Evening descended upon the demon camp like a slow, suffocating veil.

The grey sky darkened further, clouds hanging low and heavy, as if the land itself sensed the danger gathering beneath it.

Lanterns were lit one by one, their orange glow spreading across the camp and casting long, shadows.

At the center of the camp, the main command tent stood tall and unmoving.

Inside, the atmosphere was tense.

The spacious tent was illuminated by floating mana lamps, their dim light reflecting off armor, horns, and weapons.

A large wooden table occupied the center, its surface covered with maps, handwritten notes, and glowing crystals that marked positions across the island.

Several demon leaders had gathered.

Captains, high-ranking officers.

Among them stood Zerath Vornak, his arms crossed, his expression calm but his eyes sharp. Traces of earlier irritation still lingered beneath his composed exterior.

At the head of the table sat Vaelrix.

Massive, imposing, his presence alone made the air feel heavier. His dark blue eyes swept across everyone in the tent, commanding silence without a word.

Beside him stood Renard, lean and composed, one clawed hand resting on the edge of the table as he studied the map.

Once everyone had assembled, Vaelrix spoke.

"Listen carefully," he said, his deep voice echoing softly within the tent. "This meeting will be brief."

All chatter ceased immediately.

Renard stepped forward and gestured toward the map.

"Our objective has been confirmed," he said calmly. "Tomorrow, Vaelrix and I will depart from this camp."

A few brows furrowed. Some demons exchanged quick glances.

Vaelrix continued, "We are heading toward the center of the island."

At that, the room grew noticeably quieter.

Renard pointed to a marked location on the map. A circled area deep within the black forest.

"The Celestial Tree," he stated.

A faint ripple of unease passed through the gathered officers. Even hardened demons were not immune to that name. The place carried a reputation steeped in death and failure.

This was the real reason they had come here after all.

Vaelrix let out a low chuckle. "Or rather, the grave of it."

He straightened. "Regardless of what you call it, our orders are absolute. We will handle that matter personally."

Renard nodded in agreement. "Only the two of us will go. No escorts. No reinforcements."

One of the captains hesitated before speaking. "Commanders… is that wise?"

Vaelrix's gaze snapped toward him.

"This is not a debate," he said flatly.

The captain stiffened and bowed his head. "Understood."

Renard turned his attention back to the map. "While we are gone, this camp will not remain here."

Zerath's eyes narrowed slightly.

"After our departure," Renard continued, "you will maintain this position for just few days."

He tapped another marked area on the map.

"In few days, all units will move to this location."

He traced the route with his finger. "It is defensible, has natural cover, and lies outside the likely range of human retaliation."

Vaelrix added, "You will dismantle this camp completely. Leave nothing behind. No traces that could be used to track our movements."

Several officers nodded in unison.

"Establish a new camp there," Renard said. "Reorganize. Resupply. Prepare for possible engagement."

Vaelrix's voice hardened. "Human forces may attempt to pursue or retaliate once they realize our position. Be ready. We need to be always cautious."

Zerath stepped forward slightly. "And the prisoners?"

Renard glanced at him. "They remain under your jurisdiction."

Vaelrix added, "Do not kill them unless necessary."

Zerath inclined his head. "Understood."

Renard's gaze swept across the room. "Officers will brief their respective units tonight. Movements must be clean and disciplined. No delays."

Silence followed. Then one by one, the demon leaders bowed.

"We understand," they said. Vaelrix straightened fully. "Good."

He looked around the tent one last time. "Prepare yourselves. Tomorrow marks the beginning of the next phase."

With that, the meeting was over.

The officers filed out, each carrying their orders with them. Outside, the lantern-lit camp continued its restless activity, unaware that by this time tomorrow, its two strongest commanders would be walking straight toward one of the most cursed places on the island.

And deep within a small tent at the edge of the camp.

Amon lay in silence, planning, enduring, waiting.

Unaware that the pieces on the board were already beginning to shift.

---

The next day arrived quietly.

No sunrise reached Amon's cage. No warmth followed the passing of time. The world inside the tent remained the same dim, cold, and heavy with the smell of iron and blood.

Amon lay still on the metal floor, his body screaming in protest even though he hadn't moved.

Every muscle felt swollen and bruised, as if they had been beaten raw and then stitched back together incorrectly.

His breaths were shallow. Careful. Anything deeper sent sharp pain through his ribs.

The cuffs were still there.

Cold metal locked around his wrists, suppressive runes faintly glowing. His mana remained sealed, distant and unreachable, like a voice trapped behind thick walls.

He stared at the bars, forcing his thoughts to stay clear.

He needed to endure this. Observe everything and plan.

That was all he could do. Then, the tent flap shifted again. Like usual.

Amon's body tensed instantly. Footsteps entered. Slow. Familiar. Zerath Vornak stepped inside.

He looked refreshed and calm. As if yesterday's cruelty had been nothing more than an inconvenience. His eyes settled on Amon, and a faint smile crept across his lips.

"Still alive," Zerath said lightly. "Good."

He had to accept the fact that this boy was really something else. Or maybe he was just madman.

He approached the cage and crouched down, studying Amon's battered form.

"You look terrible," he added, almost kindly. "We can't have that."

Zerath reached into his pouch and pulled out a vial. Without waiting for consent, he unlocked the cage, grabbed Amon by the jaw, and forced the potion into his mouth.

"Drink."

The liquid burned as it slid down Amon's throat.

Warmth spread through his body, dulling some of the pain. Bruises faded slightly. Shallow wounds closed. The sharpest edges of agony softened. But only just enough to keep him conscious.

Zerath watched with interest. "There," he said. "Much better."

Amon coughed, his breathing uneven. His body felt steadier, but the pain remained deep, constant and unavoidable.

Zerath straightened and smiled. "Do you want to see your friends?"

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