“Lord who presides over us,” Thatch said softly.

  “Your grace is timeless, your care eternal.”

  “Thy servant worships and begs for help in slaying thy enemies.”

  “You’re from the Sanctum?!” Vares’s shout echoed outside the tent, jolting the soldiers awake. The three men Thatch marked widened their eyes and moved, heading toward the tent.

  Vares lunged at Thatch, his expression no longer as nonchalant as before. His eyes were wide, a mixture of fear and anger inside them.

  “Repel,” Thatch said softly.

  A faint golden energy expanded from within him, enveloping the tent and the area around it.

  Vares was pushed back – not violently, but firmly, as though an invisible hand had shoved him. The three men outside stumbled, their momentum broken before being pushed several steps back.

  As the repulsion faded, something manifested in the corner of the tent.

  An eye.

  It levitated above the chest Vares had ordered days before, unblinking. The pupil was wide and dark, the iris a blood red. Veins streaked across the white like spiderwebs.

  Thatch was now able to see what was inside the chest. Dismembered human remains, small ones. Young boys and girls, their bodies broken apart and arranged with care. Driven into each of their foreheads were stakes, all hammered deep into the bone.

  “So that was the spell you used, the ‘Demonic Eye’, huh?”

  Thatch moved, charging at Vares, only to suddenly throw a dagger to the eye.

  “As if a mere dagger would –“

  Vares’ words were cut short as the dagger reached the eye. For an instant, the blade was enveloped in golden light. Neither Vares nor the eye had time to react. The light consumed it, burning it in an instant.

  “The light of Aragos,” Vares whispered, his eyes in disbelief as he stared at where the eye previously was.

  Thatch arrived without giving him time to think, both daggers stabbing forward.

  Vares repelled his attack – barely – and three figures lunged into the tent. The three guards.

  Vares grinned. With his three guards joining the fray, the boy would be overwhelmed.

  That was his final, mistaken thought.

  Before he finished the thought, Thatch disappeared, turning into a blur whose movements Vares could no longer follow.

  Before he was able to even begin searching for him, a dagger pierced his heart.

  Thatch appeared behind him like a phantom. Golden light burst out of his body, radiating outward in waves. His breath turned heavier, labored.

  “You won’t be able to kill me that easily, brat,” Vares said, blood flowing out of his mouth. He attempted to move, only to freeze in place.

  He looked down, staring at the dagger.

  “That’s … a sanctified blade.” Fear took over Vares, and Thatch could hear it in his voice. They all sounded so similar when dying. “You’re one of –“

  The dagger was suddenly enveloped in the same light radiating from Thatch. It pierced Vares’ heart from the inside, spreading through his body, purifying the corruption within him.

  His words were cut off as his life was being extinguished.

  “Glory … to … Ashanmon,” Vares whispered, and his body turned bright red.

  Thatch's eyes widened as his hand moved, cutting his head off with a clean slash. He caught the head in one hand before launching himself backward, his legs pushing hard against the ground.

  His figure turned into a golden blur as he burst outside the tent, the explosion following a heartbeat later.

  It was not just one explosion, but two.

  One came from Vares, the second from whatever the traitors had planted below the tent. Most likely alchemical charges. It was larger, more powerful. The ground heaved upward as the shockwave rolled outward like a wave.

  Thatch had only survived because the golden light had enveloped him, shielding him from the explosion. But that had taken everything he had.

  The light flickered and died. Blood trickled down his nose, and a deep, hollow sensation settled in his chest. He couldn’t use that power again – not for some time.

  He returned to the crater where the explosion had taken place, searching for anything he could use, any traces at all.

  There was nothing.

  Vares’ head had started melting the instant he exploded. Within several seconds, all that remained was the skull.

  That was when Fin arrived.

  ***

  Thatch blinked, returning to the present.

  Raen and the others were staring at him, waiting.

  “Vares was a part of some cult,” Thatch said, his voice calm. “They had dismembered bodies in the tent, locked in a chest.”

  He paused.

