Radiant Empire's command tent.
White canvas pulled taut over sanctified poles. Gold thread stitching the seams in geometric perfection.
General Casmir Valente stood at the head of the war table, hands clasped behind his back, staring at the map like it had personally offended him. The borders of the Demon Empire bled across the parchment in charcoal strokes.
Red markers dotted the demon outposts. Three of them had been crossed out in the last ten days.
Krazax. Dra'kul. Vor'esh.
All gone.
"Explain it again," Casmir said quietly.
The scout—a young lieutenant with ash still smudged across his cheek—swallowed hard. "Sir. Krazax fell in a single night. Commander Thorne's entire garrison was dismantled. Witnesses report... they say the attack came from inside the outpost. Like the enemy just appeared in the courtyard."
"Thorne is dead?"
"Yes, sir. Killed in single combat. By—"
"By the so-called Demon Lord Azra." Casmir's jaw tightened. "The Queen's lapdog."
Silence.
