The first rays of a pale, cold sun begin to bleed through the canvas of the command tent. Mikhail blinks, his neck stiff from the awkward angle of the chair. He'd fallen asleep exactly where he sat, his boots still resting atop the strategic maps of the borderlands.
Maria is already there, as if she'd never left—pristine, alert, and holding a stack of freshly sealed reports.
"Good morrow, My Lord," she says, her voice a calm anchor in the morning chill.
Mikhail sits upright, rolling his shoulders to work out the kinks. "Hmm. The fact that I'm waking up to your voice and not the sound of crumbling walls means we haven't been attacked yet."
"That is correct, My Lord," Maria replies, stepping forward to hand him a heavy parchment scroll. "And while you were asleep, the board has shifted in our favor. We have received a contingent of 500 warriors from the Northern Kingdom, Bloodfrost. They arrived three hours ago. Sir Hilowat has already integrated them into a specialized assault party."
Mikhail unfurls the scroll, a sharp, genuine smile touching his lips. "Ha! Brother Thulgar... you never cease to amaze me. Sending the North's cold-blooded killers to a summer war. Good. We need that steel. What's next?"
"The Eldrathian General remained true to his word," Maria continues. "He has gathered 370 mages at the frontline. While most are low-tier acolytes not suited for direct combat, they have been organized into 'batteries' to maintain the large-scale magic shields and provide mass healing for the infantry."
Mikhail taps his fingers on the table. "They'll be the difference between standing and falling when the Titans start throwing trees. Now... the information I asked for. What is the story behind our 'Golden Pike' mercenaries?"
Maria's expression shifts, becoming more clinical. "Yes, My Lord. The mercenary group led by Maximus were not always sellswords. They were originally a sanctified black-ops unit trained under the Church of Solis Dei. Years ago, they were sent on what was intended to be a suicide mission to eliminate a 'heretical threat' in the south. The Church expected them to die and buried their records. But they survived. They feel betrayed by the faith they bled for, which explains their deep-seated hatred for the Empire—the Church's greatest patron."
Mikhail's brow furrows, his internal game knowledge racing. Wait... I didn't know the Church had a secret assassins. That wasn't in the main questline. "The Church has assassins? Since when?"
"Neither did I know of them until I dug into the Golden Pike's history, My Lord," Maria says, her voice dropping to a whisper. "From the intelligence I gathered, this unit was not run by the Bishops. It was run under the direct orders of the High Commander."
Mikhail's eyes narrow into slits. The air in the tent seems to drop several degrees. "High Commander... you mean him? Sir Lancelot, the Emperor's Angel of Death?"
Maria gives a single, solemn nod. "Yes, My Lord. The man who leads the Holy Knights also holds the leash of the shadows."
Mikhail leans back, a cold realization washing over him. If the Church was cleaning house using suicide missions, and those survivors are now in his camp, he's sitting on a political powder keg. Maximus doesn't just hate Mikhail because he's a Prince; he hates Mikhail because he represents the very institution that tried to erase him from existence.
"This complicates things," Mikhail mutters.