Chapter 1565: Strategy

"Did you see it, Your Majesty?" Fargo’s voice crackled through the phone, sharp enough to cut through the heavy silence.

Lucas pressed the speaker button without looking away from the screen. "Yes. Lory’s watching it too."

There’s a brief pause, before his voice return to it steady and professional tone, "What are your orders, My Lord?"

Lucas did not hesitate, she immediately give order, "Mobilize our forces immediately," he commanded, his tone calm but carrying unmistakable authority. "Prioritize deployment to allied nations. Dispatch medical units and certified healers alongside the primary contingents."

He folded his hands behind his back, already calculating the broader implications.

"Ensure full coordination with local command structures before any entry. Our presence must reinforce their authority, not undermine it."

A brief pause followed.

"And consult with Fred. I want a comprehensive projection of expenditures, for troop movement, humanitarian aid, logistical support, and long-term stabilization costs. We will act decisively, but not without strategy."

"Dam*... Fred’s going to make that face again," Fargo subconciously cursed under his breath, but he straightened at once, voice returning to crisp professionalism. "As you command, Your Majesty."

A second later, the line went dead.

Lory remained facing the screen, her expression getting darken and darken every minute.

The news showed smoke coiled through streets that no longer looked like streets. Cars lay overturned like broken toys, their frames twisted beyond recognition. Buildings stood half-open, their walls torn away, blackened and skeletal.

The asphalt was scarred with deep gouges, littered with splintered bark and hardened resin that clung like dried blood.

Sirens wailed endlessly. Medics moved through debris with frantic urgency. Some survivors sobbed openly, clutching each other as though the world might shatter again at any moment.

Others stood motionless, faces pale, eyes hollow, still unable to comprehend what had descended upon them. A child’s cry pierced through the broadcast.

The footage then shifted to another nation. It was all the same, different scale yet same devastation.

"They’re really burning the world just to drag us down," Lory muttered. The light from the screen flickered across her face, catching the anger simmering beneath.

Memories of the Dark Ages War came like waves crashing against the shore, fire raining from the sky, cities swallowed by flames, and the screaming... How could she ever forget those screams?

"I don’t want to sound pessimistic," Lory continued quietly, "but it took nearly an hour to handle a dozen Bael, even with B-13." She turned slightly toward him. "Luc... we need something stronger."

She was afraid. What if the next attack didn’t come in dozens, but in hundreds, just like during the Dark Age War?

"I know." Lucas’ gaze remained fixed on the screen, but his thoughts were elsewhere, calculating, dissecting, anticipating.

The broadcast shifted again.

A radiant glow bloomed across the rubble-strewn street. Then come the Saintess, who knows from where. Behind her, Salvo the Rova follows her like a loyal Knight.

Her hands shone with gentle light as she knelt among the injured. Paladins in polished armor formed a protective ring around her, finishing off any remaining Bael. Their timing was immaculate. Their arrival was a bit theatrical, nevertheless, they got the effect they want.

The crowd erupted in cheers, and some fell to their knees while clasping their hands in front of their chest. They wept in gratitude, chanting the Saintess’s name as if salvation itself had descended.

"They always arrive at just the right moment, don’t they?" Lory’s voice was cool, almost detached, but the sharpness beneath it was impossible to miss.

Lucas let out a quiet breath, his gaze fixed on the screen where holy light and polished armor filled the broadcast.

"Of course they do," he said at last, disgust shadowing his eyes. "It’s easy to be punctual when you’re the one who designed the stage."

The cheers of the crowd echoed faintly from the television, grateful, reverent, blind.

Lucas’s expression hardened. "It doesn’t matter what weapon we created, if we want to stop this, there’s only one way to do it," he continued, his voice lowering into something steel-edged and absolute, "Cutting out the roots."

Lory understood. One of the root causes of the problem was the S.A.I.N.T. organization, but simply ruining the Saintess’s reputation wasn’t enough; they had to go further. This time, they had to strike where it hurt most.

"So it’s happened? You want them to testify before the international court." It wasn’t a question, more a quiet acknowledgment.

She had heard the outline of this plan before, discussed in measured tones behind closed doors. But she had never expected it to be set in motion so soon.

Her gaze shifted from the screen to him, the sharp strategist fading into something gentler. "Are they ready?" she asked softly.

The healers they were referring to were the ones Lydia and Maddeline had rescued from the sacrificial ceremony.

"The doctors confirmed the substances have been fully purged from their systems," Lucas replied. "They’re stable now and have returned to normal life, well, as normal as it can be, though."

Lory pressed her lips into a thin line before speaking again. "And we’re going to ask them to walk back into the fire."

Though she knew it was for the greater good, she could not ignore the weight they were about to place upon those young shoulders.

"For starters, Maddeline, Lydia, and Alfred Hubert are fully prepared to formally condemn the S.A.I.N.T. organization before the international court," Lucas said, his tone measured, the faint curve of his smile carrying more resolve than warmth. "Jasmine Wu has also volunteered her testimony, and two additional healers have agreed to stand as witnesses."

