Nathan’s expression darkened as he placed both hands on the table.
"One more thing," he said, his voice cold. "Don’t underestimate the demons. We’ve confirmed that every scouting troupe they send—no matter how small—has at least one powerful demon leading it. Not fodder, but an actual high-ranking commander hiding among the ranks. If you charge in blindly, thinking it’s just grunts, you’ll die before you even see what hit you."
Everyone knew the situation was serious, but hearing it spoken aloud made it even more real.
For a minute, there was absolute silence. Then Aina broke it, saying, "I and the ants will lead the second group. We’ll take the tunnels head-on. With the ants’ knowledge, we should be able to hit them fast—before they even know we’re coming."
Nathan looked at Hans. "You’ll lead the third group. Coordinate with the scouts and check out the summoning artifacts. Take only elites. You’ll be deep behind enemy lines."
"I’ll go with him." Bridget said. "I want to see those artifacts myself. If we can destroy or disrupt them, it’ll buy us time."
"Understood," Hans replied with a nod.
As the meeting drew on, more logistics were discussed—supplies, potions, healer rotations, and escape contingencies. It was war. Every step had to be covered.
Celine spoke up at that moment. "Including some students and the refugees from the duchy, we’ve got about ten full healers. With that number, we can split evenly between all three teams. More are resting, but they’ll need another day to replenish mana."
"Take that day," Nathan agreed.
From his seat, Nox observed them all, slightly impressed with how coordinated the plan seemed so far.
His grandfather had never struck him as the kind who would come up with such intricate plans, but he always seemed to forget something.
Nathan had been a participant in the Great War of Rebirth. Despite his misleading personality, the old man was a hardened general.
Still, something gnawed at Nox.
The whole plan made the reclaiming of the western region seem too easy.
The demons had been hammering the capital for weeks, but if they had these artifacts, why hadn’t they already overwhelmed the entire region? Unless they were stalling. Unless something bigger was coming.
He made a mental note to speak to Bridget later.
"Anything else?" Nathan finally asked.
Then the Ant Queen twitched again.
Nox raised his head, interpreting her clicks. "She says the tunnels might already be beneath us."
That caused a ripple of unease across the table.
"Under us?" Nathan narrowed his eyes.
Nox nodded. "She said they’ve been digging nonstop. She believes they might try a surprise assault from below while our forces are out."
The Ant King grunted in agreement.
Nathan inhaled deeply, then gave a tired sigh. "We’ll leave a team to guard Cromwell. Boris, Elvin, and I will stay behind to protect the barony."
Finally, he pushed away from the table.
"The meeting’s over. Everyone knows what they have to do. We move out at dawn."
Everyone nodded and slowly left the tent.
Nox spoke with his grandfather for some time, mostly asking about his health.
"I’m fine. You’re beginning to become a worrywart like your mother," Nathan said with a playful chuckle.
Instead, he stared into the old man’s eyes.
Nathan looked away first.
He coughed again—this time harder. A deep, rattling sound that seemed to shake through his ribs. He tried to cover it with his sleeve, but Nox saw the red.
It was faint, but it was there.
"How long?" Nox asked, his voice flat.
Nathan didn’t answer right away. He stared at the table, his gnarled hand still pressed against the surface like he needed the support.
"It’s nothing," he finally said. "A few bad winters and an old wound that never really healed."
In truth, he had expected his grandfather to die years ago. Nathan Cromwell had lived through too many battles, survived too many wounds, and seen too much loss. Men like him weren’t supposed to make it this long. Yet somehow, he was still here.
But what was he fighting for? Nox knew in the past it was for the people—at least that’s what he had made him believe. But now... now he believed there was something deeper.
Something the old man wasn’t saying.
"You’re waiting for him, aren’t you?" Nox asked, and then said with a slight trace of anger, "What if he’s dead already?"
"He’s not dead, kid," Nathan said quickly. "You’re powerful, but your father... that man was something else. If anything could kill him, then none of us are safe."
Nathan’s words did little to ease the fire burning in Nox’s chest.
He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the wooden floor of the tent. His voice was low, but it carried enough force to make the few lingering figures outside the tent to stop in their tracks.
Nathan looked up, startled.
"Not a letter. Not a sign. Not even a damn whisper," Nox said, fists clenched at his sides. "Years. We waited years. I waited. He could’ve sent something—anything."
Nathan opened his mouth but couldn’t find the words.
"I know he’s running from things stronger than us. I know he’s being hunted by monsters the rest of us don’t even understand," Nox continued, taking a step forward, eyes blazing. "But he wasn’t just some fugitive. He was my father. Your son."
The tension in the tent thickened.
Nox exhaled sharply, jaw tight. "He just left. And everyone keeps pretending like that’s normal."
Nathan rubbed his temples, clearly exhausted.
"I’m not asking for him to come back," Nox muttered, in a much lower tone, almost pleading. "I just wanted something. A word. A sign that he still gave a damn."
There was silence again. Then Nathan said quietly, "He gave more than you know."
"Then maybe he should’ve told me that himself," Nox snapped, before turning away.
He didn’t say another word and simply left, leaving Nathan to stare at his back.
As soon as Nox stepped outside the tent, still fuming, a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind—tight, like the person didn’t want to let go.
Slowly, he turned around and...