Ember Pendant

The Ghoul's severed limbs still gave off a stench on the dark-purple Frozen Tundra.

By Inland reckoning, it was afternoon at most. But here, at the Eternal Night Wall, time meant little.

A vast, unsettling dark red began to seep across the dim sky. The Blood Moon was about to rise.

Shien gave the order at once: "Everyone, halt! Make camp here!"

The whole column sprang into motion. They forced the heavily laden carts into a ring, end to end.

The portable Sacred Flame brazier atop a cart became the heart of the camp. Its platinum light barely held open a small patch of safety beneath the dark-red sky.

Then several clerics carried heavy sacks around the cart ring, scattering a line of coarse salt mixed with a trace of Holy Silver Powder.

Once the Blood Moon had fully risen, any low-tier Aberrant trying to slip into camp would burn through its claws the moment it stepped on that line.

The camp was a whirl of activity.

The work-point system had the Convicts scrambling to haul tents and supply crates, desperate to earn a few more points in the cold lord's eyes.

At the edge of the crowd, one-armed Victor stood out.

The gaunt old man gripped a heavy crate full of Pig Iron ingots with his remaining left hand and dragged it through the mud, his back hunched with effort.

No one stopped to help. In a place like this, there was no time for sympathy.

Crack!

Victor's right leg, already partly crippled, slipped. Half his body slammed into the mud.

The heavy crate slid down the slope, on course to crush his shin!

He gritted his teeth, bracing for the blow...

A hand shot out and stopped the entire crate of Pig Iron ingots in midair. Victor jerked his head up. It was the silver-haired lord.

"With your body in its current state, heavy labor is a waste of your time." Shien set the crate on the ground beside them. "Go to the inner ring. The artisans' camp needs people."

In Shien's vision, the faint green number above Victor's head jumped.

But years of persecution had left Victor skittish. He quickly lowered his head. "My lord... you think too highly of me. I'm a crippled old man who can't even swing a hammer. At the artisans' camp, I'd only waste rations..."

Shien leaned closer, his voice low enough for only the two of them to hear. "A Blacksmith who swings a sledgehammer grows thick, rough calluses across his palms and the webs of his thumbs. A knight who grips a sword gets them on his index finger and at the base of his fingers."

He studied Victor's left hand. "But your calluses are on your fingertips and the inner web of your thumb, and they're smooth. Those marks come from years of holding a fine engraving knife and polishing precision metal parts.

"And there's machine oil under your nails. You used to be an Alchemist who worked with precision machinery, didn't you?"

Victor froze in the mud. His one clouded eye contracted sharply.

For six years, ever since the Holy War Council's inquisitors had cut off his right arm, branded him a Convict, and cast him out of the Church, everyone had treated him as useless.

Yet this young lord had stripped away his disguise just by looking at the calluses on his hand and the oil beneath his nails!

Shien turned to leave, giving him a few final words. "Stay at the artisans' camp for now. Once we reach my territory, I'll have plenty for you to do. Prove yourself, and I'll build you a Workshop.

"If you can't... you can come back and drag crates."

Victor knelt in the mud. Above his head, that faint green number climbed, one notch at a time.

High overhead, the dark red peeled away from the sky like dried blood. The Evernight Buffer Zone entered another lifeless day.

At the center of camp, only a faint glow remained of the platinum flame in the portable Sacred Flame brazier.

But beyond the defenses, the gray-white line the clerics had drawn with coarse salt and Holy Silver Powder the night before was still clear.

Several low-tier Blood Moon creatures lay sprawled on both sides of it. They had tried to cross during the night.

Shien stood beside a supply cart, half a charcoal pencil in hand, quickly tallying the night's consumption of Sacred Flame Grease and coarse salt on a wooden board.

Suddenly, heavy iron boots sounded through the morning mist.

One of Bishop Castian's senior guards came straight to Shien with a summons from the Bishop.

Shien asked no questions. He mounted his horse and rode straight for the Holy City Army's central camp.

