Chương 253

The war council convened in the warded pavilion. A three-dimensional projection of the Ironwood Forest dominated the room's center, casting pale blue light across the faces of the assembled leaders. Elder Tasmeos stood at the edge of the projection, leaning heavily on a wooden staff he'd grown from the ground after finally being allowed out of the healing tent. What remained of his chemical burns was concealed beneath fresh layers of bandages, but his posture remained rigid and uncompromising.

His presence in the command tent was no surprise—Asteria had already relayed the terms of Orion's negotiated alliance—but Archmage Valentia still regarded the druid with skepticism. For the past few weeks, the Collegium and the Sanctum had saved isolated pockets of druids from the enemy's sweeps, only to be met with outright hostility and immediate retreat. To see a leader of the Circle willingly sit at the table alongside mages was unprecedented.

"It shall have to be the Shattered Basin," Valentia mused, tracing the steep cliffs of the proposed ambush site on the map. For all his annoyance, he didn't seem inclined to prod the old man, and that was all that mattered.

"It would offer excellent elevated positions for our long-range mages, and the riverbed below will funnel their ground forces perfectly. But to draw a fleet of that scale, your beacon must be flawless, Elder. If they suspect a trap, they will simply carpet-bomb the basin with acid and bypass us entirely."

"The Song of False Dawn does not fail," Tasmeos rasped, fixing his amber eyes unblinkingly on the Archmage.

"Its sound will be perfect because the forest itself will echo the chord. However, such a weaving cannot be rushed. To build a chorus loud enough to drown out the true Heartwood, my Circle will require six days of preparation."

"Six days is a long time to hold the Whispering Ridge against their current push," Candra grunted, though knowing her, it was more about being contrarian than because she didn't think it possible. She scowled down at the crimson scar on the map marking the Iron State's advance, and a wave of her hand outlined how much land had been lost.

"They are burning two miles of canopy a day without engaging us. I'd call them cowards, but after the bloody nose we gave them in the last big battle, it'd be foolish of them not to set up the field to their advantage."

"We can stall them," Asteria declared in her stead, earning a grumble from the old woman.

"If we engage in aggressive skirmishing, we'll make them bleed for every inch of land, convincing their commanders that we are fighting a desperate, losing defense. If we fall back too easily, they will know something is wrong anyway. This will give us time to set things up so they seem believable." Valentia nodded in agreement.

"I shall cycle my wind and water specialists to the front lines. If it's just for a week, we can keep the acid clouds contained while we maintain the illusion of a breaking line."

"Then we have an accord," Tasmeos said, striking his staff against the wooden floorboards. He turned to Orion, offering a slow nod of acknowledgment, then left the pavilion.

"I will meet you all before the week's end." The others, those who hadn't known he'd been the one to secure the man's agreement, seemed to finally put the pieces together, and he was treated to some very interested looks. Since the next portion of the meeting was unlikely to require his input, and he'd only come at the old druid's insistence, he slipped out, intent on keeping up with his training and trying to squeeze out as much experience as he could from the next few days.

Despite his desire to get back to work on his spells, Orion spent quite a bit of his time observing the logistics of the alliance. Every few hours, fresh squads of battle-witches and elementalists were deployed to the northern lines, while exhausted, soot-stained survivors returned to the medical pavilions.

If he concentrated and summoned the wind to his call, the distant, thunderous boom of alchemical artillery could be heard echoing through the ironwood trunks day and night, a constant reminder of the bloody price paid to buy the druids their time. On the second day, at dawn, Orion stood at the edge of the command platform, watching Tasmeos and his younger apprentice slip into the dense foliage below.

They moved without a sound, the forest seemingly parting to obscure their departure as they went to convince the rest of their Circle of the plan they'd signed them up for and to lay the groundwork for the trap. With his mother entirely consumed by managing the frontline and Elder Candra busy with the magical defenses keeping the camp hidden, Orion found himself with a rare stretch of unstructured time.

"You look entirely too bored for being in a war camp," Jonatan noted, stepping onto the next platform. He was carrying a stack of heavily warded scrolls, and his own robes showed minor scuffs and burns from recent drills. It was clear he'd been put to work, even if he wasn't necessarily part of the army structure. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"I already did my part by binding the druids to an agreement," Orion replied snootily, lifting his nose in mock pride.

"I see no need to get dirty when it is my mind that does all the work." Jonatan let out a short laugh.

"Well, if you have energy to spare after all that thinking, you should come with me. The senior mages have been asking about you." Orion raised an eyebrow.

"About me?"

"You are the son of Archmage Antares," Jonatan pointed out, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"The leader of our entire faction. Half the Collegium envoys here are incredibly curious, and the other half are waiting for an excuse to test you. You've spent all your time with the witches and barely give us the time of day, even though it's known you'll come to us when the war is over. I think it's time you met your father's people." Seeing as he had yet to find a quiet place to work and didn't have anything better to do for the moment, Orion agreed.

