Chapter 18: A Spy Behind the Fortress
The wind whispered gently atop the watchtower of Cindres Fortress, one of the last defensive strongholds facing the Artheon Mountains. Beneath its peaceful exterior, the shadow of betrayal began to seep in like a silent but deadly morning mist.
In the strategy chamber buried beneath the fortress, Xebec stood before a massive map marked with strongholds and villages still holding out. Beside him, Marquess D'Eagles—despite his grave injuries from a previous battle—stood tall, speaking in a low voice.
"There's something strange, Your Majesty. The weapon supplies from the west have been disrupted. And some of our guards… have vanished without a trace."
Xebec turned sharply, his gaze sharpening. "Traitors?"
The Marquess nodded. "Not just traitors. A spy."
Soon after, Nanea entered carrying a report from the scouts. In her hand, a scroll filled with coded markings decrypted by loyalist mages. "Someone inside Cindres Fortress has sent the location of our main units… to Baal's forces."
Xebec clenched his fist. Sword aura surged from his body, causing every metallic object in the room to tremble. "We catch him tonight."
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In a shadowed corridor near the armory, a man in royal soldier's uniform prepared to open a secret gate. But before he could move further, a soft yet menacing voice came from the darkness.
"Off to meet your master, Baal's spy?"
Astrid stepped out of the shadows. Her gown had been replaced by a light cloak—an outfit fit for a night hunter. In her hand, a silver dagger, sanctified by ancestral magic.
The man chuckled. "Too late, Lady Malefic. The chaos has already begun."
But before he could cast dark magic, a burst of blue light struck him from the other end of the hall. Xebec appeared, eyes blazing with fury. His left hand—now reinforced by a sacred sword artifact—pulsed with energy.
"If you're brave enough to speak your master's name, speak your own as you meet death."
The spy screamed, his body morphing into demonic mist. But Xebec's Spirit Clarity power spread through the corridor, purifying the area and forcing the spy's true form to emerge. With one swift slash, Xebec cut him down, leaving behind only smoldering black ash.
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In the fortress's emergency throne room that night, Xebec sat with Astrid and Nanea. Their tired eyes met in silence.
"Baal has begun to shake us from within," Astrid said softly.
Nanea nodded. "But that also means… we're getting closer to the source of his power. The traitors are panicking."
Xebec was silent. "And the closer we get… the greater the sacrifice we must endure."
Outside, rain began to fall, soaking the fortress walls that were no longer just protection… but the starting point of a counterstrike against the darkness.
While battle flames raged at the fortress, deep within the Phillipe royal palace, in a hidden underground room behind the old library, a hooded man dipped a quill into blood-colored ink.
"The eastern operation failed… but this is only the beginning," he muttered.
He gazed into a black mirror—a magical artifact revealing the face of a young man with glowing violet eyes. Bastian.
But not the Bastian they knew. His gaze was hollow. On his forehead, Baal's seal had begun to open, thin roots creeping toward his temples.
"Soon… while Xebec is distracted by the three generals, it's time to sever Phillipe's influence from within," said the hooded man, none other than Duke Malefic's right hand—tasked with seducing young nobles into betraying the crown.
Footsteps echoed from the stone staircase.
A girl—with silver hair and eyes sharp as the winter moon—emerged from the shadows. Nanea.
She whispered, "You thought we didn't know?"
The man's eyes widened. But before he could utter a spell, Nanea's thin blade pierced his shoulder. Blood splattered against the stone wall.
"I am Nanea von Phillipe. Sister to the heir. And now… hunter of traitors."
Royal loyalist agents stormed the room in seconds. The spy was captured, but before interrogation, his body exploded into dark mist—a self-destruction spell trap.
Far away, Xebec felt the tremor.
"Was that… inside the palace?" he murmured.
Astrid, standing beside him, narrowed her gaze toward the castle. "The enemy isn't just outside, Xebec. They're within your very walls."