The heavy curtain was drawn aside.

Bishop Castian braced both hands on a vast tactical map. His eyes were bloodshot from a night spent working through plans.

As soon as Shien stopped before him, Castian raised his Holy Silver Scepter and struck a supply line on the map.

The line ran from the heartland of the Kingdom of Austeria all the way to the Graymist Defense Zone.

"Before spring, the Kingdom and its great families will send their next contingent of Convicts, artisans, and soldiers into the buffer zone through the snowstorms. They'll also send three times the allotted amount of Holy Silver ore."

The scepter traced the supply line north, then stopped on the mark for Blackpine Fief.

"Once those supplies enter the Graymist Defense Zone, I'll invoke my authority to make wartime allocations."

Castian lifted his bloodshot eyes to Shien. "I'll carve out the largest share for you: the finest High-Tier Artisans and the batch of Holy Silver ore with the highest purity.

"The camp you're taking over sits on the main route of the Aberrant invasion. Its defenses are weak. It deserves priority supplies."

The reasoning sounded impeccable, but both men standing over the map knew better.

In the relentless meat grinder of the Eternal Night Wall, resources were never shared evenly.

Shien's command of his troops, his ability to organize those at the bottom, and the victories he had won with almost no casualties had changed the old Bishop's judgment entirely.

Shien answered without hesitation. "As you wish. Blackpine Fief will become the toughest stronghold in the Graymist Defense Zone."

Castian then pushed a Black Iron signet ring toward him. It represented his legal claim to the territory.

"In another two days, we'll reach the end of this relatively gentle stretch of the buffer zone. The Expeditionary Army will split up there. Take your people down the westernmost road and head straight for Blackpine Fief."

Shien closed his hand around the ring and asked casually, "When will you return Inland?"

Castian did not answer. His gaunt, bony forefinger stabbed at the center of the map.

There stood the ruins of a massive fortress, the heart of the Graymist Defense Zone.

The Bishop's voice did not waver. "I'm not leaving. I'll stay here. A Werewolf tore last year's District Supervisor's head off. This year, I have to clean up his mess."

The tent fell silent.

Shien looked up sharply. His eyes, usually so composed, betrayed a clear shock.

Only days ago, the old man himself had told him that the Graymist Defense Zone was treated as an expendable strip, all but written off. Long Night Lords like them were merely pieces discarded at its edge.

As an Archbishop of the Holy War Council, Castian had every reason to leave and return to the Inland heartland.

But he had chosen to stay in this wasteland, where even a High-Tier Knight could be torn apart by Werewolves. It defied all logic.

Seeing the shock in Shien's eyes, Castian scoffed. "Wipe that stupid look off your face.

"Do you think a few dozen wet-behind-the-ears lords and a mob of terrified Convicts can hold an entire Defense Zone for the Inland territories?"

Shien did not know what to say. He lowered his head. "I admire your courage."

Castian fell silent for a moment. Then he took an old Silver Necklace from beneath the innermost layer of his robes.

A thumb-sized crystal hung from it, holding a wisp of pure white flame.

He walked around the desk to Shien. "Take it. The Ember Pendant.

"If a high-tier Dark Race catches you when the Blood Moon is at its peak, crush it. It will strike with the full force of a Tier-Four Knight."

Shien accepted the crystal. He rarely received anything without a price, but this necklace was clearly more than a simple exchange of favors.

Castian did not look at him again. He turned back to the tactical map and its many marks of death.

"Get back to your camp. I hope the next time I see you... you're not a corpse."

Shien stood silent for two seconds, then closed his hand around the Ember Pendant.

He took half a step back and pressed his right fist firmly to his chest, giving a formal Most Holy Salute to the old Bishop, whose every word spoke of cold calculation, yet who was willing to stake his life on holding the Eternal Night Wall.

Then the tent curtain lifted, letting in a rush of cold wind.

The young Long Night Lord strode out of the central camp and toward the long night that awaited him.