Last night's "shopping trip to the Wolf Clan's home" was as thrilling as walking a tightrope over a crocodile pond, but the rewards were substantial.
Accompanied by a fan-like hum, the blue grid in my vision reorganized, and the familiar, hardcore industrial border popped up.
I closed the panel and looked at Zayla and Brad sitting opposite.
Brad was applying medicine to the arrow wound on his arm—a simple antibiotic paste Ela made from moldy bread. Zayla was sharpening her blade, the broken edge honed to a mirror finish, every scrape inducing goosebumps.
"Does it have to be this way?"I asked.
Brad dropped his usual grin, holding the bowl of green paste. "I mean... that's Lucas. He hasn't eaten much these days, giving his share to the wounded. He doesn't seem like that kind of person."
"That's guilt. Like a hunter closing the eyes of the doe he just gutted." Zayla spoke coldly, without emotion. "He sold out our retreat route."
Zayla stopped sharpening. She held up the blade, checking the edge against the firelight.
"Let's go." Her voice was light, but harsher than the sharpening sound. "Since a rat entered the house, we snap its neck when it steals the cheese."
6:30 AM. Star Fort, Zone C, Underground Support Level.
In the darkness, a hunched figure sneaked in silently. Lucas.
He held a heavy iron hammer in one hand and clutched a glass bottle to his chest. It contained a pungent, high-concentration corrosive acid, smuggled from the Wolf spies.
"I'm sorry... Zayla... I'm sorry..."
Lucas trembled as he walked toward the massive central column marked with a stark warning: DANGER: Load-Bearing Structure. His face was slick with cold sweat and tears, twisted in agony.
"I'm doing this to save you... as long as this wall falls, the Wolves will accept our surrender... we won't have to die..."
He uncorked the bottle with shaking hands and splashed the acid onto the base of the column.
HISS—!
Plumes of acrid white smoke bubbled up as the acid gnawed at the surface, emitting a teeth-setting sizzle.
"Fall! Fall, and we don't have to fight! Fall, and we are free!"
Lucas raised the heavy hammer, brought it over his head, and smashed it down with all his might into the softened target!
A dull, hollow sound echoed in the dark.
There was no sharp crack of fractured stone. No terrifying rumble of collapsing concrete. Instead, it sounded exactly like... a boot kicking through a rotten fence.
Lucas froze.
The "indestructible concrete column" crumbled under his hammer, revealing its true form. It wasn't reinforced concrete at all. It was a hollow shell of plaster and thin wood, stuffed with old sacks and empty barrels.
"What...?" Lucas stumbled back in terror, the hammer slipping from his grip. "This is fake?!"
CLICK.
A harsh beam of yellow light snapped on from the metal catwalk above, pinning Lucas perfectly in the darkness like a rat in a trap.
"You're up early, Captain Lucas," my voice drifted down, cold and precise.
"Did you really think I'd put the most critical structural weakness right in the middle of the room?" I looked down at him with pity. "In fortress design, we build fake targets to absorb enemy artillery. I built that dummy column to waste the Wolf army's explosives if they ever broke in. I didn't expect our own captain to be the one to test it out."
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Lucas stared at the hollow plaster shell. "This is impossible! I'm the Captain of the Guard! I patrol this sector every day! I watched you build this column!"
"You watched us build the formwork, Lucas," I corrected him, my voice echoing in the underground chamber. "You saw a wooden shell go up, and you assumed it was filled with reinforced concrete. Because you’re a soldier, not an engineer. You see a thick pillar, and your brain automatically assumes it holds up the ceiling."
I gestured to the surrounding darkness. "The real load-bearing structures are the structural walls hidden behind the armory racks. This thing is just to make the space look symmetrical. Last night, after the ambush, I just slapped a warning sign on it.
"Alex! You demon! You tricked me!"
"You tricked us first."
Zayla stepped out of the shadows. She held no flashlight; her broken blade glinted in the dark. Brad blocked the only exit like a wall, his face devoid of his usual smile, only anger and disappointment.
"Why?" Zayla's voice trembled.
Even prepared, seeing the elder who watched her grow up swinging a hammer at the fortress foundation still felt like a knife twisting in her heart.
"Zayla! Your Majesty!"
Lucas fell to his knees, crawling towards her, weeping, humble as a dog with a broken leg.
"I did it for you! For the clan!"
He pointed at me above, screaming, "This human is mad! He angered Galza! The Wolf main force arrives in seven days! Five thousand! And Siege Beasts! We can't stop them!"
"I made a deal with the Wolf envoy... as long as we hand over this human and destroy this wall, they promised to spare the Cat-kin women and children! We can go north as slaves, at least we live! There is hope in living!"
"Slaves?"
"Lucas, if your brain were made of concrete, it would be full of air bubbles. Wolves are carnivores. They don't want slaves; they want rations. Your so-called 'hope' is lining up for the oven?"
"Shut up! You led us to this dead end!"
