King Hellion stared at the enchanted map, eyes narrowed, then glanced toward his Field Marshal.
"How sure are we that this is accurate?"
Only three others stood in the chamber: Field Marshal Gustav Vudo, First Knight Meya Rowe, and Archmage Telamon. All eyes shifted to the mage.
"Cane's team recovered this artifact before destroying the Zuni Command Center," Telamon said evenly. "They left behind nothing but a crater. My guess is the enemy assumes it was lost."
The map shimmered, showing active Zuni markers labeled by legion and battalion. Red lines traced their shifting movements—rerouting from old fronts to the Southern regions, converging like a funnel aimed straight at the capital.
Gustav, tall and razor-thin, stroked his white goatee despite being no older than his forties. "If they suspect we have it, this could be a calculated mislead. But if it's genuine… they're throwing everything into a single strike—straight at us."
"I've cloaked the artifact since the moment Cane delivered it," Telamon added. "No one's sensed its presence. I believe this is real. They're trying to end the war with a decisive blow."
At the mention of Cane's name, Meya allowed herself a small smile. The cadet remained a problem the Zuni Empire had yet to solve—his impact unrivaled despite his youth. Inventions, weapons, field missions… his legend grew daily.
King Hellion frowned at the readout—three full Zuni legions poised to strike.
"What's our response?"
Gustav exchanged a glance with Telamon, then straightened.
"We have a trump card," he said. "One that can hold the line. It's called the Fury Legion."
Hellion arched an eyebrow. "One Legion against three? Are you confident?"
"I am," Gustav replied. "The project started with a single company. Cane Ironheart developed a ring that activates firemana in ordinary soldiers. Then in a separate procedure turned their blades into elemental focals.
One Fury Soldier isn't a match for a mage—but a whole legion? They'll overwhelm anything short of an Archmage. Fury Legion will be ready when the front opens."
Hellion studied the glowing map. The Zuni were guarding their capital with only one Legion while pouring the rest into this new push.
"Then what's our move?" he asked.
Gustav pointed at the Zuni capital.
"We trust Fury Legion to hold our front—and hit theirs with everything we've got."
Hellion's brow remained furrowed, the weight of unknowns dragging at him. "You're certain they can hold?"
Telamon stepped forward. "Yes," he said simply. "They'll hold."
[Ringworld]
Philas faded from sight, leaving Cane and Mori alone in the quiet, living realm.
"I'll do everything I can to help your cause," Moriwynn said, her tone resolute.
Cane nodded. "Thank you, Mori. I've got a three-day break instead of two—my group's being knighted." A half-smile touched his lips. "As soon as the ceremony ends, we'll rift there."
He unrolled a weathered map onto the grass and sat cross-legged beside it. "There's a fishing village here," he said, tapping a finger on the coast. "That's where the bodies were taken… at least, before the Zuni invaded. No telling what it looks like now."
Mori crouched beside him. "That's only a few miles from the nearest rift point." She paused, eyes flicking over him. "I saw you in action a few months ago—here in town. How are your current combat skills?"
Cane glanced up, something playful in his gaze.
"I'll show you."
Mori's head tilted slightly, a smirk tugging at her lips. "You want to spar with me?"
"Sure do."
"A quick lesson, then," Moriwynn said, eyes gleaming. She had the natural arrogance of her kind—elves, physically superior to humans in every measurable way. It was the reason the War Pack treaty limited their involvement to twelve. Between their uncanny reflexes, in-between travel, and unmatched resilience, they were nearly impossible to kill—and far too dangerous to capture.
Even as a healer, Moriwynn's martial skills were formidable. And she was confident.
She vanished with a blink, stepping in-between, reappearing behind the spot Cane had just occupied—only to find empty air.
A tap on her shoulder.
She whirled around, shocked, only to find Cane smiling, blade resting lightly against her side.
"Two out of three?" he offered.
Her eyes narrowed, amused and intrigued.
Cane didn't wait. Sensing her intent, he linked with the ringworld, slipping into the flow. The spar accelerated beyond what any normal person could follow—Cane remaining just out of reach, blocking when necessary, countering with calm precision.
Despite her superior speed, agility, and strength, Moriwynn began to realize she couldn't catch him. Not truly. He moved like the wind between cracks in a cliff—unseen, ungraspable.
He tapped her again. Then again.
By the sixth, her perfect confidence began to waver. By the eighth, her breath was uneven from constant in-between travel.
Cane's voice came easy. "Best of ten?"
She broke into laughter, sudden and unguarded. "Point taken. I underestimated you, Cane Ironheart."
He sheathed his blade and gave a half-bow as they exited the ringworld.
"I'll wait here after your knighting ceremony," Mori said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "We'll get the job done."
"Thank you, Mori."
The blonde elf vanished, leaving Cane alone with the steady beat of the forge. The sight of snow peas sprouting beside the path made him smile. Then he heard the steady beat of the hammer—Jonas, hard at work in the smithy.
Cane decided not to interrupt and instead headed inside for some rest.
But rest would have to wait.
"Just the person I was looking for," Fergis said, stepping into the hallway from his room.
Cane gave a mock groan. "Seems like everyone's looking for me lately. We headed to your parents' place?"
Fergis grinned and threw an arm over his shoulder. "Indeed. My home awaits. We'll be back before dinner—the girls went somewhere with Mel."
—
Dorthen's Circle was the peak of high society—just shy of the noble quarter, but no less impressive. The entrance was flanked by oversized bronzed double doors and two outward-facing guards in polished gear.
Fergis gave a casual wave, and in return, the guards gave friendly pats and warm smiles. No bows. No stiffness.
"They're friendly," Cane observed.
"They wouldn't dare speak to either of my brothers," Fergis replied, chuckling. "But me? I'm cut from a different cloth."
Cane grinned. "You certainly are."
They walked up a pristine stone drive, tiled in meter-wide squares so precise it looked conjured. At the center, a grand fountain captured Cane's attention—a warrior locked in battle with a snarling minotaur. The warrior's offhand was mid-spell, fire curling from his palm.
"Great Grandfather Serti," Fergis said with pride. "Bit of a hothead, but fierce in any fight. Top-level swordsman, mid-level fire mage."
The front door ahead was massive—white, ornate, and larger than any door Cane had seen outside a castle.
"We'll go in around back. Kitchen entrance," Fergis said, veering around the side of the house, which was practically made of windows.
"Remind you of home?" he teased.
Cane let out a laugh. "My front door was just over head-level, and we had one window that faced east. Mum liked to stand there in the mornings, catch the first light while cooking."
Fergis deadpanned. "So… not a reminder."