  “We fought. He was stronger than expected, but I defeated him. He then suddenly started swelling, his skin turning bright red. I had a bad feeling about it, so I beheaded him and quickly cleared the tent.”

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  “He exploded, followed by a second, more powerful explosion; they probably hid explosives beneath the tent.”

  He turned the skull in his hand. “His skull turned like this right after the explosion. I want to investigate it, see what is different about it.”

  Thatch didn’t show an ounce of hesitation in his words, his recollection of events accepted without question – except by Raen, who knew that Thatch was leaving out most of what happened.

  ‘Cultists are nothing new; some pop up from time to time. But the demonic cult is an entirely different entity.’

  ‘One large organization keeping the lunatics together. Organized, with a goal in mind.’

  ‘Right now, the existence of the cult itself is not known to the world. The Sanctum is aware, but they only know about it on a shallow level. Maybe some other top organizations of the world are aware of its existence as well, and that’s it.’

  He glanced at Thatch.

  ‘Figures he would not tell anyone about it here, not like these two would know about the cult or the Sanctum’s true power either … well, Tarris might be aware of the Sanctum’s inner workings.’

  Still, he kept quiet. What Thatch was keeping a secret – the Sanctum, the holy power, his true nature, the cult – this wasn’t the time to press on that. Or to reveal the existence of those things to the world.

  Not yet.

  “He had … dismembered bodies in the tent?” Tarris asked, his expression going dark.

  “Yes, dismembered children, to be more exact,” Thatch said calmly, but fury was clearly visible in his eyes.

  Raen stared at Thatch upon hearing his words, his jaw clenching. He was angry, but also calm.

  Using children as sacrifices for spells – that wasn’t uncommon with the cult, whether it be now or in the future.

  “How did nobody notice such things arriving in camp?”

  “The spies' internal network, most likely. They were able to cover it up.” Thatch quickly answered, prompting Tarris to take a deep breath to calm himself down.

  “How exactly do you plan on … investigating that?” Tarris asked, glancing at the skull in Thatch’s hands with apprehension.

  “I have my means,” Thatch said, closing the conversation.

  None of the three present wanted anything to do with the skull, nor did they care what Thatch was going to do with it.

  “We should go to the battalion commander,” Raen said, turning to Tarris. “Captain Anderson’s tent is along the way; we should first get him with us.”

  Tarris nodded.

  “Thanks very much for including us in your plans.” A familiar voice said, coming from behind them.

  Raen turned around.

  Adam stood at the edge of the firelight, hammer resting on his shoulder. Behind him were Selise and the rest of the scouting teams. They were muddy, bloody, but alive.

  “You made it,” Raen said, a smile appearing on his face.

  “Seems like you didn’t doubt we would,” Selise said.

  Raen nodded. “The enemy wanted all of us to walk into a trap. That is proof enough that none of you are spies.”

  “What were those explosions? We ran here as soon as we saw them.” Adam said, walking forward with concern as he stared at Raen’s wounded body.

  He then stopped.

  “You’re injured. What in the world ha –“

  “I wasn’t wounded,” Raen quickly interrupted Adam, noticing his concern. “I just overstrained my body. I’ll be fine after a day or two of rest.”

  He gestured toward Tarris and the group forming behind him.

  “You should come with us.”

  “What about Jason and the others, what if they –“

  “Marcus is there, so are Dral and Mark.” Raen put a hand up, stopping Adam from speaking more. “Do you really think anyone will be able to get through any of those three?”

  “I-I … guess not.” Adam scratched the back of his head and looked away as Raen shook his head and smirked.

  “Let’s go, quickly. We don’t know what kind of situation the captain and the commander are in right now, although I doubt they will be in true danger.” Raen said as the others followed him, causing Fin to glance at Tarris.

  “Why does it seem like we’re the ones who are second-in-command right now?” Tarris asked himself while walking over to Raen.

  His face showed he didn’t truly even care.

  “By the way, what the hell were those explosions?” Adam asked. Selise, Rais, and the rest of the squads sharpened their ears, eager to hear what had happened.

