Back on the Blue Hope, Heidrick stood at the helm, staring at the horizon where the island had disappeared from view.

Revol approached him cautiously.

“It’s done, sir. Both factions are off the ship.”

Heidrick nodded.

“Good. They were a danger to everyone on board. Let them deal with each other on that island.”

Revol hesitated before speaking again.

“Do you think they’ll survive?”

“That’s not my concern. They’ve been given a chance—what they do with it is up to them.”

As the Blue Hope resumed its journey, the tension aboard began to ease.

For most passengers, the removal of the Frost Elves and Third Circle marked the restoration of peace.

On the island, the stage was set for a new conflict.

Though separated by distance, both factions knew that coexistence was not an option.

The Frost Elves and the Third Circle would clash again—it was only a matter of time.

Both factions sent their people deep in the forest of the island to understand and discover the natural resources.

Most people would not understand how a battle is set up and how to deal with people in a stranded place.

They would only be focusing on battle tactics or how powerful spells they have but would not focus on logistics or how to feed more than 150 to 200 people every day.

-

Sylas stared out the window,

Machivel, one of Sylas’s most trusted advisors, was the first to break the silence. His voice carried the weight of the unspoken fears of everyone present.

"Now that the Third Circle is no longer here, Dark Father and Dark Sickle will undoubtedly meet and plan how to destroy us. They no longer have a reason to focus on anyone but us,"

Machivel said grimly.

Sylas turned away from the window,

He knew Machivel was right.

The removal of one faction that had alliance with them not only shifted the balance of power, leaving him and his people as the next obvious target.

Gran,stepped forward.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“What are we going to do to stop this? We can’t sit back and let them unite against us.”

Sylas took a deep breath and spoke with authority,

“Prepare for a big attack. Gran is right in this sense, we can not give them time to collect all their power to attack us.”

The room fell silent, every person hanging on his words.

“In four to five hours, we’ll strike first. Rud, the head of Dark Father, will be our initial target. Once we take him out, we’ll move swiftly to cripple Dark Sickle before they can regroup.”

Machivel nodded.

"Dark Sickle is weaker in an all-out battle. It’s smart to deal with Dark Father first."

Before the group could delve further into planning, the door to their room opened, and Ares stepped inside, a wide grin on his face.

“I finally managed to escape, my lord,”

Ares said, bowing slightly before Sylas.

Sylas’s stern demeanor softened as he smiled faintly at the sight of Ares.

“Good timing,” he said. “You’ll be crucial for what’s to come.”

He turned his attention to Suntuzel, who had been silently observing.

“Suntuzel, brief Ares on our plan. He’ll be joining you in handling Dark Father. You’ll lead that attack.”

Suntuzel nodded, already processing the responsibilities being entrusted to him.

Sylas continued, addressing the rest of the room.

“Machivel, Sardias, and Warrent, you will take charge of the operation against Dark Sickle. Coordinate your movements and ensure they have no chance to regroup. The timing of both attacks must be precise.”

The room was abuzz with energy and determination, but Sylas raised his hand, signaling for quiet. He looked around, his gaze steady and commanding.

“I’ll be protecting all of you and ensuring that the Blue Hope does not intervene,”

Sylas said, his tone unwavering.

“To give us an edge in the coming battle, I’ll create one hundred Level Two Mages using most of my power.”

The announcement sent a ripple of surprise through the room.

Creating so many mages in such a short time was an extraordinary feat, but it would come at a great cost to Sylas himself.

Gran, always concerned for Sylas’s well-being, voiced his worry.

“That’s a heavy burden, Sylas. Are you sure it’s worth the risk?”

Sylas met his gaze with unwavering resolve.

“It’s necessary. We’re outnumbered and outgunned. This will balance the scales. I’ll need three hours to complete the process. Once the mages are ready, we’ll launch our attacks in seven to eight hours.”

The room erupted into movement as everyone prepared to execute Sylas’s orders.

Suntuzel gathered his team, explaining their role in the operation.

“We’ll focus on Rud and his key allies. Our goal is to eliminate their leadership and sow chaos within Dark Father. Ares, you’ll be crucial in this mission. Your explosional spells will allow us to strike hard and fast.”

Ares grinned.

“Consider it done.”

Meanwhile, Machivel huddled with Sardias and Warrent, outlining their approach to dismantling Dark Sickle.

“We’ll hit them with a coordinated assault. Sardias, you’ll be the vanguard. Warrent, your defensive spells will protect us while we advance. I’ll focus on disrupting their spellcasters and breaking their lines.”

Warrent nodded,

“I’ll keep us shielded. No spell will get through.”

Sardias, ever the bold one, smirked. “Just point me at them. They won’t know what hit them.”

While his allies prepared, Sylas retreated to a private chamber to begin the arduous task of creating the one hundred mages.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, his hands resting on his knees as he closed his eyes and began to channel his immense magical energy.

The process was grueling, requiring him to divide his power and infuse it into the newly created mages. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he worked tirelessly, his focus unshakable.