It’s been a couple loops.

  I’m back in my chambers after the whole I’m the captain now spiel.

  Riegt… he’s dangerous. Not Koln-level, but close enough to make my pulse hitch. He moves so quickly — maybe through sheer speed, maybe through something else — that he barely trips my sphere. His strength might fall short of Koln’s, but his mental grip… that’s the real threat. That bleed in my focus kills me.

  The way he tosses me aside, like I’m nothing — like a bug — should enrage me. Instead, it lights a fire in my gut. I want to see those piercing eyes falter. I want to strip his pride bare and snuff him out until there’s nothing left but a hollow shell. I’ll be his end.

  But there’s something else. Thinking back on the fight, I remember their faces — Riegt and Riez. Similar, and yet… I can’t recall the exact details. I just know they share the same feel, the same… presence.

  Is my mind piercing some disguise without me realizing it? Or is it deliberate — crafted to keep their true appearance vague? Could it be a quirk of their bloodline? Riez swore he doesn’t have it. Maybe it’s Riegt masking them both. Or some tool I haven’t seen before.

  Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. Whether I know their real faces or not, whether they hide behind magic, bloodline, or trickery—

  They all end up the same.

  Dying by my hand.

  I see it now — beyond Riegt, I’ve been letting my advantage rot.

  Instead of repeating the same defense layout every time, I refine it, sharpen it, until the day I put Riegt in the ground.

  I know where their mortars will be. Where their lines crouch and wait before they charge.

  So why just turn the valley into a bomb site… when I can turn the jungle itself into one?

  The day before siege day, the weather turns dry — a lucky break after days of rain. Perfect for what we’ve got: crude oil, and plenty of it. Never meant for the valley where I’ll be fighting, but for the jungle they’ll march through. We soak it deep into the ground, flooding their lines and emplacements. When the time comes, we’ll light a few of my gifts within reach, spark a chain reaction, and watch the fire tear straight into their teeth. Faster. Harder. Let them burn.

  Hell, I might as well scout their ground while they’re still setting up — get more details. It’s not like I die — permanently.

  Once I figure out how to gut this mind-trickery, it’s over. After that? I don’t know yet.

  But first… this.

  I use each loop to sharpen our deceptions, hone my power, and find a way to break his grip. My mind’s the key — just like Swart says.

  ***

  Me, a good thirty of my men, and Alfrick.

  We’re soaking the ground and burying charges in the areas I’m willing to bet they’ll pour through — every attack I’ve seen came from here.

  We carry shovels, crimson stones ready to burst, and gallons of crude oil. Not exactly crude — more like Greek fire. I’ve seen what it can do.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The air is thick, sour with sulfur, burning in the back of my throat. Sweat mixes with the grit on my skin. Dirt flies in steady arcs as we dig, the sound muffled by the jungle’s damp breath. One man curses when his shovel hits rock. Another wipes his brow and goes right back to work.

  Each charge disappears under a thin skin of earth, hidden but close enough to rip through a line when triggered. The ground and underbrush glisten black with oil, catching what little light filters through the canopy — like the jungle itself is sweating.

  The heat makes it worse. Every step leaves an oily print, every breath carries that reek of burning stone and metal.

  Hopefully their fanatical bravery keeps them from noticing the smell before it’s too late. If my guess is wrong, we wasted a day. If it’s right, they wasted their lives.

  ***

  I’m set in the valley just before sunrise, the morning of the siege. Time to scout their positions, see where our placements need fixing.

  Alfrick’s under orders to trigger our deception the moment the first mortar shell drops. Most of the “mines” are planted in the jungle — just a thin trail in the valley to kickstart the reaction.

  The sun glows warm orange over the horizon. Still buried under the dirt, but its light cuts through — much like ours will soon.

  The mist hangs heavier than usual, thick in the early hour. It fades to a faint whisper as the sun rises. The jungle’s alive with its usual racket — parrots squawking, monkeys swinging overhead, critters moving in the undergrowth. Normal enough… for me.

  Then I hear it — the faint march, growing closer. They’re here.

  I try something new: stagnating the air in my sphere to muffle vibrations, keeping sound from escaping. Works well enough, though I have to push fresh air in and stale out every so often. Magic has its perks.

