Gareth stood at the center of the war room, armored for battle. Hopefully, he wouldn’t need to fight, but it was always a good idea to show you were willing to when speaking with orcs. Especially with old ones. Unlike most other species, they just got more and more willing to handle problems by bashing heads and splitting skulls.

  Before him sat Elder Wei and three other Orcs, who might have passed for revered shamans if Gareth hadn’t seen them punch through zombie torsos during the battle for Volten.

  Elder Wei leaned on a gnarled staff, whose wood was twisted and polished from decades of use. Her sharp eyes bore into Gareth's as he addressed her.

  “You had the time and the proximity you requested, Elder Wei. Have you learned enough about the wards to bring them down?” Gareth’s tone remained steady, but an urgency simmered just beneath the surface. They were on the clock now that Pollus had refused the only possible deal. The longer it took to take the blood wards down, the less time they’d have to reorganize and prepare for the Royal Army.

  The Elder snorted. “Learned? Yes, we saw what those twisted little mages did. Enough? That depends on whether you have the stomach for what it’ll take.”

  Her bluntness was a hallmark of her character, and Gareth had come to respect it during their brief time working together. He gestured for her to continue.

  Wei tapped her staff on the floor, a habit she knew allowed her to always be ready to cast. “The wards are as we anticipated, boy. They’re constructed from blood—hundreds of sacrifices, likely slaves kept within the citadel itself. Their spirits are bound to the framework of the spell, and they’re raging against their bonds. They’re vengeful, and that works to our advantage.”

  Another shaman, a broad-shouldered orc with intricate tattoos running down his arms, interjected. “The spirits can be redirected. They want freedom, and if we guide them properly, they’ll tear the wards apart from within.”

  Gareth folded his arms, furrowing his brow. “So what’s the problem?”

  Wei’s gaze intensified. “The framework, lad. The wards are anchored by runic spells woven so tightly that even the spirits’ rage cannot breach them without assistance. Breaking that framework requires immense power—far more than the four of us can summon, even when working together. With the dragon line silent, we have no chance of affecting them.”

  The room fell silent for a moment. Gareth’s mind raced as he considered the implications. Cutting off the leyline had been necessary, as destroying the century-old wards surrounding Hassel’s walls would have been impossible with it active, but now it was coming back to bite them in the ass.

  “How much power are we talking about?” he asked.

  Wei leaned forward, baring her teeth. She enjoyed trying to make him flinch, though she had yet to manage. “Enough to rival a cataclysm. The kind of power that reshapes the land and leaves scars that don’t heal.”

  Gareth’s jaw tightened. He had seen the aftermath of such forces before. Towns had been turned into craters, and entire fields burned to ash. Only two individuals among the revolution’s ranks possessed that power, and one of them was still recovering.

  “We don’t have the luxury of time,” Gareth said firmly. “The blood wards cannot be sustained indefinitely, but we both know Pollus will unleash everything he has against us before they fail. We have to bring them down as fast as possible. You’ll only have one chance.”

  Wei nodded slowly. “Then you need to find the power, boy. We’ll start the preparations, but unless you deliver what’s needed, this plan ends before it begins.”

  The other shamans shared knowing glances. It was evident they trusted Wei’s leadership, but the enormity of the task ahead loomed large. They were tasked with casting a Champion-tier animistic spell—not something that could be done in a hurry. With Wei being the only Master among them, they’d rely almost entirely on the power source to cast.

  “I’ll find it,” Gareth promised. There was no other choice. “Begin your work. I’ll ensure you have what you need.”

  Wei grunted, a sound that could have been approval, and rose from her seat. The other shamans followed her lead, gathering their tools and muttering as they prepared to depart.

  As they approached the door, Gareth called, “Elder Wei.”

  She paused, turning to face him. “What?”

  “Thank you,” Gareth said. “For everything. For being here.”

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  Wei’s lips twitched in what might have been a faint smile. “Save your thanks for when the wards are down, and the citadel is ours. Until then, focus on delivering what you promised. I want to wet my fangs with noble blood before the day’s over.”

  With that, she and the other shamans left, leaving Gareth alone in the war room. He stared at the map spread across the table, his eyes tracing the lines of the city and its defenses.

  Power. He needed power.

  His mind raced through the possibilities. The mages in Leonard’s army were skilled, but their strength was already stretched thin maintaining defenses in case another Air Force Corp appeared from the North and coordinating the assault. The revolution’s supplies of mana crystals were limited with how much was expended to power the airship, and the kind of raw energy the shamans needed wasn’t something that could be conjured out of thin air.

  Asking Leonard is always an option, but his power may be too overwhelming for this. I don't doubt his control, but the Shamans are likely to be overwhelmed if he’s the one supplying the mana…

  Still, there was one source he hadn’t considered. It was dangerous, volatile, unpredictable, and he wasn’t even sure it would work, but it might be their only chance.

  Gareth straightened, his decision made. He left the war room, making his way to Leonard’s quarters. If his plan was going to work, he’d need the Grand Marshal’s approval—after all, he didn’t want to ruin a plan that might already be in the works.

