Foundation of Smoke and Steel

Chapter 112

VaelVael was not pleased by the time he reached the Seran safe house.

After leaving his observations at the Wang estate, he had broken his own protocol by hiring one of the flying carriages from the nearest major hub. His sect maintained its own, of course, but using them would have been far too conspicuous for their cover as moderately successful merchants. The hired flying carriage was ruinously expensive, but speed was the most important factor at this moment. He needed to understand the situation. He needed answers.

Flying should not have been this problematic, but the cost of such travel came down to inefficiency. Empire cultivators had never devoted enough effort to developing arrays that could handle the mana-intensive requirements of flight—at least for non-personal use. The lift, thrust, and navigation spells themselves were elegant, but they devoured energy at unsustainable rates. Mana stones, ley-line tapping, and other artificial sources had helped make the practice viable, but the Empire remained oddly naïve in its adoption. Inefficient or not, the carriage carried him swiftly, and Vael wasted no time once he arrived.

“Report,” he ordered the moment he stepped into the safe house.

Several operators of the Demon Horde stood waiting, including his second-in-command in this part of the Empire, Hoji—a Murai who had lost an eye. Human, but stripped of empathy and decency, the man was, in every way that mattered, the perfect Demon Horde cultivator.

“We have no idea how the orcs ended up on the mainland,” one of them said.

Vael blinked. “What do you mean, you have no idea?”

“All of our intelligence indicated they were preparing to invade,” the operator replied. “But something pushed them to move early—much earlier than our estimates, by almost a year and a half. Their battle plan changed as well. Instead of striking the Murai Kingdom as expected, they bypassed the islands entirely and landed farther north, along the coast of Imperial territory.”

Vael frowned. That was not how the war was supposed to unfold. In his last life, the Iron Tide struck the Murai first. That had always been their pattern—their way. They always sought to conquer the Murai islands before attempting a foothold on the mainland. The Spirit Swords and the orcs had a long and bloody history. Only once in their timeline had the Tide gone directly across the sea, and that warband had vanished into obscurity after throwing itself against the fortified peninsula that served as the Empire’s southern base.

(He actually knew their fate, but that was not important now.)

In this life, the orcs had not only bypassed the islands—they had established themselves on a barren stretch of northern coast far from any strategic target.

“That’s not all,” his second-in-command added grimly. “They didn’t simply slaughter the human settlements in the area. They integrated with them. They’ve started cultivating and processing the rocky land, building an actual community. It’s bizarre behavior. Whether they intend to push south or simply entrench themselves, we can’t say. Our people are still digging.”

Vael’s thoughts narrowed to a single conclusion. “Who,” he asked carefully, “is leading them?”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

The man rifled through a sheaf of reports. “The son of one of the High Fangs—one of their main leaders. He’s taken command of their warband and made the decision to bypass the Murai. His name is Kargak.”

Vael’s eyes sharpened. “What do we know about him?”

“Strong mana, skilled in battle techniques. His father is one of their more strategic leaders—brutal but not cruel—one of the few who actually thinks before he acts. Strong pride. His son is similar. We had flagged Kargak for potential assassination, but infiltration of the orc clans is already difficult, and he was not considered a priority compared to other targets.”

Vael thought back to his last life. He had never known the name of the orc prince who had rallied the clans then. His presence had been peripheral—little more than a shadow on the margins of the war—while others, like Claire, had returned burning with vengeance, a peak human cultivator with an axe to grind against the demons.

Still, there had only been one orc of note in that entire conflict. After the demons broke their armies and infiltrated their ranks, after the Murai bled them white, only a single prince had managed to accomplish anything of consequence. Could this Kargak be the same one? The intelligence suggested he was a prince. But why, this time, had the story unfolded so differently?

There was only one explanation. Somehow, some form of magic had brought him back. Vael had already entertained the possibility that others besides himself might have returned as well. It was naïve to think he alone had been restored. But an orc? Could one of the obscure gods the clans worshipped have reached into the weave of time? Could this prince be a regressor like himself?

He was still turning the thought when Hoji spoke again.

“There’s more, sir. In gathering intelligence around the Southern Demon Pass—the one that’s been completely destroyed—we found reports that one of the passive Gates near the Cliffs of Moher has… activated.”

Vael narrowed his eyes. “I don’t remember any active gates in the Cliffs of Moher.”

His officer tilted his head. “What do you mean, sir? Have you been in that region before?”

Vael cursed inwardly. Careless. None of them could know he had regressed. They would never understand how he could speak with certainty about places he had supposedly never visited in this life. He waved the question away.

“Never mind that. Tell me about this gate.”

“Apparently a contingent of Imperial nobles have entered. They’re performing some sort of trial. We don’t know much yet, but our sources say there is someone there who carries both mana and divine power. We suspect… it could be a herald.”

Vael’s blood ran cold. A herald. A demigod.

The last war had never seen one—not once. Heralds were the lowest rungs of divinity, but even so, they were beings who carried the authority of gods. In his last life, Vael had fought the war for dominion without the full might of the demon army, but at least he had never faced a herald.

Until now.

Vael paused. The idea of a herald was terrifying, especially one he did not know. Too many things had shifted; too many details no longer matched the maps in his head.

“Hoji,” he said finally, “I want you to send a team of elites to that gate. You are to personally command them.”

Hoji tilted his head. “For what purpose?”

Vael considered the question for only a moment. What did he want them to find? What was he afraid of? It all boiled down to a single truth he hated to admit: the unknown.

“Observe first,” he said. “If whoever is conducting those trials looks dangerous, kill them. But do not act while they remain under the herald’s protection. Heralds are unpredictable—fewer rules, fewer responsibilities than other mantles, but strong. We do not need the kind of scrutiny a heavy-handed strike would bring. Not yet.”

Hoji’s face went blank for a beat, then the officer nodded. “The commander from the Fourth Legion is already on alert. He has a cadre of shock elites I can assign—the closest thing we have that still looks human. I can also deploy the Demon Horde's Sword Squad to support them.”

He checked a few more papers and then grinned. “And I can arrange a detachment of High Orcs.”

Vael could not help himself. He grinned back.

“Start with capture and interrogation,” Vael said. “Find out exactly what they’re doing and why they’re there. Then terminate them and leave no trace.”

“Done,” Hoji answered. “I will prepare to leave immediately.”