When dusk fell, Grey Rock Castle had not yet been torn open by artillery fire.

Outside the city wall, the Red Tide Legion’s vehicle phalanx had already fully deployed.

Steel lined up in a row, engines idling at the lowest speed, a low rumble rolling along the ground like thunder pressing down on the chest.

They didn’t advance quickly, only switched on the searchlights simultaneously.

The cold white beams swept over the city walls, moats, and arrow towers, finally coming to a calculated stop on the towering castle; this deliberate pause was more torturous than any siege.

Grey Rock Castle plunged into dead silence; the soldiers stayed at their posts, but no one knew what they were waiting for.

Attack delayed, negotiations unseen, even death itself had been postponed.

Kael Remont stood on the tower balcony, his eyes bloodshot, fingernails digging into his flesh.

The wind crept into his ears, gradually changing tune, like a whisper at the back of his head.

"Kael." The voice was calm and collected, as if it had long been standing behind him, "I can see your every move."

Kael whipped around, the balcony empty, only the fractured outline of the castle sliced by searchlights.

This auditory hallucination had begun after the defeat at Blackstone Canyon.

It would come at night, and when he closed his eyes.

Kael staggered into the council chamber.

The heavy oak door closed behind him, letting out a muffled echo.

That sound was stretched long in the empty hall, like a misplaced funeral toll.

The long table was filled with people.

The nobility, commanders, and quartermasters of Gray Rock Province were all present.

Candles were arranged in two rows, the flames wobbling slightly, casting every face in a waxy pallor of fatigue.

Commander Baron stood near the head of the table, his forehead slick with sweat, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

This was an instinctive reaction to tension, guarding against the siege horn that could sound at any moment from outside.

Some nobility murmured in prayer.

Some officers stared at the table, as if silently calculating how much longer they could hold out, whether they could last until the Duke returned.

This was reality, but Kael could no longer discern it.

In his perception, the world had completely distorted.

The dim candlelight stretched everyone’s shadows long and thin, crookedly crawling over the stone walls like a pack of snarling beasts.

In his eyes, there were no colleagues or subjects.

Every face was a spy planted by the Red Tide.

Every subtle movement was a signal preparing to strike.

Commander Baron’s hand on the hilt was, in his eyes, no longer out of tension, but a stance ready to draw.

The twitch at the corner of that baron’s mouth in the corner, just a twitch, transformed into a sinister smile in his view.

The murmured prayers were no longer pleas to God, but codes for mutual confirmation.

He heard it, not with his ears, but directly in his mind.

"Tie him up..."

"Louis only wants his head..."

"Tonight... now..."

The voices layered upon one another, as if all speaking simultaneously inside his skull.

Kael began to lose control of his breathing, fringes of fine dark shadow appeared at the edges of his vision.

Traitors.

They were all traitors.

He stood in the midst of a wolf pack.

Commander Baron was the first to notice something was wrong.

The old general, who had fought alongside Duke Remont for thirty years, saw Kael’s face was unnaturally pale, his gaze unfocused, pupils constricting uncontrollably.

He hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward.

"Young Master." His voice deliberately low, with a hint of fatigued rasp, "You don’t look well, perhaps we should..."

Before he finished speaking, in Kael’s ears, the words had already turned into something else.

"You want to kill me?!" Kael suddenly looked up, emitting a shriek almost inhuman, "Dream on!!"

He didn’t even think, his hand had already moved first.

The longsword drawn, the gray fighting energy tracing a chilling arc in the candlelight.

"Thud." The sound wasn’t loud, but clear enough to chill.

The blade pierced through Commander Baron’s chest, passing completely through.

The stalwart old general stood frozen.

He looked down at the rapidly spreading bloodstain on his chest, then slowly raised his head to look at Kael.

There was no anger in his eyes, only confusion.

"Young..." Blood foamed from his mouth, "Master..."

He couldn’t finish his words, Commander Baron collapsed backward, striking the ground heavily.

The council chamber erupted in chaos.

Someone accidentally knocked over a chair, others staggered back into their companions, a goblet crashed to the floor, wine spilling along the stone seams.

Several nobles instinctively backed against the walls, not daring even to lift their heads, as if another glance would bring calamity.

But in Kael’s eyes, the scene completely transformed.

The retreat wasn’t fear, but a coordinated dispersion.

The overturned chairs weren’t accidents, but clearing an attack path.

The crisscrossing figures were sealing his escape route.

Kael fiercely withdrew his blood-stained longsword, its tip dragging along the ground, producing a screeching friction, the dark red bloodstain lengthening.

"Don’t come any closer!" he screamed, his voice sharp and distorted, like a beast cornered, "I see you all!"

His gaze darted among the faces, rapid and chaotic, as if counting enemies.

"You’re all Red Tide people!"

In Kael’s understanding, this wasn’t sudden madness, but the finally confirmed truth.

The failure at Meat Gorge was not a coincidence.

The granary precisely blown up, detonation points cut off early, every step of his plan seemingly pre-read; these weren’t things explainable by superior tactics.

Even earlier, the Red Tide had hovered like a ghost on the edges of Gray Rock Province.