When night fell, Corvus was sitting in his dimly lit room. In front of him, Zarqa stood upright, waiting in silence as Corvus read the papers in his hand. The only sounds in the room were the faint crackling of the candle and the rustling of his fingers sliding over the paper. Carefully, Corvus handed Zarqa a small but vital piece of paper. A name and an address were written on it. Zarqa took the paper, quickly scanned the lines, then lifted his head and turned to Corvus. Neither of them needed to speak much; they already knew what this information meant.

  “Find the man and do what needs to be done,” Corvus said, his voice carrying an unwavering firmness.

  The man mentioned in the paper had been arranged by Baral. He was someone who had owed him for a long time, running a small, rundown inn with few customers in the south of Rax. But now, that inn belonged to Corvus.

  However, Corvus hadn’t acquired the inn just for the sake of owning property. This was the first step in establishing an intelligence network planned to spread across the continent. There was no better starting point than Adler. Rax was one of the most strategic locations on the continent, a city where hundreds of merchants and thousands of travelers passed through daily. The kingdom had once been mighty; though it had lost its power, its central position and influence over trade routes remained unshaken. Information, rumors, secrets, and whispers—all passed through this city at least once.

  Yet, despite now owning the inn, there was a problem. The Kingdom of Adler placed great importance on the concept of citizenship and did not allow non-citizens to own property. This was where the man arranged by Baral came into play. Not only was he willing to sell the inn, but he was also ready to sell his own identity—though he had no idea he was doing it for Corvus. He believed he was selling his inn and identity to Baral. After all, Baral was a merchant, and it was perfectly reasonable for him to seek Adler citizenship and own property in Rax. The payment would be delivered by Rhazgord’s men working for Baral.

  Corvus turned to Zarqa, his expression cold and composed.

  “The man is drowning in gambling debt. Once you’ve secured all the documents and ensured his debts are settled, get rid of him. His existence is a risk.”

  There was a clear and ruthless reason behind this decision. Corvus couldn’t afford to deal with someone who was deeply in debt. He could use the money he received to gamble even more, leading to dangerous actions to reclaim his inn. Worse, his creditors could try to seize the inn, complicating control. In short, both the man and the problems he created had to disappear. This inn would serve as a safe haven for Rhazgord’s secret informants, forming the first link in an intelligence network that would stretch across the continent. No mistakes could be allowed.

  Zarqa silently left the room. Outside, several warriors were waiting for him. Together, they disappeared into the streets of the city. At Corvus’s door, three Rhazgord warriors stood guard, while others lined the corridor. These guards had been placed on Baldrek’s insistence after the tension in the throne room. With their hands on their axes, they stood alert, missing no movement in the hallway.

  Meanwhile, Corvus prepared for a meeting that would begin in the morning and last for several days. He had just started reviewing a few documents when his door opened. A Rhazgord warrior peeked in.

  “The Adler prince wishes to see you.”

  “Let him in.”

  Belisarius entered, looking slightly regretful. Expecting to be turned away, he asked,

  “How about a walk?”

  Unexpectedly, Corvus accepted. He wasn’t tired, and there was still time before morning. He could prepare for the meeting when he returned. Stepping out with Belisarius, Corvus’s warriors followed from a safe but watchful distance. Baldrek joined them as well.

  They walked through the city’s marble statues and elegant stone roads. This was the city Corvus admired the most in the world. Even at night, people filled the streets. But the darkness gave the city a different atmosphere, enhancing the grandeur of its long marble columns.

  “A second Kaelyra,” Belisarius remarked, referring to Baldrek.

  Corvus smiled and replied,

  “My loyal friend is a blacksmith. He also grew up in the army.” He glanced at Baldrek.

  “You won’t find a more disciplined man in the entire continent.”

  Belisarius’s face took on a melancholic smile.

  “It must be nice to have loyal friends who strive to protect you.”

  Corvus’s eyes shifted to the shadows. Though he saw no one, he knew they had been followed since they left the palace. Referring to the unseen figures, he said,

  “Don’t be dramatic. Seems like you have protectors too.”

  Belisarius was surprised that Corvus had noticed. Even though the energy of Corvus’s Lightstone seemed weaker than months ago, Belisarius could feel that he had changed—grown stronger. However, it was impossible to sense the immense Lightstone energy that Corvus was suppressing.