  The stakes had never been higher, but Gareth wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip away. The blood wards would fall, one way or another.

  Leonard positioned himself at the head of the table, his imposing figure silhouetted against the canvas walls. Amelia leaned against a nearby support beam with her arms crossed. David and Oliver sat on opposite sides of the table, tired from the difficult siege.

  Gareth entered with quick strides. He saluted Leonard briefly before taking his place among the group.

  “The shamans have their answer,” he announced. “The blood wards can be brought down. They believe the spirits trapped within them can be redirected, but they need an immense source of power to break the wards’ framework.”

  Leonard nodded slowly, his gaze sharp. “Good. That was worth the risk, then.”

  Gareth frowned. “What risk? I thought the parlay was to buy us time to learn more.”

  Amelia let out a low chuckle, shaking her head. “You really didn’t see it, did you?”

  “See what?” Gareth asked, his confusion deepening.

  Leonard interjected before she could get started. “The blood wards, Gareth, don’t just keep us out. They also keep those inside trapped. When the wards flared open for the parlay, a powerful mage—Champion tier, no less—used the opportunity to escape.”

  Gareth blinked, stunned. “You’re certain of this?”

  Amelia rolled her eyes. “Champion mages don’t exactly sneak out unnoticed. He vanished in a flashy way. The annoying bastard basically gave us the finger.”

  “We had no chance to react. His escape was instantaneous. The moment the wards opened, he was gone.” David explained.

  Gareth turned back to Leonard, his voice urgent. “And we’re just… letting this mage roam free? He could turn the tide of the war wherever he appears!”

  Leonard held up a hand, silencing him. “We’re not blind to the danger. We believe he’s heading to Treon, where another siege has begun. But for now, we will do nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Gareth repeated, incredulous.

  Leonard’s gaze was unyielding. “We have no resources to spare chasing a single mage, no matter how powerful. Our focus is here on Hassel. We’ll bring the blood wards down, take the citadel, and solidify our position in the region. Treon will hold.”

  Gareth exhaled slowly. He respected Leonard’s strategic mind, but the implications of allowing such a threat to go unchecked left a bitter taste in his mouth, especially since he had been the one to cause it.

  Leonard stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You said the shamans need power to break the wards. Tell me your solution.”

  Gareth did, and was gratified when Leonard nodded solemnly.

  The ritual site was a market square just outside the citadel’s southern walls, where the shamans prepared their offerings. The orcs spread animal blood in intricate patterns across the ground to create an animistic circle. The smell of iron hung heavily in the air, mingling with the earthy scents of dirt and sweat.

  Gareth stood at the center of the gathering. Behind him, hundreds of soldiers watched silently, their faces illuminated by the flickering flames. They were battle-worn but watched over the work with great curiosity.

  Elder Wei approached Gareth, tapping her staff against the ground with every step. “We’re ready,” she grunted. “The wards will manifest as soon as we begin. The spirits will sense our intent and resist at first, but if we can overpower the framework, they’ll turn against their masters.”

  Gareth nodded. “And you’re sure this will work?”

  Wei’s sharp eyes locked onto his. “It’ll work if you deliver the power you promised.”

  Gareth took a deep breath, steadying himself. He stepped forward, raising his voice to address the troops. “Men and women of the revolution! Tonight, we stand on the cusp of victory. The blood wards that have kept us from taking this city will fall. That is inevitable, as the Heavens have decreed it so.”

  The soldiers murmured, shifting uneasily. Gareth activated a sound-enhancing spell, and his voice boomed.

  “The Light guides us!” he shouted, the words cutting through the tension. “Each of you carries a spark of its power, no matter your station or skill. Lend your strength to this effort. Pray to the Light, and it will answer!”

  Elder Wei’s brows rose in skepticism and surprise. “You’re calling on their faith?”

  Gareth turned to her. “Faith is power, Elder. It may not be the kind you wield, but it’s just as real.”

  The shamans exchanged uncertain glances, but Wei gave a curt nod. “Then we begin.”

  The orcs knelt around the animistic circle, and their guttural chants rose into the night. The blood wards flared into visibility, bathing the area in an eerie glow. The air grew thick with tension as the spirits within the wards writhed in visible agony as the shamans’ magic began to take hold.

  Gareth raised his arms, enhancing his voice above the chants. “Pray! Pray with all your heart! Let the Light guide your strength!”

  The soldiers hesitated, but as the glow of the wards intensified, they knelt one by one and began to murmur prayers. Their collective hum grew louder as they harmonized.

  The animistic circle began to glow, its blood evaporating into crimson mist. The shamans’ chants reached a crescendo, and their voices blended with the soldiers’ prayers in a surreal harmony. The blood wards quivered, their structure flickering as the combined power of faith and magic pressed against them.

  Elder Wei turned to Gareth, her voice strained but determined. “Now, boy! Finish it!”

  Gareth clenched his fists, channeling his determination into the effort. The sound of prayers grew deafening, a chorus of hope and defiance that appeared to shake the heavens.

  “Channel your anger! Channel your love! Channel your soul! Praise Him! Praise the Hero!”

  Light bloomed.