Day 137th, Year 8:

  The reports from the assessors have arrived. The operation in Luminberg cost me:

  16 standard constructs destroyed

  34 standard units in various degrees of required repair

  2 heavy munitions models destroyed

  47 operatives lost

  59 operatives in recovery

  Assisting operatives in their recuperation, as well as restoring the damaged constructs to battle-worthiness. All these would take considerable time before I can recover from the resulting expenditures. I would need to speak with Doctor Hollegrehenn and the machinists to create a less resource-intensive armor layout for the constructs.

  Though I am yet to measure the exact value, I should have more than enough magical energy to meet the First Tier of Vis. The festival had the ideal number of people needed for the extraction to work as intended. The mechanism functioned with few workable errors, though it is lamentable that duplicating it requires the schematics of the Wizards’ Wall. That would take me years to analyze, even with all my experts and associates partaking in such a project. On the other hand, the energy catch can be fused with the defensive cloak I once installed in the Schweiglands facility. Its power won’t be absolute, but functional enough to divert attention or resist Imperial artillery long enough.

  I cannot help but look back at what happened during the retrieval phase. That moment I saw her. From the other side. Looking at me. Probably questioning why I’m armed, and how that light beam was so close to undoing my existence. They say the tapestry of one's life is explained before the inevitable demise. A story in every thread. Was it you on the other side, Halona? If only time stood still, maybe a little longer. Small talk over a cup of tea, or your favorite: vanilla ice cream and berries. I don’t know if you’re reading this. I cannot be with you now, not in this lifetime. You will understand one day, when I ascend to victory.

  ????

  He shook his head a few times, staring from wall to ceiling, squinting, blinking. The Gray Fox lived, and he returned to the safety of his underground complex. His senses embedded that event deep in his mind: the bright beam, the high-pitched hum, and the crackle of Luminberg’s pavement when light struck and vaporized the ground. Damned Creator. If ever He was real, then the Gray Fox’s destiny was bound for greater heights to be ended by a thread of divine judgment.

  Trevalyn closed his book and put it back in his desk drawer. Activity outside his office has calmed down; battle-weary and wounded men who barely escaped from an invigorated Imperial Army were all accounted for. Groans and the occasional cry of pain squeezed out of the medical bays’ closed doors; tunnel walls might be thick, but it was no guarantee that sound wouldn’t find a way to escape.

  That man with a staff and glowing spheres that hovered menacingly above him: an enemy he could not afford to engage in attrition battles with. It was difficult not to doubt whether that foreigner was truly human. The Gray Fox’s experiments proved the existence of a plane where those creatures dwelled; that meant others, perhaps people before me, long before I came up with these experiments, exploited crossing the gap between realms.

  He reached the receiving area, where only a few staff remained, sweeping dirt and disinfecting the phasing tubes that carried blood, gore, and muck of battle. Dots of light formed at the center of one of the tubes, forming the outline of a man, filling the space with solid brightness, until the glow was replaced with a bandaged man, who opened the glass door and stepped out.

  “I’ve seen you in worse shape, Mister Norton.” Trevalyn’s stare bore intrigue; commanders normally withdrew ahead of subordinate operatives. “Did your pursuit of that boy turn out poorly?”

  “The Luminberg office had to be clean of all traces of the operation, Master.” It did not take him long enough to know that the Gray Fox was scanning his injured form. “And… yes. That was no mere boy. A formidable opponent, but there was no reason I couldn’t overcome him.”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Good. Good. Does it mean we only have that orb-wielding staff user to deal with?”

  “I could not confirm his demise, but Guildenstern's talents were more than enough to sweep that hindrance aside.”