Lucas's eyes turned red, and he suddenly lunged. He pulled a dagger from his boot, but instead of rushing at me, he rushed at Zayla, the closest to him.
"Your Majesty! Wake up! Let me kill him! Killing him saves us!"
He was insane. Despair and fear destroyed his reason, making him raise his blade against the Queen he swore to protect.
But before he reached Zayla, a black shadow blocked him.
CLANG!
Brad didn't even draw his sword, just swatted Lucas like a fly with his tower shield. Lucas flew out like a kite with a cut string, hitting the wall heavily, dagger flying.
"Old man." Brad shook his head. "I used to respect you. But now... you look ugly."
Lucas slumped on the ground, muttering, "Can't fight... can't win... only kneeling saves us..."
Dead silence in the hall.
Zayla looked down at the elder wriggling like a maggot on the ground.
"Give up, Zayla! Please!" Lucas sobbed, scrambling backward on the floor. "We can't win! If we just surrender, they'll let us live!"
Lucas seemed to sense death approaching. He stopped looking at me and stared dead at Zayla, voice choking and sticky, playing his last emotional card:
"Don't you remember? The night Silvermoon City fell... the fire was so big, your father died, I held you over my head, I carried you out of the pile of corpses! I am your only uncle!"
CLANG.
The dagger in Zayla's hand lowered slightly, tip touching the ground with a crisp sound.
I saw her shoulders tremble violently.
In that instant, the iron Queen's shell cracked. Through the crack, I seemed to see a helpless little girl shivering in front of her only kin.
If she didn't kill him, the blood of the three young warriors who died at Pass B yesterday would be in vain, and morale would collapse. If she killed him, her last "home" in this world was gone.
This was an unsolvable equation.
I didn't rush her. Brad didn't move. We watched her.
Zayla closed her eyes.
Her chest heaved violently, every breath like swallowing broken glass. Her fingers loosened on the hilt, then tightened, knuckles turning white.
A long time passed.
She took a deep breath of air filled with oil and acid.
When she opened her eyes again, the last trace of weakness and hesitation in those golden pupils extinguished like a candle in the wind. Replaced by a heart-palpitating dead silence.
Zayla gripped the dagger again and took a step forward.
"Uncle Lucas." Her voice no longer trembled, carrying a metallic texture.
Lucas looked up, hope flashing in his cloudy eyes. "Zayla... when you were little..."
"The Zayla who needed your protection died yesterday at Pass B."
Zayla interrupted him.
"The current me is the Guardian of Silvermoon Rift. The leader of these 'madmen'."
She raised the blade, eyes calm as if looking at a stone.
"You said kneeling is the only way to live. But the motto of House Solaris is—"
"Die standing, never live kneeling."
SLASH.
Silver light flashed. Clean and decisive.
A head rolled on the ground, face still holding an expression of shock and fear. Blood sprayed onto Zayla's face, dyeing her silver lashes and half her cheek red.
She didn't wipe it. She let the hot blood slide down her cheek, dripping onto the cold concrete floor.
Brad turned his head away and sighed.
I forced myself to watch quietly, my stomach knotting in disgust.
Zayla threw away the dagger and turned to face me.
Under the dim light, the blood-covered girl looked possessive of a heart-palpitating, cruel beauty.
"Clean it up." Zayla pointed at the corpse, voice cold as polar wind.
"From now on, anyone who dares mention the word 'Surrender' in front of me will share this fate."
When she passed me, she paused.
I saw her hand trembling slightly—a physiological stress reaction after killing a relative. But I didn't support her, nor offer comfort. Comfort now was cheap.
Zayla flicked her dagger, scattering crimson drops across the cold concrete. She didn't look remorseful; she looked like a queen who had just purged a rot from her court.
"He was my Captain," Zayla said, her golden eyes meeting mine with absolute coldness. "My blind spot. My mess to clean."
"You don't owe me an explanation, Zayla," I answered evenly. "A rotten pillar brings down the whole fortress. You just reinforced our foundation."
Zayla wiped a stray splash of blood from her cheek, her gaze hardening into something unbreakable. "There will be no more rot in my walls, Architect. Let the Wolves come."
Zayla isn't a princess anymore. She's a Warlord.
Question of the Day: Was Zayla right to execute her uncle?
(Click to judge the Queen)
?? A) Yes, treason is death.
Result: The Iron Law. Loose ends strangle you. He made his choice. A kingdom built on forgiveness for backstabbers is a kingdom that burns tomorrow. Stability: Restored.
?? B) No, mercy is strength.
Result: The Idealist's Path. It keeps your soul clean, but in the Apocalypse, mercy is an expensive luxury item. He would have sold her out again in a heartbeat. Risk: Extreme.
?? C) Should have let Brad do it.
Result: The "Accident". Brad: "I didn't mean to snap his neck! I was just giving him a goodbye hug!" Plausible deniability for the Queen. Efficiency: 100%.
Follow and Rate. The internal threat is gone. Now, only the Wolf Army remains.