The isolation Kaelen had enforced during his cultivation was a fragile but necessary shield.
In the week following the Harpy-Fiend attack, the ruin of Stonehaven had become his crucible. Captain Varrick, satisfied that the prince was a dangerous eccentric rather than merely a whimpering noble, maintained the perimeter, enforcing the "no disturbance" rule with zealous efficiency. Fear, Kaelen knew, was a far more reliable form of loyalty than simple respect.
During the perpetual twilight of the northern days, Kaelen focused his energy on two fronts: the internal agony of Draconic Blood Magic cultivation and the external analysis of the garrison.
He had achieved Rank 2 during the first week, a victory bought at the price of constant physical distress. Now, in the final days before Lady Seraphina's arrival, his focus shifted to sustaining that nascent strength while simultaneously managing his resources. His skin was perpetually cold and clammy, his stomach rejected most of the meager, dry rations Varrick sent up, and his sleep was haunted by the psychic strain of carving new pathways through calcified blood. He was actively destroying Alaric's body to create Kaelen's weapon, and the body protested with every ragged breath.
But Kaelen was focused now on his resources. Fourteen men and the Captain were not an army, but they were a necessary foundation. He needed eyes and hands outside the tower, individuals who owed nothing to the Empress and everything to their own survival. True loyalty was a slow currency; he needed immediate, transactional compliance.
He spent hours examining the paperwork Varrick had delivered: inventory lists, deployment logs, and, most importantly, the skeletal personnel files. These records were thin, meant only to justify payroll, but Kaelen didn't need detail. He had Foresight.
His foresight was not perfect prophecy. It was the ability of the Arch-Mage to access the massive web of political, military, and legal knowledge he had accumulated over a lifetime, synthesizing it with the sparse information available and predicting the most probable outcome. He could look at a name, cross-reference the date of their posting and their rank, and immediately calculate the precise financial or familial pressure point that had led them to this miserable outpost.
He narrowed the list down to three: the man in charge, and two others whose disgrace offered perfect leverage.
The first was Captain Varrick himself. A former major demoted for a tactical retreat that saved thousands of lives but failed to secure an irrelevant, politically motivated objective. His records hid a deeper vulnerability: the captain knew Stonehaven was utterly unsustainable, and if a true crisis hit, he would be politically blamed for its collapse. His motivation was the desire to competently execute his duty and avoid disgrace. He was the garrison's natural strategist.
The second was Sergeant Jarek. Posted five years ago. Age fifty-two. Highly decorated but demoted from the capital guard. The records were deliberately vague, citing "insubordination." Kaelen's foresight, however, showed the truth: Jarek had refused to participate in a politically motivated slaughter of civilians orchestrated by a young, ambitious Lord Elam, years before the Arch-Mage's own betrayal. The punishment had been severe: loss of his land grants, denial of his veteran pension, and exile to the farthest reach of the Empire. Jarek was a man of fierce, if misplaced, integrity, driven by a deep, unyielding resentment toward the Imperial elite. His price was not money; it was justice and security for his forced retirement.
The third was Private Torvin. Young, only twenty-two, and posted just six months ago. His file cited a vague "debt of honor." The deeper truth, revealed in the Arch-Mage's vast memory of capital gossip, was that Torvin's family, minor landholders, had been ruined by a manipulated loan scheme tied to Prince Darius's illicit gambling debts. Torvin had taken the exile to protect his younger sister from being sold into debt servitude. His motivation was pure, desperate protection, a weakness Kaelen could exploit with surgical precision.
All three men were disgraced, and all were highly skilled: Varrick, a master tactician, Jarek, a decorated soldier, and Torvin a nimble, quick scout. Each was trapped by the same system that had betrayed Kaelen.
Kaelen decided to recruit the commander first. He summoned Captain Varrick immediately.
Varrick stood stiffly, awaiting orders. Kaelen bypassed all pleasantries and pointed to the massive, unrepaired northern wall breach.
"Captain. The Empress views this ruin as disposable. If the northern wall is breached in the next six months, the political report will state that Captain Varrick's incompetence led to the loss of Stonehaven, regardless of the lack of supplies you were afforded."
Varrick's jaw tightened, recognizing the cold, political reality Kaelen was describing. "I am aware of my political vulnerability, Your Highness."
"Then be aware of your tactical vulnerability," Kaelen countered. "You lack intelligence, supplies, and strategic depth. I can provide the first and acquire the second. I have already demonstrated combat competence against a Tier 4 predator without any visible magic. I will operate this outpost in secret, using methods the Empress would condemn. You will maintain command in name, but you will execute my strategic and tactical orders without question. In exchange, you will receive my complete, documented guarantee that if Stonehaven holds, the entire report on its success, and your successful command, will be transmitted to the capital immediately. This is your path to redemption, not disgrace."
Varrick understood the exchange perfectly: the Prince was offering a lifeline against political execution in exchange for a temporary, total dictatorship.
"I am a soldier, Your Highness. I value competent orders over politics," Varrick stated, giving a reluctant but firm nod. "I serve. What do you require first?"
"I require two individuals for a private detail, under the pretense of private counseling," Kaelen replied. "Sergeant Jarek, followed precisely one hour later by Private Torvin. They are to report to my chamber unarmed. Inform them that the matter relates directly to their immediate future and the survival of the Empress's interests, however remote."
Varrick merely nodded, his curiosity now a well-managed fear. He did not ask questions.
Jarek arrived first. He was tall, broad, and his movements were stiff with old wounds and cynicism. He stood at attention, watching Kaelen with heavy suspicion.