Xebec clenched his hand. "Then it's time… to purge the palace."
Silence filled the Phillipe fortress strategy hall. One by one, maps were spread out, and reports flowed in from the east and north—Baal's generals posed threats not just from the outside, but from within the palace itself.
Nanea knelt before her father, King Phillipe, who looked far older than he had a week ago. His silver hair had lost its shine, and the magical aura around him had weakened.
"Father," Nanea whispered, her voice trembling but firm. "The captured spy… was one of the senior palace guards. He used to carry me as a child."
King Phillipe closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. "They've gone too deep… and it's my fault."
"This isn't the time for guilt, Your Majesty," boomed Grand Chamberlain Morven from the end of the hall. "It's time to decide who can truly be trusted. Time to pass the torch to the strong."
All eyes turned to Xebec, who stood gazing out at the moonlight through the stained glass window.
"Xebec," King Phillipe said softly. "This fortress, this throne… may no longer be symbols of strength, but of hope. Will you guard them?"
Xebec didn't turn. But his voice rang clear. "If hope is all that's left… then I will protect it with my blood."
Suddenly, a low tremor spread across the stone floor. A voice—soft but sinister—whispered from the distance, like a thousand devilish tongues speaking as one.
"King… Heir… Betrayal has grown… from the roots you planted yourself."
A wall of the palace cracked—and from it emerged a black-robed figure. Its body half-transparent, its face like mist—a spirit bound by an ancient magic contract.
"A scout spirit… from Baal," Astrid hissed, drawing her dagger.
The creature pointed directly at Xebec.
"You… are the key. Baal has seen you. And now… he sends more than armies. He sends his deepest legacy."
The spirit exploded in a burst of thick black smoke, shaking the guards. Xebec stepped forward, his left hand clenched, his severed right arm glowing faintly—traces of ancestral magic still pulsing within.
"I will not let a single one of you touch this kingdom… or my family," he whispered.
The sky above the main fortress darkened to deep gray, as if sensing this night was unlike any other. In the quiet strategy room, Xebec stood, eyes fixed on the map of the eastern front, his fingers tracing Baal's encroaching path.
"There's unusual movement to the west," he murmured.
"No word from the southern forces either. It's as if they're letting us stand alone," added Marquess D'Eagles with clenched jaw.
Behind the council chamber's curtains, a hooded figure watched. He held his breath as Grand Chamberlain Morven entered, face grim.
"There's a traitor inside," Morven declared. "Three logistics squads vanished overnight. No signs of battle. Only blood—and Baal's symbol painted in fresh crimson."
Xebec turned sharply. "They've come that far?"
Morven nodded. "Worse. We found one of the fortress couriers—bewitched by Vel'Setahr magic. His eyes wide open, but his soul already seized."
Nanea arrived from a hidden corridor, holding a scroll. "I cracked the code in a letter stored in Duke Malefic's vault." She laid the scroll on the table. "It lists the names of nobles already tainted by demon power… and one of them is among us."
Silence. Tension. A cold chill seeped into the bones.
Xebec read one of the names on the list.
Lord Athriel Vaun – Head of Military Communications Division.
"No wonder communication with the north was severed," growled Marquess D'Eagles.
"He's not the only one," Nanea whispered. "There are three more names. But this one… he's the most dangerous. He knows all the kingdom's secret routes."
Xebec clenched his fist. "If they've infiltrated this far, it's not just the army that will fall. The people… the palace… everything will become a battlefield."
Just then, shadows twisted on the wall—like black mist writhing.
"A message from the void," Morven whispered.
A glowing three-eyed sigil appeared in the air. A voice whispered:
"We are coming. Only ruin is worthy of your bloodline's legacy."
Xebec stared at the symbol, his eyes glowing faintly with ancestral power. He didn't need to speak. Everyone present knew:
The war had broken through the final wall of defense. And trust… would be the bloodiest battlefield of all.
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To be continued…