Enek’Chok had learned countless truths over his many, many years. One truth he lived by was the unyielding conviction that there was no such thing as “perfect.” It was a concept, nothing more. An unachievable goal. A fool’s errand.

As he stood atop Verity’s Lament—his personal siege tower and base of operations—and surveyed the scene unfolding before him, he found that truth challenged. In all his years of warfare, he had never experienced such a one-sided campaign. He knew the people of Brightholme were completely unprepared for war, and had become wholly reliant on the Godknight. But outside of a few small pockets of resistance—resistance which his Battle Mages had squashed as quickly as they had arisen—they were essentially, and literally, rolling over and dying.

He did not wish for this to become a massacre. Nor did Lord Malphor. They simply wanted to send a quick, clear message: resist and die. At least until the Godknight arrived. After he had come—and been defeated—the survivors would be given the option to surrender.

But the Godknight had not come. Not yet. Which surprised Enek’Chok. Everything was moving like clockwork, but he seemed to have mistimed how long it would take the Godknight to return from Crescent Hollow and arrive in Safehaven. An image materialized in his mind, and he chuckled despite the seriousness of the situation. Of the Godknight, flying erratically through the air, huffing and puffing from the strain.

Pathetic.

The fight was getting so well—or poorly, depending on where you stood—that he was considering calling off his troops early. From his perch, he watched as men, women, and children continued to fall needlessly. In a normal battle, with two forces of equal or similar strength clashing, it would not have affected him in the least. But the helplessness of these people… it was unsettling. He felt like a man hunting rabbits, only for a colony of them to eagerly hop up into his pot, the fire already lit below.

But there were still objectives to complete. Key positions to take and fortify. Until that was done, things must proceed as planned.

Enek’Chok briefly considered the spy they had on the inside, and how exceptional his information had turned out to be. He would personally make sure the spy’s reward was befitting his contributions. It would be epic, and well-deserved.

As Enek’Chok mused of future rewards and triumphs, he took a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship of his siege tower. Designed and built by the Master Engineer Fabian Dewpetal, the Verity’s Lament was constructed of the sturdiest wood and reinforced with the finest of Titan’s Vein. Standing thirty feet high, Enek’Chok would have to look down to see into a Qembil’s eyes. His command center, perhaps overly large at sixteen by sixteen feet, sat at the top of the tower and was open to the air, save for a thick roof held up by four pillars. Those pillars, as well as the roof, were constructed from the same extraordinary and unique composite of wood and Titan’s Vein.

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The small team that occupied the command center consisted of only Enek’Chok’s most trusted assistants, save for the Mystic Naruza, who was there by necessity. It wasn’t as if he didn’t trust her or lacked faith in her abilities. It was just that he let very few people close to him. And standing atop the Verity’s Lament alongside the Master of War was a high honor.

Enek’Chok glanced over at Tua Aoy, whose role as the psychic who would convey his orders to his generals required intense focus and concentration. But despite her needs, Enek’Chok insisted she be present on the command deck. To compensate, he had provided her with a comfort station that was far more elaborate than what he afforded any of his other subordinates.

She leaned back into an overly large and soft chair, her hands resting comfortably on the armrests, and offered him the briefest of smiles. It was a reassurance he did not need. He trusted her above all others, which was crucial considering the unfettered access he had granted her to every corner of his mind. She was an extraordinarily powerful psychic, and he had thus far detected little strain as she fed the troops his commands. But it was early. Her most difficult challenges were likely still to come.

He moved over to the mystic Naruza.

“Where is he?” Enek’Chok asked, irritated by how impatient he sounded. He needed to keep control.

Naruza’s eyes remained closed, her face calm and without expression. She sat on a perch designed so she could remain in her usual lotus position while still being able to see the battlefield. She opened her eyes and grinned.

“Close.”

Enek’Chok felt a tremendous rush of relief. For a moment, he had begun to doubt the Godknight would come at all. Which would simply would not do.

He began looking to the sky, momentarily ignoring the carnage unfolding right below him. He felt an unexpected, childlike surge of excitement and wondered how long it had been since he had enjoyed something for the sake of that enjoyment alone. That wasn’t the case now, of course, he told himself. This was business. This was war. “Enjoyment” was of no concern.

But he found he couldn’t help himself. He smiled and spoke out loud, to nobody in particular.

“This will be fun.”