Chapter 1345: Forced Redemption
Valkries was one of the earliest higher ascendants to reach grand lord status. She was the only one who could speak with the King in a normal conversational tone — no deference in it, no calculation — as if the gap in their stations was a fact rather than a chasm. And the King had never shown any opposition. That alone said everything.
A conclusion drawn by the Nightmare Lord had its own weight. Always had.
What Hackzord had given them was not, precisely, a lie.
He had discussed the possibility of human legacy inheritance with Valkries — genuinely, more than once. She had not expressed an opinion in the terms he’d just used, but she had not dismissed the idea either, and everything he’d attributed to her was a reasonable inference from what they’d actually said. He had chosen his moment carefully: showing the memory of the Western Front first, then placing Valkries’ supposed conclusion in the space the shock had opened. The King might notice the sequence if he looked for it, but the King’s mind operated on facts. He would not verify this specific claim unless he had specific reason to doubt it.
The purpose of the lie was simple: to close the mouths that needed to be closed.
Blood Conqueror’s was the most important. The grand lord had power but not subtlety — he processed the battlefield of the Holy See the same way he processed every other battlefield: instinctively, reflexively, responding to threat rather than thinking through it. He would not support Hackzord under any circumstances. But he could be made to stop actively opposing, and the Nightmare Lord’s name was the lever for that.
Mask would not stand with Blood Conqueror easily. His interest was always in being on the winning side of the room’s internal argument, and right now that looked like Hackzord’s side.
The other grand lords were undecided. They always were. Placing the race’s future in their hands, absent a clear majority, was a joke. But absent clear opposition, they could be moved.
Hackzord had constructed all of this in advance, and now he felt no pressure at all saying it.
Retreating now was the greatest irresponsibility he could commit.
“An inheritance we know nothing about — that’s a great deal to assume,” Mask said, his suspicion carefully understated. “We all witnessed the Origin of Magic. If a race like that actually existed, where would they be now?”
“Who can say with certainty that what our race concluded before is correct?” Hackzord replied. “I don’t believe in fate favoring the humans either. But their change is there, in front of us. You can’t argue with what you saw in those memories.” He let a moment pass. “And remember — before we received the underground civilization’s legacy, we had no idea that legacy shards could be divided.”
“You mean —” Resentful Heart seemed to be following a thought somewhere.
No, I don’t mean anything beyond the direction I’m pointing you. “Among all the ruins still out there — if even one shard remained unclaimed…”
Silence. The grand lords thought.
All of them except Blood Conqueror.
“So what if they did?” Blood Conqueror’s voice was loud, but the authority in it had frayed slightly. “I absolutely refuse to use the Deity of Gods against those lowlifes. The Sky-sea Realm’s offensive is still intensifying — we finally have breathing room, and we should use it to secure the defensive line. Without the Deity of Gods, the Eastern Front can barely sustain what’s already happening. If the line breaks, over ten cities are exposed!”
But this time, no one moved to support him.
“Compared to a dozen cities, think about the future of the race.” Hackzord let his gaze pass over Blood Conqueror without lingering. He looked at the Birth Tower. “Your Majesty — losing the Deity of Gods on the Eastern Line would worsen the situation there, yes. But it would not reach the worst outcome. Right now, time is not standing on our side. The humans are absorbing whatever they’ve received at a rate we cannot match. Sacrifice cannot be avoided. What matters is what we do next.”
“That is my army!” Blood Conqueror roared.
Hackzord turned away from him and faced the Tower.
“You have all seen what human weapons can do. And Primal Demons can use them too — if our race absorbs their legacy and turns those weapons against the Sky-sea Realm, we can reverse everything. Even if we lose the entire Blackstone region, the final victors of the Battle of Divine Will will be us.”
The hollow eyes in Mask’s face brightened at the mention of new weapons.
“And these losses could have been prevented —”
“Enough.” The King’s voice entered everyone at once. “I understand what you mean.”
Hackzord felt the coil in his chest ease.
The King would not be moved by argument or anger. He decided based on facts, and the facts had been shown to him plainly. The other grand lords remained skeptical at the margins — but skeptical was different from opposed, and consensus reached here could be implemented. Without it, the quarrels would grind on, and the hard-won pressure on the humans would bleed away into nothing.
This was still not Ursrook’s full vision. It was not everything. But it was the best result that could be reached today. And the Deity of Gods, as the race’s most esteemed weapon, would arrive on the Western Front with a substantial protective force — which was itself another kind of reinforcement.
When the weapon reached the Land of Dawn, the humans’ tactics would not matter.
“Silent Disaster’s arrangements remain unchanged — continued support for the Western Front.” The King’s deep voice settled over the Holy See. “When the Deity of Gods is complete, it goes to the human territory to seize the legacy shard. Reduce the Eastern Front southward; abandon cities if necessary to preserve Inferior Demons — they are a resource, and must not be squandered before momentum shifts.”
“As you command,” all the grand lords replied.
“But Blood Conqueror is also correct on one point.” The King’s pause was short, almost thoughtless. “Delaying the Sky-sea Realm on the East while absorbing the humans in the West — that was the established strategy of the third Battle of Divine Will. Sending the Deity of Gods to the Western Front substantially increases deaths on the Eastern Front. Sky Lord.”
The eyes of the Birth Tower moved.
They converged on Hackzord, and merged.
In an instant they were one eye — enormous, hovering, the pupil alone large enough to contain several of him. It hung in the air above the Holy See, cold and patient and absolute. Next to it, in his seat, Hackzord felt the specific smallness of a creature that could be destroyed by something that was not even paying it its full attention. The instinct to open a Distortion Door rose in him and he suppressed it completely. In the Presiding Holy See, that impulse was a form of suicide.
“Your ability has value. But this will be the last accident that occurs in the Western Front’s plan.” The King’s displeasure did not need volume to have weight; it was a physical pressure, pressing through him like cold water. “Do not disappoint me again. Otherwise…”
The sentence did not finish. It did not need to.
“I… understand.”
The eye vanished. The Holy See dissolved. The spire of the Sky City reappeared before him, and the familiar churning of the Mist below.
“Are you all right, my lord?”
Siacis was beside him.
“Don’t worry about it.” Hackzord shook his head slowly.
He had thought he had prepared himself. He had told himself, in the hours before the meeting, that he would accept whatever the King chose to bring down on him. But when it actually arrived — when the King’s malice became a physical fact rather than an abstraction — the discomfort and the resistance had nearly overwhelmed him. Not a thought. Not a judgment.
Reflex. Just the body’s opinion about its own survival.
Hackzord closed his eyes.
Everything was for the race.
He had done what he could.