  Trevalyn’s turned away from the bandaged advisor, but his attention was far detached from him yet. At the corner of the receiving area were seven trolleys; each poorly concealing a prismatic glow inside. Part of the crime lord wanted to know what happened to the eighth unit, but the answer appeared before him as that hateful beam of light. His eyes were fixed on this batch of glowing rocks, but his thoughts were still on that operation by asking Winston:

  “That golden-haired interloper. Destroyed an advanced model, slew my nether beast when his staff turned into that… sword, of black fire, but my knight should have defeated him.”

  “Defeated?” Winston said, “Fill me in, Master. That must have been a time when my men were fighting that boy.”

  “His field of light may have defended him from harm, but it could not give him strength, and my knight had an abundance of it.”

  “You mean to tell me that the false divinity could be felled by our forces.”

  “What else could it be?”

  Trevalyn looked at what remained of the gun arm he equipped during the engagement. He had long-disconnected the firearm attachment; in its place was a three-pronged manipulator that shook and twitched as his mind recalled the events. He lowered the false metal hand and resumed speaking:

  “A final strike. Yes. A final strike.” He almost shouted the last two words. “Then a blinding flash. I had to recall my knight. Something struck the cerebral terminals. I couldn’t even turn to look at what the enemy did.”

  “The answer to what you want to happen may be closer than you think.” Winston looked at the aides who entered and headed for the trolleys. “You still have three of the puppets. They combined may not be as powerful as your ‘knight’, but they are more than enough to overwhelm the staff-wielder.”

  “And if he brings up that field again?”

  “As I saw it, they had to be close to the tower, a source of magical current, to create that miracle.” Winston sat down on one of the empty ammunition crates. “By denying them an easy magical deposit, that field would last much shorter than it did in Luminberg.”

  “I refuse to indulge in this notion that our opponent would be so easily defeated that way, Mister Norton.”

  “Not quite. There’s the problem of knowing where they are.” The machine eye twitched, forcing Winston to work on something in his temples. “If they work for the Empire, all we have to do is watch their movements through the press, then pick the best time to engage.”

  “And if they’re not Imperial mercenaries?”

  “I could circulate rumors in the underground about traitors who stole something from us. If they have the condensed energy, they are easy to find and track.”

  “They’ll hold them for ransom.”

  “I say they are easier to deal with when that happens,” Winston said, “After the Dragon’s Claw, it is foolhardy to even think of crossing us, I believe.”

  “I find it difficult to agree with this idea.” Trevalyn faced the advisor, “I will think about it, but I need to know if there’s any construct that captured what took place in Tower Seven. You can adjust your plan once we address the gaps in our knowledge.”

  “A technician from the original Tower 7 guards survived the incident.” Winston walked alongside the Gray Fox. “We may have a chance that at least a head unit from the constructs remained intact.”

  “That is slight relief.” The crime lord exited the receiving area along with the advisor. “I still could not believe we have to face a nightmare of an opponent wielding such lethality.”

  “We may have anticipated finding magically capable opponents in Luminberg, but even I was blindsided by one with that much potential.”

  Silence; only their footsteps tapped against smoothened stone. They followed the aides who pushed the trolleys out of the receiving area and into another facility sector. In minutes, they reached a section that led to an underground river. The smooth hull of the submerging ship gave off a dim, silvery glow. Both stopped before the ramp, watching the aides disappear into the vessel’s interior.

  “The Ancamna?”

  “I intend to move the components to my northern holdings.” Trevalyn’s manipulator rattled; it was a long time since this substitute limb attachment was last calibrated. “I’ve a reasonable investment in that facility. Better this way, now that the Empire’s hounds will be more determined than before.”

  “I see.” Winston returned a nod from one of the facility guards. “While I do not understand the means you’re set to do it, how does a city’s worth of magical energy help achieve your goal?”

  “Be patient, Mister Norton.” The Gray Fox’s lips curved; a wrinkled smile over a soft breath. “With this, I am closer to being a true master than before.”

  The advisor nodded; there was no point in asking further. Winston followed the line of aides that left the submersible ship. Though he left without a word, the Gray Fox’s gaze remained fixed on the vessel.