Reckoning and Plans

The Blood Moon faded, and dawn fell once more on the ruins of Blackpine Fief. The Sacred Flame burned quietly, spreading warmth around it.

They were too exhausted. The survivors of the night could not even muster the strength to undo their buckles. Still wearing armor stained with black blood, they collapsed onto the cold stone.

For those abandoned at the Eternal Night Wall, simply closing their eyes beneath the Sacred Flame's protection was a rare moment of peace.

Shien stood at the edge of the platform. A cold wind whipped past, snapping his black cloak.

Two nights of pushing himself beyond his limits had left his head feeling as though someone had chiseled it open from within. But it was not time to rest.

Heavy footsteps rose from the stairs. The army Recorder, covered in filthy blood, hauled himself up the platform with one hand against the wall and held out a parchment roster to Shien.

"My lord... last night's tally..."

Shien took the roster. Thick strokes of crude black charcoal crossed out more than half the names that had once crowded the page.

Dead: one hundred and seventeen.

The Rat Tide had chewed through those one hundred and seventeen bodies. Most had belonged to the heavy infantry and young knights who had held the front line.

For a battered force of barely six hundred, the loss cut almost to the bone. And that was with Victor lighting the Sacred Flame in time. A delay of a few more seconds might have doubled the toll.

That was the Eternal Night Wall. Every victory they barely survived rested on a bed of bones.

He closed the roster and looked down again at the people sprawled below. A harsher truth came to mind.

Last night's slaughter had nearly dragged the entire force into the abyss, yet it had not been the true Blood Moon Season.

It had been an accident: a disaster brought on by a swarm of hungry Demon Beasts drawn to the fresh meat that had camped at the Eternal Night Wall without a lit Sacred Flame.

The real Blood Moon Season would last sixty to seventy days. During that time, the rules of the world would tilt toward darkness.

Daylight would vanish, leaving only the blood-red glow of the Blood Moon in the sky.

The Sacred Flame's suppressive power would weaken. Vast numbers of low-tier Demon Beasts would fully awaken, while higher-tier species would enter an almost frenzied hunting state.

And in the Blood Moon Season, the Tier Three Mutant Giant Rat and Ghoul Elite that had nearly wiped them out last night would be nothing more than elite monsters.

Why had the previous garrison of the Graymist Defense Zone been destroyed? Because it had faced not scattered Demon Beasts, but an entire Werewolf Tribe.

Werewolves were not beasts. Their tactical intelligence rivaled humanity's. They could flank a position, cut off supplies, and even drive low-tier Demon Beasts into trenches and traps to fill them.

That defensive line had not collapsed by chance. The Werewolves had torn it apart piece by piece with a coordinated hunt.

Shien looked up at the enormous moon faintly visible in the sky.

Only six months remained until the next true Blood Moon Season.

Wind swept across the platform. Not one of the sleeping soldiers below knew what awaited them.

A battered force that had just suffered devastating losses. A territory only barely stabilized.

If they did not change how they defended it, nothing but ruins would remain when the Blood Moon truly rose.

Even the Sacred Flame could not save them. They had to grow stronger.

Shien lowered his gaze and sank his awareness into his mind. The Canon of Grace and Righteousness opened without a sound.

When he opened his eyes again, the sight before him eased even the splitting throb of his migraine for a moment.

Every Grace Value above the crowd had changed: those of the usually aloof and arrogant Church Knights, the unruly veteran soldiers, and the Convicts who had been treated like dirt.

The ashen gray and pale green were gone. In their place stretched a sea of pure, steady deep blue.

The White-Gold Sacred Flame that had pierced the heavens last night had done more than burn through Blackpine Fief's long night.

It had burned away the last traces of doubt those six hundred people held toward Shien. Their loyalty was now absolute.

Shien looked over the deep-blue crowd, and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

He could now spend Reward Value whenever he wished to draw on and replicate the abilities of the force's strongest members.

Fabien's Sanctum Swordsmanship, the killing methods the veterans had honed in mud and heaps of corpses, Victor's knowledge of alchemical Constructs.

It was all open to him. If his body could withstand it, his personal combat strength would surge in a very short time.

The rats had left considerable spoils besides the gains in Grace Value.

Two fist-sized dark-red crystals lay quietly on a lead box.

They were the spoils carved from the Tier Three Mutant Giant Rat and the Ghoul Elite: Third Tier Original Sin Blood.

Fine, veinlike lines covered their surfaces. In the bleak morning light, thick blood circulated slowly inside them, making each look like a crystallized heart.

At the Eternal Night Wall, it had always been the most dependable currency.

Unlike the gentle, pure Sacred Flame, Original Sin Blood was, by nature, an extremely violent form of dark energy.

Set at the heart of an alchemical array as its power source or embedded in the drive base of a Permanent Sacred Flame Platform, that dense energy could even push the Sacred Flame into a brief overcharged burst.

"My lord, there's also this." Ivan spoke in a low voice and pointed to several bulging burlap sacks in the corner.

The sacks lay open, packed with rough low-tier Magic Crystals. Each was no bigger than a grain of rice, but there were so many they nearly burst the seams. And these were only a small fraction of what lay across the battlefield.

Each crystal held pitifully little energy, not even enough to fuel the Sacred Flame. Their impurities would clog the energy conduits, too. But their sheer number was staggering.

Shien bent and scooped up a handful of Magic Crystals. Their cold, coarse edges scraped against his palm.

His mind pushed aside the last of his exhaustion and began working out how to put the resources to use.

Blackpine Fief's current defenses were no sturdier than a rotten board, ready to be torn apart at any moment.

The one hundred and seventeen lives lost last night had proved one thing: plugging gaps against Blood Moon Demon Beasts with human bodies was the most wasteful approach.

Alchemical defenses had to take over the position. The two portions of Third Tier Original Sin Blood would be enough to power a miniature reactor.

Paired with the mad Wasteland Constructcraft in Victor's head, they could give Blackpine Fief a physical defense system that did not rely on manpower.

Of course, all of that required further support and more people. Castian had promised that Church supplies would be directed to Blackpine Fief first.

But how much of that promise he would honor depended entirely on the value Shien showed him.

Shien turned and tossed the Magic Crystals back into the sack. They rattled together. "Prepare parchment and ink."

The army Recorder paused in surprise, then quickly nodded and withdrew.

Shien needed to secure more resources for his plans as soon as possible. He decided to write two letters.

The first would go to the Greywood Lineage in the Royal Capital.

He would lay out Blackpine Fief's precarious position and its grim casualty rate without softening a word.

If the territory collapsed, he, the illegitimate son, would be swallowed by the Long Night. But the Church's fury would follow the bloodline straight to Count Greywood's estate.

Supplies, High-Tier Artisans, the family's private troops: Count Greywood would have to pay with real resources to keep the Church from striking the Greywood Lineage from its rolls.

The second letter would go to Bishop Castian. Its wording would be far more polished.

The scale of the Rat Tide, their defeat of the Tier Three Mutant Giant Rat and the Ghoul Elite, the amount of Original Sin Blood seized, and the resources needed to rebuild the defensive line.

He would use it to prove his ability—and plead poverty.

The Recorder soon returned carrying rolls of parchment and a brass inkwell.

Shien had just taken the quill from him. Its tip had not yet touched the ink.

Suddenly, a messenger from the perimeter stumbled onto the platform, his dusty face slick with cold sweat and his chest heaving.

"My lord! A group of riders... they're forcing their way through the Gray Fog! They're racing toward Blackpine Fief at full speed!"