CH1088 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1088: Just a Beginning

Ferlin looked up from his notebook. “Lady Edith.” The quiet of his voice was deliberate. “We lost over two hundred people. What victory are you referring to?”

“A little over two hundred,” Edith said. The precision was not cruelty — it was the first step of an argument. “What did the demons lose? Fifty infiltrators, including a Senior Demon, responsible for every casualty inside the encampment. And on the defensive line? At least two thousand. Probably more — those are rough figures from what’s still burning. Miss Sylvie, does the Eye of Magic contradict that count?”

Sylvie hesitated. “No. That’s what I saw.”

Edith turned. “Agatha — in your experience commanding against demons during the Battle of Divine Will—”

“I wasn’t a commander.” Agatha’s brows drew together. “I was a Quest Society researcher. I fought them once, in the ruins—”

“I said commanding.” Edith leaned slightly forward, her voice narrowing to a point. “In a war. Not a skirmish.”

“Edith—” Iron Axe said.

“Why?” Anna’s voice cut through the room, not loud but final, and it redirected every head at the table. She looked at Edith with the same blue focus she gave to everything — simple, steady, hard to misread. “Why ask her that? As far as I know, your experience was the Northern Region. You haven’t commanded in a major war either.”

The question could have drawn blood coming from anyone else. From Anna it landed clean, without accusation, as factual as a measurement. The quality of her attention had a way of calming rooms — not because it was warm, but because it was exact.

The hardness in Edith’s eyes softened. She placed her hand over her chest. “You’re right. I have no experience. But someone in this room does.” She paused. “I knew the moment I saw her face.”

Her.

The room tracked the gesture to the far end of the table, where Phyllis sat with a cup of tea at her lips, attention directed somewhere well beyond the four walls, a faint curve at the corner of her mouth. A God’s Punishment Witch savoring a cup of tea was not something that happened — the transformation that had freed them from their original bodies had taken sensation with it, taste and smell and the small pleasures of the flesh reduced to biological function. Phyllis was four hundred years old and she was daydreaming with visible contentment.

She didn’t notice the silence until Wendy pushed her, gently, from behind.

“Oh—” Phyllis blinked, straightened, looked at the ring of watching faces. “Forgive me. I was occupied with something important and missed the discussion. Does Your Highness have a question for me?”

The silence stretched. Then someone — Ferlin, possibly — made a sound that was not quite a laugh and could not be taken back.

It broke. Everyone around the table laughed, some quietly and some not, and the weight that had accumulated over the past hour lifted by several measurable degrees. A four-hundred-year-old witch, survivor of the collapse of the Union, had just offered I was thinking about something important with a perfectly straight face and the conviction of someone who had never in her life been caught daydreaming.

“I don’t think I need to rephrase the question,” Anna said, mouth curving.

Phyllis coughed into her tea.

Edith waited for the room to settle. Then she stood.

“The demons suffered greater losses. They withdrew; we held. Tower Station No. 1 is intact. Where is the defeat?” She moved her eyes from face to face, unhurried, making sure the argument had time to land. “His Majesty once told me: a defeat is a failure to achieve a predetermined objective. The demons did not achieve their objective. I would go further — their commander made a serious mistake.”

That landed differently. The laughter was gone now; people leaned in.

“A mistake?” Ferlin said. “The operation was precise. Sophisticated. They identified the limits of the Eye of Magic, staged infiltrators underground, timed the assault to our most exposed moment—”

“Yes.” Edith’s tone did not change. “And then they sent fifty demons.”

She let it sit.

“Fifty demons for an encampment of this size. Ten demons assigned to the barracks. Ten to the trenches. Ten to the artillery. The command structure clearly believed ten was sufficient to overwhelm each target.” She spread her fingers on the table. “Ask yourself: what does that tell you about what they think of us?”

The room began to understand.

The demons’ magic — the precision of their control, the efficiency of their formation changes under fire — that was no surprise. Thousands of years of warfare against the Union had honed it. What was genuinely startling, what had unsettled everyone in the room without being named, was the other thing: their speed in adapting to firearms. There had been no contact between humans and demons before the Northbound Slope engagement. The Spider Demons had learned to go prone under machine gun fire in a single battle. That was not the behavior of a slow, mystical enemy — that was a civilized adversary with learning capacity.

And an adversary like that, with that kind of intelligence, had sent fifty soldiers and expected them to be enough.

“They underestimated us,” Anna said. Her voice was quiet. Something was moving behind her eyes — not anger, but the careful pressure of a conclusion being pressed into place. “If they had treated us as equal opponents—”

“They would have sent every demon straight at the barracks,” Edith said. “The Senior Demon leads. All fifty infiltrate the sleeping quarters. The Spider Demons on the defensive line do not disperse but converge their projectile strikes on a single point while the exterior army pins our artillery.” She paused. “How many would we have lost then? Five hundred? A thousand? More? We would have held Tower Station No. 1 eventually — yes. But at what cost.”

The chill that moved through the room was specific and anatomical.

The two hundred dead had been the result of fifty demons scattered across four objectives. If those fifty had concentrated on one, if the commander of the Western Front had valued the operation proportionally — had not assumed ten demons were worth ten times a man — the number on Ferlin’s page would not have read two hundred.

“We learned things from this operation that we could not have learned any other way,” Edith continued. “The barracks need to be underground. The roofs above sleeping positions must stop not just stone needles but machine gun fire and mortar blast. We know now that the demons can conceal themselves beneath the surface and that the Eye of Magic cannot simultaneously watch the sky and the ground.” Her gaze moved around the table. “Every one of those lessons would have cost us far more to learn if the demons’ commander had taken us seriously.” She paused. A single breath. “It’s just a beginning.”

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