The black sails of the merchant fleet disappeared into the mist, carrying Jaxin Vorell and his grim crew back to the shadows from which they came. Alaric watched them go.

  He didn't waste time. He turned on his heel and marched back to the Town Hall, his cloak snapping in the wind.

  "Council meeting. Now," he ordered the guard at the door.

  Within the hour, the room was full. Lex sat to his left, looking exhausted . Hans and the other guild representatives waited anxiously.

  "The immediate crisis is over," Alaric announced, his voice steady. "We have food. But the debt for that food must be paid. Duke Thorne wants my help"

  He placed a hand on Lex’s shoulder.

  "I am going to Ironhold to assist Duke Thorne. He is facing a threat that could spill over into the whole country. For the time being, Lex is in charge of Haven."

  Lex adjusted his glasses, looking terrified but determined. "I won't let you down, sir. The ledgers will be balanced to the copper."

  "I know," Alaric smiled. "Hans, keep the walls manned. If Larethin tries anything, gear up. Do not engage unless they breach the perimeter."

  ***

  Alaric didn't take the road. That path was choked by Larethin’s knights and their extortionate tolls. Instead, he boarded a small and fast ship designed for speed rather than cargo.

  As the coastline of Thornmere faded, Alaric leaned against the railing.

  By road, this would take thirty days, he thought, watching the white wake of the ship. By sea... ten.

  The journey was strangely peaceful. The southern ocean, usually tempestuous in the winter, was calm. The waves were gentle, rocking the ship like a cradle. For nine days, Alaric had nothing to do but meditate and think.

  He twisted the golden bracelet on his wrist, reminding him of the time Lucia had gifted it to him.

  Is she safe?

  Thorne had said his territory was a war zone of monsters. Surely, the Duke would keep his daughter far away from the danger, tucked safely behind the high walls of the Capital.

  She’s probably studying in the Royal Library right now, Alaric told himself, feeling a pang of longing. It’s for the best.

  The ship docked at the military port near Ironhold. The city was grey, industrial, and visibly tense. Refugees from the outer villages crowded the lower districts, their wagons piled high with meager belongings.

  Alaric didn't stop. He rode straight to the citadel.

  "Viscount Alaric," the guards saluted, recognizing the Warbreaker.

  He found Duke Thorne in his office. The 'Iron Wall' looked like he was rusting. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and his usually immaculate beard was rough.

  "You came," Thorne grunted, gesturing to the tea set on his desk. "I didn't think you’d leave your new city so soon."

  "My city is now fed," Alaric said, taking a seat. "Thanks to your friend. The Silver Serpent came through."

  Thorne sipped his tea, the steam hiding his expression. "Good."

  "About that," Alaric pressed gently. "How does a man like you, the shield of the Kingdom owe a favor to the biggest crime lord in the capital?"

  Thorne set the cup down. "We were war buddies. A long time ago, before he was a Serpent and before I was a Duke. Life takes men down different paths, Alaric. But a debt is a debt."

  Alaric blinked. He had never imagined the stern, unyielding Duke having friends, let alone friends in the underworld.

  "And how did he get the message to Buckland so fast?" Alaric asked. "Ships or road will take weeks"

  "I don't know," Thorne admitted, leaning back. "Information is the currency of the underworld. They aren't the biggest syndicate in history because they use carrier pigeons. They have their secrets."

  Alaric nodded, accepting the mystery for now. Then, he asked the question that had been gnawing at him.

  "And Lucia? Is she safe in the Capital?"

  Thorne stiffened. His face went through a complex journey of annoyance, defeat, and fatherly exasperation.

  "She... is in the Capital," Thorne started, then sighed heavily. "Or she was. She is on her way here."

  Alaric sat up straight. "What? Into a monster siege?"

  "She heard you were coming," Thorne grumbled, rubbing his temples. "I told her not to. I forbade it. I ordered the guards to stop her."

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  "And?"

  "And she is the Saintess," Thorne said miserably. "Who is going to stop her? She is coming to see you."

  Alaric fought the urge to giggle. He kept his face serious, nodding solemnly. "That is... reckless of her."

  Inside, his heart was doing a victory lap.

  After a brief rest, the work began.

  The war room was crowded. Alaric stood before a massive map of the Duchy, flanked by Thorne and the Knight captains.

  "Tell me where they are," Alaric said.

  The knights placed markers on the map. "Ogre stampedes here. Wyverns here. Goblin nests resurfacing here."

  Alaric stepped back, his eyes scanning the red clusters. It looked chaotic to the untrained eye, but Alaric saw the cluster.

  "Here," Alaric said, circling a spot near the mining district. "And here. And here."

  He circled eleven distinct locations.

  "They aren't random," Alaric said, tapping the map. "These look like epicenters. The monsters are converging on these eleven points like moths to a flame."

