Day six of eight arrived with frost.

Liam watched his breath mist in the predawn air, a visible reminder that winter was approaching and they were running out of time in more ways than one. The army had been marching for eighteen hours straight, pushing through the night to make up time lost to terrain and exhaustion.

The desertions from two nights ago had been minimal—maybe a hundred soldiers total, less than one percent of the fighting force. But those who remained were different now.

Harder. More committed. The speech had burned away the casual believers and left only those willing to march into hell with open eyes.

"Forty miles to Sanctum Lux," Lieutenant Zara said, appearing beside him with her ever-present dispatch scrolls. Her face was gaunt with exhaustion, dark circles under her eyes. "At current pace, we'll reach visual range of the capital by tomorrow evening."

Tomorrow evening. Day seven.

Which meant day eight for the actual assault.

The timeline was impossibly tight, but they'd managed it somehow. Through forced marches and brutal efficiency, through spending lives and resources without hesitation, they'd actually done it.

"Casualties?" Liam asked.

"Since the fortification assault? Another two hundred and seventeen dead, mostly from exhaustion-related incidents and Fourth Order operations. Wounded count is up to four thousand, eight hundred and seventy-three, though about half of those are still combat-capable."

Liam did the math automatically. Total dead: just over nineteen hundred. Total wounded: nearly five thousand. They'd lost roughly three percent of the army to death and another two percent to debilitating injuries.

Fifteen thousand casualties would have been catastrophic for most military operations.

For a desperate race against genocide, it was almost acceptable.

Almost.

"Supply status?"

Zara's expression tightened. "Critical. We have approximately four days of food remaining, and that's with reduced rations starting yesterday. Water is adequate. Medical supplies are nearly exhausted—we're performing battlefield triage instead of proper treatment."

"Lord Arcturus?"

"Still managing to keep minimal supply lines open, but the Houses are actively restricting resource flow now. They're..." She paused, choosing words carefully. "They're positioning themselves for whatever outcome emerges from Sanctum Lux. If we succeed, they can claim they supported the offensive. If we fail, they can claim they wisely preserved resources for the empire's survival."

"Political parasites," Liam muttered.

"Or political realists," Zara corrected. "They're hedging their bets because that's what the Houses have done for centuries. We're an existential threat to their power structure regardless of whether we succeed or fail. Better for them if we bleed out attempting the impossible."

Liam stared at the horizon where Sanctum Lux waited, invisible beyond the rolling hills but present in every calculation and strategy.

"When we break the Cathedral," he said quietly, "we're going to have a reckoning with the Houses."

"If we break the Cathedral," Zara said.

"When," Liam repeated, and his voice carried just enough Primordial Authority to make reality listen. "Not if. When."

The certainty wasn't false confidence or denial. It was necessity made manifest. Failure wasn't acceptable, so failure wouldn't happen. The logic was circular and absolute, and it was the only thing holding this entire desperate gambit together.

---

Commander Koth found him three hours later, as the army took a brief rest stop to redistribute supplies and treat minor injuries.

"Fourth Order intelligence from Kael'thra," the scarred veteran said without preamble. "She's scouted the approaches to Sanctum Lux. The news is... not encouraging."

Liam gestured for him to continue.

"The capital's outer defenses are as extensive as our intelligence suggested," Koth said, unrolling a hastily sketched map. "Three concentric walls, each independently fortified. The Cathedral sits at the absolute center, protected by layers of consecrated stone and holy wards. Kael'thra estimates the garrison at somewhere between twenty and thirty thousand professional soldiers, plus an unknown number of battle-priests."

Twenty to thirty thousand defenders behind walls that had never fallen.

Against an exhausted army of less than two hundred thousand that was down to four days of supplies.

The mathematics were brutal.

"Weak points?" Liam asked.

"Eastern wall has some structural damage from what looks like an old siege—maybe two hundred years ago, never fully repaired. But it's still defended, and approaching from that direction means crossing open ground for two miles under siege fire." Koth pointed to another section of the map. "Northern approach has better terrain cover, but the defenses are concentrated there precisely because it's the obvious attack vector."

"And Kael'thra's recommendation?"

Koth's expression was grim. "She doesn't have one. Every approach is a nightmare. Every angle of attack is predicted and prepared for. She said, and I quote, 'We'd need divine intervention to breach those walls.'"

Despite everything, Liam almost smiled at that. Kael'thra's faith was absolute, but her tactical realism was equally sharp.

"What about siege equipment?" he asked.

"We don't have any," Koth said bluntly. "We prioritized speed over logistics. We have ladders, basic rams, but nothing that could actually breach consecrated stone in any reasonable timeframe."

"Then we'll have to be unreasonable," Liam said.

Koth studied him for a long moment. "You have a plan."

"I have the beginning of a plan," Liam corrected. "I need to see the walls myself before I commit to specifics. But yes—I think there's a way through."

"Care to share with your military commanders?"

"When I'm certain it won't get us all killed immediately instead of just probably."

Koth's scarred face twisted into something that might have been dark amusement. "That's comforting."

"I'm not here to comfort," Liam said. "I'm here to break prophecy."

---

They reached visual range of Sanctum Lux at sunset on day seven, exactly as Zara had projected.

The capital sprawled across the horizon like a monument to divine authority—three concentric walls of white stone that gleamed in the dying light, spires and towers rising from within like fingers pointing accusingly at heaven. At the very center, visible even from miles away, the Cathedral of Divine Light dominated the skyline. Its architecture was both beautiful and terrible, consecrated stone carved with three thousand years of prayers and prophecy.

Liam stared at it and felt the weight of what he was attempting settle into his bones.

That building—that single structure—was the lynchpin of everything. Destroy it, and the hero summoning ended. The prophecy broke. The demon empire got a chance at survival.

Fail, and twenty-one divine champions would manifest to purge demonkind from existence.

No pressure.

"It's beautiful," Lilith said quietly, appearing beside him on the ridge overlooking the capital. "In a terrible way."

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