"Sergeant Jarek," Kaelen began, his voice dry and distant. He did not ask the man to relax. "You were exiled here because you refused a command that violated the Imperial Code of Conduct regarding non-combatants in the Year 784."
Jarek's jaw tightened. He had obviously prepared a lie about insubordination, and the Prince had dismissed it instantly. "My records state I was insubordinate, Your Highness."
"Your records lie," Kaelen countered, leaning forward slightly, the only sign of his engagement. "You were penalized the title to your ancestral lands in the Western March, and your military pension fund was rerouted to the coffers of Lord Elam's estate. A cruel and illegal punishment for upholding the law."
Jarek stared, his cold blue eyes finally widening in shock. This was not public knowledge; this information was buried under seven layers of bureaucratic deception in the capital's highest offices.
"You have no proof of that, Your Highness," Jarek whispered, his composure breaking.
"I have the location of the falsified documents, the names of the three witnesses who signed them, and the Imperial legal precedent that allows for the appeal," Kaelen stated calmly, listing the details with the precision of a scholar reciting verse. "This information is worthless here. But if you were suddenly to find yourself back in the capital with an influential patron—say, a powerful Duchess with Northern backing—you could reclaim what is yours. Not only your land, but your full rank and pension, and Lord Elam would be forced to pay a hefty fine for fraud."
Kaelen allowed a pause, letting the full scope of the leverage settle. He was offering Jarek the dignity and security he had been systematically denied for five years.
"What is the price for this information, Prince?" Jarek asked, his voice rough.
"The price is two years of absolute, unquestioning loyalty to me, regardless of the risk or the ethical ambiguity of the mission," Kaelen replied. "You will serve as my quartermaster and logistics master. You will organize this garrison, ensure my private supply lines are secure, and never once speak of the true reason for my presence here. You will not love me, and you do not need to respect me. You simply need to recognize that my continued survival is your only path to justice."
Jarek stood silently for a long moment, weighing his life in exile against the terrifying offer. "Done, Your Highness. I am yours to command." The sergeant finally offered a crisp, professional salute.
Kaelen dismissed him and immediately slumped back against the stone, the effort of maintaining his focus having drained his energy reserves. He quickly swallowed a cup of ice water, trying to mask the tremors starting in his hands.
Precisely one hour later, Private Torvin arrived. He was thin, nervous, and carried the anxiety of a man who constantly feared bad news from home.
Kaelen did not discuss politics. He went straight to the heart of the matter.
"Private Torvin. Your service here has been satisfactory. You are carrying a crushing debt incurred by your father, and you were forced to accept this exile to prevent the seizure of your family's land and the debt bondage of your sister, Lyra."
Torvin flinched violently at the sound of his sister's name. "That is irrelevant, Your Highness. My debt is my own."
"A debt of 1,200 Imperial gold to the broker Mathis, who is a front for Prince Darius's gambling ring," Kaelen corrected, again using knowledge that was impossible for the Prince Alaric to possess. "The debt is manipulated; the interest rate is illegal under the new Imperial statutes of the Year 798, a statute Darius successfully bribed the courts to ignore."
Kaelen paused. Torvin was shaking, his fear replacing his suspicion.
"Your sister is currently being courted by a merchant in the capital who knows of the debt and intends to use it to gain leverage over her upon marriage. Your mother is sick with worry. You are wasting your time here."
The emotional precision was devastating. Kaelen watched the young man's face crumble.
"You want me to report on Darius? I won't betray my Emperor's son."
"I do not require treason, Private. I require expertise," Kaelen stated. "I need a dedicated scout, someone who can run communications through the hostile terrain without detection. You are the fastest man in this garrison, and your familial distress gives you a powerful motivation to remain unnoticed. You will serve as my private courier and intelligence officer."
Kaelen presented a small, intricately carved wooden box. It contained exactly 1,200 Imperial gold coins, gleaming and untouched.
"This gold is not a bribe. It is payment for services rendered in advance," Kaelen explained, pushing the box across the cold stone floor. "You will give this to Jarek. He is to use his network to secure its delivery to your mother with an anonymous note stating the debt has been paid in full and the paperwork sealed. Your sister is safe."
Torvin stared at the gold, tears welling in his eyes… tears not of greed, but relief. The impossible had just been solved by the most despised man in the Empire.
"What if you fail, Prince? What if the Empress has you executed?"
"Then the gold is still yours, and you are free," Kaelen replied, the cold truth absolute. "But if I succeed, your sister will be secure, and you will eventually return to a capital where Prince Darius no longer holds power over the debt courts. Your reward is the safety of your family. You will serve me until that safety is absolute."
Torvin dropped to one knee, not in a military salute, but in a gesture of profound, personal fealty. "My life is yours, Your Highness. My family is secure. I will carry your orders to the edge of the world and beyond."
Kaelen nodded, recognizing the difference between Jarek's professional alliance and Torvin's desperate devotion. Both were now secured. The foundation of the Shadow Guard was laid.
With his two most vital assets recruited and their loyalty anchored to their deepest needs, Kaelen dismissed Torvin and immediately retreated into the dark refuge of the tower's inner stone. He was physically wasted, the strain of the conversations and the power required to access the foresight having left him severely depleted.
He sealed the door, ignored the growing hunger in his stomach, and stripped down once more. Lady Seraphina was coming, and he needed every fiber of strength he could carve out. He closed his eyes, his mind focusing on the familiar, agonizing thread of energy beneath his sternum.
He pushed his will toward the calcified channels. The coiling serpent began its slow, destructive journey again.