Thirty men stood rigidly before Corvus, emerging from the shadows. Zarqa had quietly taken his place among them. All were resolute, alert, and warrior-spirited, but their physiques bore no resemblance to typical Rhazgord fighters. They lacked broad shoulders or bulging arms. Unlike the warriors he’d observed for years, these men were shorter, leaner, and more agile. Yet Corvus could tell at a glance their bodies served a different purpose—honed not for brute strength but for speed and cunning. Every movement betrayed years of disciplined training.

  Rhazgord warriors naturally thrived on raw power and physical dominance to claim victory on battlefields. But these men were different. They had been trained to walk in shadows, move undetected, and kill silently when necessary. While Rhazgord’s hulking warriors crushed enemies with their intimidating presence, these men chose invisibility. They were molded for intelligence, assassination, and a kind of power Rhazgord had never openly acknowledged.

  Yet something unsettled Corvus. None of these men looked familiar. When Darkan began introducing the warriors one by one, his suspicion deepened. None hailed from major tribes. All had been taken under Tiamat’s wing as children, raised in secrecy. If so, why had Corvus never seen them in Rhazgord’s training grounds or among the Tiamats’ elite forces?

  Only Zarqa was an exception. He’d fought shoulder-to-shoulder with Corvus for years. But the others? Their paths had never crossed, even in the fiercest battles. So who were these men, and how long had they been part of this covert operation?

  As Corvus narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing each face, the biggest question burning in his mind concerned Lightstone energy. Rhazgord’s power peaked through the Lightstone. Did these men wield it? For a few seconds, he focused deeply, trying to sense the energy around him. But he detected nothing—no ripple of light. Among the warriors filling the room, only Zarqa emitted the familiar pulse of Lightstone energy.

  Frowning, Corvus growled in a low voice:

  “Does anyone here use the Lightstone?”

  The question echoed through the chamber, but not a single warrior’s expression flickered. The silence grew oppressive. Corvus’s eyes glinted in the dark, impatient for an answer.

  When Darkan’s voice finally rang out, Corvus fixed his gaze on him intently:

  “No, my lord. As you know, suppressing Lightstone energy is difficult. It draws attention. For our work, it would hinder more than help—so we do not use it.”

  Darkan’s words were calm but carried a hidden confidence. Corvus immediately recognized him as the highest authority here. He wasn’t old, but the lines on his face betrayed years of experience and a life steeped in shadows. Yet what truly caught Corvus’s attention was the threat Darkan radiated.

  Corvus had faced death countless times on battlefields. He’d lost track of the moments he’d felt its breath on his neck. But now, standing before someone without Lightstone power who still emanated danger set off alarms deep in his mind. His instincts warned that this man could be lethal even to him, yet his eyes argued otherwise. Darkan appeared strong but ordinary.

  At that moment, the energy around Corvus shifted abruptly. His Lightstone power dimmed like a flickering flame, its faint glow vanishing from the room. All the warriors—even Zarqa—stared at him in shock. Darkan’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly, muscles tensing. Silence engulfed the chamber.

  But the moment didn’t last. A few seconds later, Corvus’s energy resurged, waves of light radiating anew. His eyes bore slight fatigue, but a faint smile tugged at his lips.

  Darkan stepped forward without hesitation, his voice vibrating with the thrill of a mystery they’d agonized over for years:

  “My lord… may I ask how you did that?”

  His gaze sharpened as he studied Corvus. For years, they’d wrestled with this problem. Lightstone energy granted immense power, but its greatest weakness was the near-impossibility of concealing its presence. What Corvus had just done—if replicable—could revolutionize their shadow operatives.

  Corvus tilted his head slightly, locking eyes with Darkan. His voice was icy and unyielding:

  “The Black-Masked Ones used Lightstone energy but suppressed it to a degree. Though I can’t fully mimic their technique or sustain it while moving, I’ve… deciphered parts of how they did it.”

  Darkan’s eyes widened. The Black-Masked Ones. He’d heard their name, of course. But to unravel their methods, to analyze their abilities? Astonishing. Corvus and the Black-Masked Ones had clashed to the death on battlefields. No prisoners had been taken, no secrets seized. This meant Corvus had deduced their technique through observation alone.

  Corvus’s genius was legendary in Rhazgord, but this was something else entirely. A transcendent skill.

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  Corvus continued, his gaze razor-sharp:

  “I haven’t had time to perfect it, but I’ll refine it soon. Then I’ll teach you.”

  The room’s atmosphere shifted instantly. Until now, a few warriors had doubted Corvus’s competence. He was young, and for many, respect for the Tiamat name outweighed faith in his abilities. But now… now all doubt had evaporated.

  Corvus was the apex predator in this room. And everyone knew it.

  But another problem lingered. Corvus’s brow furrowed faintly. The thirty men before him were woefully insufficient. A quiet but sharp unease darkened his expression.

