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Chapter 1150: The Ambush Plan (I)

Camilla had collapsed from exhaustion, not illness. The distinction mattered: Nightingale confirmed it within hours, and two days later Camilla was back on her feet, rested and composed, the sea-strained woman who’d fallen in Roland’s office thoroughly replaced by the precise, clear-eyed butler of Sleeping Island.

She had, in the interim, become visibly aware that she was the operational hinge of the entire ambush.

Roland was glad to see her recovered. He was also glad she understood the weight of her role without needing to have it explained.

The pre-operation meeting was held in the underground hall at the Third Border City, one week after Camilla’s arrival. Roland had spent most of that week moving between the weapon test site, the castle boardroom, and the Third Border City’s command rooms, trying to iron out a plan that kept failing its mock exercises — not because the idea was wrong, but because the Magic Slayer was faster than any Senior Demon they’d previously engaged, and faster meant that the gap between the ambush working and the ambush being detected and reversed was thinner than any of their simulations had room for.

The final plan had come together through a process he couldn’t have managed alone: Edith’s strategic architecture, Agatha’s tactical knowledge of the demon hierarchy, Andrea’s technical specifications for the kill shot, and a dozen iterations of mock operations in which the limiting factors surfaced one at a time until they’d been addressed or accepted.

He trusted the result. He was also acutely aware of everything that could still go wrong.


Alethea opened the meeting.

She activated the magic core and the phantom instrument filled the far wall: a window-sized projection of the terrain behind Taquila’s ruins, sharp enough to count the rocks on the ground. The Five-Colored Stone was broken — the projection angle couldn’t be adjusted — but it faced the demons’ Red Mist supply line directly, and for the purpose of planning the ambush, that was the view they needed.

“The supply line runs northeast to southwest,” Alethea said, moving through the image with the steady economy of someone who had planned military operations for four centuries. “A demon resupply team moves along it daily — Siege Beasts carrying Red Mist, accompanied by Mad Demons as escort. The number was consistent until ten months ago, when it increased from two teams to three. From this we can estimate both the attrition they’ve sustained and the pressure they’re under to maintain the forward position.” She paused. “Since they have only one supply line, a retreating Senior Demon will not deviate far from it. He will follow the line back toward the Red Mist boundary.”

“Could they fake the supply line?” Wendy asked. “Create a decoy?”

“They’ve transported excess Red Mist before, to mislead our Eye. They’ve also used Red Mist as a ranged weapon. But they’ve never reduced the supply to deceive us — because reducing the Red Mist in the forward position kills the demons holding it. A demon that fights inside the Red Mist cannot simply stop receiving it and survive.”

“If they had alternatives,” Agatha said, “they’d have already used them. They would have pushed through the Misty Forest or attacked via Hermes — both routes bypass our main force, and both cause more damage. The fact that they haven’t means they don’t have the alternative. The supply line is real.”

Wendy nodded. No further objections.

Alethea continued: “The supply team itself is not our primary concern. For the Special Unit and the Seagull, Mad Demons and Siege Beasts don’t constitute a significant threat. Our target is the Devilbeasts in the air — and specifically the Magic Slayer, who will be moving above and behind the retreating demons if our trap works as planned.” She stepped back and looked at Edith. “The location is yours.”


Edith rose and smoothed her coat — a habitual gesture, the settling of a woman who preferred her thinking to proceed without physical distractions.

“Three viable ambush positions,” she said, indicating them on the map Lightning had drawn from above. “The mountain crest in the north. The jungle between the mountain and the supply line. The protruded area at the foot of the mountain to the south.”

“The crest,” Roland said. He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear the reasoning.

“Also Miss Andrea’s preference,” Edith confirmed. “Highest elevation in the area — the sight lines are unobstructed, the range is maximized, and elevated positions always favor a sniper. But it’s the worst choice for this operation.” She held up her thumb. “Distance from the supply line means the Special Unit can’t provide support if Tilly’s team needs it in the field.” She raised a finger. “No concealment — anyone above the treeline is visible to Devilbeasts at altitude.” Another finger. “No coverage from our Eye of Magic. Miss Sylvie cannot see that position through the phantom instrument.”

She moved her pointer to the jungle.

“Narrow field of vision. Dense enough cover to conceal both the God’s Stone rifle and the team assembling it. The shooting lane opens precisely where the Magic Slayer’s retreat path will take him, based on the supply line’s geometry.” She indicated the mountain foot. “The southern position is closer to the ruins — if the demons are in retreat, a team there will be spotted first. Unacceptable risk.”

“The jungle,” Roland said.

“The jungle. It is not the optimal sniper position. It is the most survivable ambush position for a team that has one shot and cannot be compromised before taking it.”

She sat down. Roland looked around the room — Agatha, Alethea, Wendy, Camilla, Sylvie, Anna seated in a line, each face carrying a different variant of careful attention — and let the silence hold for a moment.

We are asking Alethea’s voice from three seats over. The words appeared in his mind in Alethea’s register, clearly directed at him and at him alone. Mortals rarely account for the magic dimension. They live in a world of geography and logistics. This one is different.

“Her reasoning accounts for the magic dimension,” Roland replied, quietly enough that only Alethea would register it. “The concealment choice specifically is premised on Sylvie’s Eye, which is itself a magical asset she’s folded into the terrain analysis.”

I know. I said she was different. A beat. Your subordinates have interesting personalities, Your Majesty.

“They’re well trained,” Roland said. And then, aloud, to Edith: “Which location did you choose?”

Edith’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes shifted — the fractional recalibration of someone who had just realized she was being given credit for a conclusion she’d already stated.

“The jungle,” she said again, with slight emphasis. “The most defensible. Not the most powerful.”

“Good,” Roland said. “The most defensible is what we need.”

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