  I weave between trees and underbrush, checking positions. About half our placements are solid, the rest will need shifting. The hill’s first — they’re cutting back foliage, making a clearing.

  Right flank: Riez and his troops, with reserves sitting a bit farther back.

  Middle: the ward mage’s men, their reserve, and a man-hauled carriage — probably Riegt.

  Left flank: same layout as the right.

  Seems they either didn’t notice the smell — or didn’t care.

  I slip back toward the fortress. They’re about to fire.

  I’m in the middle of the valley when the first shell fires, whistling overhead.

  Before it can crash into our ward, my marksman’s bullets cut through the air, aimed straight for our generous fuse.

  The shell hits — the ward flickers. The bullets hit.

  Crimson blooms race toward the jungle, ripping dirt and burning air. The ground shakes under my boots.

  It reaches the jungle, and the blooms swell — the earth quakes harder, feeding on the oil. The fire roars louder, burns hotter. Smoke boils upward as flames claw at the canopy. Screams rise with it — bodies ripped apart, burned alive — each cry swallowed by the boom.

  The ground shudders one last time. The jungle’s a furnace now. Heat slaps my face even from here. I see them — charging, no, fleeing — their bodies ablaze, collapsing before they can reach the valley.

  Above, Riez hangs in the sky, framed by smoke. In the middle, Wardy — always protected — walks through the blaze. No Riegt yet. As usual, I’ll have to clean up this lot first. Riez’s redemption.

  Half their forces should’ve been wiped out. Even Wardy’s alone now.

  I rush him. Lightning flares as he steps out of the blaze, haze masking his face. Not like Riegt or Riez — this is just cover. Why hide your face at all?

  I flash forward, blade coiled with lightning. He reacts — the ward flares solid under my strike — but I keep swinging, compacting the ground beneath him, mocking him the whole way down, pressing all the same buttons as before. His rage flares, same as always — and then I end him. His body hits the dirt, his head lands elsewhere.

  Well… let’s see. I’ve never bothered to check before, but now I’m curious.

  Plain. Maybe a bit stubborn-looking. Nothing worth remembering.

  I turn to Riez. He’s already seen me and is flying in. Before he closes the gap, I zip toward him, blade flaring. He conjures spears, and I use them as footholds — cheap trick, but it works. I’m on him in an instant. My blade swings, his wind shield shimmers up.

  I drop my sphere, gust upward, and he tries the same spear lunge. Not this time. I dodge, rise above him, blade pointed like a needle. Another gust — I dive.

  His personal ward flares blue under the impact, dents inward, spiderweb cracks spread — and then it shatters. My blade drives clean through him, skewering him midair.

  We fall together. He hits the ground. I land without a scratch. Practice makes perfect.

  I back away from Riez’s corpse and wait.

  The jungle burns in front of me, flames bellowing higher. The oil’s doing its work.

  Sunlight’s gone, choked out by smoke, shading the valley in ash-gray gloom. The air reeks of fire.

  I wait, blade in hand. Ready for him — as ready as I can be.

  Doesn’t take long. I know he’s always watching. He doesn’t care about his men. Only the outcome.

  He appears, locking me up as always.

  Walks to his brother first, doing the rites. Typical loop stuff.

  Then he turns to me, still frozen in place.

  He lifts his palm — aiming to erase me.

  This time I’m different. I’ve sharpened my control, learned to slip more mana into my mind.

  Last time I could get in a drop. Now I can push three.

  It buys me more time. Just before his palm reaches its apex, I’m already moving — blade cutting toward his side, lightning flaring. Not as strong as I want, but stronger than last time. My blade slides off his ward.

  He shifts his hand toward me — I leap back.

  He vanishes.

  I wait.

  There — a flicker.

  I whirl, meeting him behind me, palm raised toward my skull. I duck back, he misses, and I swing in.

  Gone again.

  Then—

  Behind me.

  No time to turn.

  My upper body is gone.

  Arms drop, blade clatters, legs stagger.

  Chest, head — gone and me.

  ***

  “Baby steps,” I mutter, staring at the ceiling of my bed.