Chapter 174: Chapter 174: Echoes Of Ignis-sol

​Inside the Hall of Gear, the steam lamps on the ceiling flickered rhythmically. The hum of gears behind the walls droned on, a sound like the heartbeat of a mechanical giant that never slept. It was late afternoon, but the sky outside the windows remained a stubborn leaden gray. It was never truly bright in Brassvale.

​Emperor Volco sat upon his throne, his fingers tapping the armrest in a slow, unhurried cadence. His cold eyes were fixed on a massive map spread across the side table. Two red dots pulsed atop the weathered parchment. One to the east—the Forest of Lamentation, where the Architect and the Maiden lay in hiding. The other to the south—the border shared with Ignis-Sol.

​Two threats. Two directions. And Brassvale was caught in the middle.

​The hall’s massive doors groaned open. Heavy footsteps echoed against the stone floor. Orchid entered without an escort. A fresh black cloak had replaced her ruined one, though her right arm was still swathed in bandages—the stark white cloth a sharp contrast against her dark attire. Her face was as calm as ever. No expression. No complaints. Just a steady stride and eyes fixed forward.

​She stopped several paces from the throne and knelt, one knee touching the floor, her head bowed.

​”Your Majesty summoned me.”

​Volco didn’t answer immediately. His fingers continued their rhythm. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound echoed through the hollow silence of the room. Finally, he stopped.

​”Your wound.”

​Orchid did not lift her head. “Nearly healed.”

​”’Nearly healed’ is not healed.” Volco stared at the bandages on her arm. “The court physician said you required two weeks. It has only been ten days.”

​”I can fight.”

​”Against whom? Farmers with hoes?” Volco’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “I do not need a half-baked soldier, Orchid. I need the Hero of Brassvale. Whole and unbroken.”

​Orchid raised her head, her gaze meeting Volco’s. “I am recovered enough to receive orders. What does Your Majesty desire of me?”

​Volco watched her for a long moment before rising from his throne. His steps were slow as he walked toward the window. Outside, the sky was a murky gray, the factory chimneys belching thick black smoke. The city of Vorkund never slept. It never stopped. But beneath all the noise, Volco knew—his kingdom was teetering on the edge of a precipice.

​”Ignis-Sol,” he said softly. He stared south, even though nothing but city rooftops were visible from this vantage point. “They are amassing troops at the border. Three thousand soldiers. Likely more by now.”

​Orchid stood, her movements deliberate and careful to hide the lingering ache in her shoulder. “What is it they want?”

​”What every kingdom always wants.” Volco turned to face her. “Land. Power. Resources. Once, they were our allies. Together, we sought to bring down Verdia. We shared intelligence. We shared tactics. We were even prepared to share territory.”

​”I remember.”

​”And then they betrayed us.” Volco walked back toward his throne but did not sit. He stood beside it, his right hand resting on the backrest. “Delivering a declaration of war without warning. Humiliating us before the other nations. And now, they move their legions to our borders.”

​Orchid remained silent, listening.

​Volco’s eyes locked onto hers. “I want you to head south.”

​”To the border?”

​”Not to wage war,” Volco shook his head. “Not yet. I want you to see for yourself. Gauge their strength. Report back with their exact numbers, who leads them, and their state of readiness.”

​Orchid gave a shallow nod. “And after that?”

​”After that, you return. And we decide our next move.”

​Silence fell. Orchid studied Volco, trying to read the intent behind the Emperor’s cold eyes. “And the Maiden’s emissary?”

​The name made Volco pause. His fingers returned to the armrest. Tap. Tap. Tap.

​”I have not forgotten,” he said finally. “But we cannot fight a war on two fronts. Ignis-Sol is at our doorstep. The Maiden’s emissary is still hiding in the woods. We must choose.”

​”He is the greater danger.”

​”I know.” Volco looked at Orchid. “But Ignis-Sol is closer. And they have already declared their intent. The Maiden’s emissary… he has not moved. Whether because he is still weak or simply waiting, I do not know. But as long as he remains quiet, we have time.”

​Orchid clenched her left fist. Her right shoulder throbbed—not just from the wound, but from the memory. The memory of a violet-green blade piercing her. The memory of sky-blue silver armor and a man who moved like a bolt of lightning. The memory of defeat.

​”I do not like this,” she said quietly.

​”Nor do I.” Volco sat back down on his throne. “But this is our reality. We are caught in a pincer. We must choose the most immediate threat.”

​Orchid bowed. “I understand.”

​”Good.” Volco nodded. “Depart tomorrow morning. Take a few men. Do not be conspicuous. I do not want Ignis-Sol to know we have sent our Hero to the border.”

​”I will go alone.”

​”Alone?”

​”It is faster. Quieter.” Orchid looked at Volco. “I do not need an escort simply to observe.”

​Volco watched her for a long moment, then gave a curt nod. “As you wish. But return in one piece. I cannot afford to lose my only Hero.”

​Orchid gave a small bow and turned. Her stride was firm, despite the dull pulse of pain in her shoulder.

​”Orchid.”

​She stopped but did not turn back.

​”You are still thinking about that fight.”

​It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

​Orchid paused. “He… is different. Not of this world. His sword, his armor, the way he moves. I have never seen anything like it.”

​”Are you afraid?”

​”I am not afraid.” Orchid turned her head slightly. “But I am curious. And I wish to fight him again. This time… without distractions.”

​Volco did not reply. Orchid continued her walk, the hall doors opening and then sealing shut behind her. Her footsteps faded into the distance.

