Chapter 127: How to do It

The stone spiral staircase leading up to the apex of the harbor keep felt ten times longer to Prime Minister Belis.

Every step sent an ache through his old knees, but the heavier weight was pressed directly against his chest. He clutched a folded bolt of pure white silk to his ribs, accompanied by four temple acolytes carrying polished silver light-mirrors. The boys were young, their vestments smeared with grime, their eyes wide and glassy with fear.

When they stepped out onto the open-air battlement, the ocean wind struck them hard.

Port Solis lay below like a broken skeleton. The granary docks were still smoking, the outer breakwater was an ugly stump submerged in the surf, and the great coastal trenches that had taken months to carve were empty trenches of churned mud. Above them, the dome of the Aegis hummed softly, casting its pale golden sheen across the sky.

And five miles out, sitting completely still against the horizon, was the gray iron wall of the American fleet.

High above the barrier, the MQ-9 Reaper drone continued its slow, mechanical orbit. The low, droning hum of its propeller drifted down like the buzz of an inescapable insect.

"Set the standard," Belis ordered, his voice thin and hollow.

The acolytes hurried to the iron flagpole at the highest corner of the tower. With shaking hands, they hauled down the blue and crimson imperial crest. In its place, the long white silk banner rose into the salt air, snapping violently in the wind.

It was the first time in three hundred years of imperial history that the white flag had flown from an imperial keep.

Belis walked over to the crenellation, leaning his trembling palms on the cold granite. "Aim the mirrors at the flying machine. Use the standard high-diplomatic cipher. Repeat the transmission until it acknowledges."

The acolytes adjusted the mirrored plates on their brass swivels, catching the sharp afternoon sunlight.

Flash. Flash-flash. Flash.

Across the bay, the rhythmic optical signals pulsed up into the sky.

Imperial Authority acknowledges the ultimatum. Her Divinity agrees to cease all offensive magic. Terms of capitulation will be received on one condition: a face-to-face parley between heads of state. The meeting will take place at the forward stone quay of the harbor channel. Supreme Commander John Smith must attend in person to accept the instrument of surrender.

For three agonizing minutes, there was no reaction. The gray drone merely banked lazily over the clouds.

Then, the lower turret of the drone pivoted, its high-resolution camera locking dead-center onto the white banner and the flashing mirrors. A tiny, high-output infrared transceiver below the wing began pulsing a rapid, invisible counter-signal back down toward the harbor.

A minute later, the high-altitude loudspeakers crackled back to life.

"Transmission received," the synthesized voice boomed from the sky, its flat Solarian cadence rolling over the stone towers. "White standard logged. Kinetic strikes against secondary infrastructure are suspended pending confirmation. Acknowledge proposed rendezvous at Grid Alpha-Zero, the ruined harbor quay. Window of engagement: twelve hundred hours tomorrow. Supreme Commander John Smith will attend. Any aggressive movement or magical surges detected prior to contact will result in the immediate resumption of total fire missions. Forward Command out."

The broadcast clicked off.

Belis sank against the parapet wall, burying his face in his hands. It was done. The trap was set. The foreign commander had accepted the bait without hesitation.

Down in the subterranean armory beneath the royal keep, the preparation was cold, precise, and completely silent.

Goddess Viona stood in the center of the vaulted stone chamber, her divine mana core humming as she restored the delicate circuitry of the Torment Bands.

Before her stood Ayanokoji, Kenji, and Miyuki.

The three summoned heroes were stripped of their torn school blazers, dressed instead in formal, unblemished imperial tunics of white and deep blue. To any distant observer looking through binoculars, they would appear as formal diplomatic attendants accompanying an imperial delegation.

Yet beneath their left sleeves, the dark iron bands bit deeply into their forearms.

The curved metal thorns were sunk so completely into their flesh that dark purple veins spread like spiderwebs up their necks and across their jaws. The crimson gemstones rested directly against their wrists, pulsing in perfect, eerie synchronization with their resting heartbeats.

Viona raised her hands, tracing glowing celestial runes over the three gems.

"Dormant state," Viona whispered, her voice dripping with cruel authority. "Suppress your external mana leaks. Hide your killing intent beneath absolute stillness. You are defeated students waiting to be rescued. You feel no hatred. You feel no desire. You are empty husks."

The red glow of the gemstones faded, turning dull and dark, resembling ordinary iron jewelry.

Ayanokoji’s pupils remained glassy and vacant, his posture loose yet mechanically balanced. Kenji stood stiffly, a simple ceremonial rapier buckled to his left hip rather than his lost radiant longsword. Miyuki held a polished wooden staff stripped of all external jewels, her fingers resting lightly on the shaft.

"Ayanokoji," Viona commanded softly.

"Listening, Master," the boy replied in his hollow monotone.

"Describe the engagement sequence," Viona ordered, her golden eyes burning with intense anticipation.

Ayanokoji did not hesitate. His brain, augmented by S-rank physical processing and operating free from the burden of human emotion, laid out the slaughter with mathematical precision.

"We will form an escort line five paces behind Her Divinity at the center of the stone quay," Ayanokoji stated. "When the target, John Smith, steps forward to exchange the ceremonial capitulation scroll, the physical distance between his torso and my weapon will be four point two meters."

He lifted his right arm slightly, his grip adjusting around the wrapped handle of his black abyssal spear.

"At the release command, I will initiate S-rank kinetic thrust: Shadow Flash. Travel time across four meters is point zero eight seconds. His personal body armor, assuming standard Kevlar or ceramic plate backing, will be bypassed via high-density spatial piercing. The spearhead will penetrate the sternum, severing the aorta and spine."

Viona’s smile widened, her breath turning shallow with dark pleasure. "And his guards? The riflemen who will surround him?"

"Simultaneously, Hero Kenji will draw the blade at Point-Blank Holy Arc," Ayanokoji continued without a pause. "A thirty-meter conical mana wave will decapitate or bisect any personal security detail within our immediate perimeter before their triggers can complete mechanical travel. Simultaneously, Healer Miyuki will deploy Absolute Sanctuary Ward, creating a two-second omnidirectional physical shield to deflect any involuntary return fire from distant snipers or automated turrets."

"And if their metal ships open fire from the sea?"

"The time required for an offshore naval battery to process the visual anomaly, relay firing coordinates, and impact the quay is twelve seconds," Ayanokoji replied flatly. "In that twelve-second window, Her Divinity will utilize spatial teleportation to extract the strike team back behind the primary Aegis. The target will be deceased. The American command structure will be decapitated on the stone."

Viona let out a low, purring laugh that echoed through the damp stone vault.

"Magnificent," she whispered, stepping up to Ayanokoji and patting his cheek. "Utterly magnificent. They relied on your mind to predict our collapse, but they forgot that your mind belongs entirely to me."

She spun around, facing Belis, who stood by the armory entrance like a ghost.

"You see, Belis?" Viona declared, her voice triumphant. "There is no chance for failure. The calculation is absolute. The trap is sprung. Tomorrow, the great Supreme Commander comes to take his trophy... and he leaves in a bucket."

Belis bowed his head in the shadows, his hands shaking beneath his robes. He said nothing.

Outside, the sun sank beneath the dark ocean, casting long, bruised shadows over the silent carrier sitting five miles away.

The hours until noon began to tick away.