"So, what exactly is this death zone?" Masen asked, his thick brows drawn into a skeptical arch.
"A place that causes death," Kleber muttered dryly.
Without missing a beat, Logos said, "Lucy, increase Kleber's salary."
"Thank you, my lord," Kleber replied, leaning back with a smug grin.
"And tell him to keep silent," Logos added, eyes still on the map.
The grin dropped. "Figures."
Bal snorted, but the amusement faded quickly. He leaned forward, his heavy frame casting a shadow across the table. "All jokes aside, Logos, what exactly is this death zone? You can't just throw words around and expect us to nod. Are you serious about building something that can hold an entire horde at bay? How does one even begin this?"
The boy did not look up. His black hair hung loosely over his eyes as he set down carved wooden tokens on the spread-out map. "As we all know, the horde will take four months to arrive from the west side." He placed an insect-shaped piece there.
Masen's lip curled. "Charming."
"That's only the marker," Logos said evenly. "Now, observe."
Piece by piece, he set down more tokens—blocks of wood roughly hewn into cubes and wedges. To an untrained eye they seemed like children's toys. But to those gathered, the pattern was unmistakable.
"First," Logos began, his voice measured, "the earth must be carved open. Trenches—shallow enough that Crawlers don't notice the difference, zig-zagged so that no man must overextend his aim. Behind those, deep ditches to channel the horde's path, and sump pits filled with oil and tar, waiting for ignition by rune-flares. Second, we raise temporary forts from prefabricated timber and stone. Overlapping fields of fire—no blind spots, no dead ground. Each trench feeds fire into the next. Third, the citadel. A hollow point where we position the heavy guns, elevated above. Every step forward exacts blood. Every movement punished. By the time they realize, retreat will be impossible."
The table fell silent. The map, once a plain sketch of their barony's border, had become a killing ground under Logos' hands.
Bal let out a low whistle. "You're talking about turning the battlefield itself into a weapon."
"Precisely."
Masen rubbed his beard, studying the crude lines. "Ambitious. But do you truly believe it will work? The Crawlers are endless. You could kill a hundred, a thousand, and the tide will still come."
Logos finally looked up. His dark pupils gleamed with razor focus. "We don't need to kill them all. We only need to break their momentum. Contain them. Bleed them long enough for the imperial knights to arrive. If we scatter their charge, if we show discipline where Carrel's men broke, we will not only survive—we will prove this house capable."
His words landed with weight. But Lucy was not convinced. Arms folded, she studied him carefully.
"And what about the other half of the plan?" she asked.
Logos tilted his head. "Pardon?"
"The way you're explaining this," Lucy said, narrowing her eyes, "it sounds as though you've accounted for the battlefield. Trenches, forts, kill zones—yes, fine. But you've overlooked something, haven't you?"
"Are you talking about the refugees?" Logos asked. "If so, then don't worry. They will be the ones who build this."
The room stiffened.
"You would use them for forced labor?" Desax's voice was sharp, his usual calm cracking.
"Did you expect me to keep them here for free?" Logos replied coolly. "They've come here seeking safety. If we shelter them, they must contribute. Food, shelter, protection—these are costs. If they cannot pay with coin, then they will pay with labor."
Masen's jaw tightened. "They're starving farmers, Logos. Broken men and women who fled for their lives. And you would put shovels in their hands?"
"I mean, it makes sense, doesn't it?" Kleber said, shrugging.
"Yes," Logos said simply. "Shovels, picks, carts. Nothing more. I do not need them to fight—I need them to dig. To haul timber. To carry oil casks. These are tasks they can do, and tasks we cannot afford to waste soldiers on."
Bal gave a dry chuckle, though there was no mirth in it. "Pragmatic to the bone. Some might call it cruel."
"It would have been cruel if we fed them poison before lining them up on the battlefield instead of burning our precious supplies," Logos said coldly. His lips curved in the faintest mockery of a smile. "Actually, perhaps we should do that. It sounds cheaper."
Lucy's hand shot out, flicking his forehead with a sharp snap. "Bad child."
He blinked, more startled than pained.
"You don't joke like that," she said, her tone low, dangerous. "Not in front of men who already think you're heartless. You may have the mind for war, Logos, but you are still human. Don't forget it."
Logos rubbed his forehead, cheeks faintly red. He didn't apologize, but his gaze dipped toward the map again, shoulders tense.
Desax exhaled slowly, leaning back. "Still… his logic is sound. If we want this death zone built in four months, we'll need every hand. Refugees, farmers, anyone who can lift a tool. But…" His eyes narrowed at Logos. "You will treat them as laborers, not slaves. They dig, but they eat. They work, but they rest. Otherwise, you'll have more problems than Crawlers."
"Agreed," Masen said firmly. "I'll oversee it myself."
Bal nodded. "And I'll make sure the digging crews have protection. The horde isn't the only threat—bandits circle like flies when there's weakness."
Kleber raised a hand lazily. "I'll… supervise from the shade."
"Silence," Logos muttered.
Lucy pressed her hand against the boy's shoulder, grounding him before his sharp tongue sparked again. Her voice was softer now, almost maternal. "You're building more than trenches, Logos. You're building the trust of everyone who will bleed with you. Remember that."
For a moment, the boy didn't answer. His black eyes stared at the crude battlefield he had imagined, but behind them something else stirred—doubt, fear, resolve tangled together.
Finally, he said, "Very well. Laborers, not slaves. But they must understand—their survival depends on this wall of earth and fire. If they do not build, they die. That is the only truth that matters."
The room fell into silence once more. Heavy, but resolute.
The death zone had been named. Now, it had to be carved from the earth.