  He looked at Thorne. "Sir, I think we should investigate the closest one. Tomorrow."

  The next morning, the air was crisp and cold.

  Alaric rode out with Commander Bristane, the current leader of the Thorne Knight Order. They approached the epicenter closest to Ironhold, a dense patch of the Blackwood Forest.

  "Halt," Alaric screamed.

  He closed his eyes. "Mana Sonar."

  A pulse of invisible energy rippled out from him, extending nearly 500 meters. He felt the forest breathe. He felt the heartbeats of hundreds of monsters hiding in the brush.

  "There are too many," Bristane whispered, hand on her sword.

  "Ignore them," Alaric said, steering his horse off the main path. "They are not worth the fight. We will circumnavigate them."

  They moved silently through the trees, skipping fights, moving deeper into the zone.

  After two hours, Alaric stopped. He felt it, a headache-inducing buzz in the back of his skull.

  "Do you feel that?" Alaric asked.

  Bristane grimaced, rubbing her forehead. "It feels like... pressure. Dark pressure."

  "It's here," Alaric said. He pointed at the ground beneath a massive oak tree.

  "Underground."

  The knights dismounted and began to dig. The soil was hard, but they worked fast. Four meters down, a shovel hit something hard.

  CLINK.

  "Careful," Alaric warned.

  They brushed away the dirt.

  It wasn't a bone or weapon.

  They found a small, clay statue. It depicted a cat, standing on its hind legs, its front paws spread wide as if welcoming a hug. It looked almost cute, if not for the vile, purple aura pulsing off it.

  "Don't touch it with bare skin," Alaric ordered.

  He pulled a flask of healing potion from his belt. He tore of the Mana Repulsion magic seal he used to stabilize water based mana potions. Then wrapped it over the statue. The purple glow sizzled and died, locked behind the paper.

  Who knows what effect it has, We can’t just take it directly to the town.

  "Put it inside the bag," Alaric said. "We will take it home."

  Alaric was in the guest quarters, scrubbing the dirt from his hands, when he heard a commotion in the courtyard.

  He looked out the window. A royal caravan, bearing the crest of the Saintess, had just rolled through the gates.

  Before the carriage had even fully stopped, the door flew open. Lucia jumped out. She didn't wait for the footman. She didn't look for her father, the Duke, or her mother, Duchess Elara.

  She scanned the windows. Her eyes locked onto Alaric. She hitched up her dress and ran.

  "Lucia!" Thorne shouted. "Your father is right he—"

  She ignored him completely and sprinted down the hallway, bursting into the guest room breathless and beaming.

  "Alaric!"

  Alaric turned, surprised by her speed. "Lucia, you shouldn't run in…."

  She didn't let him finish. She slammed into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Alaric stumbled back, laughing, and caught her.

  "I missed you," she mumbled into his chest.

  Alaric softened. He gently took her hand, bowing slightly to press a kiss to her knuckles. "I missed you too, Saintess."

  Later, at the dinner table, the mood was... mixed.

  Thorne stabbed his steak aggressively. "I am the Duke. I am her father. I haven't seen her in months. And she runs to the guest room first."

  Duchess Elara, a woman of elegant grace, hid her laugh behind a napkin. "Oh, hush, dear. Young love is fast. Old love waits for dessert."

  Lucia just sat next to Alaric, looking entirely unrepentant and happily passing him the bread.

  The romance was put aside. They gathered in the secure vault of the castle.

  Ironhold’s few dark magic specialists stood around the sealed clay cat, looking pale.

  "It is a beacon," the lead mage reported. "A localized aggression amplifier. It mimics the pheromones of a rival apex predator and projects a low-level psychic taunt. It drives anything with a beast core into a frenzy."

  "Really simple design but very effective," Alaric noted.

  "And the power source?" Thorne asked.

  "A magic stone inside," Alaric said, holding up the artifact. "High grade one, but looking at the mana decay rate."

  He pointed to the dimming light of the core.

  "A stone this size can only output this much mana for about thirty days," Alaric deduced. "Maybe thirty-five."

  He turned to Thorne. "Sir, how long has this monster crisis been going on?"

  Thorne crossed his arms. "About four months."

  Alaric nodded slowly. "Four months. But this battery only lasts one month."

  The realization hit the room like a hammer.

  "They have to change it," Thorne whispered. "They wouldn't waste high-grade artifacts like this by letting them burn out. They are reusing the statues."

  "Exactly," Alaric said. "Either they plant new ones, or they come back to swap the magic stones. And since these statues are buried four meters deep and hidden... I’d bet on a maintenance crew."

  Alaric looked at the map, at the other ten circles he had drawn.

  "They will come back," Alaric said, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "To refill the chaos."

  Thorne matched his grin. It was the smile of the Iron Wall finding a target.

  "Then we will be waiting," the Duke growled.