Commander Thrak moved like clockwork.

Not metaphorically. His movements had the precise, mechanical quality of something that had performed the same actions so many times they'd become automatic.

Every step the same length. Every turn the same angle. Even his breathing seemed measured, controlled, optimized for efficiency.

Three hundred years of warfare had turned him into a machine that happened to be made of flesh.

He stopped exactly five paces from Liam—close enough for conversation, far enough to draw a weapon if needed. His eyes, a pale yellow that reminded Liam of old parchment, swept over the captured western rampart with clinical assessment.

"Acceptable casualties," Thrak said. His voice was flat, devoid of inflection. "Three dead for forty-seven enemy killed and strategic position secured. Ratio: fifteen-point-six-seven to one. Within acceptable parameters."

Not 'thank you.' Not 'well done.' Just calculations.

"Acceptable," Liam repeated, letting the word hang.

"Yes. Losses below twenty percent with tactical objective achieved qualify as acceptable outcome." Thrak's pale eyes finally focused on Liam. "You are Lord Azra. The one Arch-Demon Gorath dispatched to stabilize the Ashard Perimeter."

"I am."

"Your reputation indicates unconventional tactical approaches and high-risk operational methodology." It wasn't quite a question. Just a statement of analyzed data.

"Krazax: psychological warfare and guerrilla tactics. Dra'kul: precision assault on enemy logistics. Vor'esh: exploitation of attentional focus to compromise fortified position from unexpected vector."

He tilted his head slightly, the only gesture that suggested any kind of curiosity.

"You do not fight like a demon."

"Hmm," Liam raised a brow. "I don't?"

"Your methods show pattern recognition, adaptive response, and creative problem-solving inconsistent with standard demonic tactical doctrine." Thrak paused. "This suggests either extensive military training from external source or innate strategic capability previously unrecognized by command structure."

Liam studied the ancient commander. Saw no suspicion in those dead eyes. No accusation. Just a machine trying to categorize new data into existing frameworks.

"Does it matter?" Liam asked quietly. "Whether I learned these tactics or invented them?"

"No. Only results matter. Vor'esh was contested for sixty-three days. Control changed hands forty-seven times. Cumulative casualties: nine hundred eighty-two demons, approximately one thousand three hundred paladins." Thrak gestured to the now-quiet courtyard. "You secured control in seventeen minutes with minimal losses. Methodology is irrelevant if outcomes are achieved."

Around them, demons were beginning to move again with no celebration—they were too exhausted for that. However they had the mechanical efficiency of soldiers performing post-combat rituals.

Retrieving weapons. Treating wounded. Dragging bodies to temporary morgues.

Koth approached, his armor still splattered with blood. "Lord Azra, the garrison wants to know your orders. Do we fortify for counterassault or prepare for offensive operations?"

"Ask Commander Thrak," Liam said, not taking his eyes off the ancient demon. "This is his outpost."

Thrak's pale eyes flickered—the first sign of something - surprise or perhaps a processing delay.

"Clarification required," he said. "You secured tactical control. Standard protocol would transfer command authority to conquering force pending hierarchical reassignment."

"I'm not here to take your command, Thrak. I'm here to help you keep it."

For the first time since they'd met, something changed in Thrak's expression.

Oddly not emotion, he seemed incapable of that. But perhaps confusion, as if Liam had said something that didn't fit into any of his tactical databases.

"That is... inefficient," Thrak said finally. "You possess superior tactical capability as demonstrated by successful assault. Logic suggests you should assume command to optimize defensive operations."

"Logic also suggests that a commander who's held this position through forty-seven exchanges has knowledge I don't. Understanding of enemy patterns. Familiarity with terrain." Liam gestured to the fortress. "You know Vor'esh. I don't. So you command the garrison. I'm just here to change the variables that weren't working."

Thrak was silent for a long moment, his mechanical mind processing this unprecedented situation.

"I do not understand your methodology, Lord Azra."

"That's fine. You don't need to understand. You just need to hold Vor'esh long enough for me to move through the remaining four outposts." Liam turned to look at the courtyard. "Can you do that?"

"Define 'long enough.'"

"Two weeks. Maybe less."

Thrak's eyes unfocused slightly, running calculations. "The Radiant Empire will reorganize within six hours. Counterassault probability: ninety-two percent within forty-eight hours. Success probability for defensive operations with current garrison strength and fortification status..." He paused. "Seventeen percent."

