The army moved like a wounded animal—slower than before, limping but determined.

Liam rode near the front of the column, his left arm bandaged beneath his armor, ribs bound tight enough to make breathing uncomfortable.

The medics plus his passive healing had done what they could in the three hours Lilith had forced him to rest.

Day four of eight.

Sixteen hundred and eighty-three dead.

The numbers haunted him even as they became just another line in the ledger of necessary sacrifice.

"Supply report," he said to Lieutenant Zara, who rode beside him with her ever-present collection of dispatch scrolls and tactical assessments.

"Worse than projected," she said bluntly. "The assault consumed more medical supplies than anticipated. We're now operating at approximately seven days of food reserves at current consumption. That's assuming no further major engagements."

Seven days. They needed four to reach Sanctum Lux, which left three days to breach the capital and destroy the Cathedral.

The margins were getting thinner.

"Water?"

"Adequate for now. We're paralleling the Silverthread River, so resupply is manageable. But Lord Arcturus is reporting increasing difficulty maintaining the supply chain from the rear. The Houses are... resistant to sustaining these expenditure rates."

Liam's jaw tightened. "Resistant."

"His exact words were 'strategically hesitant to commit additional resources to what they perceive as diminishing odds of success.'" Zara's tone was carefully neutral. "Translation: they're hedging their bets in case we fail."

"In case we fail, they'll all die anyway," Liam said flatly. "The prophecy doesn't discriminate."

"They're aware. They're also aware that if we succeed, they'll have expended significant resources supporting an offensive that consolidated your power at their expense. The politics haven't stopped just because we're in enemy territory."

Of course they hadn't. The Nine Houses played long games, and even the threat of extinction couldn't completely override centuries of political maneuvering.

"Put pressure on Arcturus," Liam said. "Remind him that his continued survival depends on our success, and our success depends on those supply lines staying intact. If the Houses want to play politics while we're bleeding in Radiant territory, they can explain their reasoning to the Fourth Order."

It was a threat, thinly veiled, and they both knew it.

Zara made a note on one of her scrolls. "I'll convey your... concerns."

"Do that."

Commander Koth appeared from the column's flank, his warhound splashing through mud that had only gotten deeper after the morning's rain. His scarred face was grim.

"Morale report, Lord Azra," he said without preamble. "It's... complicated."

Liam turned his attention to the veteran commander. "Explain."

"The troops are exhausted—you know this already. But it's more than physical fatigue. The casualties from the assault hit harder than the numbers suggest. Lieutenant Vorash from Fourth Order? He was popular. Respected. His death is circulating through the ranks, and people are starting to ask questions about the cost."

"What kind of questions?"

Koth hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Whether the pace is sustainable. Whether reaching Sanctum Lux matters if we're too broken to actually breach it. Whether..." He paused. "Whether you're still infallible, or just desperate."

The words landed like a physical blow.

[Synchronization Index: 47%]

The number hadn't changed, but Liam felt it shift somehow—like the synthesis was recalculating, adjusting to new information. Doubt in the ranks. Faith beginning to fracture.

"How widespread?" he asked quietly.

"Not widespread," Koth said quickly. "Mostly confined to the units that took the heaviest losses yesterday. The soldiers of Nameless Litany is still absolutely devoted, and the majority of the army maintains faith. But there are... whispers. Concerns that we're being asked to march to our deaths for a goal that might be impossible."

Liam was silent for a moment, watching the column stretch behind them—thousands of demons trudging through mud and exhaustion, following him toward a capital that had never fallen in three thousand years.

They had every right to doubt.

He was asking the impossible of them.

"Arrange a gathering tonight," Liam said finally. "When we make camp. I want to address the concerns directly."

Koth's eyes widened slightly. "Lord Azra, with respect—addressing doubt sometimes gives it more weight than ignoring it."

"Ignoring it lets it fester," Liam countered. "These soldiers deserve honesty about what we're doing and why. If their faith is wavering, I need to shore it up. And if I can't..." He left the sentence unfinished.

Because if he couldn't maintain faith, the entire strategy collapsed.

"I'll arrange it," Koth said, though his expression suggested he thought this was a terrible idea.

As the commander rode off to make preparations, Lilith moved her horse closer to Liam's position.

"You heard," he said. It wasn't a question.

"I heard." Her golden eyes were thoughtful. "Doubt in the ranks. Whispers about infallibility. You're going to address it publicly?"

"I have to."

"You could crush it instead," Lilith suggested. "A display of power. Execute someone for spreading dissent. Remind them why questioning you is dangerous."

"That's not leadership. That's tyranny."

"Sometimes they're the same thing."

Liam glanced at her. "Is that what you would do?"

Lilith was quiet for a moment. "Before you? Yes. Probably. I ruled through strength and fear because that's what the Houses understood. But you've built something different—faith based on miracles and victories, not terror. Breaking that foundation to suppress doubt seems... counterproductive."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"I suggest you be very careful with your words tonight," Lilith said. "These soldiers are exhausted, traumatized, and starting to question whether following you leads to salvation or suicide. You need to give them a reason to believe that's both honest and compelling. No easy platitudes. No false promises. Just... truth that's worth dying for."

"No pressure," Liam muttered.

"You're the one who chose to play god," Lilith said with a slight smile. "Gods don't get the luxury of easy speeches."

---

They made camp that evening in a valley that offered some protection from the wind. The army spread out across the landscape like a dark stain, tents rising with practiced efficiency despite the exhaustion.

Word of Lord Azra's gathering had spread quickly. By the time Liam stood on a raised platform that had been hastily constructed from supply wagons, thousands of demons had assembled—not the entire army, but enough to represent every legion, every House affiliation, every faction that made up the complex political reality of the demon empire.

The Nameless Litany stood at the front, their eight hundred and ninety-one members arrayed in their dark robes, radiating absolute faith.

Behind them, regular soldiers—some devoted, some skeptical, all exhausted.

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