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Chapter 1376: Witnessing a Miracle

Everwinter. King’s City.

“My lord… Lord Marwayne…”

Someone nudged his arm.

He opened his eyes with a grimace. It took some seconds for his vision to sharpen enough to find the butler’s familiar face above him.

“You again.” Marwayne hiccupped and hauled himself upright, knocking over two wine bottles in the process. One hit the floor and shattered.

The sound reached his brain like a chisel.

Then came the hangover — splitting, total.

He had been at it until four or five in the morning, pressing drinks on the ladies until he’d gone under right here on the couch. He squinted at it now: liquor and other things soaking the cushions, the fireplace that had burned through the night filling the room with an unpleasant residual smell. The women had slipped away at some point. Poor dedication.

How in hell did I end up sleeping here.

“Burn it.” He wiped the drool from his chin and settled into a less agonizing position. “Very well, my distinguished butler. What bad news have you brought me today? Which knight has fled, or have Graycastle men entered Everwinter?”

“I would not dare, my lord.” The butler bent lower at the waist — the initiative to attack Graycastle’s patrols had been his suggestion, and he had no interest in becoming the new target. “Graycastle is still fighting the demons in the Kingdom of Wolfheart. They won’t reach Everwinter in the short term. Please be at ease—”

“It’s a matter of time, isn’t it?” Marwayne cut across him, and his own voice smelled faintly of last night. “There have been no new demon reinforcements. The so-called Sky Lord has vanished. Anyone with eyes can see how the tide is running. What’s the use of consoling me?”

“My lord, that’s not—”

Listen.” His voice found its sharp edge through the fog. “I know what you’re going to say. Pull yourself together. Don’t give up. But you saw it yourself — we had the same weapons as Graycastle and our people were still utterly destroyed. What does that say? The gap isn’t in the weapons. It’s in the men, in our people. Their soldiers looked death in the face and kept walking. Ours pulled their coats over their heads and ran.”

He paused for breath.

“How many people are left in King’s City? Viscount Narnos — no, his territory should make him a Count by now. Duke Remy? Half his family is in Everwinter, he can’t leave even if he wanted to. And the others — they’re still nobles on paper, but do they want to leave? No. They can’t. They won’t abandon estates accumulated across generations just to start from nothing somewhere else. So long as there’s any route out, they’ll take it before they resign themselves. But that doesn’t apply to knights. A knight takes his deed and walks. So what can I do? I keep my doors open, I pour the wine, I ask them to stay.”

His voice rose briefly, then came back down.

“This isn’t self-abandonment. It isn’t retreat. Understand?” He picked up the nearest bottle that still had something in it and tipped it to his mouth. “The moment I stop paying out, they’re gone. Our people can’t compete with Graycastle in the field. The only card we have is the demons. If the demons beat Roland Wimbledon, people will settle again. When that day comes, I open the deed chest and the knights become my greatest asset.”

“My lord, I understand all of this. But I need to inform you — the Sky—”

Shut up. You understand nothing.” Something in Marwayne’s voice went thin with real feeling. “You look at me and you see a drunkard. Weak. Incompetent. That’s not the truth of it. The plan has no flaws. The flaw is the demons who lost. If they can’t beat Graycastle, what exactly do you suggest I do with my two hands? It doesn’t matter that the others left — but even Fueler went, and I had high regard for him. What would it even mean to be King of Everwinter now? Better to have the fine wine while I still can.” He lowered himself back onto the stained couch. “From here forward: no more bad news. You know about them, that’s enough. Have the cellar opened tonight — I recall there’s still wine in the underground stores beneath King’s City. Now get out.”

He buried his face in his hands.

“My lord — what I was attempting to say is that his Excellency the Sky Lord is waiting in the parlor. He has a new decree.”

A long beat of silence.

“What did you say?” Marwayne sat up. “The Sky Lord is here? Why didn’t you say so earlier? Get me hot water — I need to wash and dress, now—”

“There’s no need.” A low voice came from the doorway.

Both men startled.

The tall blue figure filled the frame, pushing the door fully open as it entered. Hackzord surveyed the room — the scattered bottles, the ruin of the couch, the stale smoke still drifting from the dead fireplace — and his contempt was not at all concealed.

“I assumed you must be occupied with something pressing.” The Sky Lord’s tone was dry as old parchment. “It appears I misjudged you. Have you already decided the outcome of this war?”

He heard everything. Marwayne dropped to one knee before the thought had finished forming, and briefly considered hitting himself. “No, Your Excellency, I was only—”

“Considering your knowledge and experience, I will pardon you this once. There will not be a second time — or I will cut your tongue out.” Hackzord’s voice did not vary. “Our enemies performed past our expectations in the early stage. That is no longer relevant. Their favorable days have ended. Not merely for the Kingdom of Wolfheart, the Kingdom of Dawn, or Graycastle — all of them will be swallowed by this war. That is what waits for those who resist us.”

“Your Excellency…” Marwayne hesitated. “Is that truly the case?” He had already given Everwinter up as lost, and had been quietly planning which demon Grand Lord might be persuaded to grant him a corner to hide in. But from Hackzord’s words, the situation wasn’t as irretrievable as he had thought. Of course, the demons had once said Graycastle wouldn’t survive a single assault. Marwayne did not give those words full weight.

Hackzord’s expression sharpened to something just short of a smile. “Your doubt is understandable. But when you witness the power of my race, you will understand the weight of what I tell you.” He extended his hand, and the air in front of him opened into a door made of purple light. “Follow me.”

Marwayne’s throat moved. Then he stepped through.

On the other side was another hall, and in it he recognized faces: Narnos, Remy. Hackzord had gathered most of the Everwinter nobility.

Before any questions could be raised, the Sky Lord opened another portal.

His intentions were self-evident. Everyone looked at everyone else, then formed a slow line.

The journey lasted the rest of the day.

Marwayne lost count of the portals. The scenery on either side varied — a cavern, a mountain ridge, a sloped plain under heavy cloud. The further they went, the deeper his unease ran. Hackzord could kill him with a thought; that much had always been true. But being transported to an unknown location by someone who could kill him with a thought had a quality of helplessness that ordinary fear didn’t quite cover.

When nightfall came, they arrived at the final portal.

The purple light behind them faded and died.

Marwayne Parker opened his eyes.

Then he opened his mouth, and kept it open, and could not find a single word.

A miracle.

He had been drunk enough times to know what ordinary perception felt like — diminished, soft at the edges, unreliable. This was none of those things. Every sense he had was as sharp as it had ever been, and what he saw with those senses was simply beyond any language he had ever been given.

He could not describe it. There was nothing to compare it to. Miracle was the only word that came close, and even that was a gesture, not a description.

The other nobles were no better. Every mouth was open. No sentence completed itself.

“Now,” Hackzord said, his hands clasped behind his back, “you have all witnessed it.”

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