He folded his hands in front of his chest, gaze steady.

"This is not a decision driven by emotion alone. Their statements will establish a pattern of systematic coercion, illegal experimentation, and ritual abuse. With corroborated accounts, medical records, and financial trails, we can shift this from rumor to prosecutable evidence."

His eyes hardened slightly.

"You must remember, this is not just about us. is about all of them. They’re doing it to dismantle the structure that harmed them, and to prevent more healers from being drawn into the White Rose under false promises."

"Yeah," Lory said worriedly. "If we don’t expose what the S.A.I.N.T. organization has done, more healers will gladly join them, not knowing the truth."

"So you don’t have to feel guilty," Lucas replied gently. "This is not just our war, it’s theirs too...."

Lory exhaled slowly. "Still... It’s going to be a harsh battle," then Lory looked at Lucas meaningfully, "...And dangerous."

The enemy would not allow such witnesses to breathe freely. Even within Herriond city, shadows could reach far, and no one knew this better than Lory and Lucas. 𝖋𝘳ℯ

"That’s why," he said quietly, finally turning away from the screen,

"I’ve already deployed our best agents to guard them and their families."

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Deep within a sea of emerald bamboo, where sunlight fractured into thin gold blades between swaying leaves, a river wound its way through stone and shadow. A small waterfall spilled over smooth rock, its silver stream falling into a pool so clear it mirrored the sky like polished glass. At the heart of the river stood a great boulder, ancient and unmoving.

And upon it, a man is sitting in lotus position. His robe draped around him like spilled ink, untouched by the flowing water below. His long black hair cascaded down his back, untill it’s silken strands reached the stone’s surface. His skin was pale, almost luminescent against the dark fabric, and his red lips became more stark and vivid.

The man’s eyes were close and he didn’t look breathing if one didn’t look closely. He was so still that one might think him carved from jade, a beautiful statue placed by the river’s edge.

But then the air suddenly changed.

All of a sudden, dark purple flame sparked into existence around him as if it were awakened. The fire circled his body like a whirlwind, it moves in rapid speed, it began to grow bigger and faster.

The flames spiraled higher, twisting like a storm given form. Heat surged outward, and the river began to hiss. Water around the boulder trembled, then boiled, thick mist erupting into the air with sharp sizzling cries.

The bamboo forest recoiled. Leaves shriveled. Stalks blackened. Fire leapt from trunk to trunk, devouring green into charcoal. The once-serene grove transformed into a burning halo around the meditating figure.

He did not move, as the flames intensified, wild and untamed, roaring upward until the forest itself seemed swallowed in violet inferno.

After that came an explosion, followed by a pulse of heat that erupted outward, sudden, yet absolute.

The bamboo forest shattered beneath it. Stalks splintered. Leaves turned to ash midair. The grass turns into blackened soil in a widening ring of ruin. The river screamed as water flashed into steam in an instant, vanishing in a white hiss and leaving behind a cracked, lifeless bed of stone.

Then comes silence.

The wildfire gradually subsided as if commanded by an unseen will. The raging inferno shrank, condensing, refining, until only a controlled ring of dark purple flame remained, orbiting the man’s body like a crown of power.

From that ring, a single wisp detached.

It hovered before him, then slowly took shape into a boy’s silhouette formed of fire, though the creature had no face; one could hear mischievousness in his voice.

"Congratulations, Master, on reaching the Saint level," the fiery figure said, his voice light and amused.

He tilted his head, lips curving into a playful tone. "How ironic. The word shares the same meaning as the ’Saint’ in Mistress’s world. Is that mean, a saint killing a Saint... that’s rather amusing, don’t you think, Master?"

The man on the boulder slowly opened his eyes, the deep, fathomless, like the abyss.

Zhao Li Xin looked at the fire that still coiled in his hands, and his brow furrowed; there was no triumph within his expression. No satisfaction, only faint disappointment.

"My progress is too slow," Zhao Li Xin said calmly. His voice carried no strain despite the devastation around him. "And my flame..."

His gaze shifted to the dark violet fire circling his fingers.

"It stuck in violet."

"I thought violet was your favorite color," the fire spirit teased lightly, flickering brighter. "You’re always saying how much you like Mistress’s eyes."

Zhao Li Xin’s lips curved downward, full of disdain. "You think this flame is worthy of comparison to my wife’s beautiful velvet eyes?" His tone turned almost offended.

"Her gaze is a violet midnight sky strewn with silver stars, deep enough to drown in, endless enough to lose oneself, and alive with a quiet, shimmering light that refuses to fade. How could a mere fire compare to a vast sky?"

The scorched forest still steamed around them, yet his voice carried something far more dangerous than fire...a complete bias.

The spirit froze mid-flicker.

"Um...O—kay."

It wisely chose not to continue. Experience had taught it that once its master began praising the mistress’s eyes, a single comment could turn into an epic poem, and it had no desire to listen to another one.