"Well," Sous said quietly, his voice calm but edged with command. "I am waiting."
The tent hushed. Every gaze fixed on Desax. Even the braziers seemed to burn lower, as though the air itself was listening.
Desax straightened. He knew this moment would brand itself into memory—if he faltered, Laos's name would be mocked here for years, maybe generations.
"Yes," he said clearly. "Yes, he makes even children carry loads. And yes, he eats Crawlers."
The words struck like thrown stones. Gasps echoed through the chamber. A few knights stiffened, one squire paled.
Desax leaned closer to Sous, the firelight glinting in his eyes. "But we haven't lost anyone. Our walls still stand. Our cannons still fire. Tell me—how many other lords have accomplished this?"
Silence spread, thick as tar. The brazier flames cracked, echoing in the stillness. Not one of the Angelus knights dared answer.
Finally, Sous spoke. "So it is true."
"It is necessary," Desax corrected sharply.
"Necessary." Sous repeated the word like a taste he found bitter. "Does that necessity include forcing desperate people to obey through fear? Shooting them at the slightest flinch of weakness?"
"That part," Desax said, his voice steady though his stomach tightened, "is only half true."
Sous's golden brows lifted faintly. "Half?"
"The people obey, yes. But it is not fear of our lord that drives them. It is fear of the Crawlers. The constant flood of refugees brings endless tales of villages lost, kin devoured, children snatched from cradles. When terror presses in from every side, a command, any command, feels like salvation."
"And yet," Sous said slowly, "I have also heard that Baron Laos's hand is never far from the trigger. That a man who falters once is never given the chance to falter again. That mercy has no place in your walls."
Desax's jaw clenched. He forced his words out like steel. "Lies. He keeps a revolver at his side, yes—but he has never shot anyone."
"Then what of the rumors?" one of the knights demanded, stepping forward, his hand on his sword hilt. His polished armor gleamed in the firelight, but his voice wavered with anger.
"He is scary," Desax said.
The knight blinked. "What?"
"He is scary," Desax repeated, louder this time. His eyes swept across the assembly, meeting the gaze of every knight, squire, and attendant who stared at him with disbelief. "Please, my lord. For my dignity, don't repeat this outside this tent."
His throat tightened, but he forced the words out.
"He looks… haunting. When you stand before him, when he fixes his eyes on you, it is like standing at the edge of a pit you can't see the bottom of. He speaks little. He shouts rarely. But when he does speak—when he gives a command—it is with a weight that feels… inevitable. As though he already knows the end of things. As though he sees the future and simply describes the steps to reach it."
The words spilled from him with an almost feverish conviction. "That is why we obey. Not because of a gun, not because of a lash. But because when he speaks, you believe—no, you know—that you will live to eat the Crawlers… not the other way around."
The pavilion was deathly quiet.
Sous's knights exchanged glances. Some frowned in distaste, others looked unsettled, and a few—even against their will—seemed almost moved. One squire's lips trembled, as if he could imagine the shadow Desax described. Even the guards along the walls shifted faintly, as though the envoy's words pressed against them too.
Sous himself did not move. His pale hair caught the brazier's glow, his young face serene, unreadable. The incense curled in slow ribbons around him, making him seem less like a boy and more like an icon cast in smoke and light.
"You speak," Sous said at last, "as though he is more than a man."
"In Laos," Desax answered simply, "he is."
The knight who had spoken earlier bristled, stepping forward again. "You dare elevate a baron to such heights? Above mercy? Above law?"
Desax turned on him, his voice ringing like a whip. "Above death."
The words cracked through the chamber. A hush fell again, thicker than before. Even Sous's expression flickered—just a fraction, but enough that Desax caught it.
"We do not have the endless resources or manpower your house commands," Desax said, his voice raw with defiance. "We cannot afford to lose. Not once. In Laos, hesitation is death. Compassion without calculation is death. He has carved a place where even death itself hesitates to enter. If you call that fear, then so be it. But it is fear that keeps us alive."
Sous leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable once more. His knights shifted uneasily. A few looked at Desax with thinly veiled hostility, but more of them looked troubled—gnawed at by the cracks Desax's words had driven into their certainty.
"You have given me much to think on," Sous said finally, his voice carrying across the pavilion. "And perhaps more than you realize." He rose, the crimson of his armor glimmering. "You may tell your master this: I will not dismiss him as rumor. Nor will I dismiss the strength that fear can build. But know this also. Between law and death, Baron Laos may have chosen death. I will always choose law. Remember that when you return."
His words landed with the weight of a vow.
Desax inclined his head, but did not bow. His hands trembled faintly behind his back, though his face was stone.
"But my lord," he said, producing the scroll from his satchel, "what of this message?"
Sous's gaze flicked to the parchment. For a moment his expression softened—though not in kindness, but in calculation.
"Leave it here," he said. "Tonight, you are our guests."
Desax felt the release of tension ripple through his men behind him. "Thank you, my lord." He bowed, and his soldiers followed suit.
As they were led away to their quarters, Desax cast one last glance back.
Sous had already turned away, standing before the map table, his hand resting on a marker shaped like a lion. His knights clustered close, whispering among themselves, their eyes darting toward Desax with a mixture of suspicion and unease.
And in that moment, Desax realized something chilling.
Sous had not dismissed Logos as a monster.
Sous had measured him as a rival.