  “Is this all of you?”

  His tone was steady, but the dissatisfaction beneath was unmistakable. The warriors exchanged glances. Most dared not speak, but Darkan sensed Corvus’s displeasure instantly. He’d anticipated this.

  Bowing slightly, Darkan explained:

  “Twelve are currently on missions. Twenty are dispersed across Rhazgord’s other cities. In total, we number sixty-three, my lord.”

  His voice betrayed no tremor, but he knew Corvus wouldn’t be satisfied. After a brief pause, he added:

  “We monitor potential recruits. Another twenty are in training.”

  Yet Corvus’s gaze remained unchanged. His discontent lingered like shadows on his face.

  Sixty-three. This number couldn’t even monitor the seven tribes in Sorbaj. But Corvus’s vision was far grander. He wanted an intelligence network spanning not just Rhazgord but the entire continent. He understood the value of knowledge better than anyone. A mighty army meant little without sharp intelligence. If he could shroud his enemies in darkness and predict their moves, victory could be claimed before battle even began. But this? Sixty-three agents to blanket a continent? The thought deepened his unease.

  He had nothing left to discuss with these warriors. Darkan could provide all necessary details. Corvus turned his piercing gaze to the group, his voice cutting through the air with authoritarian edge:

  “Dismissed.”

  The men began to withdraw without a moment’s hesitation. As they left, their faces bore an inscrutable mix of emotions—admiration, fear, or perhaps the shame of failing to meet Corvus’s expectations? Even he couldn’t quite decipher it. But for now, it didn’t matter.

  As the warriors filed out, Corvus turned to Darkan.

  “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”

  Darkan answered without hesitation:

  “Let me take you to your quarters.”

  Corvus nodded faintly and followed. When the door creaked open, only one thought echoed in his mind: This handful of agents will not be enough.

  The room was not the opulent chamber of a leader. Its walls were bare and cold, shadows trembling restlessly in the dim light. Every detail betrayed its rarity of use—sparsely furnished with an old desk, chairs, and a few cabinets tucked into corners. This was a place for business, nothing more.

  Corvus strode in with heavy steps, while Darkan closed the door silently and stood guard. Corvus settled into a chair, but Darkan remained standing—until Corvus raised his hand, not as a commander chastising a subordinate, but as a leader addressing an equal.

  “Sit.”

  Darkan paused briefly. Though he barely knew Corvus, he’d earned his respect. Standing like a mere soldier would be pointless posturing. He sat without protest.

  After a weighted silence, Corvus spoke. His voice was sharp, like steel carving stone:

  “I don’t know what you’ve heard of me, Darkan, but I’ll speak plainly. I came here through a deal with the Sanguinar. My task is to purge enemy spies from our lands and obliterate anything threatening Tiamat supremacy. In return, do you know what I received? You.”

  Darkan listened unblinking. Corvus’s words thickened the air.

  “From this moment, you are tools in service to my goals. Understood?”

  Darkan dipped his head slightly. He’d anticipated this. For years, he’d observed Corvus—not just through Zarqa, but other sources. He knew Corvus sought to reshape Rhazgord. He even knew Rasur had sworn him loyalty. Darkan understood Corvus’s ambitions as well as the man himself.

  But Corvus demanded more than silent compliance.

  “To serve me and fulfill my mission, there are things I must know.”

  What followed was a lengthy exchange. Corvus questioned; Darkan divulged everything.

  The first revelation: this unit had no official name. It existed in Rhazgord’s shadows, known only to a select few. Most doubted its very existence. Even tribal leaders who suspected its presence remained blind to its workings.

  Yet one truth stood clear: these were no ordinary warriors. Few in number, their skills were extraordinary. Despite lacking Lightstone energy, each had undergone elite training. They melted into shadows, moved without trace. Deploying them on open battlefields would be a mistake—but in the realm of intelligence, they were Rhazgord’s deadliest weapon.

  Moreover, they were linguistic masters. They could read, write, and speak Adlerian fluently. Their talents extended to flawless report-writing, deciphering enemy correspondence, and cartography.

  Corvus absorbed every detail. Their numbers were insufficient, but their potential was immense. If he could harness this shadow army, he could dominate the battlefield in an entirely new way.

  But time was slipping away. The Tiamat Guards were not limited to these covert operatives. There were also the visible warriors—those who wore the Tiamat crest openly. Corvus needed to fully grasp the scope of his new authority.

  Finally, he shattered the silence with a command:

  “Compile a report of all critical incidents by tomorrow.”

  A pause, then he added:

  “And I must meet the real Tiamat Guards. Summon Zarqa to guide me.”

  Darkan bowed wordlessly and exited. As Corvus watched him leave, his mind already overflowed with plans.

  Moments later, Zarqa appeared at the door. When he entered with resolute strides, Corvus turned to him.

  “Let’s go. I want to see what the true Tiamat Guards look like.”