set everything up, Heartwood had fallen.

“I didn’t think I had that kind of power,” she muttered, clutching his hand tightly. “What if it had still been populated?”

“It wasn’t.”

And Pudge knew that for a fact. He’d supervised the town’s purge himself, and even though he’d known that it needed to be done – the people who’d built their entire civilization around enslaving his kind deserved nothing more – he still couldn’t help but feel a modicum of guilt. He was used to it, though. He’d always been a killer. Sasha, decidedly, was not, and her soft heart never could have born the weight of that much death.

In that way, he was her shield.

Even so, the act had taken its toll on the young boarkin woman, and it would be a long while before she could escape the shadow of the city’s destruction. It would be just as long before Pudge could forget the devastating power she had brought to bear. He had always known she was capable, but seeing her power at its peak effectiveness was a sobering thing indeed. The only thing that could come close – at least that Pudge had seen – was when Zeke let loose with all of his power.

“I know,” she said. “But there were people still left in there. I felt them. I went up two levels.”

That was troubling. Pudge knew that they couldn’t have gotten everyone. He recognized his and the kobolds’ fallibility. They were not perfect, and he’d always known that a few people might escape his notice. But the fact that there had been enough survivors to catapult Sasha two levels forward meant that there had bene sizable population hidden somewhere in Heartwood. That meant that, even with [Bestial Senses], Pudge had missed some.

“That’s good. They deserved it,” he said.

“Do you mean that?” she asked, stopping suddenly.

“Yes. You didn’t see what I saw, Sasha. Thousands of people just like us, all in cages. Naked. No dignity. No freedom. Some were starving. Others were so diseased that even the Crimson Pools couldn’t save them in time,” he said, describing the horrors he had witnessed. “Anyone who would do that to another person is evil, and that includes the ones who could just stand by and let it happen. I don’t mourn their deaths. Nor do I feel guilty. Because the people who could do that…they deserved what they got. Worse, even.”

“I…I don’t know…”

“You would if you saw what I saw.”

She sighed, then let her gaze drift toward the ground. In a vacuum, Pudge might’ve felt similarly conflicted. He wasn’t a violent person – not really. Sure, he wouldn’t shy away from killing when it needed to be done. He wasn’t so far removed from his bestial nature to become a pacifist. However, to him, killing without reason was just as alien as refraining from violence altogether.

But Sasha had grown up within the peaceful confines of Kabalith, far removed from any real danger. It wasn’t until she’d trekked across dangerous and unknown territory alongside Pudge that she’d been exposed to all the horrors of the outside world. She understood a little, now, but the remnants of her innocence remained intact.

“Do you know what makes it all worse? This feeling that I’ve been used,” she said. “If I’d done it all of my own volition, it would’ve been so much easier to bear. But now? I just feel like…I don’t know, Pudge. I just don’t know.”

Then, she threw herself into his arms and buried her face in his chest. It was a testament to how far he’d come that he instinctively wrapped his arms around her narrow shoulders and simply let her cry. At one point, he would have despaired, not knowing how to help her. But now, he understood that she didn’t want him to solve the problem. Because there was no solution. Instead, she only needed him to listen. To offer comfort. To be the rock she needed him to be.

So, that’s what he did.

All the while, though, he wondered if it had been a mistake for Zeke – and by extension, Pudge – to ask her to do such a thing. She wasn’t entirely soft. He had seen her kill. However, destroying an entire city was quite different from defending herself from a monster.

Pudge patted her on the back, hoping that she could wrap her mind around it sooner, rather than later. Because something told him that the fighting would only grow more intense in the weeks to come.