A Plan That Astonished the Bishop

The Oak Door slowly closed behind them, its hinges giving a low, muffled groan.

It shut out the wind beyond the tower, the clang of hammers, and the moans from the wounded soldiers' camp.

Only two people remained in the chamber.

Castian sat at the head of the table. Exhaustion showed in his eyes, but his back was still ramrod straight, as though he could rise and charge into battle at any moment.

Shien walked to the table and knelt on one knee, pressing his right hand to his chest. Every movement was precise.

"Stand and speak," Castian said first.

"Yes." Shien pushed himself up with a hand on his armored knee, but as he rose, he swayed slightly and turned his head to cough.

Two drops of dark red blood struck the table's edge with a patter and slowly seeped along the grain.

Castian's gaze rested on the blood for a moment. He said nothing.

Shien kept his head lowered. His breathing was still heavy, but he made his voice steady. "By the protection of the Most Holy, the Sacred Flame still burns."

Castian leaned the Holy Silver Scepter beside the panoramic Sand Table, then lightly tapped the piece marking Blackpine Fief at its center.

"No high-level divine arts. No knight corps above the Third Tier. Yet you took a force of fighters cobbled together from wherever you could find them, shattered a Ghoul army, and gravely wounded a Fourth Tier monster. It's nothing short of a miracle."

Castian looked up. His gray-white eyes fixed on Shien's face, as though searching for something.

Shien lowered his head modestly. "I only did what I should have done."

"No. You have no idea what you've done."

Castian shook his head. He placed a finger on Blackpine Fief's flag, then slowly drew