The corridor lights pulsed red with urgency, each rune along the ceiling flaring in a sequence that meant only one thing: high threat level. Halwen ran in stride beside Drecht, the white of their cloaks snapping behind them like flags in a storm.

  Boots thundered against polished stone. The facility, usually so silent and sterile, now throbbed with the unmistakable tempo of escalation. Emergency glyphs hummed along the walls, vibrating faintly beneath Halwen’s fingertips as they passed. Somewhere deeper in the tower, the pressure of mana bent unnaturally, as if the air itself braced for something it couldn’t hold back.

  Halwen’s voice was low, but steady. Red light spilled across his shoulders from the glyph lines pulsing along the corridor wall. “That daemon is evolving.”

  “Impossible, We ran the metrics twice.” Drecht said, “This one wasn’t due to peak for at least two more months. We already scheduled extermination next week, after the southern shift. This must be something else.”

  However the certainty in Halwen’s gaze didn’t falter. He’d seen enough anomalies to know when something was off, even if the system hadn’t caught up yet.“You saw its ambient mana contour this morning it was off by two points, it was still within range, so we dismissed it. But what if that shift wasn’t random? What if it changed because of external factors?”

  “Not inside a parameter, sure. But evolution? Come on, that would need at least twenty more points.”

  Seeing as Halwen didnt falter from the question make Drecht doubt his assumption. He had known Halwen for a long time. He called Halwen "master" for a reason; maybe Halwen saw something Drecht had missed. “Let’s say you're right. What caused it to spike to two points?

  “It’s emitting more mana into the surrounding area, Maybe it’s fighting something. Blanks, or a Wizard.”

  “No one in the Reich would risk going through Schattwald Forest. We know it’s suicide. It wouldn’t even work as a surprise push against the Imperium the risk is too high, too unpredictable,” Drecht retorted.

  “But the Imperium, on the other hand…” Drecht’s eyes darted away. He knew what the Imperium was like. “Damn crazy, sun-worshipping zealots. Irrational to the point of strategic incompetence. That still doesn’t explain how a twenty-point surge only happens when a daemon—”

  “It wiped an entire battalion,” Halwen said. “It used the mana to kill, that’s why we’re only seeing a two-point surplus, I suspect it ambushed them before they formed ranks, it’s a guess, But the signs match. Too much, maybe.”

  Drecht’s brow tightened. “A daemon wiping out an entire Imperium battalion? I know they’re incompetent, but come on. A single daemon pulling that off is nearly impossible. And smart enough to plan an ambush? That’s a stretch.”

  “There was a case last month daemon coordinating with mana beasts to lure out a patrol. Rare, but it happened. It’s plausible this one is the same type.” Halwen replied.

  Drecht’s face paled. He knew what that meant. Even a standard daemon evolving was classified as a catastrophe above regional, just shy of national alert. “Then I hope the Arkmarschall has a plan, because I don’t want to imagine what happens if a smart one evolves.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The corridor bent sharply, and they turned with it boots hammering down the final stretch of polished stone until a reinforced door loomed ahead. Arcane locks pulsed along its edges, sigils shifting from red to green as they approached.

  A muted hiss cut through the air.

  The reinforced slabs ahead didn’t swing they receded, parting by rune-bound intent, vanishing into the stone with unnerving precision.

  The corridor noise dulled. The pulse of red light faded behind them.

  And then they stepped inside.

  The strategy chamber beyond was unlike the sterile precision of the labs. It breathed tension and authority.

  Arched ceilings of blackened stone curved above, like the ribs of some ancient beast. Each rib was etched with mana channels that flickered faintly in sequence, echoing the urgency outside.

  Floating illumination crystals orbited above the central table.

  The air was heavy. Charged. It hummed with mana—thick and hot, like the pressure before a storm. Charts clung to lattice racks. The scent of scorched parchment and alchemical ink hung in the air.

  At the heart of it all stood Arkmarschall Leopold. Rigid. Unflinching. The red of the emergency runes painted lines of fire across his pale uniform, making him seem less like a man and more like a statue cast in command.

  He was more than the Arkmarschall. Leopold bore two mantles Herzog von Silbermark by blood, Graf von Einhartturm by duty. And Arkmarschall was the name the world gave to the man who wore both. One ruled from halls of marble, the other from walls of stone. And tonight, both stood here.

  Beside him stood General Berbaris, commander of the Silberschade Division, arms crossed in quiet readiness. Two other military advisors flanked him one clad in partial armor with spell-inscribed bracers, the other in the white uniform of Einhartturm’s military, its high collar marked by the ouroboros sigil.

  Around them, the war table pulsed with spell-light as new glyphs flickered into place. A sudden shimmer cracked the air above the table’s center, translucent projections flared to life, hovering midair in frames of mana. Command links.

  One image showed the Aschezug Division’s lead officer, scarred and tired but steady, speaking calmly as if he stood in the room.

  Another bore the crest of the Splittermarsch Division, an inhuman eye wreathed in glyphs before resolving into the division’s handler, voice taut with containment data.

  Then came the Oberkreis Commander, eyes shadowed beneath a tactical hood, his voice terse as he recited spell-loads.

  A fourth projection flickered to life: the serpent-and-blade crest of Silberschade. It resolved into Fort Graustahl’s field officer, wind snapping at his ash-grey cloak.

  Last was the youngest-looking, a sharp-eyed mage, the Unterkreis commander: helmet tucked under one arm, reporting readiness with crisp precision.

  And below them all, a final screen: the levy unit coordinator, coat marked with dust and ink, standing in the narrow hall of Einhartturm’s barracks. He saluted once, firm and silent.

  Each figure hovered in a fixed arc around the table, their ethereal presence wrapped in faint echoing mana threads, like voices carried through stretched runes across distance. This was Einhartturm. And every division was watching.

  Leopold didn’t waste time with greetings. He stepped forward, the edge of his coat brushing the stone, and spoke with the clipped certainty of someone used to being heard.

  “A daemon is evolving.” Leopold’s voice landed like steel. “It wasn’t supposed to happen for another two months. But it’s happening now, I don’t care how. I care that it did.”

  See you in the next chapter!