  “A long story,” Raen said. “Short version: Major Vares was the leader and a member of some cult. Thatch killed him; his body exploded, and the explosives beneath his tent exploded. Then the traitors set off all the explosives they had hidden in the camp, most likely believing their plan was going well.”

  All the people present went quiet upon hearing about what happened. The fact that Major Vares, whom nobody really liked, was the leader of the spies was shocking. The man, no matter how they thought about it, was not capable enough of doing such a thing.

  And yet, that was the truth.

  “Vares was much more capable than he led us to believe; everything he did was a mask, a fa?ade,” Thatch spoke, drawing all attention toward him.

  “He most likely noticed me the instant I got in the tent. He just overestimated himself, which led to his death. But he was nothing like the person we knew.”

  Raen glanced at Thatch, slightly surprised by his words.

  “He really was a snake, just like Dral said, huh?”

  “Yes, a very dangerous one.” Thatch nodded at Raen’s words, the two of them exchanging a glance.

  ***

  The group moved through the camp with Tarris and Raen in the lead. Thatch trailed behind them like a ghost while Adam and the scouting parties, together with the official scouts, formed a protective perimeter.

  Fin had gone off, checking out the situation in the camp, gathering more information.

  The frantic, confused violence that erupted in the initial minutes of the betrayal had burned itself out. The camp was quieter right now. The major fighting had ended and only some sporadic clashes still erupted.

  Soldiers had clustered around barking officers. Traitors were being cut down or pinned to the mud. Some screamed, some were perfectly calm as they died.

  The fires were being put down by wet cloaks and sand.

  Bodies littered the ground, all in imperial colors. The traitors had managed to cause quite the damage before being stopped.

  “Thirty dead,” Tarris muttered, observing the carnage. “Maybe forty, and that’s just what I can see.”

  “Could be worse,” Raen said quietly.

  In his previous life, the morning attack had killed hundreds, and that was just here, in their battalion. The entire camp suffered thousands of casualties.

  Soon, they reached Captain Anderson’s tent. By that time, the traitors were nearly annihilated.

  Anderson was easy to find.

  He stood in front of his half-collapsed tent, breastplate buckled on crooked in haste, sword and cloak blackened by smoke. Three dead men in officer coats lay at his feet, throats slit open, swords still in their hands.

  “Captain Anderson.” Tarris gave a quick salute to Anderson, who rose to his feet immediately, saluting back.

  “Commander Tarris, sir!” Anderson glanced at Raen, who stood next to Tarris, a tremor passing through his eyes in surprise.

  “It’s good that you’re safe. What’s the situation?” Tarris asked Anderson who opened his mouth to respond, only for someone to beat him to it.

  “We were lucky to have been prepared, Tarris,” someone said from inside the tent. “Had it not been for you and that soldier you mentioned, the casualties would’ve been much higher.”

  “Battalion Commander, sir!” Tarris snapped a salute as a man stepped out of Anderson’s tent. His words shocked everyone, prompting the soldiers to scramble to salute.

  “At ease, soldiers.” The commander said, returning the salute before standing next to Anderson, his posture relaxed. “I guess we’ve killed almost all of the traitors by now, huh?”

  “Pretty much,” Tarris answered as the commander smirked.

  “I was lucky to have come to Anderson. I was giving him a rundown of what we were doing when the explosions occurred. One explosion destroyed my tent. Would’ve probably killed me had I been there.”

  ‘It wouldn’t have killed you, but you would’ve been gravely injured.’ Raen thought, staring at the battalion commander he had heard so much in the past, the one he believed had died in tomorrow’s battle.

  Many soldiers he’d been with when retreating – as well as officers – had lamented his death, swearing that their situation would’ve been much better had he been present.

  ‘I was always confused by their words. A mere battalion commander didn’t have the authority to change a thing back then. But I can see it now, why they had that belief.’

  The man’s silver and red hair fell down to his forehead, a birthmark in the shape of a flame visible on his neck.

  Raen’s breath froze for an instant, the hairs on his arms standing up.

  ‘Who would’ve thought that the goddamned ‘Ashen Prince’ was once my battalion commander!’