"Better than zero," Liam said.

"Marginally." Thrak's gaze refocused. "However, your intervention has created psychological impact on enemy forces. Unexpected assault from impossible position will force revised threat assessment. Estimated delay in counterassault: additional twelve to thirty-six hours while enemy leadership processes new tactical data."

"Which gives you time to fortify."

"Yes." Something almost like recognition crossed Thrak's face. "You intentionally created operational uncertainty in enemy decision-making process. Not to win permanently, but to purchase time."

"Exactly."

"That is..." Thrak searched for words, his mechanical mind struggling with concepts outside pure tactical efficiency. "That is manipulative. Deceptive. It exploits cognitive bias in enemy command structure rather than directly addressing military capability."

"Yes," Liam agreed. "Is that a problem?"

"No." Thrak shook his head, the movement precise and controlled. "It is simply... novel. In three hundred years of combat operations, I have optimized for tactical efficiency. Resource management. Casualty ratios. I have never considered that the enemy's decision-making process itself could be weaponized."

He looked at Liam with those dead, pale eyes, and for just a moment, something flickered there. The ghost of curiosity.

"You think differently than any demon I have encountered, Lord Azra. It is... disruptive to established patterns."

"Is that a compliment or a criticism?"

"I do not know." Thrak's admission carried no embarrassment. Just statement of fact. "I stopped feeling things time ago. Now I only calculate. Analyze. Optimize. Whether your disruption is positive or negative is irrelevant to my assessment. It simply is."

Koth had been listening, his molten eyes moving between Liam and Thrak with growing concern. "Commander Thrak, the garrison needs orders. What do you command?"

Thrak's mechanical nature reasserted itself. "Immediate priorities: fortify western rampart, establish rotation schedule for exhausted soldiers, inventory remaining supplies and ammunition. Secondary priorities: dispatch scouts to monitor enemy repositioning, establish defensive preparations for projected counterassault in forty-eight to eighty-four hours."

He paused, then added in that same flat voice: "And send three soldiers to retrieve the wounded from the courtyard. Both demon and human."

Koth blinked. "The human wounded, Commander?"

"Yes. Enemy casualties who might provide intelligence regarding Radiant Empire operational planning." Thrak's response was pure logic, devoid of mercy or cruelty. "Also, leaving wounded to die in courtyard is tactically wasteful. Demon wounded require immediate treatment. Human wounded can be treated subsequently and processed for intelligence extraction or prisoner exchange."

It wasn't compassion. It was cold calculation that saving lives happened to align with tactical efficiency.

But it was more than Thrak had shown in two centuries.

Koth saluted and moved to execute orders, leaving Liam alone with the machine-commander.

"You are concerned," Thrak observed.

"I'm always concerned."

"No. This is different concern than tactical anxiety." Thrak tilted his head, analyzing. "You are concerned about me. About whether I will maintain defensive position after your departure. About whether the variables you have changed will remain changed or revert to previous state."

Liam didn't deny it. "Will they?"

"Unknown." Thrak's honesty was absolute. "I have functioned on tactical doctrine and mechanical efficiency for two hundred years. Your methodology introduces elements I have not previously considered. Whether those elements will integrate into my operational framework or be discarded as anomalous data..." He paused. "I do not know."

"But you'll try?"

"I will analyze. I will calculate. I will determine whether your disruption of established patterns produces superior outcomes to previous methodology."

Thrak's pale eyes held something that might have been a ghost of a promise.

"If results indicate positive correlation between novel tactical approach and mission success, I will modify operational doctrine accordingly."

"That's all I can ask."

"No." Thrak shook his head. "You could ask for emotional commitment. For passionate dedication. For belief in cause beyond tactical efficiency." His voice remained flat.

"But you do not ask for these things. You only ask for results. For maintenance of position until your return to reassess situation."

He stepped closer, and Liam realized that despite his mechanical nature, Thrak was assessing him with the same analytical precision he'd use on any tactical problem.

"I do not feel, Lord Azra. I do not hope or fear or care beyond optimization of objectives. But I recognize that your intervention has produced superior outcome to previous methodology. Therefore, logic dictates I should implement your tactical disruption as new baseline for defensive operations."

"That sounds like belief to me."

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