Right now, four figures stood inside the chamber—three if one only counted the living, but the Void Creature's presence warped the room enough to feel like an extra consciousness. And the general… the general couldn't stop sweating.

A cold droplet slid from his temple down his cheek as he stared at the floating abomination, its shifting mass barely contained by the reinforced arcane bindings. Even though Icarus had said, "Don't worry. It doesn't bite," the reassurance meant nothing. The general knew the truth:

if that creature broke free, he would die instantly.

It was two full cores above him.

Two entire levels of existence he could never hope to bridge.

The only reason he didn't collapse from sheer terror was because Kaedor and Icarus were here—two monsters in humanoid form, beings so far beyond him that their mere presence forced the Void Creature to remain still.

Even so, the general wondered again what he was doing here.

He understood Kaedor had summoned him, of course—this was his first official assignment after receiving his recent promotion. A promotion he was proud of… and terrified by.

Being chosen directly by a Patriarch of the Eight Great Families?

This mission had to be executed flawlessly.

Icarus' voice interrupted his spiral.

"Now then," Icarus said, tone suddenly sharpened to pure business, "let me tell you the details of the plan."

The general snapped to attention. He tried to meet Icarus' eyes—but one glance into that calm, lilac gaze sent a chill down his spine. It was like looking into a void that simply learned to speak.

He also understood the unspoken truth of the situation:

the reason Kaedor's entire family was bedridden and pale —the reason their fevers wouldn't break— was standing right in front of him.

Icarus.

The Warden of the Plague.

The man who could give and take breath with a thought.

The general's mind drifted—'perhaps his class awakened because someone in his family once suffered a fatal disease? A mutation? A curse?'—but he stopped thinking the moment Icarus smiled at him.

A smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"I heard Kaedor promoted you recently," Icarus began, voice smooth.

"It must be an honor to represent a Great Family in something this important. Your mission carries weight equal to your new rank. We expect full compliance."

The general straightened his back immediately.

"Y-Yes, sir. I will carry out the orders given to me. I'm proud to do this."

He glanced at Kaedor, searching for acknowledgement from his Patriarch.

Kaedor didn't show approval—only a muted irritation, as if the entire situation tested his patience.

The general swallowed hard, Kaedor's silent irritation pressing against his nerves like a physical weight. Before he could gather his thoughts, Icarus shifted slightly—just enough to reclaim the room.

"Good," Icarus said, his eyes narrowing with something that resembled approval but felt far colder. "I like that spirit. Let's begin."

He stepped closer, the faint echo of his boots clicking softly on the stone floor. Somehow, even the Void Creature's amorphous body quieted as if listening. Or fearing.

"As you may have heard," Icarus began, hands clasped behind his back, "rumors are spreading about the Ritefield of Beasts." He tilted his head. "Some true, some exaggerated… but all surprisingly useful."

The general nodded, though he wasn't entirely sure what rumor Icarus was referring to.

Icarus continued:

"You'll lead an army of prisoners. Men and women Lycans, convicted for crimes they will now attempt to repay."

A long pause.

The general felt something cold twist in his stomach.

Icarus' tone remained perfectly smooth.

"On the day of the Ritefield, you will all be disguised among the celebrations. Drinking. Laughing. Acting like harmless fools enjoying tradition." He lifted one finger. "You must behave exactly like civilians, not warriors. Understood?"

The general blinked. Civilians? With prisoners? His first mission was… this?

He opened his mouth, instinctively forming a protest. The Void Creature stirred behind him, tendrils brushing the barrier. Icarus' gaze snapped to him—sharp, expectant.

The general's throat tightened. He closed his mouth at once.

Icarus smiled. A small, satisfied curve.

"Good. You're learning when not to speak."

The general forced out:

"U-Understood… sir. You can expect great things from us. I… will make Lord Kaedor proud."

He looked again at Kaedor, hoping for at least a nod, a sign of support.

But Kaedor only offered this some words. "Soon you'll receive your soldiers. It will not be easy. Adapt. No matter the difficulty."

The general straightened instinctively. "Yes, sir."

Kaedor dismissed him with a single gesture. "You may leave."

The general exhaled shakily, bowed deeply, and turned toward the exit. Every step felt like he was walking through mud—fear weighing down his legs. He opened the door, slipped out, and let it close behind him.

The moment it clicked shut, the atmosphere in the room changed.

For several long seconds, the two simply stood in the now-closed chamber, the silence so heavy it felt like carrying a whole cow in your arms—awkward, crushing, absurdly difficult to maintain without collapsing.

Icarus still faced the door, lilac eyes narrow, as if scanning through layers of stone to ensure no lingering presence remained. Only when he was satisfied did he let out a soft exhale.

Kaedor flexed his jaw.

"So," he finally growled, "you didn't tell him they'll be bait? That those prisoners we're giving him will die the moment the elves strike?"

Icarus didn't turn. He merely tilted his head slightly.