  “They protect me when needed and take my head when necessary. This is how Adler works.”

  Corvus understood what he meant. The eyes lurking in the shadows weren’t just concerned with protecting Belisarius. In a chaotic political system like Adler’s, a single misstep could turn those protectors into executioners.

  They climbed the rising stone stairs, passing through the shadows. The damp stones bore the weight of centuries, still carrying the scars of old battles despite the moonlight. With each step, the sound of their boots echoed, emphasizing the silent majesty of the fortress walls.

  Soon, they reached the top of the city’s walls. A gentle breeze made Belisarius’s cloak flutter. Before them, the city of Rax stretched out, transformed by the night. The marble streets, ornate columns, and grand squares shimmered under the moonlight. From afar, the city looked like an endless sea of stone. Lights flickered from open markets and inns, casting a hazy glow into the night.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  They had been here months ago, drunk on youth and victory, sharing their dreams. Below, Rhazgord and Adler warriors had celebrated their triumph against the demons. Torches had lit the sky, swords had been raised, and battle cries had echoed through the city. Now, the same city lay before them under a different atmosphere.

  Belisarius remained silent for several minutes before finally sighing and bowing his head slightly.

  “My apologies, Corvus. I overstepped.”

  His voice was filled with regret. He had set aside his pride, but Corvus found his submissive demeanor displeasing. However, he didn’t show it. Without taking his eyes off the city, he replied coolly,

  “It’s not your fault. We’ve stepped back too far… Naturally, everyone assumes we’ve lost our strength.”

  Belisarius hesitated. Corvus’s words stirred a new doubt in him. He had heard the stories of Rhazgord’s former glory. But what he had seen did not match what he had heard.

  “Even if the Sizat prince crossed the line first, you could have been more controlled,” Belisarius pointed out.

  Corvus slightly lowered his head but continued watching the city. Beyond Rax’s marble towers, a shadow loomed as if challenging him. Finally, in a cold tone, he spoke.

  “That bastard threw grapes at me and called me a barbarian.” His eyes turned to Belisarius.

  “And he insulted my friend. He should be grateful I didn’t take his head.”

  Belisarius’s face tensed with anger. He clenched his teeth, his fist tightening involuntarily.

  “The Prince was right,” he said sharply.

  “He owns me and this kingdom. If he wanted, he could march his armies here overnight and raze this city to the ground.”

  Corvus let out a low, mocking laugh that echoed against the stone walls. Belisarius frowned, feeling insulted. Corvus tilted his head slightly toward him and winked. “Then you should hire Rhazgord’s mercenary armies,” he said.

  “I’ll get you a discount.”

  Belisarius’ anger doubled. His eyes narrowed, and his voice grew harsher.

  “Corvus, this isn’t a joke. Those bastards have their hands around our throats.”

  Corvus’ smile didn’t fade. His voice was calm but deep.

  “I wasn’t joking.”

  For a few seconds, Belisarius couldn’t respond. There was a different light in Corvus’ eyes. Was he truly unafraid? Or was he fully aware of everything and simply playing along?

  “Do you really believe your armies can resist Sizat, Corvus?” Belisarius asked. His voice carried curiosity, yet a hint of doubt lingered within it. He hadn’t asked to test Corvus—he genuinely wanted to know the answer. The scenes they had witnessed on the battlefield were still fresh in their minds.

  Corvus lowered his head slightly, taking a deep breath. His eyes remained fixed on Belisarius’ face. A flicker of anger flashed in his gaze, accompanied by a mocking glint. “What you saw in Bahoz must have confused you, Belisarius,” he said, his voice firm and confident.

  “But there’s only one answer I can give to your question. Do you believe the Sizat armies can resist us?”

  Belisarius recognized the arrogance in Corvus’ words. To him, this was nothing more than an illusion of invincibility on the battlefield. As always, Corvus was overly confident. “We’re talking about the largest army on the continent, Corvus,” he said, narrowing his eyes. His tone was defiant. The Sizat Empire had maintained its power for centuries, and for him, even questioning that fact was absurd.

