Chapter 264 Dull Sword

Chapter 264 Dull Sword
The rotting hands gripped the cracked white stone.

Vasilis lunged forward. He possessed zero weapons. He lacked the immortal spark. He grabbed the first corpse by the throat. He used raw, mortal muscle and crushed the creature's windpipe. He threw the dead body back into the dark hole.

Three more corpses crawled over the edge. They held rusted iron blades.

"Step back," I ordered the wolf.

I grabbed the Black Crown from the silk cushion. I jammed the jagged iron onto my wet hair. The four sparks ignited inside my ribs. The golden stamina flooded my limbs, erasing the fatigue of the long day.

I bypassed the fire. I bypassed the shadow. I pulled the pure white light of the high heavens into my palms.

I thrust my hands forward. A blinding beam of holy magic struck the drain.

The corpses shrieked. The light burned their rotten flesh to gray ash in a heartbeat. The celestial heat hit the broken stone. The white rock melted into liquid slag. The stone fused together, sealing the black hole tight. The attack ended.

I dropped my arms. My chest heaved.

Vasilis stared at the sealed stone. He looked at my face. The feral rage in his amber eyes matched the heat of the boiling pool.

"The Commander needs a sword," I told him.

Hours later, I dressed in a dark gray gown. I walked into the war room.

The faction leaders stood around a large circular table. Torches burned in iron sconces on the stone walls, casting long shadows across the room. A massive map of Aetherion sat in the center of the table. Small wooden markers represented the armies.

The deep earth walkers breached the royal baths. They bypassed the reinforced iron gates. They bypassed the shadow wards. They came from below.

"Fear breeds treason," Theron Nightvale stated. The vampire noble pointed his remaining hand at the map. "The demons accuse the wolves of digging the tunnels. The wolves accuse the vampires of hiding the dead in the crypts. The factions turn on each other. The truce cracks."

Lucivar Drakhar slammed his fist onto the table. "My legions will burn every cave in the north! We will turn the deep earth to glass!"

"You will burn your own men," Azarion Solcrest countered. The fallen angel leaned on his spear. "The tunnels are a maze. The sky is clear, but the ground rots beneath our boots. The soldiers panic. Panic leads to slaughter."

"We need order," Isidore said.

The fallen angel stepped out of the shadows. He wore a crisp white tunic and dark trousers. The jagged red cut on his cheek stood out in the torchlight. He carried his dull celestial sword on his hip.

"The factions require judgment," Isidore continued. His silver eyes scanned the room, meeting the gaze of every warlord and noble. "The Commander secures the walls. The Spymaster watches the shadows. You need a Chief Justice to hold the law."

I looked at the angel. He held the pure light for a millennium. He knew the weight of a soul. He understood justice better than any living creature on the continent. He possessed the quiet, unyielding authority required to stop a riot.

"You claim the role," I said.

"I claim the scales," Isidore answered. He stepped into the light, resting his calloused hand on the pommel of his sword. "Any soldier who breaks the truce faces my blade. Any lord who spreads panic faces the cell. I will maintain the order of the Black Crown. I will be the anchor."

I looked at Theron, Lucivar, and Azarion. They nodded. They respected the angel. They knew he could not be bribed or intimidated.

"Done," I declared.

The meeting ended. The nobles left the war room to relay the new edicts to their soldiers. I needed air. The thick tension of the Citadel suffocated my lungs. I walked down the grand marble staircase and stepped into the royal gardens.

The night sky hung clear and dark. The moon cast a pale silver glow over the smooth stone paths. White rose bushes lined the walkways. The cool breeze chilled my skin, offering a temporary relief from the suffocating heat of the war room.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel behind me.

Isidore found me.

He stopped three feet away. His silver eyes reflected the moonlight. The charred stumps on his back were visible beneath the thin fabric of his white tunic.

"You carry the weight of the mountain," Isidore murmured.

"The mountain tries to bury me," I replied. "Nymeria Duskbane tests the defenses. She probes for a weakness in the stone. She wants to drag us into the dark."

"She will find a fortress of iron," Isidore promised.

He stepped closer. He raised his hand. His calloused fingers brushed a loose strand of dark hair from my cheek. His touch carried a quiet, fierce devotion. He did not look at the crown. He looked at the woman underneath the iron.

"The crown is heavy," he noted.

"It crushes my neck," I admitted.

"Take it off."