"Does it matter?"

Kaedor's fists tightened.

"It does if he loses composure on the field."

Icarus at last shifted to face him, expression smooth, patient, and infuriatingly calm.

"If your general hesitates in front of pressure, he cannot guide anything," Icarus replied. "You're a Patriarch of the Eight Great Families, Kaedor. Try to act like one."

A vein pulsed visibly on Kaedor's forehead.

The worst part? He couldn't deny the logic. He couldn't deny the insult, either.

Kaedor took a breath through his nose, trying—and failing—to stifle the irritation burning beneath his ribs. Every instinct told him to bare his claws, to remind Icarus who the true Apex warrior in this room was. In raw physical combat, Kaedor could crush Icarus. Their classes were too different—one born for destruction, the other for contagion and manipulation.

But if he killed Icarus?

His family would die. Every last one of them. Slowly. Painfully.

Icarus had made that perfectly clear.

Kaedor had tried once before. The memory still tasted bitter.

Icarus took a casual step forward.

"You worry about prisoners?" he said. "Let's not pretend you care. That general was nothing before today. You promoted him for convenience, not merit. You didn't want to lose anyone valuable."

Kaedor's growl rumbled through the room, low and feral.

He hated that Icarus saw through him so easily. Hated it more that he wasn't wrong.

But what choice did he have?

This alliance—this poisoned agreement—was the only way to keep his bloodline alive. And Kaedor knew better than anyone:

If the Eight Great Families declared him responsible for breaking peace, his life was already forfeit.

Even if he surrendered. Even if he cooperated. Even if Icarus died first.

Kaedor narrowed his eyes.

There was no path forward that didn't end with his own death.

'So be it,' he thought grimly. 'But my family will live. That is the price.'

Kaedor's grim acceptance lingered in the air like smoke—dense, suffocating, impossible to ignore. Icarus watched him with a faint tilt of the head, as if observing an animal finally understanding the cage it lived in.

Only then did he speak.

"Good," Icarus murmured, voice smooth as still water.

"Clarity suits you. It makes cooperation… easier."

Kaedor's lips curled back for a second—something between a snarl and a sad smile.

"Cooperation," he repeated, bitterness dripping from each syllable. "You mean subservience."

Icarus didn't deny it. He took a slow step forward, moonlight from the high window catching the maroon of his coat, making his silhouette stretch long and thin across the floor like the shadow of a blade.

"You agreed because you had no choice," Icarus said. "And I accepted because I have no interest in your downfall, Kaedor. Unlike others… you are useful."

The word stung more than any insult. Useful. As if he were a tool. A temporary convenience.

Kaedor's nails dug into his palms.

But Icarus continued. "Once I obtain the Essence from the World Tree's core, the disease afflicting your family will be reversed." His tone remained frighteningly casual. "I promised you that, and I keep my promises."

Kaedor's anger flickered, but beneath it—hope. Hope he despised himself for feeling.

"And if we fail?" he muttered. "If your plan collapses? If Sylvanel overwhelms us? If you fall before reaching that accursed tree?"

Icarus' lilac eyes sharpened, their calmness turning predatory.

"Then your family will still live."

Kaedor's breath halted.

"What?"

"If I die before completing my experiment, the disease will dissolve. It was crafted with that safeguard." He paused. A faint smile tugged at his lips. "I am cruel, Kaedor. Not heartless."

Kaedor didn't know whether to feel relief… or dread.

'He truly holds all the cards… even in death, he wins.'

Icarus stepped past him, approaching the window overlooking the fortress courtyard. Soldiers trained below—Lycan warriors, young heirs, future leaders. None of them realized how close the family stood to ruin.

"Your death is inevitable," Icarus said, as if discussing the weather. "The Eight Families will demand blood for breaking peace. A Patriarch's blood."

Kaedor swallowed, throat burning.

Icarus glanced back. "But not your children's."

Icarus' words—"But not your children's."—echoed through Kaedor like a blade drawn slowly across bone. A mercy and a sentence, wrapped into one.

The chamber felt colder. Heavier. As if the knowledge of his own inevitable death settled on his shoulders with physical weight.

Outside the window, the courtyard bustled with life. Young Lycans sparred, shouting challenges. Older warriors instructed them. Two heirs—his heirs—were among them, both fierce, both proud, both determined to inherit what he would soon lose.

They had no idea.

Kaedor's throat tightened.

'So this is the path,' he realized. 'War at my back, the Eight Families at my throat… and death waiting at the end.'

He exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, forcing steel back into his spine.

'But they will live. My bloodline will endure. Even if I fall, even if the world brands me a traitor… they will live.'

He allowed himself a final glance at the courtyard—at the two figures fighting under the sun, unaware of the cost their father was paying for their future.

'I suppose… it's time to choose which of them will lead once I'm gone.' 'Either he… or she. I cannot leave the house without a head.'

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