  A faint smile spread across Corvus’ face. But it wasn’t one of joy—it resembled the sly grin of a predator cornering its prey. He stepped forward slowly, locking eyes with Belisarius. “The largest army? Do they simply have numbers?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper, yet the threat in it was unmistakable. “Our children wield axes at the age of nine, Belisarius. What do Sizat’s children do at nine?” Then, spreading his arms wide, he added,

  “Do they have an abundance of Lightstones? Tell me, can anyone else but me offer a hundred kilos of Lightstone for a trade union?”

  Belisarius’ brows furrowed, his irritation growing. “Are you planning to win this war with children? Is that it? Throwing your entire people onto the battlefield under the pretense that every Rhazgordian is a warrior?” he said, his voice first mocking, then turning serious. He knew of Rhazgord’s harsh warrior culture, but what Corvus suggested sounded insane. No nation could send its entire population to war.

  Corvus nodded, his eyes devoid of the slightest doubt. “Yes. If necessary, even our children will fight. And yes, all Rhazgordians are warriors. How do you think we’ve survived until now?” Then he narrowed his eyes and continued in a heavier tone, “You worship the god of light, but we worship the god of war, Belisarius.”

  Belisarius’ expression grew pensive. He knew how deeply rooted and fanatical Rhazgordians’ faith was. For them, dying on a battlefield was a sacred blessing. They didn’t mourn those who fell in war, but rather those who died in warm beds. Even so, the idea of sending an entire nation to war still seemed like madness to him. But the determination in Corvus’ eyes showed that he truly meant every word.

  Corvus noticed Belisarius’ hesitation. “And remember, Belisarius,” he said slowly.

  “Let’s say we lose the war… What will happen to Sizat?”

  Belisarius frowned at him. Corvus tilted his head slightly, as if he had expected that reaction.

  “When the corpses of Rhazgord and Sizat’s armies pile as high as Rhaz Mountain, how will Sizat protect itself? Will you simply sit and wait for Sizat to recover its strength, Belisarius?”

  For a moment, Belisarius weighed Corvus’ words in silence. Corvus continued, “Won’t the jackals pretending to be allies tear Sizat apart? Won’t you take advantage of Sizat’s shattered armies?”

  Belisarius’ eyes widened. In that instant, he visualized the entire war’s outcome and what would follow. Corvus was right. Perhaps Rhazgord couldn’t withstand Sizat. But if Rhazgord’s army was destroyed, Sizat would also suffer immense losses. If Rhazgord gathered its full strength, its army could reach the hundreds of thousands, and these were not mere peasants—they were individuals raised as warriors. Could Sizat truly maintain its power after fighting such an army? Or would other nations seize the opportunity and descend upon Sizat’s bleeding corpse like vultures?

  Belisarius finally grasped Corvus’ vision. Corvus truly believed they could defeat Sizat. But more importantly, even if they lost, he was certain that they would drag Sizat down with them. The Rhazgordians might sacrifice their lives, but Sizat would risk losing its entire existence and dominion. And in that moment, Belisarius realized that Corvus was not just a formidable warrior—he was also a sharp-minded strategist.

  “In short, Belisarius, there is nothing about Sizat that should frighten us,” Corvus said, his voice sharp and unwavering.

  “If we fall on the battlefield, we shall rise again at the War God’s feast. But Sizat… Sizat will live through hell.”

  Belisarius hesitated for a moment after hearing those words. His earlier doubts and uncertainty vanished in an instant. Corvus’ unshakable confidence in both war and faith had left a strange effect on him. Raising his eyebrows slightly, he smirked. “I didn’t know you were this religious,” he said, his tone carrying both surprise and a hint of amusement.

  Corvus said nothing as he returned to his place. Placing his hands on his knees, he leaned back. His eyes shifted toward the city once more. He gazed upon the lands stretching before them, the streets, the stone buildings. The distant sounds of the marketplace reminded them that life continued, despite the weight of war and strategy filling the air.

  “If we weren’t religious, we probably would’ve torn each other apart by now,” he said, letting out a short chuckle. But behind his words lay a serious truth. Even as he smiled, he deeply believed in what he said. Then he tilted his head slightly, his eyes still fixed on the horizon.

  “The gods keep us together.”

  Belisarius studied Corvus’ face. He realized that Corvus’ faith was not merely tradition—it was the very bond holding Rhazgord together. For them, war was not just a necessity; it was a sacred devotion. And in that moment, he felt as though he was finally beginning to understand Rhazgord.