Shire bowed deeply before Nero and Xersies. He did not dare lift his head. Beside him stood Istric, who was actually trembling.
"You disappoint me, Shire!" Nero's voice was cold.
"You had the largest army of them all, and yet you managed to suffer the highest percentage of losses. Not only did you lose nearly half a million warriors, you also lost twelve hundred magicians."
The numbers were staggering. Nerop had expected to lose some, but he could hardly believe it. They had only twelve thousand White Polykenas in total, the most powerful of their kind. They were the army's hidden weapon, its trump card. While the Black Polykenas made up the bulk of their forces—the shield—the White Polykenas were the spear.
Only one in a thousand Polykenas was ever born white. And under Shire's command, seven hundred of them had died. Most had been specially trained. Among the fallen were even twelve of the Golden Patron, warriors personally trained by Xersies over decades.
"I always suspected there wasn't much more than muscle in him," Ramor growled. "If you ask me, we should kill him now and let his Chaos energy flow back into the Nest. Maybe then a Polykenas will be born who's actually worth something!"
Shire did not move. He showed no reaction to Ramor's remorse.
Xersies, on the other hand, actually shook his head. "Naturally, we are aware that not all of the blame lies with you, Shire."
His eyes slid to Istric, who seemed to feel their weight. He actually seemed to shrink under her gaze.
"Please… please forgive me. I thought… I thought that..."
"Shire, you were in command of the army. You alone were responsible for all tactical and strategic decisions. You made a mistake that one of my generals should not have made. You underestimated your opponents, and because of you, we lost a considerable part of our army, thereby weakening the entire stability of our army. However, you have been a loyal general for decades, and we will still need your strength for the coming attack. Does anyone disagree?' Nero asked his generals, but they remained silent. 'Nevertheless, we cannot let you go unpunished. Therefore, I have decided that Ester will have the honour of taking your punishment!"
Ester stepped forward, his small yellow eyes gleaming with delight.
"Once we have finally destroyed Gloris, it will be your job to remind Shire what we think of failure. And make sure he never forgets it again!" Nero ordered Ester.
"I will make sure that our friend regrets disappointing you, my Duce!" Ester replied with a voice that was a little too cheerful.
"And now to you, Istric," Nero continued, "Since you serve directly under Xersies, I leave your punishment to him."
Xersies fixed his gaze on Istric. He had been his best student, and his failure was a reflection on Xersies himself.
"Istric, you have disappointed me deeply. You made an error so obvious that even a blind human would not have made it. You are responsible for the death of twelve members of the Golden Patron...twelve of my students. You are unfit to remain their leader. If the situation allowed it, I would dissolve you into Chaos energy this very moment. But I have invested too many years in your training to waste it now. But I strip you of your position as general of the Golden Patron. And more than that, "
With a flick of his arm, a golden blade shot forth and cut through Istric's shoulder with millimeter precision, severing his arm. Istric convulsed as pain tore through him. Xersies stepped forward, pressing a hand against his forehead. Heat flared, burning into his paper-white skin. A mark seared itself onto him: a long tear.
Even Nero raised an eyebrow at that. The punishment Xersies had dealt was among the harshest possible for a Polykenas. The severed arm marked him as a failure in battle. The tear branded him with mortal weakness. From that moment on, Istric was considered inferior. Every other Polykenas stood above him. He was forbidden from defending his honor. Anyone could command him, and he was forced to obey, unless of course the order clashed with one from Xersies himself. For a Polykenas, this was the greatest humiliation imaginable.
"Don't you think you've gone too far, Xersies?" Ramor asked, frowning. Even for him, this seemed excessive. "We'll still need his strength."
Xersies turned his head slowly toward Ramor. "My dear friend," he said sarcastically, "It is up to me to determine what is an appropriate punishment for my pupils, not you. Besides…" He glanced back at Istric. "He only needs one arm to cast his magic."
Ramor's frown didn't ease. He had called for Shire's death, yes, but that had been his usual bluster. In truth, he thought the punishment laid on Istric went too far. Even a week of torture would have been mild compared to this, because at least one could recover from torture. But the Mark of Shame was different. Unless Xersies or Nero himself removed it, the mark would never fade. Even then, it remained visible, crossed out, so that everyone would always see his failure.
Istric trembled violently. His face twisted with shame and terror, but he had escaped with his life. That was rare. Xersies was not known for sparing Polykenas. The fact that Istric lived was proof of how highly Xersies valued his strength.
A heated argument broke out among the generals as Ramor accused Xersies of recklessness.
Nero sighed and turned away. Shire had arrived two days earlier. After a complete tally, the losses of the army were known. The scale of it unsettled Nero. This world was far stronger than he had expected. In the end, neither Shire nor Istric nor anyone else was truly to blame. The fault was his. He had been too fast, too impatient. He should have sent more spies, more assassins, more chaos to weaken the world first. But he had rushed. He had wanted to strike immediately.
That mistake had cost him two thousand White Polykenas and nearly a million warrior Polykenas. Their army now numbered only nine million. And they had not even begun the hardest part: the assault on Gloris. Nero knew it would mean tremendous losses still to come. He had no choice.
He would have to postpone his plan of drawing the Nest into this dimension. They needed reinforcements. They required new Polykenas.
"Enough!" Nero snapped, cutting through the bickering of his generals. "It is time. We are finally at full strength. There is no reason to wait anymore. Let's start preparing for the final assault!"
---
While the Polykenas army started to prepare for war, preparations were also underway within the city of Gloris. Deep beneath the cathedral, the same four figures gathered once more. Their faces were grave as they listened to the report of a hardened monk who spoke of the events he witnessed on the wall.
When he finished, silence fell. At last, the red-haired woman broke it. "And you are certain he was human? Truly human?"
The monk nodded. "There is no doubt. I saw his blood. It was wholly human, not the same foul blood as those… things."
Luis sat with his hands folded, elbows resting on the table. "So a man truly leads the demons?" He shook his head sadly. "How can anyone step so far from the Sun?"
"It makes no difference," said the old man. "Whether demon or man, he is an enemy of all humankind. He must be killed."
"There is more to him," said the monk. "I did not see it myself, but Gerald swore something about him was wrong. According to him, it isn't only the man. There is something else, something darker."
"And you believe him?" asked the masked woman
"Of course!" the monk replied without hesitation. "Gerald has always been loyal to us and to the Church. And he is a skilled Lightweaver, blessed with great power. I see no reason to doubt him."
Another silence fell. They were all afraid, though none wanted to admit it. They knew the truth: the army beyond the walls was growing ever stronger. The demon encampment stretched across the horizon, spreading still further each day. They all understood this could be humanity's last war. If they lost, the Church and all hope would die. The scattered remnants of mankind, hiding across the world, would never muster a true resistance.
"How goes the training of the new soldiers?" Luis finally asked.
The old man exhaled heavily. "Haltingly. We make progress, yes, but it is slow. They will not be ready in time, that much is clear."
"At any other time, I would never send civilians into war. But sadly, we have no choice. We need every pair of hands we can get if we want to stand a chance against the bringer of chaos. And what of the Warlocks?"
By "Warlocks," Luis meant all who practiced forbidden magic. In ordinary times, they would have been hunted. But desperate times demanded desperate measures.
"They cooperate… for now. Yet they remain cautious. Wary of us. They dare not use their false magic without explicit command. Some still refuse entirely, thinking we want to trap them. They hate us and everything we stand for. The only reason they cooperate is because they fear the demons outside more than they hate us."
Luis's expression darkened. "When this is over, every last one of them will face judgment. They will all answer to the Sun God."