CHAPTER 776: THE REASON OF WARS (END)

Elowen motioned for him to take a seat beside her, her movements fluid, yet there was something in her eyes that spoke of fatigue—a weariness that couldn’t be masked by her regal composure. As Mikhailis settled into the chair, his eyes flicked across the room, noting the stark contrast of the room’s once-comforting atmosphere now filled with strain. There was no mistaking it—the weight of the situation was in every inch of the room, hanging like smoke in the air, stifling and thick.

The others gathered around the table, not with the casual ease of comrades, but with a sense of restrained urgency, as if they knew that the moment they stopped paying attention to the details, the war would swallow them whole. It wasn’t just the camp that was on edge. It was the people, the ones who carried the strategies, the ones who bore the weight of the kingdom’s fate.

The silence that followed Elowen’s first few words was telling. "The Technomancers have made their move," she began, her voice even, though her eyes remained clouded. She glanced over at Cerys, then back at Mikhailis. "They’ve deployed several Golems to the front, disrupting any real advancement."

Mikhailis’s gaze lingered on her face. He noticed the tightness around her eyes, the subtle pull of her lips, and despite her steady delivery, there was something hidden beneath her words—a weariness that spoke more than her voice could. She was saying the words with an even tone, but he could hear the stress in her silence. She’s trying to keep it all together. Trying to be the queen, but even queens break, don’t they?

Cerys stepped forward, her brow furrowed, and added, "The Technomancer League is pulling in reinforcements from Athellin and Lorimont. Their magical artillery and constructs are disrupting our supply lines. Without a strong push, we can’t break their hold."

Her voice was matter-of-fact, and though she spoke with the authority of one who had seen the worst of battles, there was something in her expression—something that Mikhailis caught only in the briefest of moments—that hinted at a deeper exhaustion. Her shoulders were tense, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She was strong, but Mikhailis could tell that even the Lone Wolf had her breaking points.

Vyrelda added from her place at the table, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "We’ve sent our own forces in, but the Arcane Order is stretched thin. We’ve got mages, battle sorcerers, and rangers, but it’s not enough to make a decisive move." Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, Mikhailis caught the glance she exchanged with Cerys. It wasn’t just frustration—there was something deeper in their eyes, a shared understanding of how dire the situation had become.

Mikhailis leaned back slightly in his chair, crossing his arms, his eyes drifting from Elowen to the others. He could see the toll this war had taken on all of them. But it wasn’t just the soldiers who were weighed down by this conflict. It was the leaders too—the ones who had to make the impossible decisions. He turned his eyes back to Elowen, noting the slight flicker of frustration in her gaze, the way her hands rested on the table with a rigidity that spoke volumes. She was always so composed, but Mikhailis could see through it now. There was no fooling him, not after all they had been through together.

You’re doing your best, Elowen,

he thought, his eyes softening slightly. But even you can’t carry it all on your own.

Rodion’s voice cut through his musings, breaking the moment with its usual dry tone: I’m sure there’s still time for a wonderful night.

Mikhailis couldn’t help but smirk, though it was fleeting. Always with the distractions, he thought, shaking his head. He shot back a response, his tone sharp but amused: "You know, you’re really starting to get old, Rodion."

But despite his words, the moment passed, and Mikhailis’s attention was once again fully on Elowen. He saw her body stiffen for just a second, her gaze flicking down at the table. When she raised her eyes again, there was a shift—something subtle, but it was there. Her relief was real, but it was laced with something darker, something that didn’t fade with his return. The burden of the kingdom, the weight of the war, still held her, still wrapped tightly around her like a chain.

He could see it clearly now, as her fingers tapped once on the table, the rhythm tight, measured. It wasn’t just a reflex; it was a sign of the strain, the silent pressure she was under. Her lips pressed together slightly as she exhaled, and for a moment, Mikhailis caught the flicker in her eyes—the flicker of something that spoke of a deeper worry. The same worry she was trying to suppress, the same one that had been gnawing at her even when she held him earlier, when she had wrapped herself around him in relief.

His heart clenched. He could feel the weight of her, the weight she was carrying, and it hurt him in ways he didn’t quite understand.

Her voice, when it came, was quieter, almost too controlled. "There’s a dungeon," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Down beneath the foothills of the Ashen River. An S-ranked Dungeon, full of treasures and artifacts."

Mikhailis’s eyes sharpened at the mention of the dungeon. The weight of the war, the supplies, the soldiers, all of it had suddenly shifted. A dungeon. It was no longer just a strategic point—it was a lure, a temptation that could turn the tide of everything.

"The dungeon is why we’re stuck," Elowen continued, her voice still steady but with a faint edge of frustration creeping in. "Both sides are sending soldiers in secrecy, hoping to claim whatever they can. But no one’s getting out. The traps are too deadly."

Mikhailis’s mind started to race as he processed this new information. Of course. A dungeon. It had to be. Always a treasure to be fought over. But the traps...

His mind clicked, and he looked toward Serelith, the ever-calm magician, who was standing slightly apart from the others.

"Traps," Serelith repeated with a sigh, as if she were bored of repeating the same information. "Rumors of time-warping effects, invisible traps, and undead guardians." Her lips twitched into a half-smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "It’s the perfect lure, isn’t it? No one can resist the thought of riches."

Mikhailis chuckled dryly, though the sound was laced with tension. "Sounds like a hell of a place to get trapped in."

"The problem is, no one is willing to make the first move," Elowen said, her voice tight with frustration. "Both sides are too afraid to lose men to the dungeon’s traps. They’ve been sending soldiers in stealth, hoping to claim the treasure, but no one has returned."

Cerys added, "And without reinforcements, we can’t push forward. Not with the Technomancers in the way. If the dungeon is their prize, it makes sense why they won’t budge."

Mikhailis frowned as he considered it all. The war was stuck in a deadlock, both sides unwilling to take the risk, and yet the dungeon was there, like a bait, a temptation neither side could resist. He could see how this was going to play out. Whoever controls the dungeon, controls the war. And no one’s going to make the first move until they know they won’t lose everything.

His mind clicked into place, and he could feel the first stirrings of a plan. But it wasn’t just the dungeon that caught his attention—it was everything that had led them here. The stalemate, the fears, the sacrifices.

"Dungeon..." Mikhailis murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible. He allowed himself a quiet smirk, though it was almost more to himself than to anyone else. His thoughts were already turning, already calculating. He wasn’t sure how this would play out, but one thing was clear—this was the turning point. Whoever made the first move would win, and he wasn’t going to let that chance slip away.

The tension in the room shifted. Elowen’s eyes flicked to him as he formulated his thoughts. Her gaze was steady, but there was something unspoken between them—an understanding, a quiet exchange. She knew how he worked, knew how he thought. And as he looked at her, he saw it again. That weight in her eyes. The exhaustion. I’m not the only one carrying this, he thought. She’s carrying it too, and I can’t let her do it alone.

"The next move must be ours, Mikhailis," Elowen said softly, her voice quieter now. "You have a plan?"

Mikhailis didn’t answer immediately. He simply leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping against the table as he gathered his thoughts. He could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on him, but he knew what had to be done. The first move would be his.

"The first move will be mine," he said, the words calm but full of purpose. He stood up, his back straightening as he looked at the others, at the faces of those who had been with him through this war.

And as he looked at Elowen one last time, he knew there was no turning back now.