​Volco was alone once more in the Hall of Gear. Tap. Tap. Tap. His eyes drifted back to the map. East and South. Two red dots.

​”We shall see who moves first,” he whispered. “I only pray it is not both at once.”

​At her home, Orchid stood before a full-length mirror.

​The room was sparse, unlike the lavish estates of other Vorkund nobles. There were no jewels, no decorative weapons on display. Only a bed, a table, a chair, and the large mirror in the corner. Orchid cared nothing for luxury; she cared for only one thing: her blade.

​She unwound the bandages on her right arm. Slowly. Carefully. The white cloth fell away, revealing the wound beneath—the mark of Dayat’s sword. The skin was still red and slightly swollen, but it had dried. No pus, no infection.

​She touched it with a finger. It hurt, but the pain was manageable.

​”Ten days,” she whispered. “Enough.”

​She picked up her sword from the table. An old metal hilt etched with ancient runes—a relic of her ancestor, Archon Ometra. The man who had once betrayed the Maiden of Reason. The man who had brought ruin to the goddess who had gifted him knowledge.

​Orchid had never met her ancestor, but she had inherited his blade. And she had inherited his grudge.

​She gripped the hilt, her fingers tightening. She remembered the clash before the castle. She remembered the weakened Dola. She remembered Dayat suddenly rising with a terrifying new power.

​”Interesting,” she murmured. “Very interesting.”

​She sheathed the sword and walked to the window. Outside, darkness was settling. The city lights began to flicker on, one by one.

​Tomorrow, she would head south to observe the Ignis-Sol forces and report back to Volco. But her heart wasn’t there. Her heart was still in the Forest of Lamentation, at the gates of a black castle pulsing with violet light.

​”Architect,” she whispered. “We will meet again. I promise.”

​At the southern border of Brassvale, the Ignis-Sol army moved like ants across the red earth.

​Tents were pitched. Campfires were lit. Warhorses were tethered to posts. The sound of clashing metal rang out from makeshift smithies. They were preparing for something more than a mere skirmish.

​In the center of the camp stood a massive tent, deep crimson with a flame emblem emblazoned on the flap. Inside, a man sat upon a thick carpet. His skin was a reddish-bronze, his black hair tied back. His eyes were a burning orange, like smoldering embers.

​General Azhar.

​He stared at the map before him. The same map Volco had studied, but viewed from the opposing side. His finger pointed to a spot in the north.

​”Vorkund,” he whispered. “The heart of Brassvale.”

​An officer entered and bowed. “General. A report from the scouts.”

​”Speak.”

​”Brassvale’s forces have not moved. They remain within the city walls. There is no sign that they intend to strike first.”

​Azhar allowed a thin smile. “Volco is cornered. He is afraid.”

​”Afraid, General?”

​”He has two enemies. Us in the south, and the Maiden’s emissary in the east.” Azhar looked up at his officer. “He cannot fight a war on two fronts. So he sits still. He waits.”

​”And what of us?”

​”We wait as well.” Azhar stood and walked to the tent’s opening. Outside, his troops were busy with their preparations. “The Sultan wants us to move quickly, but I will not be reckless. Brassvale is no weakling kingdom. They have Golems. They have the Inquisition. And they have their Hero.”

​”Orchid?”

​”Yes. The descendant of that traitor.” Azhar smirked. “I want to see just how strong she really is. They say she nearly died facing the Maiden’s emissary.”

​The officer offered no reply.

​Azhar stared at the crimson southern sky. “We wait. For the right moment. When Volco lets his guard down, we strike.”

​He turned back into the tent. The map remained spread on the floor. His finger pointed once more to Vorkund.

​”Brassvale will fall. And Ignis-Sol shall rule the east.”

​At Castle Zero, night descended slowly.

​Dayat had finally showered. Warm water flowed from a showerhead he had manifested himself—a simple piece of Earth technology, but enough to make his body feel light again. He changed into fresh clothes: a clean black tactical jacket and dark gray trousers. His hair was still damp, but he didn’t mind.

​He walked to the Medical Room. Dola had been moved to their quarters—a room at the highest point of the castle, with a ceiling that projected the night sky outside. But Dola couldn’t sleep there yet; she still required monitoring.

​Dayat entered. Dola lay on the bed, her eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

​”I’ve showered,” Dayat said, sitting in the chair beside her bed.

​Dola turned her head. Her eyes scanned him from head to toe. “I know. I can smell you from here. Soap. Water. No scent of coffee.”

​”Are you pleased?”

​”I am not complaining.”

​Dayat gave a thin smile and took her hand. It was warm—warmer than yesterday.

​”Dalgor has started preparing the list of materials,” he said softly. “Tomorrow, I’ll start manifesting the conductor cables. After that, I’ll go looking for pure Mana Crystals. I don’t know where yet, but I’ll find them.”

​”They are in Terragard.”

​Dayat looked at her. “You’re sure?”

​”Master Ironbeard has many in his possession. He will give them to you if you ask.”

​Dayat nodded slowly. “Alright. Then I’ll have to head back to Terragard.”

​”Not yet.” Dola gripped his hand tighter. “Wait until I can walk. I do not want you going alone.”

​Dayat searched her face. “Are you afraid?”

​”I am not afraid.” Dola closed her eyes. “I simply… do not wish to be far from you.”

​Dayat didn’t answer. He simply held her hand tighter.

​Outside, the Forest of Lamentation remained dark. The fog moved slowly. In the distance, something stirred, but no one knew. No one cared.

​For tonight, Castle Zero was safe.

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