After being discharged from the hospital, the man had called in every favor he had left and pulled every string he could reach, all to attach himself to his senior, Zachary Steele. Their shared enemy made for a convenient alliance, one born more out of necessity than trust. Zachary, more indifferent than welcoming, had tossed him a position without much thought. It came with a title, but little substance, a glorified errand runner at best, a doorman dressed up as something more important.

"Him again…" Zachary muttered, his eyes flashing with unrestrained venom.

An unwanted image surfaced alongside the anger, vivid and sharp. Ivy. That night.

His reasoning had grown increasingly fractured lately. Somewhere along the way, he had added her name to his growing list of grievances. In his mind, Ethan's relentless campaign against him had somehow become her fault. He could not make sense of it, yet the thought clung stubbornly. Just a woman. Why was that bastard willing to go this far over a piece of trash?

A surge of regret washed through him, cold and bitter. That used-up bitch had never been worth provoking an enemy like Ethan. If he had known what kind of influence Ethan truly wielded, the reach of his power, the resources at his disposal, he would never have let Ivy's cheap tricks sway him in the first place. But regret was pointless now, an indulgence he could no longer afford.

"Boss… another update just came in," his subordinate said quietly, his voice cautious as if testing unstable ground.

"Out with it," Zachary snapped, the words forced through clenched teeth.

"The report confirms the attack completely destroyed the fortress command post. Repairs will take time and, well… it's expensive. Likely over ten thousand gold."

Even saying the number aloud made the man flinch. Zachary felt the same sick twist in his gut, as though he had swallowed something rancid. Ten thousand gold would not bankrupt him, but the sheer gall of it was unbearable. They had only just captured the fortress and had not earned a single coin from it yet, and now they were being forced to pour that kind of money into repairs just to make the place usable. At the current exchange rate, it translated to more than twelve million dollars.

"He's doing this on purpose. Absolutely on purpose," Zachary hissed, his fists tightening at his sides as he fought the urge to stomp like an enraged child. There were too many eyes on him here, too many people watching for weakness. He had to keep up appearances.

"Fix it," he said at last, the command sharp and bitter.

There was no other choice. His thoughts jumped ahead to the next fortress. Ethan would interfere again, of that he had no doubt. If the command post was destroyed a second time, the Blade Syndicate, the entire guild he had painstakingly propped up, would collapse completely. And it would not stop there. All the smaller guilds that had sworn allegiance to him in Springhaven and Blackridge had abandoned their own objectives at his direction, diverting their strength to support the Syndicate's advance. If this fortress fell now, his entire power structure across both cities would disintegrate overnight.

There was still a chance to salvage the situation, a narrow path forward if everything held together. But if the Blade Syndicate fell, if this carefully woven network unraveled, the vultures on the Steele Consortium board would not hesitate. They would tear him apart without mercy. The Consortium's investment in Ethereal was substantial, spread across numerous powerful stakeholders who would demand answers and blood if things went wrong.

The Steele family name would not shield him then. Without it, he would be nothing more than a liability to be removed, and this mess would be more than enough justification. His own father might be the one to finish it. A cold sweat crept across his brow. For a brief, shameful moment, he considered abandoning everything, fleeing back to Serpent Isle and accepting the offers from the groups that had been quietly courting him from the shadows.

But he was not ready to give up. Not to Ethan, not to a nobody he once dismissed without a second thought. The idea of that bastard standing victorious on his ruin was a poison he could not swallow.

Then his thoughts turned to Mirage. Maybe tomorrow would bring good news.

---

Back at the fortress, a freshly resurrected and thoroughly irritated Marcus Skeiner supervised the painfully expensive repairs to the command post. Once that bitter expense was dealt with, he wasted no time rallying his forces for the next push. They had seven hours left in the Fortress Wars window to seize another stronghold and relocate their guild hall. Failure meant the Blade Syndicate would cease to exist.

As he surveyed his so called army, more than a hundred thousand players trudging forward with the enthusiasm of men marching to the gallows, a deep sense of misery settled over him. Many of them were not even members of his guild, but elite players temporarily loaned from allied factions. This massive coalition moved without cohesion or spirit, advancing not like a disciplined force, but like a horde of hollowed-out corpses shuffling toward an uncertain end.

---

"Ethan, that was FUCKING AWESOME!" Markham was practically vibrating with glee, his pixelated face filling the video call window as he bounced in place, looking like he might burst from excitement alone.

"Dial it down," Ethan said, rolling his eyes. One minute this guy had been questioning every step of the plan, the next he was doing a victory dance. "Get ready for the next one."

"On it, boss! I'm on it! Uh… coordinates for the next one?" Markham reached to end the call, then froze, realization finally catching up to him.

"You think I'm psychic?" Ethan replied flatly. "They haven't even picked a target yet, how would I know? Besides…" His tone dried out completely. "There might not be a next one. Unless they're complete idiots, they won't let you stroll up to their next fortress for an encore."

He cut off Markham's sputtering response with a final eye roll and ended the call.

Turning back, Ethan surveyed the now cavernously empty underground storehouse. Shelves that had once been packed wall to wall were bare, the silence almost reverent. A slow, predatory grin crept across his face. Master Roger still had not returned. Without hesitation, Ethan slipped back up the hidden passage and into the workshop above.

The room was quiet. Too quiet. He glanced around, checking every corner, but the old man was nowhere to be found. Just as Ethan turned to leave, he nearly collided with someone stepping through the doorway.

"Whoa! You're still here?" Master Roger blinked in surprise. "Gave me a fright, thought I had a burglar. Out, out, shoo!"

He waved his hands at Ethan like he was chasing off an insect.

"Yeah, you heard him! Guild Leader, my foot. Scram! Don't interrupt my bonding time with my new master!"

The voice came from somewhere near Ethan's knees. He looked down.

"Holy sh—" He swallowed the rest of the curse, his eyes flicking between Master Roger and the tiny new apprentice. Their dismissive tones were identical, perfectly matched in attitude and irritation. A match made somewhere deeply annoying.

Without a word, Ethan slipped past them and hurried out. The moment he was out of sight, he broke into a full sprint.

He had just cleared the outskirts of Plaguewood Valley when a roar of pure, undiluted fury tore through the air behind him.

"YOU LITTLE THIEF! GET BACK HERE!"

It was Master Roger.

"Go, go, go!" Ethan shouted, his body already shimmering as it began to change.

"What's wrong?" Lyla asked, leaping onto his back without hesitation as golden brown feathers erupted around them.

"What's wrong?" Ethan barked back. "I kind of emptied his entire warehouse. And, uh… forgot to pay."

With a thunderous beat of newly formed eagle wings, dust exploded beneath them as he shot straight into the sky.

Master Roger skidded to a halt at the town gate, shaking his fist at the rapidly shrinking speck above.

"COME BACK, YOU BRAT! WHERE'S MY BLACK POWDER?!"

His voice was swallowed by the wind. If anything, Ethan flew faster, his form cutting through the air like an arrow as he vanished beyond the polluted horizon of the Plaguelands.

Left behind, Master Roger stood there practically steaming, his face twisted in apoplectic rage.

"Hey! You fossil!" a shrill voice shouted from the workshop doorway. "You dragged me out here promising to teach me things, and then you run off screaming? Get your wrinkly ass back here, or I'm leaving!"

The tiny apprentice stood with her hands on her hips, glaring holes through him.

"Uh… oh! Yes, yes, of course, my dear apprentice! Right away!" The old man spun around instantly, his fury evaporating as his expression melted into an eager, doting smile. The tantrum was gone, replaced by unwavering attention as he scurried back inside.

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