He followed Jonatan across the suspended vine bridges, leaving the portion claimed by the Sanctum behind. The eastern platforms were rigid and highly structured, and while no less organized than the rest, they felt rougher, as if fewer people cared about their appearance. Dozens of mages were engaged in complex battle drills, coordinating spells to create overlapping fields of destruction. As Jonatan led him toward an observation deck, the chatter among the blue-robed mages quieted noticeably.

Eyes turned toward Orion, taking him in. Watching from the deck was a group of older mages, their robes adorned with silver trim that denoted their higher rank. There were no Archmages. Even without inspecting them, Orion could tell they were all tier three.

"Young Voidwalker," an imposing man with a neatly trimmed gray beard greeted him. He had a tall staff crowned with an amethyst, strapped to his back.

"I am Arcanist Asperius. Jonatan has spoken highly of your... unconventional methods."

"Arcanist," Orion replied politely, offering a measured nod.

"I can't claim it was all due to my efforts, as the local composition of the Field in the underworld gave me more leeway than usual."

"Humility. A rare trait among our Archmages' bloodlines," Asperius noted, a flicker of amusement in his stern eyes. Several of the surrounding mages chuckled softly.

"Jonatan claims your grasp of kinetic forces rivals our specialists, despite your lack of formal training. It is a bold claim for someone who spent his life in the Sanctum, but I haven't known him to lie." Orion barely suppressed a snort. These old men could dress it up as nicely as they wanted, but they were as curious as little kids at the thought of seeing what he could do. Undoubtedly, word would trickle to the rest of the contingent, and then to the Collegium, before long.

But while he preferred to keep his skills close to his chest, giving them a simple demonstration would not hurt, especially if he ended up having to take a role in the ambush. Gaining some respect now would make his life easier in the long run. Rather than trying to justify himself, he simply shrugged.

"You can draw your own conclusions. I'm willing to give you a demonstration if you'd like." Asperius hummed, seemingly pleased he'd not dragged it out too long, and gestured toward the platform below them, where a series of reinforced targets hung from thick ironwood branches. They seem to be aware of my gravity magic, but that doesn't mean I should limit myself to it. In fact, if they want a show, I should give them one.

Stepping down onto the platform, he took a moment to look around, noticing that just about every mage in the camp had stopped what they were doing and gathered to watch. It wasn't exactly something he was used to, at least in this life, but perhaps if he thought of it as a demonstration for a classroom, it would be more bearable. With a deep breath, he centered himself, and the next moment, it looked as if a massive hand had seized one of the targets and begun crushing it.

Over a few seconds, it began to lose its shape, crumpling in on itself until only a lumpy sphere remained. Already, he could hear murmurs of surprise and even gasps as he made short work of a target built to withstand training from tier-three mages. That was when he raised his hand and, speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear, shouted, "[Maximize Magic]!"

This time, the metal folded inward upon itself into a sphere with a deafening screech before the chain holding it up could no longer withstand the stress and broke apart. Yet Orion didn't let it go, keeping it trapped within a bubble of warped space until only a melon-sized sphere remained, such was the force he'd impressed upon it. Great waves of heat radiated from his creation, as the sheer amount of pressure he'd imposed upon it was enough to turn the metal white.

Several mages shifted uneasily at the sight, and he had to admit it was a bit grander than he'd planned. In fact, he was pretty sure the iron ball had gone well beyond the melting point and even above the boiling point, becoming a sphere of superheated iron gas and plasma. If he removed the gravitational shielding, he would start a forest fire within moments.

Still, he couldn't exactly say he'd messed up, so with some effort, he began drawing heat away from the mess, slowly venting it into the air above them, even as he kept his impassive face. The silence among the observers was almost deafening, save for the rustling of the ironwood leaves. Only after he was sure the iron had solidified did he drop it, letting the very heavy ball crack the ground.

"That..." Asperius started, apparently the only one with a shred of his previous composure. He stared at the empty space where the target had hung.

"Even beyond the powerful compression, that was a perfect metamagic matrix. Who taught you that? I was under the impression that Archmage Suketh was barred by Mallon from teaching any spell during his exile." Orion lowered his hand, doing his best to appear unbothered, even though he'd come very close to disaster.

"Set hasn't taught me anything about practical casting."

"Then who?" another Magister demanded, stepping forward.

"There are no witches in the Lunar Sanctum capable of weaving Collegium modifiers, especially not so fluidly. It violates their entire doctrine!" Orion turned to look at Jonatan, who was staring at him with an exasperated expression. The apprentice had seen him cast metamagic, and while he'd been surprised, he hadn't made such a big deal of it! How was he supposed to know it was a big secret?

"I saw Jonatan do it once," he finally answered, shrugging. The silence that followed didn't make him feel much better. Oh well, they would have realized I'm not normal sooner or later. It's better to rip the band-aid off now.